#also sorry for the tense change from the previous one -wheezes-

[hermits-hovel]

20. bandaging/stitching up an injury

[part 1 here!]

the long-overdue second part! thank you @cadrenebula!!

quick disclaimer though, this got… long. obscenely long. unnecessarily long. I take these prompts and just... run. I’m very sorry 8′]

20. bandaging/stitching up an injury CW: blood/gore, mentions of stitching (obviously)

If there is aught Ancel can be grateful for, ‘tis the fact that the heavy downpour would help wash away and mask the scent of blood from any nearby beasts.

All the rest—the rainstorm itself, the enshrouding darkness of the night, the dead dragon he was towing, his many wounds—he could do without.

===

Scrape…

Scratch…

Scrape…

… Slip.

His jaw collides with the ground, and in a fit of frantic indignance, Ancel pounds his fist against the slick rocks as if to punish them.

“Gods—Damn it all!”

Still, he wastes no time rising once again to his feet. His legs burn, his body aches, and he’s all but certain he’s losing blood somewhere—but there exists little time to register any of that, not with a more pressing matter at hand.

Dragons are often drawn towards their fallen brethren; he doesn’t know why, and doesn’t care to learn. All he knows is how dangerous it could be to leave a freshly killed nuisance laying in undesirable locations, lest one risk attracting an endless chain of them.

And so he spits, bends down, grabs the tail of the young wyvern, and resumes dragging its corpse towards the cliff’s edge. He pulls intermittently, steps and yanks, to accommodate the dragon’s weight and to keep himself established upon the wet terrain. He cares little how much his wounds feel fit to burst at the overexertion.

And once there, ‘tis with a grunt of effort that Ancel heaves the body over the edge. He watches it tumble down, collide with the rocks and grow ever fainter until the rain-wrapped darkness swallows it from view.

That would have to do.

With the deed done, his adrenaline begins to wane, and it hits him all at once—the damage he’d sustained in the struggle.

===

As Ancel reenters the hollowed threshold of their cave encampment, he inhales softly, deeply, gathering every onze of composure he yet has before proceeding further in.

The dim light of the campfire still shines, dusting the area in a warm, modest glow. To the back wall rests their supplies and weapons haphazardly scattered about, and in their midst lays one chocobo in deep slumber.

So too does Estinien, not too far to the right of the cave. Whether or not his resting is at all restful remains to be seen, with his features strained and breath laborious as his body continues fighting its current illness.

Thankfully, the sounds had not roused him; or so it would seem.

Ancel notes that the cold cloth he’d supplied him with had fallen away, and he suspects it had grown warm by now. He would need to refresh it.

But first…

Approaching the leftmost side of the cave—his side, he established—Ancel limps towards his makeshift bed with the aid of his lance, and once there, carefully lowers himself down. He swallows any inclination to gasp from the shooting pains across his body.

And promptly curses himself upon releasing a soft hiss of breath through his teeth.

His recklessness, his folly.

‘Tis utter folly. To engage a dragon without armour, let alone without a plan is entirely too dangerous, and he’d known it full well when he grabbed his lance and charged at the beast. 

But there had been no choice, no time.

Praise Halone though he does for his triumph, She did also welcome unto him due repercussions for his haste. The monster did not succumb without a fight, and had made diligent use of its jaws and claws. As Ancel peels down his rain and blood-soaked breeches, he learns the severity of it—the reason his left leg in particular is nigh impossible to walk upon.

Even in the feeble light he can tell. The gash in his thigh is viciously wide, and the surrounding flesh is pocked and punctured with memories of the dragon’s teeth. Blood still flows in thin rivulets, pools high in divots and drips onto the blanket below; nearly his entire leg is smeared red.

It takes a concerted effort to keep his breath soft and steady at the sight of it. No matter how lightheaded he is, he would need to work quickly.

===

The sudden movement out of the corner of Ancel’s eye startles him, and had he been in a less compromising position, he might have felt compelled to grab a weapon.

Alas, he can find little relief in realizing the movement belongs to Estinien. The man had surrendered a short series of waking gasps before rolling onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow. 

Almost immediately, his eyes fixate dazedly upon Ancel.

Ancel, whose bloodstained lance is leaning against the wall, whose hair is yet damp and dripping from rainwater, whose bare shoulders are draped with a spare blanket.

Boasting a very bloodied thigh. Flanked by various flasks and medical supplies. Noticeably haggard and weak as he struggles with a makeshift compression band.

Damning, to say the least.

“… ‘Twas not my intent to disturb your rest,” Ancel claims calmly. “If I have.”

“What—“ Estinien swallows the graininess in his voice. “What have you done?”

“I know how it looks, but I assure you, I’m well. Worry not.”

Try as Ancel might to concentrate on his ministrations, any hope of doing so is fated to fail. He spies yet more movement in his periphery, and paired with a distinct shifting noise, his heart nearly stops when he realizes—

Estinien has pulled himself to his feet.

In complete defiance of his lingering vertigo, he begins staggering over. Ancel might have succumbed to the shock had he not been promptly consumed by an immediate and overwhelming opposition to the notion.

“Estinien, no,” Ancel scolds sternly. “Did you not hear me? I can handle this.”

But the knight does not listen. He drops clumsily to his knees next to Ancel and swats his hands away from the bandage. “You’ve lost so much blood you’re paler than I,” he mutters and places a palm upon Ancel’s chest, pushing firmly. “Lay back.”

“You—“ Ancel gasps, indignant as he keeps himself propped upright. “Perish the thought! You’re—still running a temperature, Estinien, I can feel it.”

“I don’t particularly care.”

“Estinien.”

“I need—“ Estinien stops short, as though rethinking his statement; after a short exhale and a resigned shake of his head that he rephrases, “Let me do this.”

A strangely-worded request, and a peculiar tone he’d struck besides.

There rings the barest hint of urgency, a kind Ancel hadn’t heard in Estinien’s voice before. ‘Tis not that of a man delivering orders in combat, nor of a caretaker advising in earnest. It sounds more desperate than that, as if he were afraid of what could occur if he doesn’t carry the task through.

The thought of Estinien being gripped with apprehension is enough to stave off Ancel’s objections for the time being. He reaches up, clutches the blanket around his shoulders, and allows himself to lay back against the rocky surface of the wall.

In truth, he admits, ‘twould not likely matter who took up the deed. Utterly robbed of their strength, neither of them seemed in the best condition to be administering such delicate operations. While Ancel holds little confidence in Estinien’s enfeebled hands, he can’t say he had much faith in his own, either.

Once Estinien finishes fastening the tight band, he pauses to inspect the wound closer, then takes one of the flasks at Ancel’s side. He observes it for a moment before looking to their scattered belongings.

Ancel thinks to inquire his intent—after all, he’d already gathered what was needed—but instead watches with mounting confusion as Estinien places the flask down, leans over, and retrieves one of their discarded belts. That confusion only escalates when he loops the leather and holds it to Ancel’s lips.

“Bite,” Estinien instructs.

… Ah. For the pain.

Too tired to argue, Ancel takes the belt between his teeth and shifts his position somewhat, looking to brace himself for the inevitable discomfort.

The feel of Estinien placing his hand—alarmingly warm still—on his knee does well to earn his focus at the very least. And then, the flask is inverted, and liquid is poured directly into the gash.

As expected, the pain is instantaneous, a piercing, nauseating sensation that makes Ancel flinch. His muscles seize with the effort it takes not to twist away, and a deep hiss saws into his lungs as his teeth dig into the leather of the belt. A final, muted whimper escapes his throat without consent.

Estinien murmurs something Ancel can’t hear, but there’s no reason to ask him to repeat it. He had already taken a cloth and gotten to work gently cleaning the wound, his features drawn stiff with concentration.

And as ever, perhaps spurred by a need to avert his focus from his howling nerves, Ancel’s thoughts wander as he takes the sight in.

The situation brings to mind the first time the two had met—when Ancel pulled Estinien from their flaming barracks and administered the selfsame treatment to the gaping wound in his leg… albeit with markedly less efficiency. 'Tis with a sentimental whim that Ancel thinks to drop the belt and remark upon the parallel, but he quickly dismisses the idea.

He doubts Estinien is the reminiscing sort. And that was in the event Estinien even recalled the encounter; it took him an age just to remember Ancel’s name, after all.

When did they truly become friends, then? Had they at all? Those sound like questions Estinien would avoid answering, and in a way, Ancel finds himself similarly inclined—afraid of the answers, afraid of differing answers.

At least, for his own part. Estinien, on the other hand, never seemed to care quite as much; at least, only ever cared as much as he needed to.

Mayhap… he would merely find the question ridiculous.

‘Tis easier to never ask, then. An aching mystery indeed, but a safer one. And that was well.

That’s… how we are.

===

“Almost…” Estinien mumbles, pausing to wipe his forehead with his arm.

He had gotten the wound partway sutured, and by now, Ancel had grown fairly accustomed to the pain. The belt in his teeth helped stave it away, but his wandering thoughts and overall weariness likely played their parts in that endurance.

Estinien had also managed to tidy his leg quite nicely, enough to locate scratches and punctures that could hardly be seen in the mess of crimson. Dried patches and smudged fingerprints yet remain, however, and Estinien’s hands had grown horrendously stained. While this was to be expected, and he seemed wholly unbothered by it, Ancel can’t help but feel remorseful.

He takes the belt from his mouth, just for a moment. “There—“ A grunt as Estinien pushes the needle through again. “There are enough clean cloths for your hands.” Wince. “E-ere you dress the wound.”

Estinien nods, though it was unclear if he truly heard. Mayhap he’d already thought of that.

Aye, he is remarkably efficient in spite of his illness. Trembling fingertips did lead to accidental pricks, and by the Fury are his searing hands still utterly distracting against Ancel’s own cold flesh. But beyond the way Estinien endeavours to breathe, and the intermittent pauses he takes to ensure he stays sitting upright, one might struggle to tell that the man had taken ill at all.

‘Tis rather surreal, his manner of care—his demeanour now. Firm, as expected, but careful, delicate, so distinctly unlike him.

... Mayhap, then, 'tis not so difficult to tell that Estinien was out of sorts.

The thread tugs a final time, and the wound closes. Estinien cuts it loose with the nearby blade, and then sets both items aside before shutting his eyes.

Regaining his stamina before initiating the last step, like as not.

Ancel shifts ever-slightly, lowering the belt from his mouth and placing it at his side. He takes the liberty of removing the bandage around his upper thigh, grabbing the blade and easing it under the tight binding. Once he cuts it loose, he surrenders a sigh of relief.

“... Tell me true,” Estinien urges.

Ancel freezes, but regards him in silence.

“A dragon,” the knight continues, “entered our encampment. Did it not?”

Ancel swallows, feeling a hot wash melt over his body. It seemed remarkably like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have, despite knowing the necessities of his actions; despite how obvious it had been what manner of creature had gifted him his wounds.

But Estinien doesn’t appear angry at all. In fact, his tone and expression both are nigh indecipherable.

“… It wandered too close,” Ancel confesses, setting the blade down. “‘Twould have entered the cave and cornered us. No recourse but to engage ere it could do so.”

“Killed, or wounded?”

“'Tis dead, no question. I discarded its body over the cliffside. None of its kin will happen upon it, or us, Fury willing.”

Estinien nods, and after drawing another weary breath, opens his eyes. He turns his head slightly, slowly, and takes one of the few remaining clean cloths with intent to rinse his hands.

The silence feels suddenly naked, dialogue now missing where it should have been. Estinien has more to say.

Given the right questions.

“… Had you heard it, then?” Ancel prods meekly. “The struggle, that is. Did it rouse you after all?”

There is no answer at first, but he can hear the gears turning in Estinien’s head as he wipes the blood from his hands. And what was once a demeanour indecipherable suddenly grows notably troubled.

“Outcries reached my ears while I slumbered. ‘Twas clear as a bell in my head.”

Ancel can’t help the pang of discomfiture that strikes him at the way Estinien words that answer. He wants to respond, but not a cohesive sentence comes to mind.

Instead, he can only furrow his brow and watch his comrade cast the bloodied cloth away in favour of retrieving a new one—one he uses to dress Ancel’s wound. He does so wordlessly at first, but upon fastening the cloth in place, Estinien speaks again, eyes lidded and voice falling as quiet as it had ever been.

“Rather than wake me,” he says, “the sound engulfed my dreams. Commanded them. And no matter how real I knew the danger was, my limbs would not listen.”

His eyes fall shut, and his brows knit with slight strain—a wince, almost—and it passes as soon as it appears. Estinien confesses then, in a tone no different, yet no less haunting:

“I could not wake—only watch.”

It takes Ancel a moment to fully process his words, to realize their meaning—and then, try and fail to determine why Estinien had spoken them in the first place. ‘Tis the first time, perhaps, that he’d heard him say anything so unguarded, so…

… Personal.

“This sounds more like a nightmare,” Ancel whispers, “than a dream.”

There comes no verbal response, and no movement either at first. But after a slow, utterly telling blink, Estinien shifts and takes another roll of bandages, obviously intent on finishing what he’d started without any further elaboration.

He doesn’t need to elaborate—his earlier persistence now has its answer.

Concern and sorrow twist and churn in Ancel’s chest. Without giving himself a chance to hesitate, he lifts his hand to Estinien’s and takes the roll between his fingers, pulling it gently. It comes away as effortlessly as breaking a fruit from a vine; no resistance, no reaction.

“Estinien…” The name leaves him as an aching whisper, but the man in question offers no response.

Completely blank. He has finished speaking.

The silence continues to marinate between them, stagnant and heavy as though time had ceased to pass altogether. Ancel pulls his lips into a thin line. 

What could he say? What wouldn’t sound hollow? Did any such combination of words exist?

What does Estinien want to hear?

A smile, one weary and lost, forces itself onto Ancel’s lips.

“‘Tis… fortunate, then, that I survived,” he ventures. “To see the danger passed. To greet you as you awoke.”

Estinien’s eyes flicker to Ancel, his expression unchanging; yet there lies consideration beneath his exhaustion, hesitation beneath his discomfort.

Still too saccharine for his liking. Ancel’s smile turns apologetic.

“Ah... n-nevertheless. I think…” Ancel shifts to the side, granting more space on his makeshift bed. “You have... more than done your part for the day.” He peels the blanket from over his shoulders and lays it out over the area, covering the spot that had pooled with his blood earlier.

Sitting upright, he gestures to the freed space. “Lay down and rest proper.”

Although partway certain that Estinien would refuse outright, the man simply pauses—calculates. Hardly a beat passes before he begins to slowly shift and lower himself down 'til he’s laying on his side, a heavy exhale escaping him.

Relieved with his compliance, Ancel relaxes his shoulders and begins to wrap the bandages around his leg.

===

‘Tis finished at last—each wound he sustained, patted clean and dressed appropriately.

And now he can rest. 

He can rest... assuming he can first refresh the damp cloth he’d given Estinien earlier.

Assuming he can do so without waking him again.

Estinien himself appeared to have succumbed to slumber already, but he’d done so at a far closer proximity than Ancel would have liked; his own fault, granted, but nevertheless a hindrance. Moving without disturbing the knight may prove a challenge, but ‘tis better than allowing his head to burn. 

Better than falling asleep here. And so Ancel begins lifting himself. 

... Only to be stopped. He hardly makes it a few ilms forward before a warm palm rises and presses itself flat against his stomach. He flinches and freezes in place, his eyes darting immediately to the culprit: his fever-addled comrade.

Still laying on his side, eyes shut, but Estinien’s arm is indeed raised and braced against Ancel with notable intent.

“Is something wrong, Estinien...?”

“Rest.” The word is hardly audible, bogged by exhaustion. Ancel blinks, taken aback by the request.

“I—… I was about to,” he clarifies. “To refresh your cloth. Then I’ll move… t-to your side of the—“

“Rest here.”

Spoken more clearly, yet Ancel is certain he misheard this time.

Myriad questions cross mind—the whys, the well-beings—and hundreds more that he would never dare inquire.

Is this something you normally ask for?

This is not something you… would normally ask for. Is it?

Why now do you ask?

‘Tis the fever, no question, reducing Estinien’s ability to care, melting his steel-clad guard down into a viscous mercury. He isn’t thinking at all. He would never ask anyone of this.

Are you even awake?

“Now,” Estinien mumbles, impatience lining his voice.

Aye. Barely awake, but awake nonetheless.

Ancel thinks, for a moment, to decline politely. ‘Twould have been easy to do so. But instead he pauses, left considering Estinien’s words from earlier.

How shaken he seemed to be from his dreams, how they proved enough to spur him into action. His ‘need’, as he phrased it ere correcting himself, how easily he succumbed to his own frailty once he saw it through.

‘Tis an instinctual guess to say this feels similar. An urgent measure, a weary precaution, Estinien’s backhanded method of seeking purchase—a sense of control where he no longer held any.

A need for security; a request for comfort.

"...”

When Ancel lowers himself, ‘tis with slow and watchful movements at first. He keeps as much of a gap between them as he can, but something about doing so begins to feel... unkind, somehow.

Once he is laying upon his back, Ancel shifts himself closer, ‘til their bodies are but ilms apart. His arm arches over Estinien’s frame, though he keeps his palm on the ground.

He expects little response from this—none, in fact—but is taken further aback by the precise opposite. Estinien’s hand does not leave his stomach, but it instead remains and furls into a fist. He takes shockingly well to their new proximity and curls in even more, nudges himself closer, lays one side of his burning head against his comrade’s pounding heart.

Indeed, upon experiencing this, Ancel feels suddenly as though he’s the one who’s taken ill.

“Is...” 

Is that sound going to bother you?

Ancel can’t bring himself to ask the full question, but Estinien doesn’t seem to notice; doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, in fact. Though only the top of his head is visible, he appears to be unconscious already.

The relentless burning of his skin is more apparent than ever, and briefly does Ancel consider the threat to his own health. Sleeping so close to Estinien would put his own condition at risk, without a doubt.

Yet there exists no true mind between them. 

He finds that he cares for the risks about as much as Estinien seems to; mayhap, they both care more for the nervous pulse now making its paces through both of their skulls.

Aye... ‘twould seem the sound of a beating heart to guide his slumber is what Estinien wanted to hear.

[albino-whumpee]

Introduction

Superhero whump for practice and to set me into a writing mood again. Or a creating mood again. Idk anymore. Hope you like it! Also to fill my @badthingshappenbingo card, with prompt “pinned by wreckage”

This is a series 

Masterlist

CW// blood, villain whumpee, superhero caretaker, gruff caretaker, enemies to friends?, murder mention, dub con bondage, impaled limb, defiant whumpee, field medicine and captivity.

Among the gravel and devastation, someone sweated the big drop just trying to get to someone. The quiet was made of the crackling fire and rocks sliding under their step; their “friends” long gone to be celebrated for their did. After years of endless, tiresome battles, they had brought Villain down.

However the hero that had turned off the microphone on the collar around their neck wasn’t sure their team had been heroic at all.

Villain had self destructed after being surrounded without escape. Fearing what they might do with them once captured, they blew up their whole base. Or that’s what the leader told the rest.

Hero spent hours after dawn searching. Digging and clinging to any little sound. After a few hours of smelling nothing but dust and their own blood, they found them. The hero’s breathing slowed looking at villain so utterly defenseless, dirty with blood pooling below them because of how a piece of the fallen building impaled one of their arms, and still somehow, when Hero got closer, was able to pull a scowl.

“Don’t get any closer, hero…” they said between laboured pants.

“Can you stop me?” They stepped forward regardless of their hissing. Hero was slightly amused of Villain recoiling their legs closer, away from their reach. “You lost, Villain”

Their eyes widened before pressing their lips into a tight line “Not yet, I… Im not yet-º

“There’s nothing left. It’s done” they cut them off, now towering over them. “And if you don’t treat that arm you will be done for, too”

“What?” Villain blurted out as Hero placed their hands over the metal structure “The hell are you doing?! Get off!” They screamed throwing weak punches at Hero’s legs and shins. They pushed with all their strength, grunting under their breath and panting harder before wheezing out of the effort. A few drips of blood stained hero’s boots “You’re not taking me to lock me up. That’s. Not. Happening.” they snarled with the fury of a wild animal that’s desperately fighting to get off a hunter’s trap. “Not when I was so close… I won’t let that happen!”

Hero looked from above at the pitiful image of their enemy trying to pointlessly push them away while taking their last breaths.

“They told me to leave you to die” Hero admitted suddenly. Catching villain off guard and throwing them off enough to make them look up at them in surprise. “If I found you alive, they told me to kill you slowly. If I found you half dead, to watch and bring your corpse” Hero’s dark eyes usually had a gleam Villain despised. But hopefulness wasn’t on the eyes that looked down on the dirty villain before them. Both of them knew that but Villain sighed a harsh breath.

After a long moment, Villain kept their eyes trained down, they spoke in a weak voice “They said I…ah, deserved that, didn’t they?”

“Yes”

Villain stilled and their bleeding arm tensed up, blood speeding down at the pressure before Villain released with a whimper. Their voice was empty and completely uncharacteristic of the Villain they knew “Maybe you should listen to them”

“Maybe” the hero said placing their hands over the metal again, firmly buckling their elbows in preparation “But if we’re done dealing with you I can choose for myself” they continued at the same time they freed their arm and Villain cried out.

Villain cradled their injured arm close, losing energy by the second and already tired out from the previous battle, Hero didn’t have to use their super strength to treat their injuries with the medical glue. An sticky white material that was applied with a gun and acted as a plug to stop the bleeding on deep injuries. They had pierced their arm in two sections, forearm and triceps, too close to the center and maybe too dangerous to have only the glue working when Villain was that pale from blood loss. They had to get somewhere else and get better treatment.

But Villain made one last effort to avoid their fate being suddenly placed on Hero’s hands, trying to jump away and falling into a pit filled with water from a busted out pipe. They crawled. Or tried to, but they had no more energy to lift themselves up the ground. Consciousness slipping, they felt themselves get scooped up, a warmth they despised, firmly against their cheek as the world turned white around the edges.

In Hero’s back, with the sway of their trot over the remains of their base, Villain cried helplessly. After so long, it was really over. Them and their work and everything they longed for was…gone. They could see the devastation beyond the ruins. They knew they were no saint, but now after losing, had it been worth it? All the sacrifices made?

They had dreams they took a long, long time to even imagine them. Much more setting them into motion. But they weren’t on the side that get their dreams realized, were they?

“Why?” Villain suddenly asked as Hero was getting back to their airship hidden in the woods, now just a few dead branches from the aftershock of the buildings collapsing.

“Why what?”

Villain couldn’t even find it in them to open their eyes. No energy left to fight either. There was no point now “You’re a…special kind of naive for…helping me when you’re killing me anyways” they said, controlling their breathing to not give out how tired they were. Hero probably already knew, anyways, by how they hanged limp on their back.

“Im not killing you”

“Same thing as locking me up” Hero stayed quiet a second. The sound of their boots crunching the dirt and loose branches didn’t stop.

“I won’t do that either”

Villain laughed wryly “Not just naive but stupid too”

“Guess stupid people stick together” Hero stopped a second to readjust their grip on Villain. A careful hop that let their head rest against their broad back, before they continued and Villain heard the engine of the airship.

“Dunno, your squad isn’t here…” Villain’s stomach churned at the frustration of getting carried into their enemy’s ship, hopelessly under their mercy. Just about to fill every nightmare they had relentlessly tried to avoid. But there was something about the way Hero laughed as they carefully laid them on the bed with nylon belts that ignited a doubt, a little spark of hope that Villain shoved down. In a situation like that hope didn’t have room anymore.

“I wasn’t talking about them” Hero said before eyeing the belts and sighing. Trouble noticeable in their face before deciding to speak again “We will fly to get you help but I need you to be still. I’m sorry but I’ll have to restrain you”

Villain snorted and gave a breathy laugh that ended in them pressing their mouth shut trying to cover the wince of pain from moving their arm. “Your lot never asked before” Villain shakily crossed their arms over their chest, and a dark thought tingled on Hero’s mind. Villain seemed to know exactly how the restraints of the airship worked already. They had never managed to capture them so why..? Villain panted harder and Hero pulled their attention on cinching the belts around them. Over their legs and the three over their chest, careful of the injured arm and passing one over their forehead. They were leaving to the cabin, when Villain talked again. “Neck. You forgot”

“My, you’re chattier than I thought” Hero said not moving an inch to buckle the belt over their neck. Villain opened their eyes and looked up at the metal ceiling, unable to turn or toss their head around. Only barely able to recline their head back a little. Honestly surprised to not been muzzled already.

They smiled at the inverted image of Hero “Just enjoying freedom as long as I can”

“Im not- “ Hero rubbed their temples before sighing long “We will talk about this later, but You can be sure of something, Villain” Hero said walking to the pilot seat and retracting the wheels as they heard the other take a deep breath and wince because of the constriction if the belts. As Hero’s ship went up and prepared for quick transport they added “I’m not giving up on you. Everyone can change”

Villain felt the pull on their stomach they knew so well and closed their eyes. Focusing on keeping an steady breath to not give in to panic.

“We’ll see about that”

[2manyfandoms2count]

I love you (not) - Chapter 3

@marichatmay's prompt for today was "dirt", which legally requires Chat to eat dirt, right? Anyway, that happens. His brain is a little distracted, you see. Hope you enjoy!

First | Previous | AO3 | Next

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Chapter 3: In which the universe might not be working against Chat breaking up with Marinette, but the author sure is

This has gone too far , Chat thought as he marched determinedly towards Marinette’s skylight. However fun lunch at her parents, and then their little movie hangout had been, he couldn’t let this… “relationship” go any further. His speech had been stalled enough, by a whole week and a half, and not entirely because of him; sure, he’d procrastinated it a little, but Nathalie and her zeal for filling his schedule were the main culprits, as well as a couple of ill-timed Akumas and last-minute Kitty section band practises. It was like the universe didn’t want their budding romance to end.

He pushed the thought aside. There was no romance between him and Marinette, or at least, not on his side. Which is why he needed to talk to her: he needed to prevent her from getting too invested in their relationship. She’d only end up getting hurt, and he would never forgive himself for it.

But what if she gets upset now ? A little voice piped up in his head. He came to a halt, and traced back his steps. Then you’ll be there to protect her from the butterflies , the reasonable part of his brain chimed in . He turned around and started walking again.

But what if that doesn’t work? Will you be able to fight with the knowledge that it was all your fault? The first voice nagged again. Yes, since I’ll be able to fix it. Ladybug and I will do what we usually do and save her.

He paced the balcony as the figurative angel and demon bickered on his shoulder, both making fairly good points as to why he should or should not break up with her.

It’s not a real relationship, just ghost her, she knows you have other stuff to do.

That wouldn’t be right and you know it.

What if this is a bad time, though?

But what if this is a good time?

His dilemma was so loud that he didn’t think about what it might have sounded like for Marinette, if she was in her room. His indecision was getting so infuriating that he stopped looking where he walked. Why was this so difficult?

What if you stopped being stupid and realised that you actually like her? The thought blindsided him, and not just because he could have sworn that it had been formulated in Plagg's voice. It caused him to miscalculate his next step, and before he knew it he was tripping on a potted plant.

Both him and it came crashing down with a loud thunk and a yelp, and he realised with horror, as he scrambled to his feet, that the plant it had contained not only had its roots out, but that it had landed right under him, and didn’t look too healthy.

“Crap…” He shot up and tried to repair his mistake, but soon realised the pot had broken in its fall.

He looked around him to see if there was a spare pot lying around, but failing to spot one, changed his strategy. He started pushing the earth into a neat pile to cover the roots and also to make sure the balcony didn’t look too messy. He wondered if there was a flower shop, or any shop where he could buy a replacement container nearby, and if maybe he could just pop out before anybody noticed, what on earth could he even do with all this-

“Chat Noir? What are you doing here?” Marinette had cautiously peeked out of her skylight when she’d heard the commotion, anticipating an Akuma and trying to figure out what to do if there was indeed one, and had pushed it all the way open when she’d realised who it was who’d been lurking on her roof.

Chat Noir panicked as he heard her voice, and did the only logical thing that came to his mind to get rid of the mess: he took the handful of earth he was holding, and shoved it in his mouth.

“No, Chat!!” Marinette voiced the thought that his brain deigned to formulate just as he tasted the dirt. His eyes widened and he spat it out, barely registering Marinette hopping out of her room and coming to pat him on the back to help him. “What on Earth were you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” he wheezed.

“Hang on, I’ll get you some water.” She disappeared through the trapdoor and was back before he could put his escape plan to action. It was just too embarrassing to stay.

He gargled the contents of the glass and spat it out, wincing at the... green taste that remained. There was no better adjective for it. He supposed it was well deserved.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, looking at his feet sheepishly.

“For what?” Marinette asked, before her eyes landed on the plant. The lack of pot and her frantic attempts to help him had destabilised it, and it lied horizontally again. The colour drained from her cheeks. “Oh. Uncle Wang’s Magnolia.”

Chat winced at her worried expression. “Can I do anything to help?”

“I think I might have a pot downstairs that I can replace it with. I just need to be discreet, if Maman finds out that it survived its journey from Shanghai, but that it couldn’t survive a day on my balcony…” Marinette nervously chewed on her bottom lip.

“She’d be rightfully annoyed.” Chat nodded. He felt his guilt pink his cheeks.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do…”

Chat Noir wasn’t sure involving him in a plan was a great idea after the mess he’d made, but he followed Marinette’s instructions nonetheless, anxious to repair his mistake.

“There.” Marinette rubbed the dirt off of her hands when they were done with a satisfied smile. There was still tension in her shoulders, though. “I think I might have to hide it a little for the next week or so, just so she doesn’t notice the wilted leaves, but it should be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry.” She relaxed a little as she saw his pleading eyes. “Anyway, you literally preferred to eat dirt rather than answer my questions, what brings you here?”

“Oh, erm, I needed to talk to you about, well, erm… us.” Chat twiddled his thumbs awkwardly.

Marinette froze. She’d looked out for Chat Noir during the days after their “date”, and had been relieved not to see him around. She’d prodded the topic slightly as Ladybug, and given his lack of response, she’d concluded that Chat had given up on their relationship, and had filed the whole ordeal in a “we’ll laugh about it someday” part of her brain. She’d thought that the next time she’d see him as a civilian, they’d be back to normal. She realised that she might have been a little too prompt in moving on.

Chat noticed his friend tense up again, and decided he couldn’t go through with his plan. Hey, I came to tell you that I don’t love you and that I’m breaking up with you - and by the way, I almost killed a plant that came from half a world away. Bye! Really didn’t sound so great.

“Us?” Marinette prompted.

“Yeah, us.” Chat shook away his thoughts. “I, er… Realised that I haven’t been in touch much recently, and I wanted to apologise.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been really busy too, so, I understand.” Marinette smiled sweetly. It did sound like her kitty to not ghost a girl, and maybe this was the moment he would give her a little speech about how packed his superhero life was, and that he preferred not to keep her waiting and-

“Maybe we could get coffee sometime soon?” Chat blurted.

“Coffee?” She tilted her head, her smile tensing a little. What are you up to? The exit was right there!

“If you like coffee? Tea’s perfectly fine, too, or hot chocolate. Or a coke, or anything. My treat.” He patted her shoulder. Why do I sound so awkward? he cringed inside.

“I guess that would be nice.” Marinette blinked a couple of times. “Shall we set a date now, or…”

“Yes! A date! That’s it! The day after tomorrow? 5pm?” I need to calm down, Chat smiled tightly.

“That works for me.” Marinette eyed her partner cautiously. He seemed overly excited. Had there been something in the earth? Should she call some kind of medical service? “Did you have a place in mind?...”

Chat Noir paused. He didn’t go out enough to be able to recommend a café off the top of his head.

Marinette saw his hesitation, decided he was probably more flustered than poisoned, and decided she should probably help him out with his invitation. “I heard le café des chats was quite cute, it’s not too far away… If you’re not allergic to cats.” She added with a twinkle in her eye.

“That sounds purr-fect!” Chat grinned. “Right, so now that we’ve got that settled, I guess I should go.”

“I guess so.” Marinette smiled. “See you soon, then?”

“Yep, later, Princess! And sorry again about the Magnolia.”

She waved his concern away and then leaned on her balcony railing to watch him vault away. Her smile fell when he’d disappeared from her sight, and she realised what she’d just agreed to.

A real date. In a café. With Chat Noir.

This is going too far, she thought as she hid her face in her hands.

[avionvadion]

(Collapses) An entire week... now it’s done... 

For Chapter 17, Return to the Mansion. Fanfic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24115702/chapters/58056592

Previous Comic:

 https://avionvadion.tumblr.com/post/624957251803889665/avionvadion-collapses-i-did-it-guys-it-is

Also I made a ko-fi! If you guys like my art and would like to help support me by buying me a coffee, it would be greatly appreciated! 

https://ko-fi.com/avionvadion

STORY 

I took a deep breath and blinked rapidly, fighting the tears.

"I'm fine. It's fine. Damn it. Where's- ah, stairs. U-Up here… Sesshōmaru."

The demon and his servant followed after, Jaken surprisingly not yelling at me for once. I held onto the half-broken railing as we walked up the creaky steps, pausing only when the whispering of a hauntingly familiar voice reached my ears. Sesshōmaru looked down at me, reaching out and placing a hand over the sword handle- seeming to recognize the signs of me hearing voices already. The whole building reeked of death- I doubted even he could tell the scent of a moving corpse from a still one.

"No…" Please, let me be wrong about this. "No, no, no! Not her!"

I hurried up the staircase like the fool that I was and once at the top I saw someone standing at the other end of the hallway, slowly making their way over to us. That pink-and-white kimono was unmistakable and yet… something was wrong. It was covered in blood. The right side of her face was burned away, almost seeming to mimic that of what I had done to a very irritating incarnation so long ago.

"It is her…"

"What's going on!?" Jaken demanded, climbing up quickly when he saw that I had stopped. "Why the hold up!?"

"Otoki…" I choked out, stepping forward. "Otoki, no…"

"Where is my brother…? It hurts."

"I-I know…" Otoki never made it out of this castle, so of course she wasn't alive. She was dead right from the moment we left for Rindoh Village. I had known it all along and yet… it was still so hard to accept. The proof of it was right in front of me. "I know it hurts. I-I'm so sorry."

"I want go home…"

"I know. I know you do." I understand that more than anything else in this world. I want to go home as well.

Jaken's eyes widened as he watched this take place, leaning forward with intrigue. "She is communicating with the corpse's spirit! How mysterious. What do you think of this M'lord? Uh… M-M'lord?"

Otoki was right in front of me now, yet somehow I was unafraid of her. All I felt was sadness, my heart reaching out for this poor girl. All she had wanted was to see her little brother, to know he was doing alright without her. This child never deserved such a painful end. "I'm sorry…" She reached out, a dark aura emanating from her body. Dropping the mask and grabbing her wrists before she could touch my neck, I stared at the outcome of my own failure. If only I were stronger- if I wasn't so weak! I should have went with her and made sure she got out of the castle. Suddenly she moved forward, alarming strength pushing me back. "Wh-What!?"

She was so much younger than me; where did all this power come from? The edges of my heels met the top step of the staircase and I struggled to stay upright, knowing that if I fell I would snap my neck or break a bone. "Save me." She seemed to say, empty eyes boring into mine. "Free me from this spell. Please."

"O-Otoki!?"

That was when I saw him. Out of the corner of my vision was Sesshōmaru, blade held high in the air.

"N-No, wait-!"

His eyes were as cold as hardened gold. There had to be a way to save her aside from killing her! How was his weapon even working against the corpses? I still don't understand anything of what's going on! This can't be the only way! My protests fell on deaf ears and seeing the way he brought the sword down towards her I panicked. In my effort to stop him from slaying the child I released Otoki's wrists and lunged, desperately trying to grab him.

The corpse took that chance to wrap her arms around my waist, clinging tight and changing the direction of which I was moving with her dead weight. "No-!"

"I'm sorry."

Her lips parted and her mouth opened wide, teeth ready to dig into my wounded shoulder. Right as she was going rip apart my flesh Sesshōmaru mercilessly swung his sword... and then the voice stopped. I collapsed hard onto my front, the girl's body so heavy from death that it was crushing me. I didn't even have a chance to figure out what she meant by how to free her. She was gone.

"Wh-Why…?" I wheezed, shakily crawling out from beneath her. I rolled the girl's body over and weakly tugged her into my lap, sniffling. "Why did you do that!? Sh-She was- She was trying to tell me something! The spell it… it had a way to be broken! I-I could have saved her! You didn't have to just kill her, you jerk!"

I brought a hand to rest against the burned side of Otoki's face, guilt welling up inside my heart as I looked at her. After a short moment, I turned to glare at Sesshōmaru, not bothering to hide the betrayal in my voice.

"How could you?"

I was really starting to think he could have been someone I was able to trust, but now… frick. Damn it! I took a shaky breath and bowed my head, eyes squeezing tightly shut as I mourned. I was completely unaware of the pentagram being drawn at my feet or how the blue light from Otoki's mangled body began to take shape, icy cold flames dancing along my body. I wouldn't have even bothered looking up if I didn't feel a pair of hands cup my face, raising my chin gently.

I tensed and opened my eyes in confusion, only to stare in shock at the person in front of me.

Her visage was so ghostly and transparent, and for a moment I thought she wasn't even there at all. She looked so unlike her corpse, all injuries and blood gone from her flesh and kimono. It almost felt like I was viewing a completely different person. The child pulled her hands away and smiled warmly at me, several fiery butterflies flapping around her. "Hello, Irene."

"O… Otoki?"

She rose from the pentagram, the fire seeming to give her shape. It was so different from the way the other undead behaved after being destroyed. It was almost as if the Shikigami reached out to her spirit before it could fade away, giving her one last chance to speak. I felt almost certain that was exactly what had happened,  and yet… how? What was that light that appeared when she and all the other corpses were slain? Was it their souls?

Did Sesshōmaru actually free them after all?

The young girl laced her fingers together in front of her, eyeing me warmly for a moment before turning to see Sesshōmaru, watching him tuck his sword away back into its sheath. She was just as adorable as when we first met. "Thank you so much!" She said, leaning down in a deep bow to show her respect. "You saved me!"

"He… He did?" I asked, stunned at the confirmation. "Sesshōmaru… saved you?"

The spirit stood up straight and her smile softened, noticing how confused I was. She nodded at my words. "Yes. Because of his sword I was able to break through the spell that was placed on me. I always thought demons were scary… especially when they came and attacked the castle. But you saved me, Mister Demon." She looked up at him, tears filling her eyes. "It's thanks to you that I can sleep soundly now and see my little brother again. Thank you. Thank you so much, Mister Demon."

The flames grew brighter around her for a moment before they started to dissipate, the butterflies flying downwards to the pentagram below. Otoki was starting to lose her form. "W-Wait! Don't go! I-!"

There were so many things I wanted to say to her.

To tell her.

So much was running through my mind, suffocating and overwhelming, and I ended up losing track as my mind went blank. My voice died on my lips. Otoki knelt down beside me, staring at me with sad eyes. Those eyes… they would still be full of life if I had taken a different path. If I had thought to bring her with us, or to go with her and ensure she got out of the castle, she might still be alive. I was just so angry at Naraku that I didn't think straight.

And because of that she paid the price.

"I… I'm so sorry…"

Otoki shook her head at me, moving close and resting her forehead against mine. It was such an odd feeling as the fire was somehow cold. I wondered if it they were the flames of death. "Naraku is the one who did this." She told me, hands grasping my shoulders gently. "You tried to save me."

The girl then leaned forward, wrapping her arms around me.

"You held me like this once, remember? You said it was for my brother who couldn't be there for me. This time… this embrace is for you- from the both of us."

"No…" Keeping hold of the corpse's head with one hand so not to drop the body, I reached out out with my other arm to try and reciprocate, holding her tight. My voice cracked, heart feeling as if it was being crushed in a vice. "P-Please… don't go."

"Thank you, Irene…" She pulled back, freckled face smiling at me. "Farewell!"

"Otoki-!" My fingers faded through the flames as she vanished, the butterflies flapping their winds and disappearing into the pentagram. The fire around me burned brighter, flickering angrily in the air as the cold blue turned icy hot. "N-Not… Not… Not y-you, too-!"

The airways in my throat closed up and my breath came out in stuttered bursts, the pain flowing through me unbearable. I heaved and gasped, shaking uncontrollably as the sobs wracked my body so hard I was leaning over, feeling as though I were about to vomit. I tried desperately to stop it, tired of crying and frustrated by all the loss happening in this world, but there was no end to it. My lips curled back and my teeth ground so tight together it hurt.

Otoki's final words echoed in my mind.

Naraku was the one who did this. He took her and the samurai away, placing them under a spell and using them against us. I bet he even had Anastasia burn her face for some sick kind of message, as if to warn me against harming Kagura again. Bastard. I turned to look at Sesshōmaru and Jaken, anger settling in and fusing with the sorrow.

"A-All these people… i-in the… the castle… they're being controlled by Naraku?"

Jaken took a step back to avoid being touched by one of the embers, hiding behind his master. "Uh, y-yes… If you destroy a corpse that's under a spell, the spirit will go free. But only if you're Lord Sesshōmaru, of course!"

"Why… Why only him?"

Otoki said it had something to do with his sword. How could a weapon with a dull blade, incapable of harming enemies, save a spirit?

Jaken grinned widely, proud to be speaking of his master. "Lord Sesshōmaru is the only one capable of wielding the tenseiga- a weapon crafted from his father's mighty fang, a blade used to slay the undead!"

"And… you knew about this?" I looked up at the great dog demon, uncertainty in my gaze. When he saved me downstairs when I was cornered by all those zombies it was the tenseiga that he used. The blue light that I saw erupting from their bodies were their souls drifting away to freedom. "About their spirits?"

Sesshōmaru gave no verbal response. The neutral expression he wore, however, told me everything I needed to know. Facing Otoki once more and breaking out into several rough coughs, I willed the flames to dissipate. The world began to spin as a result and I found myself hunching over, staring into the deformed face of the girl I barely had time to call a friend.

I seriously hated Naraku.

He's so… awful. It's to the point where he can't even be described as bad or evil. He's just… awful. There's so much wrong with him and all that he does. I'm so tired of it. All these innocent people are being murdered because of his own selfish desires. Stubbornly ignoring the pain in my chest as I started to wheeze, I pulled out the broken pinwheel that sat in my pocket and tucked the end of the stick into her obi, making sure it would stay with her. Juzo really did work so hard on that gift.

"I'll get him back," I promised her, voice a low trembling growl, "Naraku won't get away this, s-so… so… just rest now, okay? Give your little brother a hug for me?"

Moving slowly, I set the girl's corpse down on the ground and closed her one open eye.

"I-It'll be… alright. No one can… No one can hurt you now."

Ohh, it hurts so much. The tears don't want to stop. Speaking is taking so much out of me, but… this war isn't over. We still need to get to that monster waiting in the tower. Jaken tapped his foot irritably against the ground, losing his patience waiting for me. "What are you doing!?" He demanded, voice rising up in pitch again. "How much longer do you intend to keep Lord Sesshōmaru waiting!?"

I said nothing, struggling to regain control of my emotions and calm down enough to get oxygen flowing decently again. The silver-haired demon, however, focused on the gremlin with a cold stare, calling out with a sharp tone, "Jaken."

"See!" The gremlin exclaimed, then turned to face his master expectantly. "Wh-What is it, Lord Sesshōmaru?"

He narrowed his eyes at the demon. "Leave the woman alone."

The gremlin jumped, startled by the harshness of his voice, before sinking down and backing away in fright. "Y-Yes, M'lord…"

I really don't want to do this anymore. I don't care how much it hurts me; I'm not gonna hold back. Naraku has lived and tormented others long enough. Anastasia was the one who summoned me and my sister here, anyway, so I'll just get my answers out of her. For now that wretched half-demon needed to die. I stood up and wobbled, dragging my feet over to the mask that was on the ground. My body felt so numb.

I brought my sleeve up and wiped at my face, sniffling loudly as I knelt down down and picked up the fallen object. I held it with both hands, fiddling with it for a moment, before forcing myself to go over to where Sesshōmaru was standing. There was a huge misunderstanding and I needed to set it right. "Se… Sesshōmaru…?"

His piercing gaze focused on me. My heart caught in my throat and for a moment I forgot how to talk.

"I… wh-what you did… o-or were doing with the… the corpses; I-I didn't realize. You were saving her a-and… I yelled at you. I shouldn't have… done that. I'm sorry."

I sniffled, blinking several times as I raised my head up to meet his intimidating gaze once more. There were still so many things I had yet to learn about the Feudal Era and its inhabitants, and there were a lot of supernatural powers that I remained to lack understanding of. And although I was dizzy and angry, and so many other things, at this exact moment only one emotion was rising strongly enough to the surface that I wanted to express it.

And that was gratitude.

"But… I-I want to thank you." I smiled warmly at him, clutching the hem of my sweater tightly and holding the mask to my side. "Y-You didn't have to save them, but you did. Otoki and the… the samurai that attacked me earlier. You freed them and… stopped the voices. So… thank you."

I wiped at my face again, trying to brush away the tears that were falling once more. My head was pounding furiously at me. It seriously wanted a break from all these emotions; I felt so worn.

"Y-You're seriously amazing, Sesshōmaru. You're even putting up with all my nonsense." I sniffed. "I-I'll take you to the tower now, so… yeah. Thank you. I-It's this way. This castle could do without an evil spider or two."

I rose the mask up to my face and tied it on, blinking several times as I wobbled to the next doorway. The moldy, musty air became filtered through the holes in the mask, clearing my lungs and straightening out my blurry vision. I was just going to keep this wretched thing on for the rest of my time here; I kept taking it off because I hated wearing masks- something that was mostly brought on from all the days I had to wear my respirator- but this thing was incredible. What was Sango's secret to making it?

[audreyandherocs]

Thea's Cave: Chapter 5

<Previous Chapter>

“You don’t have a communicator?!”

“Tommy, tommy, I literally woke up in the world just…I don’t know how long actually?” said Thea, her face scrunching at the realization that she didn’t keep count. “Wait, what’s a communicator?”

Tubbo trotted up to her and pulled out his communicator, showing it to her. “We use these to call and keep into contact with people. Also other things like if people get despawned or something.”

“Ohhhh, yeah definitely don’t have that. If I did, then I would’ve known there were other people around.”

“This is unacceptable! We got to get you one now, or how else are you going to need help from Tubbo and I!” yelled Tommy as if it was a crime.

Thea folded her arms together and human, leaning slightly against her wall. Her newly acquired bees were buzzing around which was a great delight to Tubbo.

“I mean, I’m close to L’manberg to book for it” noted Thea but the boys didn’t notice it. They were going in and out of the house, exploring everywhere as Thea just snorted at their antics but kept on working and learning.

She had a crossbow, snatched from the pillagers all those time ago, and apparently, she could shoot fireworks out of it. She had planned to experiment more with the fireworks but that plan went out of the window when the boys came.

It had been only three days since she met these boys and she already knew, they were chaotic and would need supervision when they were handling TnT. So, she had gone out and looked for some animals, Tommy enthusiastically helping her round up cows and chickens, and bees by an enthusiastic Tubbo. Thea found some sheep and now she was just tending to them and the farmland.

“HEY THEA,” yelled Tommy from the balcony as she turned to him nonchalantly, “WHERE ARE YOUR GUEST BEDROOMS?!”

“I DON’T HAVE ANY!” she yelled back and turned to her planning potatoes.

“WHAT?! WHY!?”

“WHY WOULD I?!” she yelled back a question, before snorting. There was someone jumping off and Thea turned back to see Tommy and Tubbo parkouring off the balcony and rushing towards her.

“So we can sleep over!”

Thea stood up and dusted off her pants, noting absentmindedly that she should get new clothes.

“If you guys do, just set a bed somewhere in the bedroom, I don’t care. I got wool and dye, just mark which is which and mind my stuff.”

Tommy and Tubbo beamed and dashed off as Thea realized she had just given the two permission to set their place. Thea shrugged as she heard the two boys in her home yelling about something and as she collected honey, she felt another presence.

She turned to it, seeing Wilbur walking down her little path. His eyes met hers and Thea instinctively waved her hand to greet him, smiling as she did.

“Hello Mr. President” she said as Wilbur gave a smile.

“Thea, I see you got a house now” he said, hands folded behind his back and head turning around to take in the place.

“Yeah, don’t need much sleep and got it done” said Thea as she put away her honey. “Here on some official business?”

“Something like that but it’s nothing right now. Tommy had mentioned a few things and I had some time so I thought I would come check it out.”

Thea hummed and nodded. Her eyes focused on Wilbur’s face, taking his features in before noting how skinny he was. Even if he was tall, he looked to be pushed thin from exhaustion and lack of management. Although his eyes were not focused on her, she could see the tiredness and the bubbling madness that was threatening to burst.

She didn’t want to think why the madness was there, but she guessed it had to do with elections and politics. It always did a number on people, one way or another.

Thea gestured to her home and smiled, “Well, would you like to come in for some tea? It’ll be nice to get to know you more.”

Wilbur jumped in surprise, eyes wide.

“Oh, you don’t have to.”

“I want to” said Thea, placing a hand on his arm but just above hovering. An open invitation but not one of force.

Wilbur looked at her and his posture relaxed, giving her a small smile. “That would nice, thank you.”

Thea grinned and guided Wilbur to her home. “Tommy and Tubbo are here already so what’s one more?”

Wilbur was led into her home and was immediately hit with the smell of food. His mouth watered at the smell and he then wondered when he last ate. He took another whiff and knew it was stew with freshly baked bread mixed in it. The door was opened, allowing the smell of flowers waft in.

He looked past the smell of food and he found himself standing in the room. He saw furnaces and her crafting station to one side of the home, where nearby were piles of chests and barrels. A weaving station was another part of the home with a chest bit it. There was a table with chairs surrounding it, on top of it with a nicely placed cactus.

There were two entrances, one leading up to the balcony and one leading down to the basement.

There was thumping upstairs and Wilbur instantly recognized Tommy’s and Tubbo’s voices. There were also sounds of barks and remembered Lupa and Fenrir.

Wilbur heard clattering as he turned to see Thea walking from her ‘kitchen’ and to the table. He politely walked over and sat in a chair as Thea sat opposite of him. She served the tea, him politely saying thank you before the two sat there with their tea and snacks.

There were a tense few awkward seconds before Thea felt the need to break the ice. “So, how are things?”

Wilbur chuckled nervously, lowering his cup. “I’ve been busy, with the election coming up and work to be done.”

Thea politely nodded, “Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“Excuse me?”

Thea took a sip before speaking. “One cannot take care of others if they cannot take care of themselves.”

Wilbur stared at her bewildered as Thea elaborated, “I get it, being president is stressful and there are ton of things to do and think about. But you don’t take care of yourself, you won’t be able to take care of anyone else; much less a country.”

The man in front of her ran a hand through his hair, resting his arms on the table. “You do make sense, but there’s a lot you don’t know. From the start, we fought for our freedom and our country but then once it was over, my control on the country has been slipping. Losing this election would make our effort for naught.”

Thea let him speak on and on, silently encouraging Wilbur to drink and eat the snacks. Soon they were finished as Wilbur sighed, leaning against his chair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t plan on-“

“I’m a new person, I literally know nothing or anyone else. With the election soon, whatever you say to me won’t matter either way, I won’t be able to influence any changes and it’ll be nothing once it’s over” cut in Thea, “So, don’t worry about it.”

Wilbur stared at her bewildered and he was only met with a straight-face. It was only a few moments pasted that Thea realized what she had said and her face was covered with her hands.

“Sorryyyyyyy, totally uncalled for” she groaned out.

Wilbur chuckled, “I didn’t expect you would say something like that.”

Thea removed her hands and she had a disgruntled face, “10 years of basically off the grid will mess with your social skills. Though, I haven’t considered myself to be particularly charismatic.”

Wilbur chuckled and took a sip of his remaining tea. Thea lowered her hands, about to speak when the tell-tale sign of Tommy yelling was heard.

“THEA!”

The aforementioned person stood up in her chair in a panic, eyes wide and body stiff with attention. She looked to the stairway and so did Wilbur. Tommy and Tubbo barreled down the stairway, holding her sketchbook in hand. They ran up to her and held out the open pages.

“I didn’t know you could draw!”

Thea relaxed, giving a huge sigh of relief and fell back into her chair. She had a hand on her face as she gave a nervous laughter. “Don’t scare me like that, I thought the worst-“

“Yeah, yeah-“ cut in Tommy before placing the sketchbook down on her table and flipped it with Tubbo and Wilbur looking with interest. “These are so pog, why don’t you show them more?!”

“Tommy, I will say this again and again. I literally woke up after god knows how long, I had other priorities. I haven’t exactly had time to paint either.”

“If we win the election, will you draw portraits of Wilbur and I?!”

Wilbur placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, scolding him. ��Tommy, you can’t just ask her to-“

“Sure.”

They all looked at Thea who had a thoughtful look on her face, her arms crossed and back leaning against the chair. She had a thoughtful expression before she smiled at them. “But don’t get your hopes up though. It’s been years-“

“Wait, really?” gaped Wilbur.

Thea shrugged. “On any other circumstances, no. But, it has been years since I’ve properly drawn anything. At the end of it, it would be a great exercise and practice. Not to mention,” her eyes softened. “It’ll help solidify the fact that I’ve met people and interacted with them. That I was here.”

Wilbur looked at her with surprise as Tommy cheered. Tubbo tried to ask if he was included too which Thea confirmed that he too would be included. The two boys were chattering and bouncing off ideas to Thea who hummed and gave her honest opinions. Reminding them not to get too attached.

Wilbur had a small feeling of warmth in his chest and he didn’t know why. He was about to pull Tommy and Tubbo away for over-staying her hospitality when there was a large growl.

Everyone turned to Wilbur, whose ears turned red and Tommy gawfed, ready to make fun of the president when his own stomach betrayed him. It was Tommy’s turn for his ears to turn red and Tubbo was about to laugh and it started a domino effect.

Thea choked a bit before she let out a laugh, wheezing and everyone turned to her as she was slamming her hand on the table and knee, before keeling over and continued to laugh. They all watched in awe and concern as the girl continued to laugh and fall onto the ground, holding her stomach.

“What are the odds- HOLY COW” choked out Thea in laughter as she struggled to get back on her feet. “I…the ODDS!”

Tommy gawked at her and started to protest. “Hey, hey, stop laughing!-“

Thea snorted as she shakily made her way to the kitchen. “I…I’m going to get… *SNORT* Just sit down, I got it-“ she continued to laugh, forcing herself to stop as she slammed her head against the wall to force herself to stop.

Tubbo giggled before he went to help Thea who was wobbling due to the lack of oxygen.

Wilbur ran a hand over his neck bashfully as Tommy groaned, muttering to himself. Soon, they were all gathered around the table as plates of food were offered. They all dug into the soup, bread, and meats that were offered.

All three of them dug into their food and Thea couldn’t help feel that her suspicions were right on that they weren’t really taking care of themselves. She absently mindedly noted to keep her food stores stocked in case these shared meals were going to be frequent.

As dinner was wrapped up, Thea asked Tommy and Tubbo to help feed her wolves and check on the farm. The two eagerly dashed away from escaping dish washing duties. Wilbur rolled up his sleeves and politely helped Thea clean up the table and take them to the kitchen.

Thea washed the dishes after thanking Wilbur, offering him another cup of tea. The man leaned against the nearest window seat, watching outside where he saw Tommy and Tubbo running around outside, partly doing Thea’s request while also playing. Fenrir and Lupa accompanying them.

Everything was peaceful and Wilbur didn’t know when he last felt so close to contentment. At peace. His eyes were tired and he quietly realized he wasn’t taking care of himself.

He sipped his tea when he heard a soft melody. His ears prickled at the noise, his musician side of him instantly intrigued.

He found his legs walking quietly towards the source of the music and over the corner, he saw and heard Thea singing. It wasn’t a full song nor was it perfect. It was a mixture of singing of lyrics and hums when she didn’t remember it. Her voice cracked every so often but Wilbur knew those were from the lack of warm-up.

Wilbur found himself drifting off, eyes closing to focus on the singing and then there was peace for a moment.

Thea had finished washing up and walked out of the kitchen, drying her hands as she did. She went to check on Wilbur, half-expecting him to have walked back to L’manburg with the boys.

Instead, she saw Wilbur slumped against the nearest place. She stiffened and checked on him, noticing his eyes were closed, with soft breaths rhythmically. The teacup loosely wrapped in his hands that threatened to spill if any more loose.

She stared at Wilbur, bewildered on how he was sleeping there before she thought what to do next. Waking him up was definitely out of the question, remembering how tired he was, and begun to think if she could move him.

She looked at her hands, flexing them as if it would tell her how strong she was.

A moment and two passed before she took in a deep breath and further rolled her sleeve up. She bent down and took the cup away, moving it to the side somewhere before slipping her hands under him.

She paused, readying herself, before slowly but surely lifted Wilbur. He was much, much longer then she was, so she had to balance him while her arms strained. She held him up for a moment, seeing if he would wake up but the soft snores reassured her.

Sighing in her mind, Thea walked to the stairway, just as Tommy and Tubbo had come in. They looked at her bewildered, mouths wide open with shock. She ignored them, figuring they would follow her or stay there. She didn’t care as she had bigger problems.

She reached the bedroom floor, noting the green and red beds already there with her pink one. She went to her pink bed, carefully depositing Wilbur into it and drew the blanket, tucking him. The person now occupying her bed was unaware and undisturbed. If anything, he snuggled further, sighing in content.

Thea smiled and had her hands on her hips, taking a moment to breathe. She could lift someone to bed, but barely.

She turned to the stairway to talk with Tommy and Tubbo, but saw their heads peeking out of the stairway. She rose an eyebrow but gestured to their beds, hoping they got her question.

They all nodded and quietly but quickly made their way to their beds, taking off their outer clothes and armor before slipping in. Thea hummed, checking on them if they were settled (while absentmindedly tucking them in further and patting their heads) before closing her home.

When she was sure the place was secure, her wolves followed her as she took off her armour and placed a blue bed near the others and slipped into bed. Her wolves cuddled around her as she sighed, eyes heavy with sleep.

She listened to the room, hearing Tubbo and Tommy’s breathes starting to settle and Wilbur’s soft snoring. Thea closed her eyes, feeling sleep pull her in. Before she let the darkness claim her, she spoke.

“Good night, sweet dreams.”

The boys muttered back quietly and Thea fell asleep, the darkness no longer silent but simply, quiet.

<Next Chapter>

[glacecakes]

Alchemy Lullaby (12/?)

Of all the changes that came with living in the castle, becoming a father was not one he anticipated. When Eugene encounters a small child suffering like he did, he gives them the opportunity to grow up the way he never did… helping them both heal. (AU where Varian is 4 and gets adopted by Eugene)

Rapunzel, Eugene, Cassandra, and Quirin travel to Old Corona. There, they learn about the past, in more than one way. In which Quest for Varian is actually a quest about Varian.

Read the rest on AO3

hi! Uh. I took the week off cuz my cat died but now we're back on track. Quest for Varian rewrite time! This thing was a monster to hammer out, I kept rewriting scenes and dialogue and blah blah blah but IM HAPPY WITH IT!! A MAJOR thanks to @space-butterflies and @finnoky for helping me with this!

PLEASE if you enjoy this fic leave a comment and like!! It gives me the strength to keep going. And to not focus on my schoolwork haha im a grade below average rip

Maximus’ footsteps trotted one after another, a steady beat in time with Rapunzel’s anxious heart. Cassandra sat by her side, unflinching as ever, but the storm in her eyes said more than enough. So did the bouncing of Eugene’s leg. It was clear as day: they were all terrified. 

“Old Corona is just over this hill,” Quirin muttered, slightly uncomfortable. 

He’d hoped that his words would soothe his companions but it only seemed to irk them more. Rapunzel let out a sharp inhale, biting her lip. A war raged within her mind. She didn’t want Quirin to know the truth; a part of her wanted nothing more than to protect the small child she’d come to see as her own. But it wasn’t fair. He’d been so confused when the princess showed up with grim company. 

She locked eyes with Eugene. He nodded, resolute yet anxious.

Gripping her dress, Rapunzel spoke up. “Quirin, I really appreciate you letting us come with… you should know that, the rocks, they’ve been… reacting. To me. And to a few other people.”

Quirin kept his face impassive but inwardly, he was letting out a massive sigh of relief. So it wasn’t just Varian, no, it was a few people! Thank goodness! He’d been hesitant to bring it up, to confirm that Varian had power over the rocks, but her words made it seem more like the rocks respond to strong emotions in general. And Varian was an emotional child, swinging from sweet to sour to sad. Of course the rocks would react to a child’s emotions, then. Thank goodness!

Never mind the fact that they never worked like that before.His previous theory was definitely wrong, there was no way Varian could have the moonstone! Even if he looked a lot like Ulla, with his big blue eyes and button nose, and he had her curiosity and penchant for mischief… 

The princess’s eyes wandered, trying to find words. “I thought you should know that… stop the cart!” She cried. Max jolted to a stop, nearly sending Cassandra crashing into Eugene. Clear as day, across the path, a single spike protruded from the earth. The party stepped out of the wagon to approach. 

“My dad told me all of the black rocks had been removed…” Rapunzel frowned. She went to brush a hand against it, but decided at the last second not to. There was no use in causing an explosion. All eyes turned to the knight, the apparent expert on the rocks. 

Quirin fidgeted uncomfortably. “We may have… missed one?” Truth be told, this rock wasn’t there last time he visited. And that was last week! How had the situation changed so much in such a short time? 

“Um…” Cassandra said, pointing to the village ahead. “Try one hundred.” 

Old Corona was covered in rocks from head to toe. Nearly everywhere you looked, a rock took up some of your vision. Each house had at least one spike cutting clean through it, and the whole village seemed duller, sucked of life. Bleak as winter, a shadow loomed over everything and blanketed it in eternal night.

“Do you think your father lied?” Cassandra asked. Quirin sucked in a harsh breath.

“No!” Rapunzel stressed. Her voice wavered, clearly unsure. “I trust my father, but he probably doesn’t know how bad it’s gotten.” She took one step forward, then another. Dead grass crunched underfoot. “Come on,” she mumbled.

With each new rock Eugene’s anxiety only grew. All angles were dangerous, each reflected beam of sunlight was dimmed by the obsidian rocks it bounced off of. He could feel his sanity slip like sand, each rock corresponding to a grain in an hourglass. On instinct, he reached out. Rapunzel was his rock, and she was his. They’d get through this together, figure it out side by side. But just in case, he caged her braid inbetween them. Hopefully that would prevent any disasters. 

“It’s the same story,” Quirin said sadly, brushing a hand across the rocks. His tattoo burned so hot he feared his glove would melt. “At first it’s just a few rocks… they’re a nuisance, but manageable. But then they keep growing, and growing, until the town is a maze,” he sighed. 

“And then the King comes and cleans it all up, right…?” Cassandra dared to ask, speaking aloud what Rapunzel feared. 

“...They’ve never been in Corona until now,” he managed. It would be his greatest challenge, sitting in the middle of two royals fighting. One, a King determined to keep his people from panic. Another, a princess who wanted answers. 

He wasn’t sure if either person would be satisfied by today’s end.

“They didn’t show up in Corona until… I did.” Rapunzel muttered. “There’s no question now, these rocks… they hold a secret, and, and somehow- we’re connected to it...” Her eyes shook as she was lost in memory. The use of we was noticed by everyone; each member of the party glanced around to see if they’d made the connection, but no one spoke. 

“And maybe we’re… even responsible for it.” 

Eugene’s normally smiling and charming face filled with solemn grit. His voice deepened as he spoke. “What do we do now?”

“If I may,” Quirin cleared his throat and stepped forward. “I have an… old friend who researched the rocks a while ago. I entrusted her with a graphtyc that may have some answers.”

Princess and boyfriend locked eyes. That could only be one person...

“I’m sorry Eugene, I know you don’t want to be here. But we need to find that graphtyc, so that’s what we’re gonna do.” Rapunzel said.

At first the ex-thief was silent, and his face impassive. But slowly, it broke into the faintest of smiles as he grasped her hand. Their foreheads touched together briefly, and Rapunzel melted into his warmth. Their fight from the other night was still fresh in her mind, seeing as it was the only real fight they’ve ever had. Neither of them had been particularly wrong, but they both knew it was time to put personal discomfort aside. 

For Varian.

For their son. 

Quirin and Cassandra stood to the side. When a figure rushed by, they both turned, catching nothing but the wind left in its wake. 

-

The walk to the house was quiet and tense. Each wrong step caused Rapunzel’s hair to light up like a beacon, and everyone would flinch in preparation of an explosion. Thankfully, nothing happened, and they eventually reached the manor. Out of all the houses, this one was in the worst shape. Every window had a cluster of spikes protruding from indoors. A piece of roof cracked and fell to their feet. One thing was clear: the house was on its last legs, wheezing for breath. 

Eugene’s feet felt stuck to the ground, unable to take another step further. Behind this door was, supposedly, Varian’s mother. She and Gothel tied for his least favorite people in the world, but he couldn’t help but also feel grateful. Oh how he wished Varian had a loving mother, but because he didn’t, it allowed them to meet, it allowed for Eugene to grow and love. 

Quirin knocked steadily. He took one deep breath, then another.  

The door crept open. Its hinges screamed and rang through the air. 

And there she was.

The best and worst thing of their lives.

“Ulla,” Quirin breathed, eyes softening. Her hair was askew, like it had been thrown up. Wild eyes scanned him up and down, before relaxing ever so slightly. 

“Were you followed?” She hissed. That earned a nervous glance between party members. Cassandra glanced back; now that she thought about it, she hadn’t even seen any villagers…

“It’s just us,” Quirin replied. “Listen, we need the graphtyc, you said you’d translate it, remember?”

“Oh I remember,” she drawled. Unimpressed eyes scanned the group. Distantly she recognized the princess, her hair was unmistakable, but then, her eyes widened. “You-!” 

Eugene’s eyes flashed. If it wasn’t for the fact that they needed her help, he’d punch her square in the face. “Yea, not thrilled to see you either, can you help us or not?”

The mood shifted instantly from uneasy to flat out hostile. Teal eyes glared through him as she searched for a fifth person who wasn’t there. And probably would never be there again. 

How unfortunate. After he left it’d been so calm… for a while, anyway. Their time apart gave her space to think up some new theories and tests, too bad they’ll never be utilized. Finally, she stepped aside to let everyone in. 

A shadow loomed over the wood.

Ulla turned her nose up as they entered her lab. It was cluttered with notes collecting dust and farm tools. “I will help Quirin, but not the rest of you.”

“Yeah, you’ve helped us enough.” Eugene’s words were biting, barely contained fury clear as day. It was only Rapunzel’s hand on his chest that kept him from springing forward and tearing her to pieces. 

Out of them, Quirin seemed to be the only one happy to see her. “Thank you, Ulla.”

She gave him the faintest of smiles, before her face turned impassive again. “I’ll take Quirin to get the graphtyc. Don’t touch anything… please.” The last word was tacked on solely because Rapunzel was there. The two elders vanished up rickety stairs. 

“So… this is Varian’s old home?” Cassandra’s eyes flicked to and fro. Dust laid claim to every surface. “Seems… about what I expected.”

To her left, Eugene hummed in agreement as he trailed a finger across the table. His eyes trailed over a few of her notes. Most of them were mundane, farm reports or apple science. “You know someone should sit this lady down and have a frank discussion about the importance of having an organized, clutter-free workspace.” Well, a frank discussion about a lot of things. But that’s a good place to start. A nice, simple conversation not about Varian that wouldn’t end in a screaming match and/or murder. 

But murder was still on the table. 

Especially when Rapunzel, curious, foolish Rapunzel, couldn’t help herself. In the far corner, covered in dust, sat what looked like an invention covered by a tarp. Hesitantly, with bare feet tapping against stone, the dust irritating her nose and the smell of it thick in the air, she unveiled the invention. 

A chair, with shackles. 

Tiny, child-sized shackles. 

She let out an agonized cry and stumbled back into Eugene’s arms. It was like a hole had been punched in her chest. So this is what Varian meant when he said no more…

“We shouldn’t have come here. We should’ve stayed in the castle where we were a happy family.” She whispered, clutching tight to Eugene’s vest. 

“Come on, Raps, you don’t mean that,” Cassandra soothed. She sent Eugene a helpless glance. Regardless of how the chair was used, the implications were agonizing. 

As much as Eugene wanted the satisfaction that he was right, that she was agreeing with him, he knew deep down that it wasn’t true. 

“Sunshine,” he mumbled. “I know what I said before about forgetting all this, and never speaking to… her, but this,” his eyes drifted to the window, from which a massive rock extended. “Is way, way worse than I or anyone else imagined, and one thing has become clear.” He brushes a strand of hair from her face. “People are in danger. A lot of danger. Not just from the rocks. And the Rapunzel I know was never one to run and hide from a fight.”

No sooner had those words been spoken, the door burst open. 

-

“Is there a reason you wanted to speak to just me?” Quirin asked as soon as they walked up the stairs. “It’s rude to leave her highness alone.”

Ulla scoffed. “She’s not alone, she's with the thief.” Her words were sharp as the rocks she studied. 

Thief? Well sure, he used to be, but most people looked past that by now. He’d seen firsthand how Eugene went from a castle annoyance to maids crowding him with gossip and parenting advice. 

“You mean how he was Flynn Rider? I can assure you, he’s a very nice young man-”

“A nice young man who is harboring a disappointment!” 

The silence rang like a funeral bell. Quirin’s face dropped to neutral. God did Ulla hate when he did that; he was impossible to read. Finally, he spoke. “So it’s true. He’s yours, isn’t he? He’s… he’s the moonstone.” It was finality, the sealing of a child’s coffin. It also earned him a frustrated eye roll.

Ulla turned to her bookshelf. Let’s see… which book is it again…? “He’s not the moonstone, he’s the moondrop. Crucial difference.”

“That being…?”

“You can’t manipulate or control it the way you can the moonstone.” Quirin couldn’t help but flinch at her word choice. “The translated incantations will only work if he says them. Which renders him useless to me.”

More like useless to her plans, Quirin thought dryly. “So you abandoned him.” 

“He’s an experiment gone wrong. Nothing to do but scrap it and start over.” She smirked at how the man paled at those words. Finally, her fingers brushed across the book. She opened it to reveal a shining scroll case. It felt bittersweet to see so many hours of work be handed over to Quirin, but what can you do? They spent a whole year together, collecting the pieces of the scroll for translation, trying to solve the mystery and destroy the moonstone. Only fair that he gets to see their hard work completed. 

Quirin’s hand brushed against the graphtyc… but then froze. Wait. That didn’t make any sense. “Ulla... he can control the rocks…” 

“What?” It was like a bullet had gone off, Ulla’s ears were ringing that loud. That… that little brat! How long could he control his magic? Did he send these recent rocks to her… to mock her? Did he just enjoy causing her misery!? 

She schooled her face back to impassive, though the cogs in her brain were already off to the races. New theories, new experiments, if she only had a little more time with him…!

Teal eyes batted up at Quirin, who stood awkwardly under her intense gaze. 

She opened her mouth.

-

From the splintered doorway, a large man stepped forward. His face was hidden behind a masked helmet, a black cloak trailing his red coat. He held out a gloved hand. “Hand over the graphtyc.”

Eugene growled, stepping in front of Rapunzel and shielding her. “Who is that?” 

“Doesn’t matter, I got him!” Cassandra cried. She charged at the man, skidding under his legs up and around him. She grabbed his staff and pinned it against his neck. The man huffed, grunting against her weight, before throwing himself forward and sending Cassandra flying. She landed on the table with a thud, sending notes and chemicals every which way. One chemical turned to goo the moment it hit the floor, trapping papers underneath.

Aha!

Rapunzel grabbed a spare of it, and with all her might threw it at the attacker. In a flash of pink smoke the man’s legs were trapped in place. 

“Go go go!” Eugene cried, grabbing Cassandra off the floor.

“What about Quirin!?”

“No time! He’ll just have to catch up!” 

The door to the house flew open with a bang, nearly shattering as they ran past. Each rock lit up a vibrant blue the same color as Varian’s hairstripe whenever Rapunzel ran past. 

“I don’t know how long we’ll have before that guy breaks out, but-” Rapunzel’s voice was cut off, gasping as a masked man stood on the other side of the rocks. How…? 

“Clearly not long!” Eugene cries, and they turn, only to come face to face with the same mask. “How fast is this guy?” Finally, they break out of the rocks, outside the village. With huffing breaths, the party came face to face with several identically dressed men; the masks crowd them, filling their very bones with dread. “Oh, that explains it.” 

“Hand over the graphtyc,” the chant is repeated over and over, each man taking a turn to say it. Never mind the fact that they didn’t even have the damn thing because Ulla wanted to speak to Quirin about god knows what.

Not a moment later than the thought had come and gone, Quirin manifested from behind the Princess. His large, hulking form easily towered over the men, and it took only a few punches for each masked man to topple. 

A neigh bounced around the clearing, its sound ricocheting off rocks, and Max galloped in carrying a frying pan in his mouth. Combined, the two defeated the small battalion in under a minute, before the young adults even had to lift a finger. 

“Sorry,” Quirin whispered to one of the guards before knocking him to the ground. 

“Max! Quirin! Oh you couldn’t have come a second sooner!” Rapunzel gasped as she and the others ran over. It was a tight fit to get them all on Max, but he was a big horse, and Rapunzel could sit on Eugene’s lap if needed. 

“Do you have it?” The princess’s eyes lit up when Quirin produced a small trinket. “These guys want whatever that is pretty badly,” it was an odd game of telephone as Quirin handed it down Max and to Rapunzel. “And something tells me we won’t make it back to the castle.” 

Quirin opened his mouth to argue, but Eugene cut him off. “She’s right! We need somewhere to hide and come up with a plan.”

“No, I don’t think we really need to-”

“I know just the place!” Rapunzel spurred Max faster as Quirin sighed in defeat. 

-

It wasn’t a far ride, just a trip down a cliff and then some, but soon enough they were at a small alcove covered in vines. 

“Man, this is terrible.” Eugene muttered to himself.

“I know,” Cassandra sighed. “Those men are following us.”

“No, I was talking about my vest. But yeah, that’s bad too. Rapunzel, are you sure this place is safe?”

She snorted. Safe? Hidden? This place was the most hidden spot in all of Corona for 18 years. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize this place!” With a flourish, the vines peeled back, and she faltered. “Actually… I’m not sure I recognize it either.” 

Her tower. The place she once called home. Now surrounded by spikes.

Night falls, and with it comes a moment of reprieve. Eugene gladly gave Max a tour of the tower; well, as much of a tour as he could. “And this is where I died!” He said, proudly pointing to a spot of blood on the floor.

With a jolt, Rapunzel recalled an incident from the other day. Eugene had told Varian a watered down story of how they met, and where Rapunzel’s hair came from. The toddler had been so upset to hear that Rapunzel had been locked away for so long… was his anguish subconsciously causing rocks to appear in places he’d never been? 

The other three humans sat together, fidgeting with the graphtyc. “It sounds like there’s something inside…?” Rapunzel held it up to Cassandra’s ear. They both glanced over to Quirin, who opened it with a crack. Inside sat an unassuming piece of paper. Or rather, it was unassuming until he pulled it out.

The scroll was torn in half, with only two columns visible; one had a sun dripping down onto a flower, the other, a moon onto rocks. Strange characters covered the columns, with fresh pencil markings scribbling all around them. 

But before Quirin could explain, Eugene cried out from where he stood at the window. “Guys… we have a problem. Or rather, many problems. Masked problems.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding!” Rapunzel gasped. “How on earth did they find us!?” A fire lit in her eyes, the likes of which her father had tried to smother earlier in the week. “These guys just ticked off the wrong princess. I came here for answers, for a solution, and by god we are going to get it!” 

Quirin rubbed his shoulder, trying to hide his flinch at the word solution. “What will you do, your highness?” 

She didn’t respond at first. Instead, she stalked forward, letting her braid fall loose. “I’m letting down my hair.” The intensity of her voice took them all off guard; Eugene hadn’t heard her that angry in a long time, not even during their fight. 

It was the righteous anger of a protective mother. 

Her hair brushed against a spike, causing it to glow brighter and brighter, even more than the stars in the sky, then the moon, and even the sun. A shockwave sent the masked men flying away, their backs hitting cliff walls. Quirin had to grip onto the tower windowsill in order to stay upright; Cassandra and Eugene weren’t as lucky and were thrown backwards. 

Then, as fast as it started, it stopped. All was quiet, all was still.

Elsewhere, a small child fell to the ground as a blinding headache racked his skull. He shrieked, startling his babysitters.

A new rock sprouted. Then another. Black obsidian punctured the tower. Before they could even try to escape the rocks grew up through the stairwell leading outside. 

“Up there!” Cassandra cried, pointing to the skylight. “That’s the only way out!” 

With one massive throw, Rapunzel formed a rope for everyone to climb, onto the roof and into the night.

“I don’t understand… I thought you said this was dealt with?” Rapunzel bemoaned to Quirin. He winced. On the one hand, he never said anything, her father did. On the other hand…

“It wasn’t like this when I visited last. There were a few rocks, but-”

“Hang on, you lied to us? You were lying this whole time!?” Cassandra butt in, eyebrow raised. She wasn’t nearly as matronly as Rapunzel, if she had it her way Varian would’ve been shipped off to an orphanage, but she was still fond of the little tyke, and she sure as hell didn’t want him blamed for this mess. 

“Well, yes, but-”

“And what happens when the village is overrun? You never finished that story from earlier!” Eugene added. “Is this it? It chases everyone out?” 

“Can we maybe discuss this on land!?” The man cried. There were more important things, like not getting impaled as the tower roof collapsed! 

Blue glow now shone in tandem with the yellow of Rapunzel’s hair. She frowned, weighing her options. “Guys, there’s only one way down. I think I have a way out, but it’s a little crazy, so you’re just gonna have to trust me!” 

Eugene flinched, grabbing her hand anxiously. He had no idea if he could trust her, even though he loved her dearly. He needed to live, now more than ever! He needed to keep his son safe! If these men were after them just for the graphtyc, imagine if they found out about Varian! 

The tower buckled, sending them all into a heap. Never mind, not the time to debate! “Uh sure, let’s go for it. I’m up for anything at this point.”

With that, in tandem, they all lept off the tower as a glowing sphere that rivalled the sun engulfed them, a sea of gold soft as a pillow yet strong as a diamond.

The ground was soft at their feet. 

“Are we all seeing this? Is that new!?” Cassandra laughed, ecstatic that they survived. But Rapunzel paid her no heed. She could only watch as her first home crumbled and shattered before her eyes. Dust flew in every direction. A deep, wicked part of her wanted to run home and yell at Varian, blame him for her loss. But she couldn’t. He was a child, and she’d be no better than Ulla. 

Besides, he and Eugene were her home now. 

That didn’t stop her from shedding a tear, though. 

Eugene placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you ok?” She shook her head, and wrapped him up in an embrace. “I will be.”

“Uh guys?” Cassandra said. “Look.”

From the wreckage, the masked men slowly shook themselves out. Only, they were not masked anymore. One man’s helmet laid shattered beyond use as he slowly lifted his head up. 

Cassandra’s eyes widened. “Pete?” she gasped. A quick glance around showed that all of them, slowly standing up, were members of the guard. 

“Princess, forgive us…” Pete said. “We had orders to recover the scroll before you.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits. “From who?” 

The man hesitated. Then slowly, a shaking finger pointed behind her… to Quirin. 

-

“Quirin,” Ulla said. “You know we weren’t able to recover half of the incantations. The one to control the rocks is still lost.”

“Because Adira still won’t tell me where it is, yes,” He grumbled. She had never been a fan of his methods, and now he could see why. 

“But we can still control them, stop them… as a family.” His eyes shot up to Ulla’s smile. She seemed nearly peaceful, if he didn’t know her true nature. 

“A family…?”

Her laugh was that of a funeral gong. “Be reasonable Quirin. Who do you think Varian’s father is?”

[flowesona]

Miasma

Setting: Renaissance Venice (1630-31)

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

TW: Graphic Descriptions, obsessive/ yandere behaviour

A/N: I’m so happy to have had to opportunity to work with the wonderful @jooniescupcakes​ on this fic in anticipation of our amazing leader Namjoon’s birthday! Please check out the version of this fic posted on her blog which has an exciting alternate ending!

The humid air of the mid-evening provided a somewhat pleasant stroll. It would have been serene, if not for the desperate cries of people fighting against soldiers. Their screams of mercy at Namjoon were ill-received, as he instead chose to avert his gaze, to see how the Venetian water rippled. He couldn’t bear to face these people, to answer as to why they weren’t going to survive. Prayers, smoking, even infecting oneself with Syphilis. Every cure people had dreamt up were based on fallacious dreams. And Namjoon hated to associate himself with such disparity, hated to see those at the lowest in society doomed to a horrific fate.

No one had thought so many would be lost once again when the plague that had last reared its ugly head centuries returned once again to Italy, causing mass panic in Milan the previous year before reaching Venice and letting Namjoon bear witness to the curse.

Yet instead of facing the hopeless souls, Namjoon tried to distract himself with the more optimistic side of things. The patients that he was about to visit had reportedly not experienced any major symptoms of the plague. Yet as he reached the entrance of the quaint ‘house’ crammed into the rest of the neighbourhood and simply reeking of poverty, there was still a feeling of dread in his stomach, that he wouldn’t be able to cure them.

Brushing all pessimistic thoughts aside he reached out and rapped on the door twice, his greeting being met with a cough and the scurrying of feet.

“Oh! Dottore! Please, come in.” A worn-out voice accompanied the face of a woman that was anything but.

“Buona sera. What seems to be the problem?” Namjoon ducked under the entrance of the shabby accommodation as he spoke, surveying the surroundings with an ever-keen eye.

“It’s… papa was spitting blood today. I was worried something was wrong.” The woman explained, leading the doctor through the cramped room into an adjacent room, occupied by a middle-aged woman dabbing at the forehead of a bed-ridden man with a filthy towel. A sight of great pity, an illustration of suffering.

“Has he experienced any other symptoms?” Namjoon went to place his surgical bag on the floor but had second thoughts upon seeing the blood and spit dotted around, instead cautiously placing it on the stained sheets with a grimace. There was no doubt this family’s living conditions were integral to the patriarch’s illness, but alas Namjoon was a doctor, not a charity.

“He’s got an awful fever, dottore.” The woman sat by the bed replied, still stroking her husband’s face to no avail.

“I see. May you two please leave the room, I need to examine him.” Both women observing the scene left the room, not before glancing back at their sick patriarch and the masked stranger ready to decide their fate.

“Can you stand up? I need to examine for any other symptoms.” The wheezes and grunts of the pauper sitting up in his bed were not a good sign. But what was far worse was the sight of a buboe on his neck, previously hidden by the tattered blanket but now in plain sight for Namjoon to see. And it was not a pretty sight.

Even as Namjoon approached and used his gloved hands to tilt the chin up so he had a better view, the truth was clear. He’d caught the plague, and he was going to die in a matter of days.

“For now, rest and some herbal incense is the best road to recovery.” was all advice the doctor could give. He’d never seen such things curing the victims, but it was the most relief he could give. A placebo, blaming the bad air for the disease when there was most definitely something more to it.

He left the room with a horrible feeling in his stomach, the truth a heavyweight on his tongue.

As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, the older woman instantly standing up and letting her chair fall onto the floor as she rushed to attend to her husband.

Namjoon took the opportunity to seat himself at the table.

“I have some bad news about your father, Signorina...?” He trailed off, realising that in his drowsy arrival he’d never learnt his patient’s name.

“Y/N. What’s a wrong doctor? Please tell me it’s just the flu or-”

“I’m afraid it’s a lot worse.” Namjoon pulled the rubber mask away from his face, letting himself breathe for a second without such construction on his face. He hated the sick feeling in his stomach from having to break the news, of already knowing this young woman’s fate.

“Your father has… there’s no easy way to say this, but he has the plague, blue sickness, whatever you wish to call it.” The doctor couldn’t even look at her face in shame. “The best you can do is pray that God has a place for you in heaven.”

“Wait, What?” All at once, the barriers broke and tears started falling from (Y/N)’s eyes.

“I’m very sorry. I must be on my way.” Scraping back the chair, Namjoon stood up to take his leave, to report the case and to find some devil’s drink to cure his mind of guilt but was held back as Y/N desperately took ahold of one of his hands.

“I’ve heard the screams of the people, dottore. Being trapped like rats or burnt alive isn’t fair. Please, you can’t do this to us!” The young woman searched for sympathy in any inch of his exposed face, finding his deep expresso-coloured eyes and giving him a pleading stare.

Namjoon felt like at that moment, refusing to do something would kill him. With how Y/N hung onto him like a lifeline, as she begged for him to save her from death, he found himself opening his mouth once again.

“It would… I don’t know if I can do that. If I don’t report it, you could spread the plague through your entire neighbourhood. We have to quarantine, it’s only what’s right for the people.”

“Since when did you rich people ever give a damn about ‘the people’?” There was a strange sense of familiarity in seeing Y/N sniffing as she spoke and the emotion behind her words, something that the doctor couldn’t quite place his finger on. Regardless of his strange nostalgia, he felt some strong feeling stir in his chest for change. He truly felt that he couldn’t just sit back and let this poor girl die.

“I… I know this is unorthodox but I could get you out of here. I’ll pay for a carriage and you can go to a better place in the country.” There was still some gnawing part of his conscience begging him to do more, but he pushed it down.

“And my family? Will there be help for papa in another city?” It was as if a light had been lit inside Y/N’s eyes and the strange feeling of nostalgia crept up on Namjoon, almost like deja vu.

But her hope was not long-lasting.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. He’d die on the journey, and there’s a high chance he’d die on the journey. The only way for you to guarantee your survival is leaving, and letting fate take its course.”

“But there must be something you can do! Some cure, some treatment you must have heard of, we’ll do anything. If you’re worried about the money...I’ll find a way to get it. Please, please help him.” Namjoon quietly watched the female plead, wondering how to appease her.

“I’ll see what I can do. There’s no guarantee for his life, I won’t promise you anything.” With a short and tense farewell, he slips on his mask and leaves the shaky house.

Namjoon looked up at the dark night sky, the twinkling stars laughing down at him at them, at all the people of Venice. Who else was looking at the same sky? How many were crying under the black blanket, which provided no warmth or comfort, as yet another loved one fell? The world saw this sight, but only Venice suffered so much under it.

If he kept staring at the warm glow of the full moon, maybe the cries would stop echoing. How long were they to suffer?

Then, his mind wandered to other things. The young woman, whose father he had just visited. It was understandable as to why she wanted him to keep quiet, but was it foolish of him to have surrendered? He had been hit with a wave of something, depressing but familiar, as he watched her pretty eyes. He struggled, even with all his knowledge, to put a name for it, and diagnose it.

He could, no, he should tell the authorities about her father, as it would prevent the spread of the plague. But this secret arrangement could also benefit him, it could be a way for him to experiment and possibly find some cure for this devastating problem.

He noticed his mansion on the horizon and picked up his pace, secretly eager to get home. The tiring job of trying to help people, only to watch them die, exhausted him and upset him. What was the point of being a doctor that could only give empty promises and bring news of death?

Unlike the streets he had just left, he lived in a cleaner and more quiet part of the city. Everyone here was swimming in money, but that didn’t make them any less of a target to the fatal and consuming plague. Many of the children stare from their windows, his large and strange mask attracting curious gazes and hushed whispers.

He had watched many people die, captured by the officials and burnt alive or, if they were too slow, the plague finished them off first. Namjoon had gotten used to the feeling of sadness, anger and disappointment, at this point, after all the deaths he had supervised, it was numb, part of a mundane routine. The thought of the young girl, looking at him like he owned the world like he could change fate, brought back these long-buried feelings in an unprecedented crashing wave, along with something else, unidentified.

———————————————————————

It was another messy evening, the blank sky ignorant to the screams and cries below. All the days blended together with the same sight, the same words, the same end. Namjoon was walking down the familiar path he took just a day ago, equipped with a new idea and a stronger determination. However, there was no certainty for success.

He walked up to the run-down house, glancing over the cracks he had missed in his rush during his last visit. He eyes the cracking paint and dirty windows, the tattered curtains not doing much to shield the inside. He slowly stepped up to the old, wooden door, sharply rapping at it thrice. He waited for a second, and the door swings open, the delicate female mumbling a small welcome with worry evident in her face.

“I...thought of something...to help with the buboes,” he glanced over to see her perked up, watching him intently, “it might not work, and it will surely hurt like hell, but its the best I have"

He curiously observed her changing emotions, happiness at first, hope glimmering in those twinkling eyes, mouth trembling, then disappointment, gravity tugging at the corners of her lush lips, eyes downcast. Finally, the last shine of determination, stronger than the soldiers lining up on the streets, brighter than the shine of the glaring sun.

It was that burning determination that made him remember.

Remember when he first fell in love with the sweet, pretty girl from his childhood.

The sharp jab of the nostalgia, the sudden waves of memories crashing against his confused mind, it was all confirmed when he caught sight of a small toy. It was old, blue and green patches on it, once bright, vibrant coats of fresh paint. It was a small dollhouse, although not in good condition, he noticed the shiny symbol, a logo of the best carpenter in the country. The door to the expensive creation was slightly open allowing little light and peeping eyes through, though it was not furnished. Maybe the fragile pieces had gotten lost over time, but the overall image was still obvious.

He bought that dollhouse, he gifted it to someone, his first love. It was a one-of-its-kind house, unique as every individual star. And it was expensive. Far too expensive for a family like this to even dream about. When he looked back at the female, lost in her own thoughts, he found himself observing her features; the familiar curve of her nose, the shape of her eyes, the plush lips.

Everything came back to him.

Those memories from years ago, when they were both ignorant, young and in bliss. Nothing mattered except themselves. He never knew how much her family struggled to put food on the table, and he never understood why she kept trying to return the gift. When he offered to get her a different house, she refused frustratedly, breaking into tears.

His parents had to explain to him what she was too embarrassed to say; that she wasn't as rich as them. She was poor, living at the bottom of the city's trash, and that was why she always wore the same dresses, and why she never had any toys.

Her family couldn't afford any luxuries. In short; they were completely and extremely different to everyone but themselves. He was born into a prestigious family, money raining down on him, and she had to crawl past scraps to survive.

Namjoon was appalled at the truth. He was angry that he couldn't figure it out by the subtle words and the obvious visuals. He didn't realize how much money, or the lack of it, affected them and their relationship. No matter what, society, with its cruel and cold hands, ripped them apart and forced them to stay away, each succumbing to their fate, only having the memories to hold on to.

"Y/N?" Namjoon forces out.

The female looks confused. Why did he suddenly call her name? And why did he look so shocked?

Inside, a cry of pain shatters the moment, and once again, Namjoon is forced to remember what he is here for. The patient, her father.

“I- maybe you should see my papa first,” she mumbles, gesturing towards the door, “thank you for coming again, dottore.”

Namjoon is once again escorted into the bleak, cramped room, a pungent odour drifting in the room. The closed window indicated that it came from within the room itself, though the doctor didn’t want to find its origin. The condition in which the patient, whose health was as fragile as a thin piece of thread, was terrible. He carefully navigated through the cluttered room, placing his bag with care onto the sheets, stained with yet another unknown symptom.

“I have come with a possible solution,” he spoke slowly, watching the way the older man coughed, scrambling to sit up, “but it will hurt, and it will not be a pleasant sight. If you wish to be cured, then sit quietly and bear the pain.”

“Y/N,” the man calls, waiting for the young woman to come running, “hold his legs tight, and do not let him go. I fear that in his painful struggle, he might strike me.”

She nods, holding onto her father’s scrawny limbs tightly. They watched silently as the doctor reached into his bag to pull out a needle, and a matchstick. He lit the small stick with a swift tug of his large hand. He carefully held the needle’s sharp point, letting the hot flames lick it hungrily. After a few moments had passed, he brought it towards the sick man, carefully aiming towards one of the large, nasty buboes, and shooting towards it with impeccable speed. His patient let out a silent cry in pain, tensing his arms more as hs daughter winced at the disgusting splatter of discoloured pus. This action was repeated again a few more times at all the bulging, taunting buboes on his thighs before moving on to the ones on his neck and groin.

The tiring and painful process took a couple of hours, and when it was done, Namjoon felt a sense of rushing relief. He left the room, reminding the patient to have a good rest. Back in the living room, he met Y/N, who was still curious about the earlier incident.

“You...don’t remember?” he asked.

The girl shook her head before offering him a drink in a cup, chipped away at the edges, “what am I supposed to remember?”

“I gave this to you...many years ago,” he carefully picked up the old toy, feeling the layer of dust that had settled on it.

“Namjoon?” Her eyes were wide open, gaping at him as he calmly smiled back, dimples showing.

“I admit, I didn’t think our reunion would be in such an uncanny situation, much less one so drastic. Have you been well?” He wonders what she was thinking about.

“I-things haven’t really changed much,” she says, eyes focused on stirring her drink, “but I see you’ve reached the stars.” her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

Reached the stars. He knows what she was trying to imply by the line, but he also knew what he wanted to tell her. I reached the stars for you. The words are left unsaid, but the thought of it lingers. After finding out her distraught financial situation, Namjoon had pledged to earn a lot of money and save her from the horrible life she had grown up in, he worked hard to be able to provide for her, and spoil her. However, cruel circumstances had them torn apart.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it. Look, tesoro, I missed you, really, I didn’t think I would ever see you again after what my parents did.” He reached forward to grab her cold hands in his, enveloping the smaller fingers in warmth.

“But you understand why they did it,” she whispers, tugging her hands out of his grasp, “there’s no wa-”

“Who cares what everyone else thinks? There’s always a way. I haven’t forgiven them for what they did, but they certainly paid for it.” A gleam of something flashes in his eyes. Insanity, the female recalls. She remembered Namjoon’s streaks during their childhood. The same look would be in his eyes, and after, a moment of unfiltered feelings, terrifying, maddening actions. Although she couldn’t remember all of it, she did remember a time where he found sickening, sadistic satisfaction in dissecting a live animal. A small, pure creature, he had ripped apart.

“Can we just talk about something else? How long have you been a doctor?” She quickly changes the subject and they go on chatting for hours.

As night falls, the full moon peeks out playfully at the sombre city. Namjoon is walking down the streets, a giddy smile playing on his lips. He’s ecstatic after reconciling with his love. He’s even happier to know she hasn’t changed much, and still possess the same little quirks. The way her eyes light up when talking about something she enjoys, or her nose scrunching in disgust, her animated chatter had sent him to Cloud 9. He knew, that she was still so perfect, just for him. All that was left was to cure his father-in-law and impress him, winning his daughter’s hand in law.

Another joyous chuckle escaped his lips, slowly turning into maddening laughter. 

On the streets of Venice, there was not a more terrifying sound.

Namjoon worked tediously all night to make a cure for his newest patient. Although he had nothing to rely on, he had a theory that cleansing the buboes with a salve would help stop the plague spreading at the least. His salve was made of fresh honey and garlic, pounded and mixed well until it made a smooth paste. The smell was strong and sharp, but it was worth a try.

After packing the salve and putting it in his bag, he once again set off on the familiar path towards the house he had been visiting for the past few days. Seeing the girl greet him at the door made him more inspired to cure the man. He once again warned the man that the paste might sting or burn, before getting Y/N to hold him down again. Slowly, with steady hands, he applied the salve to where the buboes previously used to be.

It was a tiring process, the only sound coming from the whimpers escaping the older man’s mouth. A thin layer of sweat had formed on Namjoon’s forehead, as well as the two other occupants of the room, but with no proper ventilation, it was expected. At the end, he was more than happy to leave the congested room and into the less cluttered living room, where once again, a hot drink was waiting for him.

“Dottore, will he be alright?” the voice came from Y/N’s mother, anxious for his reply, “I can’t promise you anything. The results may take a day to fully show. I will see you then. Buona Sera,” he nodded to both ladies, his gaze lingering on the younger female.

———————————————————————

“Ciao, Namjoon.” The greeting from Y/N’s mother was a heartwarming one. She looked positively uplifted by his presence, hope shining in those starlit eyes that he loved in her daughter.

“Ciao, how are things?” The small abode had started to feel like home once again, as it had in those precious childhood years. Most would call the temperature stifling, made worse by derelict wooden walls, yet there was something comforting and cosy about the house. Maybe it was just knowing that Y/N was in the other room that made him feel so content even in such a bleak setting. Yet simply being there was not enough.

“My husband is well on the road to recovery thanks to you! I don’t know how we could possibly repay you, but rest assured we will find a way.” Namjoon hummed in response as he removed the protective rubber mask, the essential part of his uniform that he hated greatly, from the sickening scent of the herbs hidden in the ‘beak’ to the way it stifled him with heat.

“That’s what I actually came here to discuss. Is he awake?”

“Oh! Yes, yes, he should be.” The matriarch stuttered, feeling some intensity to his words that subconsciously brought shivers down her spine.

The doctor simply turned on his heel and entered the smaller room, immediately catching sight of Y/N by her father’s side. A smile worked itself onto his face seeing how everything was laid out perfectly for his plan to work.

“Signore L/N, I’ve been told you’re making a speedy recovery.” The two occupants of the room finally noticed their visitor, and with the way Y/N looked at him with a smile of joy plastered across her angelic features he was hook, line and sinker.

“Yes, yes.” The patriarch nodded to the best of his ability, giving Namjoon ample view of his neck to see the neatly dressed wounds were still in perfect condition.

“So, would it be possible for us to discuss the payment?” Seeing the discussion unfold, Y/N excused herself to assist her mother with the cooking of a hearty celebratory meal for the family.

Namjoon seated himself on the derelict stool previously occupied by Y/N, clasping his hands together nervously yet also in an intimidating move.

“I am in love with your daughter, signore. She is my everything, my anima gemella. I have loved her for the many years that we were apart, and I will love her for many more.”

“Well? Spit it out cucciollo, what is it you want?” His patient asked some gruffness to his voice.

“I want your daughter’s hand in marriage.” There was silence in the small room. “Living in this part of town is not right for her. If she’s my wife then I will be able to provide anything that she needs to live in luxury. Naturally, I can make sure you as her parents are-”

“No.”

Namjoon’s fist curled in anger as he persisted.

“I can give this family everything. I already have. Marriage is such a little thing to ask for when I’ve saved your life and asked for nothing else in return!”

“But I’m not going to sell my daughter off to be some noble’s plaything.” (Y/N)’s father snarled, using one weak arm to push his back straighter so he could be a more intimidating force against the doctor. “We have more pride than letting you run our lives like a puppet show, cucciollo.”

“You’ll regret this.” Namjoon left these last words hanging in the air as he stormed out, signing a death warrant for the family in his head.

As he snatched his mask up from the table, the two women in the kitchen exchanged nervous glances. The aura their doctor was exerting was simply deadly.

“Did you agree on the-”

“We’ll talk about this soon.” Namjoon’s deep voice almost sounded raspy, worn with emotion. “He isn’t able to cough up right now, but you’ll all pay soon enough.”

The slam of the door behind him was a signal of his rage. The doctor would certainly keep to his words, perhaps in a more literal sense that one would think.

———————————————————————

The loud banging on the door was a terrifying sound for the (L/N) family to hear, and soon the entrance to their fragile abode was burst open with a swarm of officers were in the home in a matter of seconds. The family of three sat up, confused and disoriented by the sudden intrusion, but this quickly morphed into horror as the patriarch was snatched up from his bed by two of the officers.

“What is happening? Unhand me, I haven’t done anything wrong!” He cried out, only to be interrupted by a deep chuckle.

“Yes you have.” The voice was familiar, and it didn’t take long for Kim Namjoon to emerge from the shadows. “You stole something from me.”

“If this is about-” The patriarch seethed, only to be stopped as the doctor held up his hand to signify silence.

“Right there officers. That dollhouse.” It was as if someone had set Y/N’s veins of fire. She couldn’t help but protest against the injustice.

“That was a present from him, from a long time ago! It isn’t stolen!” Namjoon cast his eyes on the young woman, and she once again felt the malicious power that this noble had as he smirked, shaking his head.

“You think I would gift a peasant family something so valuable? There’s no need to lie to protect your father, tesoro.”

As he spoke, his fingers traced over the faded design of the ornament, following every crack of paint until he withdrew his hand, instead beckoning another officer to take it away for him. And with that, Y/N’s father was dragged away simultaneously, his loud protests of innocence and begging of mercy becoming quieter yet still haunting the small Venetian streets.

“And what are you going to do now, tesoro?” With the emptiness of the house being quickly abandoned by the authorities, Namjoon’s voice cutting through the silence was an unwelcome shock.

“With your father in prison, there’s no way for you to earn any money to keep a roof over your head. Lest one of you get sick and you should need medicine.”

The women exchanged a look of fear. There was no doubt to the truth in his words, and knowing this only made the disparity of their situation worse. And seeing the revelation fall upon only made Namjoon prouder.

“It’s lucky I have a solution then.”

———————————————————————

Grime coated the walls of the jail cell, and rats scurried about the place as if they were the sole occupants. Yet their home was shared by a defeated older man leaning against the wall, eyes closed as if he could block out all other stimuli and just pray to god.

“See, this is no place for you tesoro.” Hearing a voice in the distance, the patriarch of the L/N family let out a moan of agony.

“Papa!” He opened his eyes to see his daughter clutching the bars of his cell, eyes wide with horror.

“Don’t touch those.” The presence of Y/N was marred by seeing the man who had put him in the awful cell in the first place. The man who, by the glimmering band on the young woman’s finger, was going to be his son-in-law.

“Papa, I’m so sorry that this happened to you. W-We’re going to see if we can get you in better living conditions, or maybe they’ll set you free. I swear, everything will be alright.” Y/N said, releasing her grip on the bars but not stepping away from the cage for a second.

“I can issue a pardon.” The L/N’s attention was diverted to the smug doctor standing behind Y/N. “But I’m not sure I’m quite ready to forgive you.”

Namjoon pulled Y/N away from her father, into his arms that trapped her in a paradoxically romantic gesture, as he pressed a kiss onto her pristine neck.

“Maybe your daughter will change my mind. But for now, we must be going.”

It was a bitter feeling to see his daughter be resigned as a mere object of the monstrous Doctor’s obsession, but the older man became distracted as his chest was captured in a wheezing fit, as when he drew his hand away from his mouth, he found spots of blood decorating it.

———————————————————————

Translations to Italian phrases used:

Buona Sera - Good evening

Ciao - Hi/Bye (a causal greeting)

Tesoro - Treasure 

Cucciollo  - Puppy (used usually by parents or to denote a rookie)

Signorina - Miss

Signore - Mister, Sir

dottore - Doctor

anima gemella - twin soul

[pastelgrungewrecker]

Scarification

{Related to/Sequel to This]

The stark realization Whirl couldn’t cry shook the household to it’s foundations. He waved away the concerns, bluntly denying worry until finally he snapped- prosthetic hands curled into fists and molten-gold eye vicious in it’s near-devilish shine.

“I’M FUCKING FINE.”

He wasn’t, but like hell would he admit it.

Perceptor watched, as he always did, while the rest of their odd family unit worried and fretted.

And then, the day came he struck.

“Whirl.”, he called out quietly, “I need a favor.”

“What, shortstack?”

“I have an appointment- it might be a bit of a rough one, and I need someone who’s going to be able to drive if the painkillers don’t wear off in time so that I can be here when the kids get home from school, if it’s no trouble.”

Whirl shrugged, getting to his feet after pulling over his boots and lacing them on, “Sure thing, sweetheart. What kinda appointment is this? It ain’t that hormone doc, is it? I still say they can suck a whole fuck-”

“No, they have since been... handled.”

“...They’re dead ain’t they.”

“Wh-No! I simply transferred my care to a better physician reccomended by Ratchet.”

“...So no one would know if they died, then-”

“YOU CAN’T MURDER MEDICAL PROFESSIONALS.”

“Can so. Anyway, what kinda appointment?”

They had argued and bickered the whole way out to the car, already on the way with Perceptor’s occasional direction before Whirl remembered his initial question. Perceptor blinked, before pulling away the patch over his eye and tucking it into his shirtpocket.

“Scar reduction.”

Whirl raised an eyebrow.

“Due to the nature of my previous injuries, sometimes the procedure becomes a touch invasive. They use various methods to reduce the size and discoloration; and in the event of my chest, on occasion must venture beneath the skin to free up my respiratory system.”

“Eh?”

“They get the spiderwebs out of my airsacs.”

Whirl snorted, but nodded.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Walking into the hospital made him tense soon after. He stayed close to Perceptor’s shoulder, squinting slightly at the doctor who met them- young, bright, but softspoken.

Perceptor spoke with them in low tones before sighing and unbuttoning his shirt. The doctor looked over to Whirl, and tilted their head with a small smile.

“Are you a friend of the patient?”

“Husband.”

The smile never changed, “Oh, excellent. Once today’s procedure is finished I’ll go over the aftercare with you, just in case! I’ve already informed Mister Drift and Doctor Ratchet.”

“Sounds good.”

They turned back to Perceptor, and Whirl’s eye narrowed. He, himself, was covered in scars; probably more that Perceptor given the... surgery he had received in his younger years.

“Mister Whirl? If you have any questions feel free to ask me.”

“Whatcha gonna do to him.”

“Today we are working on evening out the skin over his chest and checking on the healing from the last breathing issue we dealt with. He was having some issues with wheezing and tightness alongside pain and pulling.”

“Mhm, I remember.”

“I’m not sure how much of his history you know-”

“Served with him in the Wreckers, probably know more’n you.”

Something like alarm or relief was suddenly present on their face, “Oh! Oh that is excellent. May I ask you some questions, please?”

The squint continued, “Sure. But if I say I’m not answering, don’t be a shit about it.”

A confused head tilt, before realization and a pleasantly solemn nod, “Of course, sir. Do you know the extent of Mister Perceptor’s torso injuries? Finding any record on it has been... difficult.”

“There isn’t any ‘s why.”, said Whirl easily, “He was his own medic for all of it. If you need details you’ll need to contact Magnus.”

“Oh, wonderful- that will help a LOT in planning further treatment.”

A soft hiss from Perceptor, and they returned their full attention to him. Whirl watched the gentle motions, the careful way they handled Perceptor and his minute pains. And Whirl’s suspicious squint relaxed.

“Also, Mister Whirl- do you know the approximate age of Perceptor’s scarring, by any chance?”

“Kinda. Lessee... It was before Garrus 9, ‘n right after my veto...”

Whirl muttered to himself for a moment, quietly appreciating the patience the doctor showed before he was able to give a fairly close date, “Give or take a month.”

Honest gratitude shone in the doctor’s eyes, “Thank you so much! This explains quite a bit by way of how heavy the scarring is, and how widespread in the chest cavity it’s become. I’ll be sure to notify the head physician about this so we can modify your treatment.”

“Ugh, hopefully I won’t be the frog in the tin again.”

A soft chuckle, “Maybe only once or twice more; we were able to clear out quite a bit.”

“Izzat why you’ve been sleepin’ better Percy?”

“Precisely.”

“That’s good to hear! I’m sure uncle would be pretty upset if I made his old coworkers TOO uncomfortable.”

Whirl paused, “Uncle?”

A sad smile from the doctor before they bustled over to the small counter, plucking their necessities out of cabinets with some kind of muscle memory, “Yes, my uncle Sandstorm.”

“Sandst- oh. Aw geez, kiddo.”

“It’s alright! No need for the sympathy kiddos.”, they asnwered with a slight tightness in their voice, “But my uncle is why I went for becoming a medic, and went specifically full bore on this. Scars, even if they never really go away, deserve to be taken care of. Otherwise... well.”

A solemn silence fell over the room as Whirl and Perceptor quietly remembered old rules. The three D’s: Death, Dishonorable Discharge, and Dementia.

The third was always the worst, and Sandstorm’s case had been a pinnacle of suffering.

“So, now I’m a doctor- and, to be honest, I prefer to work with Wreckers like Mister Perceptor. Speaking of! You’re good for today, just some minor toning and double checking. Here-”

A small container put in Perceptor’s hand.

“This should help with the roughness of the skin around the scars themselves; and will help if there’s any peeling or inflammation. Keep them clean and use the cream you were prescribed last month and on your next appointment we’ll see how far they went.”

They turned to Whirl, and smiled, “And Mister Whirl? If you’d like my help, Mister Perceptor has all my contact information- unless you’d like me to give it to you for privacy’s sake.”

Whirl paused a moment, thinking. Perceptor seemed to not be paying attention, putting his shirt back on and swearing softly as sore hands rebelled against buttons.

Whirl nodded, and whispered, “If y’could, kiddo.”

A smile, a card slipped into Whirl’s hand, and a gentle squeeze of a steel forearm.

“See you soon, Sir.”

Soon turned out to be, ironically and quietly, the day after Perceptor’s appointment. 

Whirl swallowed hard as he was called back, greeted with the same soft smile and a gentle hand on a steel-plated arm.

“Hello Mister Whirl, it’s good to see you.”, they said with their voice calm and smooth, “Now, let’s see what we’re working with- as much as you are currently comfortable with showing me.”

“There’s. There’s a lot, kiddo.”

“I know. But I promise I’m no wallflower.”

Whirl choked and snorted at the almost kid-like grin, “Proud of that huh?”

“Sure am.”

Whirl shook his head, then began tugging his shirt from his body, up and over his head and set beside him in a mound of rumpled fabric. Some of the scars were raised, keyloidal and gnarled- but most were dips and dents in the skin.

With hands washed and gloves on, the doctor began carefully inspecting each one, asking quiet questions about pain and soreness and time and cause and simply listening- even when Whirl’s memory seemed to glitch, when he could remember the aftermath and not the reason.

“Well, we have a few options with a good majority of them. There’s lasering, which is quickest but can have some side effects and pain, there are topical treatments, various kinds of medicated lotions or creams that can be used.”

“Huh, go figure.”

“My major worry, however- Your arms and your eye.”

Silence.

“Mister Whirl, I know what they’re from. And even though I will never be able to understand the kind of pain you went through, I do need to be able to see what they left behind; I can’t change the past, I wish I could, but what I can do is make things less painful in the future.”

“....Nothin’ leaves this room, right?”

“Nope. Not even if Doctor Ratchet tried to badger me out of the info. My lips and records are one hundred percent sealed.”

Whirl chuckled. He knew Ratchet would never try such a thing but... For some reason, the promise helped.

“Watch how I detach the left, so you can help with the right, okay?”

“Yes sir.”

First, he removed the patch from his eye. He winced softly, the sudden chill of the air biting against skin normally covered. The doctor’s eyes widened, and they got to their feet to scurry over to.. the thermostat?

“I’m so sorry! I should’ve turned the heat up a little when you walked in- temperature can sometimes cause soreness in scars usually covered.”

“That why I swell up in the chilly months?”

“It can be a factor, yes.”, they said in concern, “But it can also be a sign of scar tissue reaching far deeper than it should, which is worrying.”

“Well, full eye gouging, so...”

“Mhm, that’d do it.”

Next, the arms- high tech prosthetics developed by Brainstorm in a fit of anger at the status quo. First the left, and then he nodded for help with the right. There was no pity in the doctor’s eyes, simply concern and calculation.

“...This isn’t a good look.”, was the flat answer.

“Y’don’t say.”

“See how the scarring has lumped up here, and here? And calloused over here? That will have to be dealt with or we could be dealing with some sticky problems.”

“Sticky how?”

“Sticky like pus pocket under the skin.”

“Gross- Perce has that issue with his eye socket once, some kinda skin infection.”

“Exactly. Scar tissue is just skin, but.. bassboosted.”

“...You sound like my kid.”

“Well, its a good way of putting it.”, they said with a shrug, “The thickness and uneven development is worrying to say the least- do you have any cushioning in your prosthetics?”

“Yeah?”

“May I look at them?”

“Sure, you’re the doc after all. My husband developed them- Not Perce. Brainstorm.”

The doctor began to meticulously inspect the prosthetics, “I see- would it be alright for me to contact him? The cushioning seems to be slightly breaking down, and I’d like to give him the contact of our prosthetics department to see if there are other materials available.”

“Er, I s’pose. His number’s in my phone- but after I got my arms back on, maybe.”

“Good idea.”

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Brainstorm was startled by Whirl’s sudden homecoming near dinner-hour; raising his eyebrows at the sneaky behavior his husband was exhibiting. Beating down his natural anxious reaction, he crept after him and peered around a doorframe into the... bathroom.

“Now, lessee... She said this one was for-”

“She who?”

Whirl shrieked. Brainstorm crossed his arms, hip cocked and expression flat.

“She who, Whirl.”

“My doc.”

“...Your what?”

“Perce introduced me to the doc who helps with his uh. His scars. She’ll be callin’ you, actually. About my arms. Somethin’ about the cushioning in the prosthetics, and gettin’ you in contact with a buncha medics who had other materials or whatever.”

Brainstorm’s eyes lit up, “Oh, oh really! Excellent, absolutely excellent- It was touch and go with the internal padding, I was terrified of what would happen if it broke down too far-”

Whirl blinked, hanging a towel over the bathroom mirror as he always did, “Huh, really?”

Brainstorm rolled his eyes, “Yes, dork. I love you and don’t want you in pain or sore all the time just to have the ability to flip the bird.”

Whirl fell quiet, humming his acknowledgement before pulling the patch off his eye and tucking it into a drawer, “Also, ‘M not s’posed to wear my patch all the time. Worried about temperature sensitivity and swellin’ and stuff. And they ave me some weird shit to put on the old scars on my stomach and stuff. Said it’ll help with evenin’ them out.”

“Good, you’re always in hell when winter hits and you know it. I’m glad you went and saw a doctor, Whirl.”

Brainstorm snuck in, standing on tiptoe to press a kiss to Whirl’s jaw before the phone in his back pocket trilled angrily, “Ah, what do you know- a mysterious caller!”

Whirl watched as Brainstorm answered, chatting animatedly about “developmental roadblocks” and “possible consultancy”. He shook his head, turning back to try and read the tiny print on the container in his hand..

“PERCE, GET IN HERE THREE EYES, I CAN’T SEE THIS SHIT!”

“WATCH WHO YOU CALL THREE EYES, YOU BLOODY SASQUATCH, I’LL BE THERE IN A MINUTE!” 

[lostinthewiind]

Shooting the Shit

Edward “Babe” Heffron - Band of Brothers

Synopsis: you were sure that there was no way you would have the time or desire for love in the midst of a war, but alas, a sweet, bumbling redhead from Easy Company manages to steal your heart without you even realizing it. 

@higgles123 requested some Babe Heffron fluff, and you know what? Yes! 

Speirs, the leader of Dog Company, scanned his troops with a hard stare. You were among the rows of men, waiting to either be praised or reprimanded for the latest battle the company had faced. With Speirs, it was always hard to tell if he was pleased or not, and if he wasn’t, you had better watch out.

With his hands clasped behind his back, the Lieutenant gave a simple head nod. “Good work today men.” he acknowledged, his eyes landing on you to make sure you knew you were included in the ‘men’. “Take the night off, you deserve it. Get some hot food and as much sleep as you can. At ease.”

You let out the breath you hadn’t even known you were holding in as you, along with the rest of the men, dropped your tense stance and relaxed on the spot. 

“I could eat a whole cow right about now.” your friend, Hank, clapped you on the shoulder before pushing you toward the door. “Let’s go eat before Speirs changes his mind and makes us do an evening patrol.”

“Good idea.” you smiled and pushed your way to the front of the slow-moving crowd in order to get to the mess facilities first; however, in the middle of the destroyed town you were staying in, dinner was just being served out of an abandoned pub. 

“Look what we have here.” you heard the familiar voice of Bill Guarnere from Easy Company shout. “If it isn’t Dog Company. You guys enjoy the show while we did all the hard work?”

A few of the more easily-riled guys from your group started shouting back at the cocky Sergeant, and just like they usually did when they were bored with nothing to do, they started up a verbal altercation. 

“What’s the matter?” Hank joined in, always one to love a good friendly ribbing. “Feet aching from one of your famous twelve-mile midnight marches?”

“At least I’ve fired my weapon in combat before.” Bill retorted, his eyes settling on you. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot you were too busy with that girl hanging off of you.”

You scoffed, your arms folding over your chest. “Can it, Gonorrhea.” you used his well known, and not in the least bit flattering, nickname. “I know that protruding jaw of yours is full of so much bullshit that it’s hard to contain it all, but could you just, for once, keep your yap shut and keep the garbage from spilling out?”

The men from your company let out a series of cheers and whoops at your snarky remark. You smirked, very pleased with yourself; but in all honesty, you didn’t hate Easy Company at all. There were quite a few good men under the command of Richard Winters, and although some of them could get a little rowdy every once in a while, you had also had some decent conversations with them on the rare occasion. 

Bill let out a wheeze. If anything, he was a good sport when it came to both dishing out and receiving verbal jabs. The man next to him, a taller, slender trooper by the name of Edward Heffron, chuckled as well. Edward, or as everyone called him, Babe, was one of the few Easy men that you enjoyed speaking to on a semi-regular basis.

Shooting the redheaded machine-gunner a smile, you turned and followed Hank to the food line to grab whatever warm mush was on the menu for that evening. Like you had predicted, you were unable to identify what the cook had served you, but it was hot and it was food, so you weren’t complaining too much. 

Pulling your spoon out of your breast pocket, you wiped it clean on the least dirt-covered patch of your uniform before digging in. You tried your best to swallow before tasting anything, and for the most part, your strategy did you well.

Looking up, you spotted Babe standing off by himself, his hands in his pockets and his back pressed up against the half-crumbled wall of a nearby building. Glancing back, you noted that Hank was already deep in conversation with some of the other men, so with a small shrug to yourself, you wandered over to the quieter Easy Company Paratrooper.

“Heffron.” you greeted him with a brief nod as you leaned against the cement beside him.

“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Babe?”

You chuckled a little as you spooned another chunk of what looked like potato into your mouth. “Sorry.” you swallowed the bland, and somehow simultaneously way too salty, food. “Babe. How’s it going, Babe?”

“Could be worse.” he shrugged. “Food, shelter, friends.”

“Very true.” you pointed your spoon at him to emphasize your statement. “However, I could really use a shower. I look like a stray dog and I smell even worse.”

“I think you look beautiful.”

Babe froze immediately after the words left his mouth and his face turned a bright shade of red; almost as red as his hair. You giggled a little at the compliment, even if it was nothing but a bald-faced lie. “I think you look beautiful too, Babe.” you returned his sentiment with your own, throwing in a small joke to ease his anxiety. 

“I’m sorry.” he shook his head as he buried his face in his hands. “I should not have said that. The words just kind of…slipped out.”

“Oh.” you finished off your food and set your utensils down beside you on the ground, making a mental note not to forget them there later. “So I don’t look beautiful?”

Babe’s hands dropped from his face, revealing his wide eyes. “No! You do! I mean, yes, ugh…”

“Relax.” you placed a hand on his upper arm. “I’m just fucking with you.”

Babe’s lips pulled into a tight line as he furrowed his brows at you, his face attempting to display some anger at you messing with him, but a smile replaced the feigned annoyance within seconds. His body relaxed at your minimal touch and he sighed softly.

You chuckled at the man’s concoction of facial expressions. “I like you, Babe.” you couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place using the moniker that was usually reserved for couples. “You’re a good guy.”

“You’re a good girl.”

“That makes me sound like a dog.”

“Yeah.” Babe groaned at his second verbal disaster of the interaction. “God, I’m really messing this up, aren’t I?”

You turned to him and cocked a single brow. “Messing this up?” you inquired. “Is there something going on that is worth worrying about messing up? I thought we were just shooting the shit.”

“We are.”

“Can you mess up shooting the shit?”

“You can when it’s with a pretty girl,” he explained before realizing that he had yet again given you an unintentional, affectionate compliment.  “Okay, I really need to shut up now.”

“No, don’t.” you nudged him with your shoulder and smiled up at him. “I like it when you call me pretty…and beautiful…and a good girl.”

You weren’t exactly sure when it had happened — maybe it had been during that conversation, or maybe during a previous one — but sweet Babe Heffron had stolen your heart without you even noticing. One second you just realized that he was all you could think about; the way his cheeks pinked up when he got flustered, the way his eyes lit up when he smiled, the way he treated you like you were the only girl in the world.

“Well, in that case.” Babe seemed to grow a tad more confident. “I do indeed think you are very pretty…and beautiful.”

“And I think you are very handsome.”

You enjoyed standing there, shooting the shit with Babe Heffron, but sadly, it was over before it ever really began. Hank called you over, stating that Dog Company was heading out to find a building to stay in for the night and get settled in. 

Pushing yourself away from the wall, you did a quick survey of the area before jumping up on your tip-toes and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “See you later, Babe.” you bid him farewell before starting to walk off. 

“See you later.” he blushed. 

[kusunogatari]

[ Plague || Chapter Four ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Hatake Kakashi ] [ Blood, vomit ] [ Verse: When Dead Walk ] [ Previous || Next ]

Eyes closed in concentration, Ryū starts bleeding chakra into Obito’s lungs, which continue to rattle and wheeze as he breathes. Inside his lungs, it doesn’t take much to see the fungal spores in the pockets of the organs, causing inflammation and build-up of liquid. Her brows furrow slightly. “...hm…”

“What is it?” Kakashi asks, giving her a glance.

“It’s a fungal infection,” she confirms, letting her eyes open and chakra fade as she takes time to mull that over. “...he likely got it during his little escapade outside. Soil typically houses fungal spores, and the soil here even more so given how damp it typically is. When he went digging for that rodent, and ate it without any kind of...preparation, he likely got them into his system.”

“Is it...hard to treat?”

“Not really - it will just take time.” Looking to him critically, she then frowns. “...there’s likely also spores on his clothing, and possibly under his nails, in his hair…”

“...I don’t like where this is going.”

She gives him a look hinted with exasperation. “...I can handle it.”

“Not by yourself you won’t.”

“Then don’t complain.”

“I’ll complain as much as I want.”

Checking on his anesthesia, Ryū finds Obito still suitably under, and with Kakashi’s help moves Obito back upstairs. Removing his outer garments, she simply tosses them into the hearth for Kakashi to burn with some katon - they’re so soiled even beyond the spores, she can’t really salvage them...nor does she really want to. Instructing Kakashi to find spare clothes in the guest wing, she hauls Obito into the nearest washroom. Underclothes are soon tossed through the door to be similarly incinerated, and she washes him up as best she can, given he’s pretty much utterly limp. While not completely unconscious, he’s hardly able to do more than lightly grunt every so often.

“This is what you get for eating a raw rodent,” she chides, mostly just to help herself feel better. He can likely barely register her talking, let alone understand with his brain so addled. “...though I guess it was my fault for not paying attention. Seems for all my trying to help you, all I’ve done so far is make things worse, haven’t I…?”

Obito, of course, doesn’t respond. Filmy eyes flicker toward her, but he’s too anesthetized to do anything but look.

“...I’m getting close. Just a bit longer. But first we have to clear this up, ne?” She drags fingers with soap through his hair. “You’ll feel a lot better just being clean, though...it probably won’t last. Messy thing, aren’t you…?”

“Ryū?” Kakashi gives a knock.

“Hm?”

“Found some clothes.”

“Oh...just leave them outside the door.”

“...you sure?”

“I’m being very careful,” she replies, knowing what he’s getting at. “I’d like to spare at least some of his dignity.”

“Not sure he has much of that as he is, Ryū.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” she assures him. “I’m almost done.”

Soon Obito’s rinsed and dried, and she maneuvers him into a spare set of pants and a top. The pants are a bit short, and the shirt a little big, but at least he’s not naked. Knowing they won’t be clean long, she doesn’t really care anyway. Once that’s done, they move him to the main room, and Ryū gets to work on his lungs. Thankfully fungus is easy enough to kill with the right intensity of chakra - it’s just a matter of being thorough. From there, she can use a bit of saline to wash out the lungs, and then treat the inflammation so he doesn’t keep coughing and wheezing.

Kakashi mostly just sits at the ready, just in case Obito manages to start stirring and cause trouble. But unlike before, Ryū is almost overly cautious, not wanting her lapse in concentration to cause any more harm. She checks him about every minute, carefully monitoring his levels of anesthesia to ensure he’s out enough to be docile.

Otherwise, she works on eradicating the fungal infection until she can sense it no more. Saline, drawn from a flask in her pack, is pushed through his airway to carefully sweep through and clear out the dead spores and the built-up fluid. Chakra forces the muscles to relax to avoid him coughing, and she soon tosses the soiled liquid into the hearth.

“All right...now I just need to get the swelling reduced, and he’ll be fine.”

“It’s always fascinating watching you medics work.”

“Really?”

Kakashi nods, and only after a long pause offers, “...guess it’s just quite the change watching someone put a person back together rather than take them apart.”

That earns a dry smile. “I can say the same in reverse...though not in quite such a positive way.”

“That’s fair.”

Soon enough, Ryū’s attentions come to a stop, and they both listen. Obito’s breathing, finally, is nearly silent. The healer wilts in relief with a heavy sigh. “...there...that’s much better.”

“Good work. Now...let’s get him put back in his space so I can stop being so tense.”

Ryū can’t help a humorless laugh. “Sorry…”

They haul him back down, deciding to let the sedation fade on its own. “...I’ll get back to breaking down the virus,” she offers with another sigh.

“Tedious, isn’t it?”

“You have no idea. But it’s the final step. Once I know how to break it...I can make a vaccine, and kill whatever virus remains in a patient. From there...they just have to heal. At least...so long as they aren’t too far gone. I don’t know enough to be sure when that threshold is...but I hope it’s not too late.”

“Agreed. I’ll keep an eye on him, make sure he snaps out of it okay.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the day passes with Ryū continuing to work on the virus’ code, doing her best to be diligent, and yet swift. The more time passes, the more they might lose. But nor can she rush and risk overlooking something.

The balance between the two is almost maddening.

Two more days pass in the same pattern, Kakashi monitoring Obito, and Ryū locked into a tiny, microscopic world.

...then, she finds it.

Freezing in surprise, she pauses...and double checks. Triple checks. And then...giving it a test, she introduces her modified virus to a clean cell. Watching with bated breath, she sees it latch onto the cell...and then nothing. No replication. No taking over the cell. It just sits there...useless.

...she did it.

Unable to help herself, she gives a loud scream of triumph, Kakashi almost falling over in the basement two floors below.

“I DID IT! KAKASHI, I DID IT!”

Balking, he gives Obito a glance before sprinting up to her level. “You’re sure?”

“Yes!” She turns to him with shining silvers, practically starry-eyed. “I found the right piece to modify - it can’t replicate anymore! I know how to stop it from spreading! That means I can make a vaccine!”

“...brilliant!”

Taking up a spare scrap of paper, she quickly (but neatly) summarizes her findings, calling Fubuki. “Take this to Tsunade as fast as you can. It’s the information we need for the vaccine.”

Gold eyes widen, nodding without a word and streaking out an open window.

As the owl disappears, Ryū collapses to her knees in relief, Kakashi taking one beside her and resting a hand along her back.

“...good work, Ryū.”

“...I still need to find how best to kill a virus already embedded...but that’s far easier with what I know now. The more pressing issue was stopping the spread to keep infections to a minimum. Now...we can focus on those already sick.”

“All right then. Just...take five minutes first, all right? You’re still shaking.”

“Yeah...o-okay. I just…”

“I know.” He gives a few pats on her back. “This is big. Take a moment to relax, because you deserve it. Work’s not over, but you need to run on more than fumes, hm?”

That earns a small breath of a laugh. “...yeah.”

As a break, Ryū finds her teacher and explains her findings, earning a proud rumble from the dragon.

“As is expected from one of your line,” she replies, eyes squinting like a contented cat. “Let us hope it is recreated and distributed quickly. I must wonder how this infection came to be...but for now, what matters is that it is stopped. Now you can tend to your mate.”

The word, so uncommonly used in the human regard, makes her go pink. “Right...that’s the next hurdle. But with the information I found, it won’t take long - for me, or for the other medics working on it.”

The sage nods. “Then I will keep you no longer.”

Ryū returns to the manor, allowing Kakashi to shove food at her stubbornly. “Rest, and fuel. Also water.”

“Yes, Mother,” Ryū can’t help but retort with a weary smile. The Hatake just pats her head in tandem, earning a laugh as he goes to check on Obito.

Reenergized, Ryū leaps back into her work as soon as she’s done, picking apart more DNA to find where to attack the virus. Applying chakra to any weak points, she needles it and needles it until - finally, after several hours - she feels the virus wither and die.

With Fubuki still out, she calls upon another owl, sending the intel to Konoha. And as soon as the avian leaves her arm, she heads down into the manor’s basement.

Time to finally finish this.

Kakashi looks up as she enters, unable to help brightening in hopeful question. And when she gives a weary smile in reply, he takes her shoulders in his hands, gripping them tightly in excitement. “...all right. Let’s do this, hm?”

Obito, far more energetic without the pneumonia, gives his typical tirade against the barriers. Ryū manages to reach through and relax him, urging him prone and summoning her chakra. Kakashi holds him down just in case...and she starts urging the energy into his body in just the right way to vaporize the copies of the virus within him.

It takes hours. As she goes, it keeps replicating, a vaccine not exactly viable on someone already ill. But her determination knows no bounds, and well into the night she works. Entering a sage state to pool more energy, she doesn’t move, doesn’t speak...just keeps going.

Kakashi, too, is still and silent.

Only once she’s confident it’s eradicated does she let her chakra fade, body wilting in fatigue. “...I think...I think I did it...we’ll let him rest and check him again in an hour. If there’s no further activity...I can be sure.”

“So the vaccine won’t really...work?”

“At this point, no. A vaccine is like...a training dummy for the body. You take a sample of whatever is afflicting the body, and you make it inert. The body can then approach it, and figure out a way to beat it without the illness being able to actually take root and do harm. Your immune system gets to learn how to handle it, and can therefore eliminate it if and when it actually hits. Obito’s body has already been fighting it as best it could, but it didn’t have as much time as it would with a vaccine to learn from. So it got...overwhelmed.”

“Ah...I think I get it.”

Ryū gives a nod. “Now...he just needs rest and energy to help his body rebuild what damage the virus did. In addition to me helping him along, of course. It’ll likely be a while...he’s in rough shape.”

Kakashi gives a thoughtful hum. “...it’ll be interesting to see what he says when he wakes.”

“...are you going to try to capture him?”

That earns a hefty sigh. “...in all reality, I should. He’s part of a known enemy faction. Old friend or not...he’s a traitor to our village.”

At the word ‘our’, Ryū nearly retorts...but holds her tongue. Though not her birthplace, Konoha has been where she’s lived and worked for most of her life. But in spite of that...it’s never really felt like home...for several reasons. She’s not sure Kakashi would understand, however...so she keeps that to herself. “...but…?”

“...but...I might want to hear what he has to say, first. I think I owe him that much...and he owes me an explanation.”

She nods. Given the connected pasts the pair have, she can’t help but agree to that. And a large part of her is also curious.

...but…

If it comes down to it...she’s not sure what she’ll do if Kakashi tries to take Obito in. While she doesn’t want to fight him, nor does she think she would help him. She doesn’t want to be his enemy - or Konoha’s enemy - but nor does she want Obito to get hurt. For now...she’ll just have to see how things go.

With the virus all but gone, and Obito on the mend, Ryū insists on moving him back to a proper room. “I won’t have him anywhere but a bed. I can put chakra sealing bindings on him - that should suffice. But he needs proper rest, and won’t get that any other way.”

Kakashi just shrugs and agrees, insisting that he in turn keep an eye on the Uchiha. After his escape, the Hatake is paranoid he’ll do so again. And cured or not...he doesn’t want to risk either of them getting infected.

After some sleep, Ryū uses the first hints of morning to make Kakashi and herself the vaccine, administering it once it’s properly prepared. “There...that should keep us safe, but...we’ll still need to be careful, of course.”

“Right.”

A check shows a very small resurgence of the virus, which she quickly works to eradicate. Once that’s done, the rest of her spare energy goes into undoing all of the damage the infection has done over the last several weeks. It...isn’t pretty. But patience and diligence mean that she won’t quit until the job is done, and done right. Over the next several days, she balances repair work, and ensuring the rest of the virus is completely gone.

After about three days...there’s no more sign of the infection. Ryū allows herself to slow down a bit, relying more and more over a period of two weeks for Obito to recuperate on his own. His body needs to regain its own strength, after all.

Kakashi takes most of the time to watch him, but relents to let Ryū do so in order for him to rest. Obito hasn’t truly regained consciousness as of yet, seemingly caught in something like a fever dream as his body struggles to remedy its deficits.

In the meantime, Konoha keeps up more correspondence. The vaccine came in the nick of time, infection rates growing steadily even as Hi no Kuni led the charge in quarantines. With it, new cases practically cease...and with the knowledge to kill the virus in those already infected, it seems that the pandemic is finally beaten, with only a few dozen casualties throughout the continent.

Tsunade commends Ryū’s efforts, as well as the work put in by all of Hi no Kuni’s medics as soon as the illness was discovered. With their fast action, disaster has been curbed.

In the wake of it all, Ryū requests a bit of time to remain at home to rest, which the Godaime grants. In truth it’s mostly to keep an eye on Obito...but also to hopefully recuperate after so long of constant grind.

Nearly two weeks after first beginning to treat him directly, Ryū is seated at Obito’s bedside, senses attuned to his chakra in search of consciousness, and a hand idly brushing fingers through his hair. For once, his rest is fairly calm - not broken by heavy dreams, mumbling, or twitching.

And then, as the witching hour settles over the valley...he stirs.

Ryū, snapping to attention, freezes and watches as dark eyes flutter open. She then glances toward Kakashi’s chakra signature, ensuring he’s still asleep.

“...hn…”

“Shhh...be quiet,” she urges at a whisper. “You’ll wake Kakashi.”

His brow furrows, still addled by sleep. “...Kakashi…?”

“Yes, don’t panic. He’s asleep a few rooms over. He can’t know you’re awake, Obito.”

A long moment passes where he clearly tries to put all of this new information together with a weary mind. “...he’s here…?”

“Yes.”

“...you...you called me…?”

Gently, she lays fingers over his lips, begging for silence. “...it’s a long story, and I doubt you remember anything, but...you’ve been very, very ill. What’s the last thing you remember…?”

The Uchiha goes quiet for a long moment. “...I remember...walking. I was with D-...with my partner. We were...going to…” His face pinches, trying to recall. “...then I started getting so...tired. And hungry, and...angry…”

“That was the illness. A virus that spread over the continent.”

“Virus…?”

Ryū nods. “I was on my way to another village with Kakashi as an escort when we found you by chance. You were already very sick.”

“...I...I remember a...a light...I needed to find it…”

She stills. Does he mean…?

“...ugh…” A hand lifts to press the heel of a hand to his eyes. “...it’s so blurry…”

“It’s all right. For now, you just need rest. You were ill for a few weeks, so...you’re still recuperating. You’re in my home village. My teacher and I have been caring for you, and working on a cure.”

“...cure…?”

Another nod. “Thankfully I managed to make a vaccine, and other medics found ways to kill the virus, too. It’s over, for now...so long as it doesn’t mutate. But even then, we have a head start now.”

Slowly, his expression relaxes...and Ryū allows her own to crumble. Cupping his jaw gently, she bows her brow to his. “...I was so scared I was going to lose you...I worked every spare moment to find the cure. I had to save you…”

He stares up at her, still not quite fully conscious. “...seems you did.”

“...yeah...thank the gods.”

“No...thank you. Gods had nothing to do with it.”

That earns a small, teary smile.

“So...what happened after you found me…? I can’t remember anything…”

Quietly, Ryū does her best to summarize: from Suigin taking him here, to her treatment, to his escape...to his secondary illness, her breakthrough, and then working to heal him.

A hand reaches up to cup along her back over the wound from her landing atop the chair. “...I hurt you…”

“You didn’t meant to, Obito. It wasn’t you, it was the virus. Besides, I’m pretty much healed by now. Kakashi gave me a patch job.”

By now, he’s far more awake, eyes flickering between hers. “...so...you know who I am…”

Her head bows slightly. “...I do. At least...vaguely. Your mask was gone when we found you - Kakashi recognized you, and told me the basics. Otherwise, I know very little. I...know you didn’t mean for me to find out that way, but...I’m glad to know your name.”

He sighs. “...this is going to ruin everything…”

“...you likely would have been found out eventually. I...I don’t know why you’re with that group, or what you’re trying to accomplish. And I’m not going to force you to tell me...not that I really could.” Her hand on his cheek gently strokes her thumb over his scars. “...but once Kakashi knows you’re awake...he wants the truth. And he might try to take you back to Konoha.”

“I can’t let that happen.”

“...I knew you’d say that.” She sighs, expression torn. “...I don’t know what to do. What to think.”

“...you aren’t going to help him? Even knowing what you know?”

Ryū hesitates. “...I don’t want anything to happen to you. My feelings about Konoha - about shinobi - they’ve always been...confused. Conflicted. There’s so much about them - about you - that I don’t understand. That I...can’t understand. I think about the villages...about how they all house people who just want to survive. To thrive, and...be happy. I think about how Iwa was Konoha’s enemy...how they destroyed my home...and yet Konoha surely committed atrocities against Iwa. Us and them. Them and us. Those sorts of lines were never drawn for my people. Every shinobi kills. Every shinobi thinks they’re doing the right thing. But with how countries are pitted against each other...someone has to be wrong. And I don’t know who is. Akatsuki has done terrible things...but so have the villages, even if they won’t admit it.”

She looks back to his face from her lost gaze at her lap. “...I can’t draw those lines. I can’t...I…”

“I won’t ask you to.”

“...but -?”

“At this point...I don’t know what I’ll have left to go back to. If what I wanted to accomplish is still possible,” Obito admits softly. “...and with Kakashi knowing what he knows...I have no idea how that will play out, even if I escape him. At this point...I need to regroup.”

“...I understand.”

“...will you let me go?”

Brows wilted with confliction, Ryū lets silvers flicker across his face. “...how will I explain…?”

“There was a flaw in the bindings. I overpowered you. Whatever you want to tell him. Maybe he won’t believe you…” He hesitates. “...I could take you with me.”

“...no. No, I...I have to stay here.”

“But what if he -?”

“My actions might have consequences. But if I go with you...surely that will only solidify my guilt.”

“Unless I kidnapped you.”

That earns a soft laugh. “...not sure I’m really the type to be gallivanting across the countryside with you. I’m just a medic. I’m not...I can’t…”

Obito sighs. “...I don’t want Konoha to hurt you, either. All you’ve done is care for one of their enemies. There are those in far more powerful positions who have done worse.”

“...what do you mean…?”

“...it would take too long to explain, but sometimes the lines between enemies and allies isn’t so clear...or looks different in the shadows than in the light. My point is...if Kakashi accuses you of helping me...they’ll surely hurt you. And I can’t let that happen.”

Ryū is quiet for a long moment. “...guess I can always remain a mountain hermit. Suigin-sama would have a lot to say before anyone from Konoha tried to come here and take me away,” she notes dryly.

“I don’t even want the possibility. You’re too -” A pause, unsure how to explain. “...there are so few people like you left in this world. Truly good people. I won’t let Konoha, which is far from innocent, hurt you because you betrayed a flawed system by loving someone they claim you shouldn’t.”

At that, she can’t help a somber smile. “...I’ll be all right. We’re not exactly best friends, but...I think Kakashi will understand.”

“...are you sure?”

“...yes, I’m sure.”

Obito doesn’t look wholly convinced. “...I suppose I can’t make you do anything you don’t want…”

“No, you can’t. Look...we’ll get you loose. We’ll wake Kakashi. And he’ll come in here just in time to see you escape. I don’t think he can expect me to stop someone of your caliber.”

“...is that what you want to do?”

“I think it’s what’s best. That way, he’ll have only a partial excuse - he’ll have also let you get away, whether he meant to or not.”

“...all right then.”

Moving to Obito’s bindings, Ryū ever so carefully damages one, which allows him to ‘break’ free. Standing and rubbing at his wrists, he barely catches her as she clings to him tightly.

“...be careful…” she murmurs, nuzzling against his chest.

“You too. I’ll come back eventually - check on you. If Konoha tries anything...I’ll raze it to the ground.” He parts enough to stare at her, expression unyielding.

He’s serious.

Something in her stomach twists. “...well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I’ll stay here for a while. I already have permission. Konoha can figure out the rest.”

“...very well.” Embracing her again, he presses a kiss to the crown of her head. “...I’ll see you again soon.”

“Goodbye...Obito.”

They position themselves accordingly, Obito activating his Sharingan in preparation to teleport. Ryū, once he’s ready, gives a mock cry of surprise.

As expected, it takes mere moments for Kakashi to burst into the room. And just as he does, Ryū stumbles back, Obito disappearing in a swirl of chakra.

Back pressed to a wall, she pants for false breath, eyes wide.

“...what happened?”

“He...he just…” She gestures. “...he woke up, and just...broke one of the seals. I-it must have been faulty.”

Checking the broken bindings, he doesn’t reply, instead asking, “...did he hurt you?”

“...no. He demanded an explanation, and I gave it...then he snapped the seals and disappeared.”

Turning to her, Kakashi examines her critically.

...technically, she isn’t lying. He did do all of those things...just not quite the way it sounds.

After a long pause, he heaves a weary sigh. “...well, I doubt there will be any tracking him now.”

“...are you...are you going to report this to Konoha?”

“...I have to,” he replies, watching her again. “...it’s my duty.”

...he knows she’s lying. She can tell. And yet...he doesn’t confront her.

“...well...not much point in me staying now, what with him gone,” he then goes on, hands on his hips. “...suppose I’ll try to sleep a bit longer, then head back. I take it you’re staying a while longer…?”

She hesitates. “...a few days, yes. Just to...rest.”

“...mm.” He itches the rear of his head, sighing once more. “...I’ll report we encountered one of Akatsuki. Uchiha Obito. But, alas...he got away. Not exactly someone we could have handled by ourselves, all things considered. Especially after the few weeks we’ve had. Better he ran than hurt or killed us. There’s always next time.”

Her eyes widen, genuinely surprised.

“...but, that next time,” he goes on, looking to her plainly, “he might not be so lucky.”

Ryū’s form wilts. “...I understand.”

“Mm.”

“...Kakashi…”

He waits patiently.

“...thank you. For...for everything. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

At that, Kakashi considers her one last time, head tilting. “...well, I can’t exactly say it was a pleasure...I did get vomited on, and found out my old teammate is now my enemy. But...I was happy to help.” His eye crinkles with a smile. “...maybe we’ll do this again sometime.”

“I...I’d like that. I’ll see you off in the morning, but...either way, I hope the journey back goes smoothly.”

“I appreciate it.”

She doesn’t really sleep after that, already awake when Kakashi rises with the dawn. Packing up his few things (and allowing Ryū to force some extra supplies on him), he gives a mock salute. “...guess I’ll see you around.”

“Mhm.”

“Until then.” Leaping up into the valley’s trees, he makes his way to the pass out of the valley.

Ryū watches him go, heart heavy and conflicted in her chest. Well...at least he isn’t going to rat her out. Not yet, at least...but should they encounter Obito again, he can’t let it happen a second time. All she can hope now is that the pair never cross paths again. She doesn’t want harm to come to Konoha, or the people there...or anywhere, really. But the lonely, selfish part of her can’t stand the idea of Obito coming to harm, either.

...eventually...part of her is going to end up disappointed.

But for now, she has a few days to rest, and recuperate before heading back to the hidden village. From there...she’ll just have to see how things go.

Already she misses him terribly. Having him so near for so long - even though he was ill for the vast majority - left her a bit spoiled. Their goodbye was awfully rushed…

Lost in her thoughts, she can’t help but gasp, spinning around as a chakra emerges from behind her. Before she can regain her breath, Obito captures her in his arms, stealing a breathless kiss.

“...sorry,” he murmurs against her lips, watching her continue to gape with a smirk. “I thought he’d never leave...and I wanted to do this properly.”

“...O-?” She cuts off as he rests his brow to hers.

“...I can’t stay...but I’ll return soon. I just couldn’t stomach that lackluster farewell.”

After a pause, she laughs. “...neither could I.” Arms gently grip his neck. “...I’ll be here for another few days, if you try to find me before then. Otherwise...I’ll likely be back in Konoha. Kakashi is letting me go.”

“Hm, so I heard. Good to see he’s not the hardass he was when we were young. Still...be careful.”

“You, too.” She gently nuzzles their brows. “...I miss you already…”

“Mm, me too. I’ll see what’s left...what I can still do. Then I’ll return.”

“...promise?”

“I promise.” Giving her forehead a press of his lips, Obito slowly retreats, hands slipping through hands before he vanishes one last time.

Staring at the now-empty space, she sighs softly. She, too, has to reacquaint herself with the world after the sweeping of the virus. But, for now...she’ll linger at home a little longer.

She deserves that much, at least.

     All righty! After...far too long, finally finishing this little fic up! Admittedly I never planned for it to be multichap, so figuring out a plot was a lil difficult. But here we are!      It might feel a little...clipped? Cuz it really COULD turn into a big ol' thing, but...neither Meg nor I feel like doing that, so we figured this'd be a good way to end it lol - open ended for your imagination as to how things would go from here. But it was still a neat project! Zombies are always fun xD      Hoping to finish up more WIPs soon now that my dailies are over, so hopefully you'll see more sooner rather than later! But for now, that's it - thanks for reading!

[honeybee-babe]

Press Conference Chapter 2 (Luther Snz and Klaus Snz)

Part 2 of the fic I wrote with @hargreevesstyles featuring Sneezy Klaus and Luther and a Perfume Bitch(TM)

Maya cleared her throat dramatically before starting in on the official intro.

“Ten years ago, the science community was rocked with the sudden and strange disappearance of America’s favorite human teleportation device. We all remember the day Number Five of the Umbrella Academy disappeared – I know I was personally devastated.”

“Aww, were you really?”

“Klaus!” Luther reprimanded.

“It’s okay!’ Maya giggled. “Yes, I really was, I was a huge fan. Anyway, ahem! I’m here with the Hargreeves siblings to talk about their theories on their brother’s disappearance. First of all, I want to ask what Five was like at home.”

Unsurprisingly Luther was the first to cut in, going on about how smart and ambitious their brother was, even though he rubbed furiously at his nose every time the focus wasn’t on him. And naturally, Diego countered him, reminding everyone of how arrogant Five was. Vanya and Allison both supported Luther’s version of things, and Klaus lay back in his seat and grinned as he watched them go at it. He sniffled the whole time, and silently stifled a few scattered sneezes into his palm. Each new sneeze was more forceful and difficult to contain than the previous. And where Klaus stifled, Luther held back, frequently rubbing the pre-sneeze expression off his face before the tickle could come to fruition. But that couldn’t last for long, especially when he was distracted by the heated debate over his missing twin.

In an attempt to dissipate the tension, Maya quickly changed the subject to a discussion of their theories on where Five had gone, and what he might be doing there. While everyone, Klaus included, believed he’d gone to the future, they all had different ideas on what he was doing. Allison was going on about some crackpot theory that it was possible to be in multiple universes at once.

“Actually, I looked into this for a role once. ” Allison snapped at Diego, who had questioned her. “So I think I know what I’m talking about.”

“Hihhetshiuu! Ih'nxgt-hih’tDshiehh!” Klaus clamped a hand over his nose and shot Allison a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

“Bless you. As I was saying, I-”

“IhhiETshiew! Oh, snf, I’m sorry.” He rubbed at his nose, which was starting to run.

“Klaus, are you okay?” Diego asked quietly, and instinctively put the back of his hand against his brother’s forehead, which felt normal.

“Buzz off, man, I’m fine!”

“What do you think, Klaus?” Maya grinned at him.

“Oh, me?” Klaus grinned. “I think he’s off in the future with a robot girlfriend sipping piña coladas and getting caught in the rain in Puerto Rico. If it hasn’t sunk yet, anyway.”

“Klaus,” Luther barked, momentarily distracted from rubbing his nose.

“Although come to think of it, the rain might mess with her wiring. But maybe she’s waterproof. Anyway, he probably-”

“Hhhr’ENGTshiew! Hhh’nGXsh!” Luther jolted forward violently, the result of holding back for ten minutes. He gave a very thick sniffle and cringed when he looked down at his elbow, which he still held up to his face.

“Bless you,” Allison flashed him a sympathetic smile.

“You ruined my story! Now I have to start all over again!”

Diego rolled his eyes. “No, you’re not starting over, no one needs to hear about your ‘theory.’”

“But everyone else got to…… hh’nngkt! share theirs!”

Allison’s brows furrowed when she realized that Luther hadn’t removed his arm from in front of his face in all that time, and he was blushing beet red. She discreetly handed him a tissue, which he immediately pitched forward into, turning to his other side.

“hh’gNXt-GXXT-uh-GNKshiew!” After a very audible intake of breath, he managed to suppress the fourth sneeze into complete silence, jolting so powerfully to his side that he nearly fell out of his chair. Allison grabbed his arm to steady him.

All this commotion attracted the attention of their siblings, which is exactly what Luther hadn’t wanted. Klaus burst out laughing.

“Whoa, there, Number One. Does your nose have super strength too now?”

“Klaus, grow up,” Allison hissed as she rubbed Luther’s shoulder.

“Hey, Ally, do you have any more tissues?” Klaus sniffled dramatically to prove that he needed them. “I could really use some right now!”

Allison glared at him. “I have tissues for people who don’t bully their siblings relentlessly!”

Klaus gasped, “As if I would ever even think of doing such a thing!”

“Are you getting this?” Maya asked the producer who nodded at her.

Only Allison noticed this. She cut Klaus off from making another comment. “Let’s just stop fighting, guys. Come on, we’re doing a job here.”

“‘We’re doing a job here!’” Diego mocked her quietly earning a loud laugh from Klaus.

This really was chaos. Poor poor Vanya was sitting in her chair silently, not taking part in the arguing, like usual. She did lean over to pat Klaus on the back, though, as he let out four half-stifled sneezes into the sleeve of his turtleneck. He groaned after. This was starting to annoy him. Luther was way past annoyed but Klaus wasn’t sober enough to really realize what was going on.

“Let’s take five,” Maya said to the producers and crew who started to take a break. “Should we reschedule? You two boys sound awful sick.”

Klaus shook his head. “It’s allergies, I can tell.” Luther nodded in agreement. “Does anyone have any tissues?”

Some PA from the side walked up and handed Klaus a box of tissues which he graciously accepted. He plucked a couple of tissues from the box, sneezed very harshly into them, and then blew his nose.

Luther also tried his best to clear his own nose out but some of the congestion was refusing to move. He’d have to take a hot shower to clear out his nasal cavity later on when he got back home.

Mays was absolutely not turned off by Klaus’ behavior. In fact, she handed him another tissue when he crumpled the other one up and stuffed it in his pocket. She watched with utter and complete infatuation as he blew his nose again, a small irritated cough following it.

“I think I’m okay for now,” Klaus sniffled.

His nose was always runny. Luther was always more stuffed up with the congestion in his sinuses and the back of his throat, whereas Klaus’ nose almost never stopped running. It was a side effect of all the cocaine he was doing. The rare times that his siblings did run into him he was always sniffling.

“Give me a-hihhhh…minute…hh’hikSHIEW! Hehh-NGXT’uh!”

They waited for Luther to clean himself up and then they went over what they were going to talk about next.

It ended up being some boring topic about something Reginald was working on so the others allowed Luther to do the talking. Or, at least he tried to do the talking, but it was getting more and more difficult as the need to sneeze became more overwhelming. He had to start over whole response five times. Eight times including the times Klaus interrupted him.

“If everything goes according to -heh!- to plan, it should be-” Luther tried to stop the impending sneeze by keeping his face tense, but it crumbled against his will. “Hih! ohgodimsosorry-hihheNGK’shiew! Okay, I’m gonna- Hh’NXXT!” He turned to the side as Allison gave him a new tissue, and blew his nose loudly into it, which did nothing for the congestion. But he did manage to rub the itch away temporarily. “Okay, I’m starting that over. It should be comple-”

“Ihh’nkt! Sorry!”

Luther groaned, in response to which all of his siblings laughed.

“Klaus!”

“What? How’s ihhh-ihh’hDTsheww! it any-ahh’nxgtshiew! Any different from you?”

“Just shut up and do the damn take,” Diego barked.

“I am!” Luther’s eyes unfocused for a second, but he quickly squashed the impulse down, using sheer willpower. “If everything goes according to plan, it should be completed by the end of the calendar year.” He settled back down with a small sigh, before pitching forward as soon as he let his guard down.

—“HAH-gnxt’uh!”

— “Ihhiehh’nnDTshiew!”

“Bless you!” Maya giggled and patted Klaus’ knee, before turning to Luther. “And bless you! Did you time that on purpose?”

“hhh’ETshiew-hh’nxxt!” Klaus sniffled and grinned.  “It’s one of our superpowers,” Klaus joked, and Maya cackled out loud obnoxiously.

Luther and Allison awkwardly laughed along, while Diego rolled his eyes, and Vanya shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Well, there you have it, folks. The Umbrella Academy!” They all smiled at the camera awkwardly for a few seconds, until Maya turned to face the siblings again. She opened her mouth to say something, but she was cut off by Klaus’ wildly hitching breath.

“Hetschiew! Hii’inxgtschiew! HHhr’eDTzhiew-uhhh, sndf sorry…. hahhhN’Gtchu!” Klaus’ struggled for air in between each sneeze.

“Klaus, are you okay?” Diego asked, in response to which his brother nodded emphatically, only to cut himself off with another trio, wheezing a bit in between. Diego turned to Maya. “I think he needs to step out for a bit to catch his breath.”

“Okay! Well, we-”

“Diego, I’m fine!” Klaus snapped. “Just ‘cause I don’t have superhuman lungs doesn’t mean I’m gonna die.” He had to start and stop to catch his breath multiple times throughout the sentence, and even then his voice was shaky.

“Yeah, well you also have asthma. Are you trying to trigger it?”

“It’s okay, boys!” Maya quickly cut in before things could escalate. “We’re going to move onto individual interviews now, and we’re going in numerical order, so Number Four - Klaus,” she corrected herself, flashing the sniffly man a coy little grin, “has plenty of time to get some air! I’m going to bring the rest of you to a break room and you’ll switch off. Each one should take about fifteen or twenty minutes!”

Diego tried to help Klaus up but Klaus batted his arms away. “Get the hell off me, yeah? I can stand up fine,” Klaus grumbled.

He was starting to come down and he needed to take something else soon. He hid a smirk to himself as he pulled a tissue from the box and a pill from his pocket, meeting them together in front of his face. He slipped the pill in, blew his nose, then swallowed the pill while he wiped his nostrils. No one even noticed. Klaus was too damn good.

Not at paying attention, though, as everyone was talking about some new topic that he wasn’t keyed into. He listened in and heard that they were supposed to be talking about their powers and their upbringing and Five and Klaus didn’t know if he could take it. As he thought more and more about his childhood his chest tightened up more and more.

He coughed quickly. “I’m gonna go get that fresh air now,” He wheezed. He took off without waiting for a response.

[avengerscompound]

Super Like - Chapter 7

Super Like: A Captain America Fanfic

Series Masterlist Previous | Next For Steve’s POV

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count:  1850ish

Warnings:  None for this chapter.

Synopsis:   Nerves about meeting the team builds.  Steve finally finds out the secret you were keeping.

A/N:  Re-uploading from @emilyevanston.

THERE ARE IMAGES IN THIS FIC THAT ARE ESSENTIAL TO THE STORY.

Chapter 7

Meeting the family.  It was big.  Yeah, the Avengers weren't his biological family.  They were still his family and this was important to Steve.  He needed it to be sure of his feelings and knowing this was right for him to go forward with.

So, of course, you started to overthink it.

What if they didn't like you?  What if you were too normal?  Too boring?  What if you said something wrong?  What if you couldn’t keep up?  What if?  What if?  What if?  You were going to make yourself crazy.

It was always nerve-wracking to meet best friends and parents of your new relationship.  Somehow this was worse.  They weren’t just his family.  They were the Avengers.  Superheros and celebrities and billionaires.  Who were you compared to the Avengers?

Your panic sometimes turned into freaked out text messages.

You rolled your eyes.  You loved sassy Steve normally but right now you could choke him.

The pet names were new.  He’d started using them the day after he’d invited you to meet them.  It was cute and you liked seeing them on the screen.  You couldn’t wait to hear them out loud too.

The conversation didn't help at all and you kept going through your wardrobe choosing thing and then deciding against them only to come back to them again later.  You also worried about how to wear your hair and makeup.

Not that how you looked was your only concern.

Not that Steve was the only one getting text messages from you.  Your friend Max was being bombarded with every little thing you were overthinking.

You knew it was a joke but your sense of humor had completely fucked off on you at this point and all rational thought had long since left you.

Max came through for you.  He always did.  You modeled about 12 dresses for him before settling on one and then caught the subway to the Avengers’ Tower, still freaking out that you should have stopped and gotten dessert or something.  Or maybe made it?  Tony Stark can’t have a cellar full of homemade desserts surely.

You had to check in at security.  You’d known it would be coming.  They weren’t going to just let any old person in off the street into the building, obviously.  Still, it felt weird having to pull out your license and have your identity verified just so you could see your boyfriend.

Boyfriend?  Did you just think of him as your boyfriend?  Was that okay if he wasn’t quite sure of his comfort level yet?  That ‘defining who you were’ conversation hadn’t happened yet and you really didn’t like those anyway.  It had been months now, surely boyfriend was fine.

You rode the elevator up and the doors opened into a large open room, with a bar, pool table and couches scattered around the place.  Most of the Avengers were sitting on a group of couches raised above the main floor by a window that looked out over the Chrysler Building and East River.

Steve, however, was standing by the door.  “Hey, right on time.”  He said kissing your cheek.

You laughed.  It sounded weird and slightly hysterical.  “Anxiety makes me be on time.”

He smiled softly at you and took your hands.  You looked up into his pale blue eyes and felt yourself relax a little.  “Hey.  It’s me and my friends.  It’s not that big of a deal, sweetheart.”

“They're your family.”  You whispered.

He chuckled and wrapped an arm around your waist.  “Come on.  Let's get it over with.  Right off.  Like a band-aid.”

You went over to the group and they all stood as you approach.  Steve introduced you all, not that you need to have them pointed out.  You knew each of their names.  You heard them enough on TV.  They each shook your hand and took a seat.  You sat down too, right next to Bucky Barnes.

Steve sat beside you and put his arm around your shoulders.  You moved so you're pressed against him and it felt comforting.  That little touch made it feel more natural and not so much like you’re meeting a bunch of celebrity superheroes.

“Can I get you a drink?”  Tony offered before he took a seat.

You asked him for a drink and he skipped down to the bar to get it for you.

“It’s about time we met,”  Sam said.

You smiled at him.  “It sure is.  I guess I have you to thank, huh?”

“Tell you what, first kid is named Sam, okay?”  Sam teased.

You laughed but your body tensed up.  Steve rubbed your arm up and down and rolled his eyes.  “We’ll be sure to.”  He shot back.

“So tell us about yourself,”  Tony said, coming back and handing you your drink.

Thus started the cross-examination.  It wasn’t so bad.  You told about your childhood and what you did for work.  About your family and hobbies.  It became slightly more relaxed when dinner was served.  You learned more about them.  How funny Tony, Clint, and Sam were. How quiet Natasha, Bruce, and Bucky were.  How Soft Vision and Wanda were.  It was interesting seeing them just casually.  The longer you spent with them the more they felt like real people and not just superheroes you’d seen on TV.

After you’d eaten you started hanging out, playing pool and drinking.  Sam cornered you at the bar while you were making cocktails.  “So, I gotta say,”  He said as he poured himself a scotch over ice.  “I always assumed the person who would respond to that add would be crazy.  Like a stalker or something.”

You laughed.  “No.  Not a stalker.”

“So why’d you respond?  It literally just said ‘I’m Captain America’.”

“No.  It said ‘I’m Captain America.  What else do you need to know?’”  You corrected him.

It made him throw his head back laughing.  “Oh yeah.  That was good.  Still.  Spill.  Why’d you reply?”

“Honestly?”  You asked.

“I thought it was fake and just wanted to screencap myself getting matched with Captain America.”  You said.

Sam laughed even harder.  “Oh my god!  That’s a good one!”

“I nearly shat myself when actual Steve Rogers showed up for coffee that day.  I thought I’d been roleplaying with some kid pretending to be Captain America.”  You explained.

Sam laughed even harder putting his hand on your shoulder.  “You … thought… you… were… what?”

“Roleplaying.”  You said.  “I had money on a 17-year-old girl.”

“Holy shit!”  He said doubling over.  “Does Steve know?”

“No!  I didn’t know how to tell him.”  You said.

“Tell me what?”  Steve asked appearing behind you.

“Oh god, man.  This is so good.  Tell him…”  Sam said clutching at Steve uselessly.

You groaned and dragged you hand down your face.  Steve looked at you, a completely puzzled expression on his face.  “What is it?”

“So,”  You said.  “When you super liked me on Tinder, I thought it was just a fake account.”

“I - I guess that makes sense.  It would be pretty weird to have Captain America be on Tinder.  There’s probably a lot of fake accounts.”  He said.

“Keep going,”  Sam said nudging you.

“Oh god,”  You groaned.  “So, then we were talking.  And I thought you were just someone pretending to be you.  Like we were playing a game.  I was taking like me, but I thought you were faking it.”

“You what?”  Steve asked.

“Tell him who you thought he might be?”  Sam wheezed.

“I thought you were probably a 17-year-old girl.”  You said hiding your face in his chest.

He rubbed your back and didn’t say anything for a moment.  “That’s why you asked how you’d recognize me.”

“Yes.”  You answered, not even being able to raise your head.

He laughed and kissed the top of your head.  “This explains so much.”

You looked up at him from your spot on his chest.  “You aren’t mad?”

“No. It’s not like it changed anything in the end.  We get along now you know right?”  He said.

“Yeah.  I like to think so.”  You agreed and leaned up and kissed him.

As the night drew to a close you were feeling really good.  You were getting on with everyone.  You’d cleared the air.  The realness of this relationship started to set in.  You imagined sleeping over.  Not just sex, which you had imagined a lot of times, but sleeping being spooned by him and waking up in the morning in bed with him.  Making breakfast.  The real things people did together.

Tony called a car to come and get you at around midnight and Steve went with you down to the garage.  You stood in the elevator, your body pressed against his, playing with the collar of his dark blue shirt.

“I thought of you as my boyfriend today.”  You said, leaning in and ghosting your lips over his neck.

He tilted his head to the side and pulled you a little closer.  “Is that not what I am?”

“I hope so.  We hadn’t talked about it.”  You said.

“I definitely think about you as my girlfriend.”  He said.

You leaned up and kissed him.  It was slow and deep and a little sloppy thanks to how much you’d been drinking.  You could still taste the scotch on his lips as they moved with yours.

He pulled back as the doors opened into the garage.  There was a man waiting at a black car who rolled his eyes when he saw you.  Steve stopped you just as you approached the car.  “Thank you for coming.  I hope you had fun.”

“I really did.  I really like your friends, Steve.”  You replied.

“And I really like you.”  He said and kissed you again.

The driver cleared his throat and Steve looked up at him sheepishly.  “Sorry, Happy.  She’s all yours.”  He held onto your hand as you climbed in and leaned in and pecked your lips again.  “Text me when you’re home.”

“Of course, honey.”  You replied.  “I wouldn’t forget that.”

[sam-lives-story]

#SamLives - Chapter 6

“Surprise Visit”

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Also find the latest chapters of this story on [Archive Of Our Own]

The banging that woke Jack the following morning made him nearly jump out of his skin. As it were, he ended up flailing and crying out, tumbling from his bed in a tangle of sheets and blankets. It took him another minute to try and detangle himself from the blankets and leave the room, and in that time he had finally remembered what had transpired the evening before.

The stream.

Anti.

Sam.

He froze in the hallway, eyes wide, breath quickening.

‘No…n-no, don’t…don’t think about it. There’s no way that Anti’s here, that Anti is the one making such a racket. Not…not possible. R-Right?’

The banging started up again, and Jack realized it was somebody knocking loudly at his door.

Oh. Right. Okay. Yes. Anti - Anti wouldn’t knock on his door, he’d just…appear. In the middle of the room. Whenever he felt like it.

Jack swallowed thickly, wincing at how sore his throat still felt, and crept further away from his bedroom. Each step, each sound, each flicker of a shadow made him jump, made him twitch. Made him wish he’d never left his bed in the first place.

“Jack?! Jack! C’mon, please, open the door! I don’t care if you’re asleep, I need to see your stupid Irish face!”

And that voice made him blink stupidly because now he was sure he was hearing things.

“Jack, are you gonna answer that? He’s very loud.”

Jack glanced down to his hoodie pocket - oh, right, he hadn’t changed his clothes last night - and saw Sam peeking out from the side opening.

“Yeah…yeah, I’ve got it.”

Before he could find another reason to hesitate, to rethink his actions, he crossed to the front door and unlocked it, opening it wide to reveal–

“…Mark?!”

Markiplier, in the flesh, was standing on his doorstep with one hand clutching his suitcase handle and the other raised, mid-knock. He blinked, apparently surprised to see the door open. Then his expression morphed between a few emotions rather quickly, from shock to panic to concern, before finally resting in a state of utter relief.

“Jack! Oh, thank God!” Mark abandoned his suitcase to draw Jack into a tight, desperate hug, clinging to him like he might never see him again. “You’re alive…oh, my god, I was so scared…”

“I’m f-fine…” Jack stammered, hugging Mark back a little awkwardly. He sucked in a wheezing breath. “…can’t…can’t breathe, Markimoo…”

“Oh! Yeah, shit, sorry, I didn’t think…” Mark let him go immediately, holding him by the shoulders and looking him over. His eyes landed on Jack’s neck, on the bruises there. He tensed and swallowed thickly. “…y-yeah. I forgot. I’m…sorry.”

Jack caught Mark’s glance and he ducked his head, avoiding the other YouTuber’s gaze. His hand trailed up to his throat and his fingers brushed across the bruised skin there. He winced.

“…you saw the stream then.”

It wasn’t a question. Jack saw Mark’s shoes fidgeting against the ground as he shifted on the spot.

“Well yeah, of course I did. I caught the end of it and I tried to call you but–”

“I haven’t had my phone on me.” Jack cleared his throat with a wince and stood aside. He tried to pull on a smile. “Are ye gonna come in or would you rather stand outside all day?”

Mark chuckled at the weak attempt at humor and slipped past Jack into his apartment, his suitcase wheels clicking as they passed over the doorway. There was a tension in the air, unspoken but there. Not necessarily between Mark and Jack, no, but…it was there nonetheless. Palpable. Jack closed the door behind Mark and he found himself flipping every lock, both the handle and the deadbolt, and the door chain as well. The logical part of his mind pointed out that locks and doors wouldn’t keep Anti at bay…but it made him feel safer somehow. Just a little. Just enough for it to help.

The Irishman shuffled past Mark - who was still ogling Jack’s place from his spot near the door - and let one hand slip into his hoodie pocket. Sam curled his tail around Jack’s finger and he tried to focus on that to help keep himself grounded.

“D’you want anything?” he mumbled with a glance back in Mark’s direction. He ruffled his hair with his free hand, trying to wake up. “Coffee? I dunno…a fizzy drink? Or, what is it you Americans call it. Pop?”

“I do not call it pop,” Mark spluttered, finally dragging his attention away from Seán's decor to shake his head vehemently. “No! Gross! Heathens!”

At that, Jack managed a full, heartfelt laugh, his expression brightening. Mark chuckled a little too, and Jack rolled his eyes.

“Alright, alright, soda then. Whatever! Do you want something or not?”

“Just a water would be great. I didn’t drink anything during my flight.”

“One water, comin’ right up,” Jack shot him a one-handed finger-gun and slipped into the kitchen. He raised his voice a little to continue talking to Mark from the next room over, his words coming out a little raspy. “I thought you weren’t supposed ta come to Europe for a few more weeks?”

“…uh, yeah. About that…”

Jack could hear shuffling in the other room, the sound of Mark’s suitcase being moved. Footsteps.

“…I kinda showed up early.”

Mark’s voice came from a few feet away and Jack jumped, nearly dropping the glass he’d been filling. He gripped the edge of the counter and snapped his gaze to the other YouTuber, taking a few rapid breaths and fighting to calm his pounding heart.

“By Jaysus, Mark, you can’t scare me like that! Fuckin’ hell…” He ran an unsteady hand through his hair then turned off the water, holding the glass out for Mark to take. “…early? Two weeks early?”

“I…might have bought a plane ticket when you didn’t answer my calls…?” Mark looked a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck and chuckling softly. “I panicked. A bit.”

Jack stared at him.

“…you bought a plane ticket, on a whim, because I wasn’t pickin’ up my phone?” he repeated, still trying to process.

He shook his head and walked past Mark back into the living room. Sam nudged up against his palm from his spot in Jack’s hoodie pocket, and Jack brushed his thumb against the little eyeball, silently letting him know he was alright.

“Why th’ hell did you do that?” he continued. “Does Amy know?”

“Yeah! Yeah, of course she knows!” Mark grinned and hurried to follow him. “She offered to come too but…uh…she ended up staying behind, to help with tour prep.”

“She stayed behind to help with tour prep? For your tour?” Jack snickered a little, glancing back at his friend. He stopped in front of the couch. His smile softened and his brows furrowed in minute confusion. “But still, why?”

“Because I thought…” Mark trailed off and his smile slipped. “…I…well, I was scared you might be…dead.”

Jack paled. He sank onto the couch behind him, sucking in a shaking, unsteady breath.

“…y-yeah?” he managed, his throat suddenly feeling much more hoarse than it had a moment ago.

“Oh, god! Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Mark shook his head. He dropped into the chair beside the couch, setting his untouched water aside on the coffee table.

“Jack, I watched what happened on your stream. I remembered you’d told me you thought Anti might be real. And when I saw what he did to you, I...I tried to call you, tried texting you. Skype message, Twitter, Instagram, everything. And you didn’t answer. So then I messaged PJ since he lives nearby, and he told me he hadn’t been able to get through to you either but that he didn’t think much of it. I didn’t get anything back from Robin–” A pause. “Does Robin know what happened?”

“Probably,” Jack mumbled, staring into his lap. “He’s the one who caught the first glitches in my videos when this whole mess started. He kinda thought I was jokin’ when I suggested it was Anti an’ instead of tryin’ to convince him I just...er.”

Jack shrugged awkwardly. He hadn’t been telling Robin about Anti’s more recent occasional appearances in the background of his videos. Instead he had been brushing it off and hoping it was nothing, pretending he wasn’t scared, pretending nothing was wrong. He had foolishly hoped it was just an issue with his camera and had told Robin as such, suggesting that perhaps the stress from the #SamLives situation was just making him paranoid. Nothing would happen, surely.

And look how that had turned out.

Jack cleared his throat with a wince and continued, picking at a loose thread at the edge of the couch cushion, his knee bouncing as he did so.

“I’ve been...erm. Cutting any new glitching out of the recordings I send him. Have been for days. Dunno if he was watching the stream but I bet he’s seen it by now...”

“Oh…” Mark nodded slowly. He glanced around the room. “...does he know about Sam too?”

Jack stiffened and he felt Sam freeze where he was hidden in Jack’s pocket.

“About the...eh...the “Sam Lives” thing? Yeah, he called me the morning after it went viral. He kept tryin’ to tell me to sleep better, but it didn’t do much good. I was too stressed–”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“What do you mean then?” Jack asked stiffly. “You still set on believin’ Sam’s real?”

“Anti’s real.”

“So what?” Jack snapped, twitching at the name, his frazzled nerves putting him on edge. “Why are you so set on this? Why are you so set on Sam bein’ real too?”

“Because–” Mark huffed and dragged both hands through his hair, looking around.

Brown eyes fell on his suitcase and his expression seemed to light up then grow more determined, as if he’d gotten an idea and decided, in that moment, that he’d follow through with it. He reached over and lifted off a small pet carrier that had been balanced on top of the suitcase, a carrier that Jack hadn’t noticed before.

Mark set it gently in his lap and opened up the front zipper, turning it toward Jack. At first, Jack didn’t understand what he was supposed to be seeing. Then a small brown mitten-like hand came into the light, peeking around the edge of the carrier, and it was shortly followed by the smallest crate Jack had ever seen in his life.

No…not it wasn’t a crate. It was a box. A box, with tiny, mitten-shaped hands, and with bright blue eyes that were full of so much innocence…and suddenly Jack understood.

“Tim,” he breathed, eyes wide. “Tiny Box Tim. Holy…”

“I know.” Mark almost sounded proud. He held out a hand for Tim to climb onto. “C’mon, buddy. It’s alright. Jack’s a friend. You remember him, right?”

Tim tumbled out onto Mark’s palm and clung to his thumb. He was a little bigger than the width of Mark’s hand…maybe four, five inches across? Jack let out a soft breath and leaned forward, minutely aware of Sam tugging at his fingers with his tail, tiny, curious questions filtering through in the back of his mind. Tim blinked up at Jack and a tiny smile appeared on his face.

“H-Hiya…”

And, holy shit, if that wasn’t the cutest damned thing Jack had ever seen in his life.

“How…?”

“I’m not sure,” Mark shook his head. “I only have a theory. The one I was trying to tell you a few days ago. But that’s why, when your video came out with Sam, I kinda assumed…”

Mark chuckled sheepishly, moving the pet carrier out of the way to bring Tim backward into his lap. He let his free hand fall beside the tiny box, his thumb rubbing up against Tim’s “cheek”. Tim let out a tiny, child-like giggle.

Jack felt a little guilty now, lying to Mark, when he now knew why Mark had believed in Sam so easily. He’d been hiding Sam for a reason. He’d been trying to keep Sam safe. But now…knowing that Mark had a similar burden, a similar little companion…knowing that Tim was just as real as Sam was and that Mark hadn’t just been grasping at straws with his “theory”…

“You assumed right,” he mumbled after a moment. Mark slowly looked up to meet his eyes.

“Did I?” he grinned cheekily. “Are you finally gonna stop trying to cover it up?”

“From you? Yeah.” Jack smiled a sheepish smile and drew his hand out of his pocket, with Sam sitting comfortably in his palm. The little eyeball let out a squeak of surprise and his tail tightened around Jack’s fingers. He fidgeted rapidly on the spot, looking around in a panic, finally locking his gaze on Jack.

“You said I’ve gotta hide! Only Robin and you are s’pposed ta see me–”

“I know, I know what I said,” Jack said quickly, quietly. He smiled in reassurance. He smiled. “But we’re gonna add another person to that list, okay? This is my friend Mark.”

Sam was hiding behind Jack’s fingers, peeking through the gap to look at Mark, who was trying and failing to hide the adoring and excited smile on his face. The little eyeball shivered.

“…Mark’s…safe?”

“Mhm. Mark’s safe too. Okay?”

“O-Okay…”

“How is he doing that?” Mark asked, wonder in his eyes.

“Hm?” Jack looked up from Sam, frowning. “Doing what?”

“Talking like that. In my head.”

“Oh! Oh, right, I forgot…” Jack chuckled a little. “Sam doesn’t exactly have a mouth. I dunno how he does it, but he uses telepathy to speak. And I can talk back to him the same way…but…I don’t think everyone can do that. Might just be me.”

“Anti can do it, too.”

Jack’s breath caught and he stared down at Sam with wide eyes.

“…what…what did you say?”

Sam seemed to shrink in on himself, looking as though he thought he’d done something wrong.

“…Anti can do it too? He…he talked to me. W-When he showed up.”

“What did he say?” Jack asked his hands shaking where they were cupped under Sam.

“He just…just said I might not b-be there to…to protect you, next time…”

Jack let out a shaking, unsteady breath and sank back into the couch, trying not to show how scared he was in front of Mark. Next time. Anti was planning on coming back, again. Not that it really surprised him…he’d been expecting it, honestly, but…hearing it confirmed…

“Jack?”

Jack swallowed thickly, forcing himself to look up at Mark. There was concern in his eyes, worry behind his glasses, a frown drawing his lips downward.

“You alright buddy?”

Was he? Jack…wasn’t even sure anymore. He had thought he was. Not great, perhaps, but ‘alright’ at least. Stable. Beyond his panic, beyond the full, mounting terror that had been pulsing through him last night. He sucked in a breath and let it out, slowly, shakily. Sam nuzzled against his fingers and he let his hands rest in his lap, his thumb running along Sam’s tail in an attempt to keep himself grounded. To keep his head level.

“I…I dunno…” he admitted in a hoarse whisper. “I don’t know. I don’t…” His breath caught and he sucked in a shuddering breath. He felt himself falling apart again, falling into panic. Anti could come back at any second and he was panicking and Mark was sitting right there and he couldn’t catch his breath–

Blue eyes fell tightly shut and he ducked his head, unruly dark hair falling forward and brushing across his forehead. Jack shuddered and curled in on himself and his throat suddenly felt tight, painful. Like he was being strangled all over again. Like his air was being cut off. Like–

“Woah woah woah, hey, Jack–”

Mark’s voice sounded like it was coming from the end of a very long tunnel. He was barely aware of a weight settling onto the couch beside him, barely aware of Sam tucking himself away in his hoodie pocket again. His head was spinning and he couldn’t think straight and he could hear Anti’s laughter and he could see dark eyes and a glitching smile and could feel a hand on his throat and he couldn’t breathe–

“Jack! Jack, listen to me! Snap out of it! C’mon, try to…try to breathe with me…focus on me…”

Jack felt a warm arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Somebody had grabbed his hand and he felt something soft and warm beneath his palm. A heartbeat. Mark’s chest, rising and falling.

“Breath with me, okay? In…out…c’mon…”

And Jack tried to focus. He locked onto the gentle, repeated movement beneath his fingers and tried to keep himself from spiralling any further. He sucked in a breath, too fast, too quick, and he forced himself to let it out slower than he’d taken it in.

“Yeah…like that. Good. Okay. Just…just keep doing that, alright?”

It took another few minutes for Jack to catch his breath and to find some semblance of solidity in the real world. It took more effort than it should have for him to open his eyes…and another moment for him to realize his cheeks were wet. Had he been crying? Oh, gods…Jack tried to pull away from Mark, shoving against the other YouTuber’s shoulders. Mark had seen that? Fuckin’ hell.

“Jack, calm down! Heyheyhey, woah–”

“I’m f-fine!” Jack said hoarsely. He coughed and scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeves, turning away from Mark to try and hide his face. “I’m…I’m fine, o-okay? Sorry…s-sorry, God, you shouldn’t‘ve s-seen that.”

“Seen what?” Mark asked, reaching out to try and turn Jack toward him again. “Dude, you don’t have to be embarrassed. You don’t think I haven’t cried before?”

“I shouldn’t be so s-scared!” Jack shot back, voice shaking, shrugging off Mark’s hand. “It’s p-pathetic! He’s not even s-supposed to be real!”

“That’s exactly why you should be scared!” Mark protested, still trying to get Jack to turn around. “He shouldn’t be real! And – shit, Jack – he tried to kill you last night! If anyone deserves to be scared right now it’s you!”

The words rang through the quiet apartment in the near-silence that followed. All that could be heard were the sound of Jack’s breath catching every so often and the quiet noises of distress that Sam kept making. The little eyeball slipped out of Jack’s pocket and nuzzled up against him before rolling away and bouncing off his lap, popping over to the chair Mark had abandoned. Tim still sat there half-hidden behind the pillow, his bright blue eyes peeking around the corner. Watching. Worried. Sam snuggled down into the chair beside the tiny box and it didn’t take long for the pair to doze off, cuddling together against the pillow that was, in comparison, much larger than the both of them combined.

Jack sniffed softly and Mark sat back a little, worried that he might have been a little too forceful…but then the stubborn Irishman finally gave in, turning back to face his friend with shining, puffy eyes. He shuddered in his seat and curled in on himself, choking back a sob, and took another slow breath.

“…I…I am,” he admitted on a whispered breath. “Christ, Mark, I am. I’m so…s-so fuckin’ scared. I thought…I thought maybe I was s-seein’ things, the first time I caught ‘im in a video. Or I thought Robin was playin’ a…I dunno, a joke. Y-Ya know? Heh…”

A humorless chuckle escaped him. He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

“…he sh-shouldn’t be r..real…an’ he’s not gonna stop. He said so. S-Said he’d finish the game n-next time, an’…and I don’t…I can’t…”

Jack cut himself off when he felt Mark’s hand on his back, rubbing small circles there in an effort to calm him down. He hiccupped and stifled another sob, his fingers clenching along his hairline.

“I know.” Mark’s low, deep timbre cut through Jack’s panic, and the smaller man focussed on that as an anchor. “That’s why I came here so suddenly. I was worried, and I was scared. Watching that stream…it scared the hell out of me, Jack. Amy could tell you - I  was panicking. Out of everyone I’ve met on YouTube, you’re my closest friend, and watching my best friend get hurt like that, so far away where I couldn’t do a damned thing to help–”

Jack lifted his head weakly to glance at Mark over his shoulder, a curious look on his face.

“…I’m your best friend?”

Now it was Mark’s turn to be speechless. He chuckled sheepishly and scratched at the back of his head, shrugging a little.

“Well…yeah, you are.” He hesitated. “Not that it has to be mutual but…that’s…yeah.”

A soft, tired smile slowly found its way onto Jack’s face through the stress and the strain that had found its permanent home there.

“Oh shut up ya doof,” he mumbled, letting his hands fall to hang between his knees. He nudged Mark with his shoulder. “You’re my best friend too. Jus’ a bit…surprised to hear it back, I guess.”

Mark’s grin brightened. He put on a high-pitched sassy voice in mockery of a middle school girl.

“OMG, besties!!!”

Jack huffed out a quiet, tired laugh and shook his head. This time he didn’t fight it when Mark pulled him into a hug.

“Thanks Mark,” he mumbled against the other YouTuber’s shirt. “I’m glad you’re here. I…I don’t wanna be alone here for a while.”

“Hey, don’t mention it. I wouldn’t want to be alone either.”

There was a moment of silence. Then…

“But I might make you take a shower and change your clothes. I don’t know how long you’ve been wearing this hoodie but it smells like shit.”

“Oh, fuck off…”

[A/N] So…ya know…that was a much less stressful chapter than the last one! Right? Heh… ^^;;;

Also find the latest chapters of this story on [Archive Of Our Own]

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[hookaroo]

A Captain’s Heart (25 of 33?)

Chapter 1 Chapter 24

Rated T for language and graphic descriptions of injuries.

Also on FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12937105/1/A-Captain-s-Heart

Tagging @therooksshiningknight & @killian-whump by request :)

Something had awakened Killian from his less-than-restful slumber, and it took him a long moment to work out what it was. As he blinked up at the sky above, his eyes were automatically drawn toward approaching movement.

“Bloody hell.” He pushed himself stiffly - but successfully - up onto his knees. “Marvel. How did you get up here?”

The human ship climbed the stairs, carrying the blanket off of his bunk and looking both self-satisfied and annoyed. Killian launched himself at the wheel and managed to grab on despite screams of protest from his wrist.

“I figured out how to magically transport myself.” She slowed, watching as he pulled himself to his feet with a snarl of pain.

“That’s impossible,” he wheezed. “Eris said-”

“One cannot use magic to reach the island. Apparently, short distances are allowed.”

Now standing, favoring his fractured ankle, Killian took slow breaths against surging nausea. The short nap had not alleviated his vertigo in the slightest. He focused on the horizon and noticed the volcano skulking into his peripheral vision. Scowling, he adjusted the wheel and nearly toppled over as a result. Marvel crept closer. Killian felt for his hook, but it was nowhere to be found. Damn.

“Please, dear Captain… please stop fighting me. We’re so close, and then we can return home, and you can be with your Emma and forget all of this. Let the gods take care of their own. Please.”

“Stay back, Temptress. I don’t want to hurt you.” Killian tried to center his weight, preparing for a scuffle. But none came. In a flash, Marvel was behind him, drilling magic for which he had no defense into his brain. One final sob of frustration and Killian was out cold again.

No ropes this time. Killian was all ready to celebrate, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t move at all, in fact, except for his eyes. They snapped open just as the traitorous Marvel knelt down beside him, the looming volcano making a frightful backdrop to her apologetic expression.

They were both still on the quarterdeck. Killian reclined against a nest of pillows - probably the whole stash aboard the ship - in the very stern. His head was raised enough to be able to see what was going on, and with a blanket tucked carefully over him, he found he was actually quite comfortable. Apart from breathing, his absolute stillness took much of the strain off the majority of his injuries. They still ached, with an occasional twinge as the curse continued to deepen them, and his back burned from lying directly against it, but that couldn’t be helped. And he was most accustomed to that pain, anyway.

“What’ve you done?” hissed Killian, surprised and relived that he could at least still talk. Marvel brushed some hair back from his forehead, then rested her hand over the swollen bump on his temple.

“I found your stash of squid ink. Actually, technically speaking, it was never hidden in the first place. Not from me.”

Killian was about to reply when the tingle of magic crawled through his scalp. He bit his tongue, wishing desperately to squirm away from the sting. She lacked the practiced finesse of his Swan… but slowly, the swelling subsided and the cut sealed itself. The headache remained, but much abated, and most of the dizziness and fog had lifted. Momentarily, a weary Marvel straightened, her smile placid.

“How is that?”

Killian opened his eyes. “Marvelous.”

A hint of the usual playfulness appeared in her expression, but fled an instant later. “Let me try…”

She put on a solemn frown and moved lower, toward the source of greatest pain and hemorrhage: his abdomen. Her faltering powers flicked aside bandage and shirt, revealing the gash. Now uncontained, blood trickled down his stomach in pulsing spurts entirely in sync with the necessary motions of breathing. Inhale, the gape widened and spewed more blood; exhale, it collapsed on itself and stifled the stream. Marvel did not think twice about placing her hands over the wound, blood and all.

At first, the searing magic seemed to be working. An uncomfortable Killian could feel the damage reversing from the inside out, severed muscle and fascia knitting together before skin began to do likewise. Sweat broke out on Marvel’s forehead as she struggled to direct the unfamiliar ability, to channel it into much-needed assistance for her captain. But just as the pain began to fade… the curse’s invisible knife sliced through the success, tearing and gouging, splitting flesh into a deeper rift than before. Killian groaned a curse as his anguish roared back. The same or worse, it hardly mattered. Mumbling epithets herself, Marvel replaced his bandage.

“I’m sorry, darling. It seems the curse must be broken before healing its effects is possible. I suggest we don’t attempt it again until then.”

Killian winced and closed his eyes in miserable agreement. He had no wish to repeat that excruciating failure anytime soon. Sighing, Marvel got up to return to the helm.

“Please, Marvel,” began Killian, intent on trying one last time. Knowing it was useless. “Don’t do this.”

Predictably, his plea fell on deaf ears. It was then that he realized the volcano had been silent that whole time. Killian swept his gaze over the island: a gentle wisp of steam continued to rise from the summit, but the mountain was still. Free of lava and ash.

Resetting.

Suddenly, Marvel threw out her hands, and the sails were furled in the blink of an eye, the anchor cast over the side with a splash. The ship slowed, trailing the anchor along the sea floor until its weight was enough to stop all momentum.

“This is as close as I dare go,” admitted Marvel, “without knowledge of the seabed surrounding the island.”

“Agreed,” Killian said. “Wouldn’t do to damage your previous incarnation.”

Marvel turned back and studied him for a moment. Her anxious determination was palpable even from the other side of the deck. “Wait here. Rest. I will retrieve the potion and we can be on our way home.”

Killian’s jaw tightened at the thought of her facing the island’s perils alone. “Hold on, love; can we discuss this?”

“There’s nothing to discuss. You’ll never change my mind.”

He sighed. “Then let me come along. I promise not to try and stop you. My only concern would be your protection.”

She watched his face for several heartbeats, as if trying to discern his sincerity. Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry, my love. Even if you are telling the truth… you can’t be of any assistance until the squid ink wears off. I’ll be fine.”

Frustration and fear weighed heavily on his chest, but there was nothing he could do about it. Swallowing back further protests, he met her gaze squarely. “Be careful.”

She nodded. Then moved closer, crouched, brushed a hand along his tense jaw.

He watched her descend to the main deck, position the rowboat over the side, and climb in. The last he saw of her was the flash of auburn that matched perfectly the accent stripe along the ship’s hull.

Killian gave voice to a string of curses that didn’t do anything to make him feel better. There was a very long wait ahead. And with nothing to do but lie there and let his imagination run wild, that wait was likely to be extremely tense.

He wondered how Marvel would go about finding the potion. According to Eris, the island contained other treasures - who knew what forms those others would take? What if there were more than one potion? Would she have to steal them all? Would Eris, in turn, relieve them of all of Zeus’ magical items and use them for her own nefarious purposes?

Even from this distance, the volcano looked huge. How could Marvel possibly scour the whole thing in less than three hours, not to mention leave them enough time to escape afterward? And, come to think of it, did they even have three hours left? He had, admittedly, delayed their arrival by turning the ship... and had been unconscious for the majority of their overall journey. He had no clue.

The more Killian thought about it, the less he believed in their chances of survival. There was no way. To have had any hope, they should have arrived before the eruption stopped, necessitating a wait so that they could travel with the boundary as it receded.

Well, he had fought all along to prevent Eris from winning. Succumbing to the volcano was one way of assuring that. But he had been hoping that at least Marvel could make it out. To tell the tale, bid farewell for him… to give them all that memorial space they’d had the first time. Now they would never know, never hear, never have.

Killian’s melancholy gradually gave way to anger. In recent years, he had learned to control his propensity toward rage: heroes didn’t let their temper get the best of them. But right now, it was either anger or fear… and so Killian chose anger. He let it surge through him, a boiling wave that scorched with the utter need to move. To tear. To destroy. But yearning muscles were held captive by magic, and Killian lay motionless. Hissing breaths quickened through clenched teeth. And finally, he cut loose with a howl.

“Zeus!! This is your bloody island; I’d wager my remaining hand that you can hear me. Show yourself!”

No response. Killian growled, still straining ineffectually against magical bonds. “Zeus, damn you! Come out, you cowardly bastard!”

To be honest, he wasn’t expecting the god to actually show up. But suddenly, inexplicably, there he was, complete with white robe and serene smile even as he chastised the pirate lying at his feet.

“Killian Jones, that is not how you address an all-powerful being, particularly one who broke all the rules to send you back to the land of the living not three years ago.”

“I couldn't care less about propriety right now,” snarled Killian. It hadn’t taken long for his surprise to dissolve back into wrath. “If I’m to die today as a result of holy tampering, then I deserve some assurances from you.”

Zeus remained calm, amused even, and Killian seethed.

“Such as?”

Killian swallowed. He was making this up as he went along. “First of all, that your wayward subject Eris won’t be allowed to punish the ones I love for my failure.”

“And?”

Scowling, noting that the god had not yet agreed, Killian added,

“That you’ll regain the control you’re meant to have over her. She may lose today, but I can guarantee you she won’t give up. And I don't believe it’s too much for we pathetic mortals to ask that you do your bloody job and keep her in check.”

Killian’s scathing glare was met with aggravating placidity; he could scream with the frustration building within him. And then the god spoke. And his words did nothing to soothe the pirate’s anger.

“So you think you know better than the gods, do you? You see the big picture? You know how all the lines entangle, what will happen when, what’s best for all of mankind?”

“Of course not, but any fool could guess that allowing the goddess of chaos free reign-”

“She has nothing of the sort.”

Killian rolled his eyes; he begged to differ. “At the very least, she will do, when she has in her possession this bloody potion of yours.”

“Have a little faith, Killian. Do you truly think I would make something so dangerous and leave it lying around for her to find?”   

Killian released a huff of annoyance. “So there is no potion? This damn voyage was for naught?”

“No, there is a potion, doing exactly what Eris described. What she doesn’t know is how it will affect her, if she uses it as she intends.”

“Bloody hell,” snapped Killian. “Out with it, then. What will happen?”

“Simply put, the potion prevents any external magic from enacting on the user. She’s correct that her own intrinsic powers would be unaffected. What she doesn’t know, though, is this: the same powerful magic used to create her out of the very entropy she craves is still in play just to keep her in existence. So by consuming the potion…”

“She reverts back to the chaos whence she came.” A shiver of understanding tingled down Killian’s spine as he finished the thought, and his scowl deepened. “So you’ve been in favor of our success all along.”

Zeus merely donned his infuriating smile, and Killian wanted to punch him that much more.

“Damn it, you couldn’t have told us this earlier?”

“I’m a very busy deity, Killian. There’s always one crisis or another. Even now, the best I can offer is verbal guidance; my might is currently occupied elsewhere.” He had the nerve to wink then, raising Killian’s blood pressure into a most unhealthy zone. “Besides, there is a certain amount of free will involved.”

“Like hell there is,” Killian muttered. But he chose to focus on the earlier statement. “All right then. Guidance. What other pearls of belated wisdom would you care to impart? Any advice how to get out of this bloody trap of yours?”

“Sadly, your own counsel is best in that regard.”

“Run like hell?”

With a tolerant nod, Zeus added,

“I’ve ensured that your polymorphous companion has had no trouble finding the potion. She is on her way back as we speak.”

“Tell me truly: do you believe we have a chance?”

“More than any other mortal in your place,” came the less-than-reassuring reply. Followed by, “It won’t be easy, though.”

“And you can’t just magic us to the boundary, or delay the eruption to give us more time?”

“No, as I said: verbal advice only.”

Killian cursed without thought of whose presence he shared; Zeus took it all without blinking. Then he said,    

“One last thing, and then my attention is required elsewhere. Should you choose to use the potion yourself, one mouthful will suffice. But keep in mind the caveat: immunity to magic. The choice is yours. And with that, I bid you good fortune.”

Killian was still hung up on the ‘use the potion on himself’ business; he barely noticed Zeus shimmer into a sunbeam and take his leave.

Immunity to magic. Including… dark magic, presumably. Curses. It would break Eris’ curse. Of course. The goddess had even hinted at such a move. But then… no magical healing? Should his wounds remain, he’d likely be forced to take the long path to recovery. Still, it was a small price to pay to give himself the best chance of surviving all the way home.

Only moments later, Marvel was hoisting the rowboat up to the gunwale, calling excitedly,

“Dearest! My dear! I found the potion, and… and Zeus himself appeared to me! I actually spoke with him, and it was real, I swear it!” She hurdled the rail and paused only briefly to secure the boat, then she was leaping up the stairs toward her captain. “You must believe me!”

“I do, darling; he came to me as well.”

Her grin dazzled against the darkening sky. “Marvelous! So, then, you know that it will do no harm to surrender-”

“Aye, but to have any chance of that, we have to sail as we’ve never sailed before. Cast off quickly, love; turn her about. Full sail.”

Eyes wide, Marvel caught the urgency in his tone and spun to face the rest of the ship. Her magic made quick work of the preparations, and just as a gentle wind pushed against the sails - blowing them toward the volcano until Marvel could complete a turn - a massive explosion sounded deep underground. The earthquake was visible in the dancing of the ocean, uncoordinated choppiness that was unlike tide or windblown wave. Marvel squeaked a gasp and yanked the wheel as hard as she could. Unable to brace himself, Killian closed his eyes and prepared to be tossed against the gunwale in response to the ship’s tight turn. But Marvel somehow had the foresight and concentration to grab hold of him with her magic, and he was prevented further injury.

Just before the volcano was lost from view, Killian saw the first plume of ash burst from its summit, followed by tree-sized rock meteors that plummeted down the sides of the mountain. As they struck the ground, they initiated thundering landslides, which rapidly increased in both velocity and volume. The sight disappeared behind the Jolly Roger’s hull, but Killian knew it was only a matter of time before the displaced earth plunged into the sea and sent enormous waves racing toward them. He couldn’t lie here any longer; he had to be up and helping in whatever small way he could.

“Marvel, the potion!” he called. She risked a terrified glance back at him, and her eyes widened even further at whatever new terrors the volcano was performing. “Now, love! You need my help!”

Frantically, Marvel froze the wheel in place and skidded to Killian’s side, pulling a large crystal phial from her pocket as she went. “What-”

“Bottoms up,” he winked, the swagger only partially successful at masking his own fear. But she understood his meaning and held the vessel to his lips.

The bucking of the ship meant that just as much of the liquid went up his nose and down his chin as into his mouth. Gamely, Killian held his breath until a full mouthful had collected, then swallowed, and only then allowed himself to sputter and spray the burn away. Almost instantly, the squid ink’s hold released; Killian rolled onto his side, gagging and wiping his face while desperately trying to push himself to his feet. Marvel corked and secured the phial.

“Careful, dearest, mind your-”

A deafening roar from their stern drowned out her plea, and both heads turned as one to stare at the plume of fire now spewing forth. Killian grasped the gunwale and heaved, heedless of the ripping sensations in a myriad of wounds tugged by the flailing. Now on his feet, he spun to face the helm. Marvel reached out and gripped his wrist to offer assistance.

Killian gritted his teeth as he limped to the wheel. “Now would be a good time to have my hook back,” he hissed, pain and stress altering his voice into something harsh.

“Done.” Marvel waved her hand, and his brace with hook attached magically affixed itself to his stump. He allowed himself one wince at the new pressure on the bandaged wound, then he took the wheel in hand and hook and pushed the anguish to the back of his mind.

Obviously, the curse’s effects remained, even if the curse itself had been broken.

“Can you magically provide us with some wind?” Killian had to shout to be heard over the continuous rumble from the mountain at their backs. Marvel bit her lip but nodded.

“I’ll try.”

She stretched her hands out toward the sails, and soon, a tentative breeze stirred in that direction, enough of a concerted effort in contrast to the wildly shifting natural air to be a definitive result of her powers. But before either of them could react, the first of the tidal waves buffeted the Jolly Roger, stern first, and both passengers were hurled roughly forward. Killian crashed painfully into the wheel, breath leaving him in a grunt; Marvel went flying and landed on her hands and knees just as they crested the wave. Killian wrapped his left arm around the wheel and held out his hand, calling,

“Hold on!”

Marvel scrambled to her feet. The deck lurched again and she almost fell, but somehow, she managed to stumble back to Killian’s side and grip his hand tightly. She glanced back, grabbed the wheel with her other hand, and yelled,

“Another wave!”

They were jolted again, both clutching desperately to the wheel as the ship tilted one way, then the other.

“I’ll tether us!” cried Marvel. In a flash, she had ropes secured around their waists and attached to the wildly plunging ship. Killian battled the wheel with all his might. He had to keep the waves from striking them broadside, or they might capsize. Marvel held on with one hand, but focused most of her attention on producing the steady wind they needed in order to escape.

Ash continually poured into the sky with such force and speed that it had no trouble outpacing the harried vessel. Looking like murderous storm clouds, the roiling black mass blanketed the afternoon sun. The deck of the ship grew darker with each passing moment. All color drained away until they were left only with shades of heavy gray. The air grew thick and acrid with fine particles; it burned and coated their airways, sending them both into periodic bouts of hacking.

More explosions sounded above the steady roar of the eruption, and soon, the snow of ash was joined by tendrils of ember that stung exposed skin. The dying fires were not quite strong enough to take root among the suffocating layer of ash on their clothing, the wood, the canvas and rope. Not yet, anyway.

After countless trips up and down violent tidal waves, the Jolly Roger settled into the more familiar tossing that accompanied any patch of rough weather. Feeling the heat at his back, Killian risked a glance back at the volcano. It had only increased its fury, spewing lava and lahars right along with the impossible amounts of ash that was starting to obscure the deadly mountain. He caught Marvel watching him uncertainly. Her magic flowed steadily into a stiff wind now assisted by haphazard gusts of displaced mountainside air. Killian flashed a maniacal grin.

“Just like outrunning the curse! Right, love?”

Her answering smile was strained, reserved. “I remember, Captain.”

“Hey! We can do this!” He shuddered through a bout of coughing before adding, “The best ship in all the realms, the best crew a man could ask for…”

“And the best captain,” she added, a bit more brightly. He winked.

“Goes without saying.”

Marvel edged closer to him, still keeping the majority of her focus on the production of lifesaving wind. But she rested a hand over his, where it held the wheel in a death grip.

“We’ll make it, won’t we, Captain?”

“Aye, love. No question: we’re going to make it.”

[sopewriters]

Anamnesis.

Series:  Yoongi | Hoseok | Jungkook | Taehyung | Jimin | Namjoon |

Genre: angst, fluff; soulmate!au where your soulmate’s last words from their previous lives are printed onto your wrist. Their previous date of death is also the same day you are meant to meet them, but until then, you relive fragmented memories of the day they die.

Pairing: Jin X Reader; gender-neutral

Word Count: 3.1K

It’s quiet. Thick and suffocating, the silence clogs up your throat, making you sputter for breath, wheeze uncomfortably as your legs burn, burn, burn and ache. Your knees nearly buckle, but you don’t stop, can’t stop, because you need to get away, get away so that their sacrifice isn’t in vain, so that they don’t get you too—

Your head snaps up when you hear the snap of a twig, alerting you of someone else’s presence. Your eyes dilate, pure unadulterated fear burning your veins as you continue to stumble, the noises behind you getting louder and louder and louder until—

You bolt up, breathing hard, heart hammering painfully against your chest. Your lip throbs from where your teeth have left their mark, thankfully not bleeding.

You grope frantically at your bedside to turn on the lamp, sighing in relief when the light turns on and no one’s there, no one to press a knife against your throat and slit it. You hold your wrist up, not really reading the words printed onto it in fancy script through your blurry vision, since you already know them by heart:

I’m glad to finally be able to see you, love.

Their last words.

The tears continue to mark their path down your cheeks, drying quickly in the cool air, as you shakily grasp for your phone, checking the time. It’s four in the morning: better than most days. You can wake up now, it’s okay.

Besides, you don’t think you can go back to sleep… not like this.

You amble over to your desk, pulling open the drawer to take out your journal and flip it open with trembling fingers. The tip of the pen presses hard into the paper as you write the date, trying to muffle your tears, regulate your breathing again.

This isn’t the first time you’ve had this specific dream, and it always cuts off at the same exact place. You know you’re seeing these visions through your soulmate’s eyes, that you’re reliving your soulmate’s past memories, not your own. That those were their thoughts running through your mind, their panic and desperation. But you just… you just wish they didn’t suffer so much.

For your friends, the experience is different, or so they say. They dream of pleasant things, such as the sweet smile adorning their faces, the exchange of bashful, love-ridden glances, the tiniest intricacies of their relationships. And, the thing is, you used to as well. But as they’ve progressed… each dreamscape has become darker, more jaded, narrower. And so, here you are. Biting back sobs as you attempt to write down what’s happened in your dream journal.

“Where are you…?” You murmur sadly, pressing your forehead into the cool wood, “When will I get to see you?”

There’s no answer, and you smile sadly to yourself, knowing you didn’t expect one.

  “You didn’t sleep again, did you?” Your boss eyes you concernedly as you stumble into his office, “I don’t mind giving you a couple of days off, you know—”

“No, it’s fine, thank you!” You interrupt quickly, before remembering yourself, cheeks heating, “U-Uh, s-sir.”

“Alright.” He continues to eye you with an odd mix of concern and amusement—two things that should probably never be mixed—before shaking his head, “Anyway, I was hoping you could go over these papers for me…”

He gestures at a giant stack of messy sheets, splayed all over his coffee table, making you visibly recoil.

“Why.” You mutter to yourself, glaring at his sheepish expression, “You knocked them over again, didn’t you?”

“Maybe?” He admits bashfully, ducking his head and running a hand through his coral hair, “I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

“Really, sir, sometimes I wonder if I’m your assistant or your nanny.” You exhale annoyedly through clenched teeth, making him wince, “Well, this is what I signed up for, isn’t it? I hope you know I expect a pay raise for this.”

“What?” His eyes widen, before his mouth drops open, “Why are you sassing me?”

“I can only take you so seriously.” You shrug, sighing as you gather the papers into a neater pile, “Besides, you totally deserved that.”

“They’ve got a point, Joonie.” A melodic voice cuts in, musical laughter ringing in the air as you whirl around, wide-eyed, at the unexpected intrusion, “You had that coming.”

“Hyung!” Namjoon basically whines at the man—who cuts quite an impressive figure, you’ve got to admit—who just smiles angelically at him, “You can’t take my assistant’s side! I’m the one in charge here, y’know.”

“I can see that.” The brunette smiles, rolling his eyes, before turning that brilliant, god-gifted smile on you, “I’m glad to finally be able to see you! Namjoon’s told me so much about you, you know.”

“Has he?” You murmur to yourself; there’s something strange about that sentence, but you shake it off, offering up a shaky smile, before glaring at the pinkette in question and raising your voice, “All good things, I hope?”

“Why do I feel threatened.” Namjoon audibly mutters to himself, while Mr. Tall and Handsome shakes his head in amusement.

“Only good things.” He assures, before introducing himself, “My name’s Jin, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Jin.

For some reason, the name sounds eerily familiar, though you’ve never heard it before, brings back memories of large, trembling hands and ragged breaths—

“Oh, uh, I’m Y/N.” You stumble over your words in your haste, but Jin thankfully doesn’t point that out, “Is Jin your full name?”

“Oh.” He looks pleasantly surprised, before shaking his head, “You’re the first one to ask me that. It’s Seokjin, Kim Seokjin.”

The déjà vu is growing more intense, with each moment, but thankfully Namjoon cuts you off from the spiral.

“Why’re you here hyung?” He demands, though not aggressively, crossing his arms, “I already said I’d come to dinner, so you don’t need to worry, I won’t forget.”

“I can never be too sure with you, Joonie.” Jin says matter-of-factly, making Namjoon sputter in offence, before his gaze slides to you, “But since I’ve met you, Y/N, I’d like to extend that same invitation to you!”

“Uh…” Your eyes quickly dart between the two of them, you don’t understand, “What?”

Namjoon sighs in exasperation, “Jin hyung’s a pretty famous chef, and he’s invited you for dinner. There’s no point in refusing it, he’ll just guilt-trip you into it anyway.”

“No I won’t!” Jin exclaims exaggeratedly, before he turns to you, charming smile on his lips, “You’ll come, won’t you Y/N?”

Jin’s a liar. Just the tiny twitch of his lips would have you tripping over your feet to do his bidding. You don’t say any of this, though, instead opting to nod mutely.

“Wonderful!” Jin claps his hands together, beaming, “It’s tomorrow, 8 sharp! I can’t wait to see you there, Y/N.”

With that, he abruptly turns around and leaves the room, leaving a breathy silence in his wake.

“He’s always like this.” Namjoon says by way of explanation, and you can only nod dazedly, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow, wear casual stuff.”

“Got it.” You say faintly.

“And get to work.” He shakes his head, retiring to his desk, “Gosh, that hyung needs to stop barging in all the time.”

You absently gather the papers and take them to your desk so you can start to work. The entire time you do, though, your mind is scattered with thoughts of the beautiful brunette.

Jin.

  You’re on the ground this time, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the loose soil as you attempt to get to your feet again. Your knees throb, likely bruised, but you know you can’t stop now, not when you can hear them approaching, getting closer.

You curse your formal wear as you shakily stand, nails digging into the bark of a tree for purchase, before breathing heavily, legs tensing. You continue your feeble sprint, chest compressing painfully with each breath. Tears cloud your vision, and branches scrape against the soft skin of your cheeks, not that you care: all that matters is you get out of these damned woods, away from them.

“Hurry up!” You hear one of them bark, and your breathing escalates as panic hammers against your skull; they’re so close, they’re too close, “Find the Prince quickly and dispose of him.”

You can hear their murmurs of assent, and abruptly change direction, cursing inwardly when the a branch snaps under your foot and a sharp, burning pain rips across your side—

Your hand comes away from your side, covered in red.

You stare miserably into a mirror, thumbing gently at the swollen skin under your eyes. They drift shut in misery, before you let your head thump against the glass.

“Where are you?” You murmur sadly to yourself, looking at your wrist again: and your breath stutters, stops.

 I’m glad to finally be able to see you, love.

 Where… where have you heard these words, before? Your throat closes up, brain short-circuiting in an instant.

Jin. Seokjin. Kim Seokjin.

It can’t be. You must be mistaken, that’s it, it must just be an uncanny coincidence. You look at the numbers stamped under the fancy script, though, and your heart nearly stops. It’s yesterday’s date. Yesterday. Yesterday, when you met him and—

The day of his death.

You run that hand through your hair, unwilling to look again. Yet, your eyes are drawn back to the tiny, bolded print, the graceful loops of writing that look so beautiful but only shadow pain.

You wonder if he remembers you. If he dreams about you too, about the day you died. And you’re curious, achingly so, because you need to know what happened to you, how you left him that day, what happened to him.

You clench your fists, crescents of pain being marked into your skin from the force of your nails. The sting makes you snap out of it, and you sigh, staring at the tiny red marks on your palm. Well, you should hopefully be able to find out tonight.

Butterflies bloom in your stomach, from the anticipation, and you bite your lip, digging through your closet to find something acceptable to wear. Namjoon did say to wear something casual… but how casual is casual, really?

You decide it might be best to go semi-formal, and pick out a formal shirt, and a pair of clean, pressed jeans. That should be safe enough so you don’t embarrass yourself, in any case. You grab a ring from one of many, knowing you usually don’t wear it since it’s uncomfortable, but anticipating that today might be a worthy occasion.

The rest of the day flies by with you nervously pacing around your home, running a hand through your hair more frequently than usual, and breath speeding up the closer the clock approaches seven. And, true to his word, Namjoon rings the bell at precisely that time, and you nearly trip over yourself to answer the door.

“Hey,” His brow is furrowed, likely at your breathlessness, but shakes his head, “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, just give me a sec.” You breathe out, and dive back into the house to retrieve your wallet, before shutting the door behind you.

“You look nice.” He offers awkwardly, and you give him a forced smile in return. You can practically feel his concern radiating off him, but don’t address it, just getting into the car at his signal.

Most of the drive is spent in silence, pressure building into your mind, until you can’t take it.

“Namjoon,” You breathe out, unable to stop yourself, “I think Jin’s my soulmate.”

You cry out as the car screeches to a sudden halt, nearly banging your head against the dashboard, saved by the belt.

“What the hell?!” You exclaim, turning to face Namjoon, only to falter at his pale expression, “W-What is it?”

“I should be saying that!” Namjoon looks shaken, eyes wide, “Where did that suddenly come from?”

“Oh.” You understand immediately, feeling guilt curl in your stomach, “Sorry, I know that was pretty sudden.”

“I’ll say.” Namjoon sighs, before starting the car again, “But why do you think that?”

“The words on my wrist.” You confess, ducking your head with a sad smile, “They’re the first ones he’s said to me.”

“That might just be a coincidence—”

“The date matches too.”

“Oh.” Namjoon is struck dumb, for the first time, though you wish he weren’t, before he nods, eyes on the road, “In that case, the only thing we can do is ask him.”

“I guess so.”

  Namjoon walks into the apartment first, carrying a bottle of wine. You feel guilty for not getting something too, but he assures you that’s alright, since everything was so last-minute anyway. Jin greets you guys at the door, though there’s something strange in his eyes when his gaze lands on you.

“What’s for dinner?” Namjoon asks after a painful silence, smiling tightly, as his eyes flit between you and Jin; gosh, he can’t be any more obvious, “Do I smell pasta?”

“Not exactly.” Jin answers tersely, before attempting a pitiful smile, “Artichoke Linguine, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Namjoon mutters, “I’m just… going to go…”

He barely leaves the room when you speak.

“Can I talk to you, Jin?” You ask politely when he looks at you with a hesitant smile, “In private?”

“Of… of course.” His eyebrows furrow, disrupting his flawless expanse of skin, and he grasps your hand to lead you down the hall into a bedroom of some kind—probably his. Or maybe a guest room? “What’s on your mind?”

You breathe out heavily, meeting his warm brown eyes, “Can I see your wrist?”

His expression fills with understanding, eyes alighting with… perhaps, hope as he slowly holds up his wrist for you to take. You do so gently, throat choking up when you see the slope of familiar black letters.

 All good things, I hope.

 And the date underneath is the same as yours, which is almost the confirmation you need. You wordlessly hold out your wrist, which Jin takes with trembling fingers, to thumb across so gently and lovingly that it makes your eyes water.

“I can’t believe I finally found you.” He whispers tearfully and you nod, echoing the sentiment, “Oh my god, Y/N, I can’t…”

“Neither can I.” You understand what he means immediately, and hesitate for a brief moment, before deciding screw it and wrapping your arms as tightly around him as you possibly can, “I… I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” He presses your chin into the crown of your head, arms circling you too. You can’t possibly be imagining the slow drip of tears either, “You never did anything wrong.”

“I wasn’t there for you.” You choke out a sob, brushing your cheek against his soft vest, “I wasn’t there when you needed me, I’m so sorry—”

“Never.” He says firmly, even through the thickness in his voice, “It’s never your fault, love.”

You remain like this, crying softly into each other’s embrace, two parts of a shattered whole, before you wipe at your eyes and step back, noticing Jin doing the same.

“Hey, at least we’ve found each other, right?” He offers, smiling achingly.

“You’re right.” You smile, and take his hand, “I… I wanted to know if I could stay over for tonight. N-Not for that!” You add hurriedly when you see him smile behind his free hand, “I just… I want to figure stuff out.”

“Okay.” He agrees easily, though he looks like he’s warring with himself, “Anything you want.”

  Dinner ends up being fun. You and Jin constantly exchange shy glances, much to Namjoon’s chagrin, and he decides to leave pretty quickly because of that. Jin agrees to give you a ride the next day and so, with that assurance, Namjoon waves the two of you goodbye.

  “Ready?” Jin asks, eyes soft as he cards his hands through your hair. Your heads are already nestled by the pillows, soft and lulling.

“As ready as I can be.” You grin wryly, and link your fingers together.

 It doesn’t take long for everything to fade away.

  Your breath escapes in uneven gasps as you stare at the crimson-stained hand a moment longer. Your side burns, but you know there’s no stopping now, not unless you want their sacrifice to be in vain. Your gut clenches at the thought, but you stumble your way through the shrubbery, even though a small part of you just knows this is it, that this is the end of the line.

“I see him!” One of them call out, and bile climbs up your throat in fear, “He’s within range!”

“Good, don’t let him out of your sights!”

No. No, no, nonononono you need to get out of here, you need to—

Your mouth parts, a low moan bubbling out, along with a sticky red liquid that trails down your lips and drips off your chin; your knees finally give out, and you collapse onto the hard ground on your stomach, feeling the burn of the arrow embedded into your back.

“You put up quite a fight, Your Highness.” A familiar voice taunts, and you manage to look up blearily at the approaching man—the Commander of your army, “Impressive.”

“Just do it.” Your eyes slip shut in resignation, muscles twitching, “Finish me.”

“Gladly.” He snorts, squatting down to fist his hand into your hair, pulling your head up to meet his gaze, “Your mother, the Queen, sends her regards. Any last words?”

You don’t answer, just look up at the glittering night sky above, imagining your love, their beautiful smile and kind eyes.

“I’m glad to finally be able to see you,” You murmur, eyes glazing over, “Love.”

“Touching.” The man murmurs, before there’s a sharp blade pressed against your neck, “Goodbye.”

  You wake up with a gasp, tears trailing down your cheeks, but this time, Jin’s there, pressing your wet cheeks together and pressing a salty kiss to your lips.

Your fingers tangle into his shirt, grounding yourself, reminding yourself that he’s here, he’s not dead, he’s alive.

“Never again.” He sobs out, and your shoulder shake as you fold into him, “I’m never letting you go again.”

“I love you.” You whisper painfully into the silence, “I never got to say it before, but… I really, really love you.”

“I love you too.” He murmurs back, shattered, “And I’ll never stop.”

Written By: Midnight

[prettyblossoms]

Lost in Limbo (Ch.6)

Summary: Dealing with the pressure of being a teenager is proving to be too much for seventeen-year-old Eddie Kaspbrak, who is unable to deal with his overbearing mother’s expectations and violent school bullies. To make matters worse, he is fighting a losing battle with his sexuality. Meanwhile, Richie Tozier is trying to convince himself that what he feels towards his best friend is mere attraction. Will they be able to find the truth in each other or are they destined to crash and burn?

Pairings: Reddie, Stenbrough, Benverly.

Warnings: Angst, homophobic language.

A/N: I would like to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart for reading my story. Leaving comments and reblogging always make me smile and make me feel good about what I am writing. This chapter was edited by my friend, dinotsuki! She is on ao3 and tumblr! However, if you find any errors please let me know! More eyes are better than four.

Previous Chapters:

Prelude Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5

                             Chapter 6: You're the Inspiration Richie drove just as he lived each day, fast-paced and dangerously. He swerved in and out of traffic earning him honks from those in his path. They slammed on their brakes to avoid hitting him, screaming profanities as they rushed past him. Richie groaned in annoyance and threw the trash he had sitting on the passenger seat out the window.

Hasta la vista, homework.

To drown out the frustrated yells from the traffic around him, he turned the radio up to an alarmingly high volume. The truck began to rattle, and he could practically feel his seat pulsating beneath him. He slapped his hands onto the wheel playfully following the tempo of the song.

Raspily he sang, "Take a bottle, shake it up. Break the bubble, break it up. Pour some sugar on me. Ooh, in the name of love. Pour some sugar on me."

Richie turned the wheel and shifted his blinker on signaling for everyone to get the hell out of his way. He accelerated up to 85 miles per hour and then merged between three lanes with ease, possibly leaving behind wreckage and disaster. Richie parked onto a dirty area just outside the Barrens. He pulled his keys out of the ignition and practically flew out of the car. He swallowed thickly to regain moisture in his mouth.

"Oh, Eds! Come out come out wherever you are. Dear old Trashmouth has come to save the day."

His voice echoed, causing the nearby birds to drift away from trees in the distance.

Richie listened for any noises nearby, but his ears did not pick up on anything but chirps. Richie began to walk more quickly through the rocky area, near the water's surface shouting. "You know, I am not in the mood to play hide and go seek Eds. Well except for later when I play hide the cucumber with your mother."

Still nothing.

He stopped to look around the area, trying to determine which way Eddie would have gone. His eyes averted to the environment in front of him. Rocks of all sizes littered onto the dirty ground.

Nope

Eddie would be too afraid of falling onto the uneven gravel and getting a disease from an animal's feces. He shifted his body to the left and noticed a path that was almost barren, past the stream. It appeared to be more dirt than rock.

Bingo

As Richie began to walk down the trail, he heard the unmistakable sound of someone wheezing in the distance. Richie quickened his pace his vans crunching the crisp leafs below.

“Eds!” His ordinarily low voice escalated a couple of notches, the sound was entirely foreign for Richie.

Then the loud, uneven breathing abruptly stopped, leaving Richie with no idea where to go. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his own heart beating rapidly in his ears, knowing the situation became dire.

“Fuck! Eddie, where are you?” He muttered as he sprinted further down the path, his eyes frantically darting looking for the smaller boy.

Richie ran as fast as he could, but he was certainly not in his element. Sweat rolled down his forehead making his curly hair cling to him uncomfortably. His lungs screamed at him in protest, each time he inhaled through his nose his chest radiated with heat. He panted deeply, trying to intake more precious air. Richie's body hurt from overexertion, and his mind screamed at him to stop. But his heart wouldn't let him. It was his turn to go to the end of the world for Eddie. It did not help matters that he was long and ungraceful like a gazelle, so he almost tripped over his own feet numerous times.

The world stopped rotating when he finally found the smaller male. Richie’s eyes magnified taking in Eddie's appearance. He was sprawled out on the floor with dirt clinging to his clothes, hair, and body. His breath hitched as he noticed the spaghetti staining not only the black hoodie he was wearing but also his gorgeous hair. Eddie's breaths were shallow, but he was struggling.

"Eds!" Richie dropped to his side immediately grabbing Eddie's shoulders hauling him up to a sitting position. He placed one of his arms on Eddie's lower back while he put the other one in his pocket, grabbing an extra inhaler. Skillfully, he pulled off the cap and placed the device up to Eddie's lips.

He pulled the trigger on the top, allowing the "medicine" to flow into the boy's lungs. Richie could feel Eddie beginning to even out, so he rubbed reassuring circles into Eddie's back.

"You're okay now, Eds." Richie turned to smile, but it disappeared when he noticed Eddie's eyelashes glued onto his cheeks. Eddie was fast asleep. Richie swallowed the lump in his throat, looking back at the direction he just came from and then at Eddie again.

Just my fucking luck.

Without a second thought, he placed his arm under Eddie's knees being careful not to brush against the boy's rear accidentally. With his free arm, he pushed Eddie into his chest grabbing onto his shoulder. Richie hauled him up into his arms, his legs almost buckling beneath him due to Eddie's deadweight.

"Damn Eds. You're going to be the death of me." Richie chuckled at his joke as he carried Eddie out of the Barrens.

Eddie's head was throbbing in agony, the sound of wind rushing towards at an alarming rate only worsened it. His hair was moving everywhere, which would have been an issue, had he not welcomed the crisp air refreshing his sweaty skin.

His eyes opened, and he started to scan his surroundings. He could see what was supposed to be the bottom of a vehicle's floorboard, trash covering it completely. Directly in front of him was a dashboard and he saw the familiar air freshener in the shape of a tree dangling on the sun visor mirror.

"R-Richie?" His mouth was drier than the Sahara desert, so it came out weakly. Richie turned his head over to him, only taking his eyes off of the road in front of him for a second. "Morning sleepy head."

"Do you have anything to drink, Rich? I am so fucking thirsty. I'll drink almost anything. As long as it's sealed."

Richie laughed at that. Even when Eddie was in such a desperate state, the germaphobe inside of him still managed to surface. He reached into a black plastic bag beside him and pulled out a water bottle dangling it in front of Eddie.

Eddie snatched it and opened the cap inspected the rim to make sure it was clean. He then turned his head to Richie. "Wait. Did you buy this from a gas station?"

"Seriously? It's fucking closed, your majesty. I didn't even take a drink of it. How the hell are you going to question where it came from?" Richie added, "I spent $1.00 on that, so it is the real deal Eds."

"Do you know what they do at gas stations, Richie? They take old water bottles and refill them with tap water, glue them shut and then resell them! Do you even know what's in tap water? There is fucking lead, chlorine, and fluoride! I don't know about you, but I don't want any of that shit in my body. Also, do you know how many people's lips may have come into contact with-"

Richie cut him off, "What happened to, 'I'll drink almost anything, as long as it's sealed' huh?" raising the pitch of his voice, mocking the younger boy.

Eddie sighed as he brought the bottle up to his lips, drinking some of it. He smacked his tongue to the roof of his mouth and didn't taste any chalky textures. He took another drink, this time he took large gulps until there was nothing left.

Richie hummed in satisfaction. "Weren't all of those minerals and lead particles delicious, Eds?"

Eddie wanted to punch him but only slumped back into the comfort of Richie's passenger seat. "Fuck you, Tozier."

"You'll have to wait in line behind your mother and the rest of the student body," Richie responded without thinking. As soon as he realized, he felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

Quickly, he tried to change the subject. "Are you going to tell me what happened at school?"

Richie refused to make eye contact with Eddie, so he didn't see that Eddie's face was just as flushed as his own.

"No. I don't want to talk about it," it came out as a mumble since his head was downcast in shame.

Richie turned onto Eddie's street, and he could feel Eddie become tense. "What the hell are you doing Richie? Taking me home for my mother to slaughter me?!?"

"Eddie I know you don't want to talk about it, but you practically slapped Bowers into another fucking dimension. Then you ran out of the school while it was still in session. So, your mom is still at work!"

Eddie stopped, realizing Richie was right. "Sorry. I am just..." He paused thinking of what to say, "On edge."

"Everyone can tell, dude." Richie retorted. "If you don't want to talk about what happened at school, then can we at least talk about this morning?" He pulled his truck into Eddie's driveway and pulled his emergency brake to secure it in place. "There is nothing to talk about, Richie." Eddie got out of the car, stumbling slightly.

Richie was by his side in an instant, pulling one of Eddie's arms up onto his shoulder to stabilize him. "I only want to help you, Eds." His voice was stern, yet caring at the same time.

Eddie didn't know what to say, so he kept his mouth shut. Together they walked into the house and Eddie sighed in relief to see his mother was not home. In utter silence, they made their way up the stairs into Eddie's room.

Finally, Richie broke the awkward silence. “Well, Eddie Spaghetti-” he stopped when he noticed the other boy glaring at him on the bed.

“My bad, Eds.” Richie corrected himself, not wanting to remind his friend of the horrible events of the day.

Eddie stood up and went over to his drawers, grabbing a clean shirt, shorts, and underwear. "I'm going to get all this crap off of me. I'll leave the door open so you can continue to blabber, trashmouth."

Richie could hear the sound of Eddie peeling off his clothes, throwing them onto the floor without care. Richie did not dare to turn around. Instead, he turned his back so that it faced the bathroom door.

He looked around at the room that had become his second home. He could see parts of the white sheets showing underneath Eddie's bright salmon blanket. Then he looked over to Eddie's perfectly organized desk. All of the papers were in a neat pile. His pencils and other school supplies were in a box on the far corner.

Gently, he picked up the only thing he hadn't seen before. It was a cherry oak picture frame. Richie looked at it and smiled sincerely. It was a photo from Mike's 17th birthday party almost a year ago. Mike was wearing a pink birthday cap and had his arm wrapped around Bev, who was holding the cake up with a giant grin on her face. To her right stood Ben who was laughing at something Stan said. Stan was right beside him with his arm around Bill, who was smiling with his eyes closed. Finally, his eyes skimmed to himself who was looking at all of them blowing on a noise maker. Then there was Eddie, who was also smiling ear to ear. Unlike everyone else in the photo, Eddie's eyes only had one focus, and that was the person who was right beside him.

Being cautious of everything else on Eddie's desk, he set the photo back down but found something in its place. It was a mixtape that he did not recognize and he smirked at the idea of pure old Eddie hiding something from his mother.

Eddie came out of the shower wearing a white shirt and navy blue shorts. Richie's eyes to traveled down to Eddie's bare legs but knew he couldn't stare for long. Awkwardly, he grabbed the mixtape off of Eddie's desk.

Richie snorted bringing it up to face reading Eddie's neat handwriting in sharpie, “Chicago? This is some old shit, Eddie.” Richie looked back to Eddie's face. His hair was soaking wet, do drops of water slid off of his face onto his clean top.

Eddie's eyebrows furrowed and his nose scrunched up in annoyance. “You weren’t saying that three years ago. Since you don't clean yourself regularly, you must've accumulated a ton ear wax, and now it's clogging your hearing. I guess that's why you wouldn't know good music from bad.”

"Well, let's see if your music is any better Kaspbrak," Richie challenged the other as he slid the mixtape in Eddie's stereo and pressed play.

Eddie rolled his eyes and made himself comfortable on his bed, placing his hands on his lap.

Richie stood beside him. It was killing him not to talk, especially to Eddie. He wanted to know what was wrong with his best friend. No. Richie needed to understand what was going on like he required blood in his veins. Not having his questions answered made his mind wander restlessly. The sound of Chicago's songs playing one after another in the background was the only thing filling the tension in the room.

Eddie looked up and made eye contact with Richie for the first time since they got to the house. "Don't blow a head gasket over there, Rich."

"Easy for you to say, Eddie. I am supposed to be your best friend, and you won't tell me what the fuck is going on. Richie's feelings poured out of him, and his next words came out as a shout. "How do you expect anyone to help you?"

Eddie's brows tightened as he scowled, "Who said I needed help, Richie?" "The whole gang is worried about you, Eddie. But you are keeping us in the dark."

"That must be a joke, coming from you. Richie the guy who always comes over to spend the night when things go wrong at his house, but never bothers to let me know what is going on."

Eddie stepped off of his bed and began to walk towards Richie. "Rather than ripping your head off for answers, I support you. For once Richie, I need the same. I don't want to talk about it today. I want to forget it." Eddie's voice was hushed, coming out as a plea.  "Why can't you just stop prying?"

Richie began to think about it, trying to find a way to argue his case. However, he recalled the nights he ran to Eddie's house after a fight with his parents. He would lay in Eddie's arms until he fell asleep and Eddie would never question him when he woke up in the morning. Eddie would bring him breakfast and they would read comic books until they decided to hang out with the others.

Eddie always supported him.

Richie wanted to apologize and tell Eddie that he was right. He wanted to admit that he was a selfish hypocrite, and he just couldn't help it. But the sound of the next song came on, halting his actions. The voice was soothing, and the beat was calming and mellow.

You know our love was meant to be. The kind of love to last forever and I want you here with me, from tonight until the end of time.

Richie recognized the song as something they used to listen to and suddenly Richie felt the urge to hold Eddie.

But he couldn’t just say that.

"Dance with me, Eds." Richie offered, but his voice was so stern that it sounded like a command.

Nervously, Eddie folded his arms over his chest as he shrieked. "What the fuck? No! Did you forget that we are fighting right now."

Richie closed the distance between them and placed his large hands on Eddie's hips. "Not anymore. I'm sorry, Eddie. Just dance with me, please."

The glare on Eddie's face softened when he saw the glimmer of passion in Richie’s eyes. The anger suddenly receded and was replaced by the sensation of butterflies fluttering in his chest and stomach. He always felt helpless whenever Richie was around. He convinced himself that Richie had him under a magical spell that forced him to feel this way. Every it only got worse. He could feel himself slipping falling deeper in love with Richie. Although it was a problem,  he never wanted it to go away.

He never wanted Richie to go away.

Eddie placed arms around Richie's neck, burying his face in Richie's shoulder to conceal his blush. Richie pulled Eddie closer into himself and began to sway slowly around the room.

You should know, everywhere I go. Always on my mind, in my heart in my soul baby. You’re the meaning in my life you’re the inspiration.

They waltzed around the room, holding onto each other as if their lives depended on it. Eddie yearned to confess everything, from the leper to Henry Bowers, and his feelings for Richie. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he ended up biting his bottom lip and swallowing them. Richie was his person, and he couldn’t afford to lose that.

Eddie could only pretend. Right now, he was the center of Richie's entire universe. They were together and happy. He was loved. He was accepted. He was free. But he wasn’t.

His heart ached, but Eddie continued to dance with Richie. He wrapped his arms tighter around Richie as he felt hot tears beginning to sting his eyes. Despite how much it hurt him emotionally, Eddie knew he would regret it if he didn’t stay in Richie’s embrace for as long as he could.

Richie felt the heat on his chest and looked down at Eddie, who was hiding his face in part of Richie’s shirt.

Richie gently moved one of his hands up to Eddie’s hair and stroked some of the damp parts. “You're okay, Eds. I got you. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

You bring feeling to my life, you’re the inspiration. I wanna have you near me I wanna have you hear me saying, ‘No one needs you more than I need you.’ And I know, yes I know that it's plain to see so in love when were here together. Now I know that I need you here with me. From tonight until the end of time.

Eddie’s head shot up at to look at Richie and couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. They rolled down off his bottom lashes and slid down his cheeks with no sign on them stopping.

Richie placed his hands onto Eddie’s cheeks, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. He peered into Eddie’s amber brown eyes and felt a pang of empathy go down his spine.

“Please don’t cry, Eds. When you hurt, I hurt.” Richie noticed that the tears only continued, so he sang along to the song. “You should know, everywhere I go always on my mind. You’re in my heart in my soul.”

Eddie smiled at him warmly, feeling like his heart was about to burst. He shakily continued the next part, “You’re the meaning in my life you’re the inspiration. You bring feeling to my life you’re the inspiration.”

Richie’s eyes widened seeing that smile from Eddie. It was the same one that set his heart on fire and made his stomach uneasy. “Wanna have you near me. I wanna hear you saying, ‘no one needs you more than I need you.”

Richie averted his gaze to Eddie’s pink lips. They were full and plump and kissable as hell.  Of its own accord, his body got closer to Eddie’s. He put his forehead against Eddie’s and stared at him intently.

Eddie’s blush deepened when he traced Richie’s stare to his lips and then looked back into Richie’s dark eyes.

Suddenly their lips were drawn together, who moved first was not known, but that didn't matter because it ended just as quickly as it started.  

Everything crashed on Richie at once. All of those times he was staring at Eddie inappropriately, wanting to kiss him, and that fucking smile that made him feel things he never wanted to was not from his hormones betraying him.

“Uhmm… I gotta go, Eds. My mom is going to want me home soon.” Richie made up a lie, letting go of Eddie like it burned to touch him.

Eddie knew that Richie was leaving because of him. He also knew that after today, they probably would no longer be friends. He swallowed the lump in his throat, choking back sobs.  “T-thanks for everything, Richie.”

Richie quickly grabbed his keys and made his way to the door but Eddie caught his attention once more.

“Tomorrow is Thursday. Are you going to come hang out with me at the Quarry while I run?” Eddie’s voice held no hope, but he faked it as best as he could to sound normal.

Richie didn’t turn around. His heart was racing. If he dared to turn around, he would have done something rash. “Of course, Eds. How else would I see your mom?”  

Richie ran down the stairs only hearing the sound of Eddie sobbing. His voice echoed in his ears. He exited the Kaspbrak house and shut the door quietly behind him.

The moment Richie got into his truck he let out a frustrated yell. Painfully, he slammed his hands into his steering wheel as a way of punishing himself. Due to his selfishness alone, he lost the only person who ever cared about him.

All because he fell in love with his best friend.

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