#and ive also been thinking in circles about this prompt so. i figured why not combine!

[freetheworms]

Perhaps "I love you" as a promise for the prompts? 💚

hiiiii wren <3

a million thank yous for sending this and also your patience because it took me soooo long to write this lmao (life is insane, what else is new!!!) but finally it's done! idk what it is exactly but here! for you!!

(Geraskier, 1.2k words, warning for MCD i guess? reincarnation tho don’t worry)

**********

Geralt names all his horses Roach. 

It is strange, he knows. He’s been told, even, that it’s too boring, too impersonal, too cold, and yet still he does not change.

“Don’t you think it’s a disservice to the love of the last Roach? To name them all the same?” Jaskier had said after that third winter; the first time Geralt had spotted the bard from the back of a new young mare with the same old name.

(Well. Truthfully, the first thing Jaskier had said upon introduction to the new steed was, “Geralt, not to alarm you, but you do know this is an entirely different horse, right?” but Geralt doesn’t feel much like laughing just now.)

Geralt had merely grunted in lieu of an answer, and blessedly, Jaskier had shrugged and prattled on about some colleague or other that had wronged him over his winter at Oxenfurt. He hadn’t yet learned to push his fingers into the cracks of Geralt’s armour.

Good. Better Jaskier not ask about the why.

Because the why is something even Geralt himself doesn’t quite know how to name.

The why is the way his mother left him all those years ago; doomed him to a life of loneliness and loss that doesn’t follow him, but begs him to ride along the soft curve of it’s back. The way he accepts time and time again because at least it’s something to hold onto.

The why is his brothers lost. The family he was never meant to have, but now mourns in the dark of the night when no one can see him. The men that did not return to the keep one winter or another, no word, no warning, no goodbye. The children they were, are, could never be, will never stop being.

The why is Geralt, just a few years on the path, holding axii to that first mare’s coat, gritting his teeth against the flood of emotions he’s been told he no longer has. It’s the way his shoulders shake as her heavy head lolls in his lap, no pain left in her, but neither any life. The way that suddenly, he’s never felt more alone.

The why is the way Renfri had looked at him, all dark eyes, pleading for something Geralt couldn’t give her, let alone himself. The way he’d watched that look bleed out across his trousers, the cobblestone, sink into his skin. The way he’d refused to play the game and yet somehow lost anyway.

The why is Jaskier.

The why is having known, the moment he’d met him, that this would be a pain to end all pain. That this was going to crush him beyond all recognition, and worse still, leave him standing. Whole and wholly emptier than ever before.

The why is something about pain and loss and having no control over either. Something about a life so long you’re afraid to live it, for fear of the holes it tears in your soul to leave love behind. Something about the lies we allow ourselves in order to keep living.

***

“Geralt, darling?” Jaskier asks now, so many years later, “Why do you name all your horses Roach?” His eyes are just as blue as ever, though his lashes now are silver as they catch the midmorning light.

Geralt’s grip on his bard’s frail hand tightens almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t want to talk about this. Not now. He wants to run. He wants to hold tighter. He wants to fall apart right here in this chair and let his love put him back together again. He wants to lie.

But he owes Jaskier this.

And so he takes a deep breath, and he says, “I have spent my whole life losing. I couldn’t bear to lose her too.”

(“I can’t lose you,” he doesn’t say. He thinks maybe Jaskier hears it anyway.)

“Oh, my dearest,” Jaskier sighs, a small smile on his lips. His voice is like rain after a long drought. “You have spent your whole life loving.”

Geralt thinks about that for a long moment. “I suppose you could say I have,” he says at last. “Love, and loss. One and the same when you live a life like mine.”

“Ours,” Jaskier corrects.

“A life like ours,” Geralt concedes, strokes a thumb across the back of Jaskier’s weathered hand.

Ours.

“And what a life it has been,” Jaskier breathes. He sounds tired, nostalgic, alive. “A life by your side. I wouldn’t change it for the world, my love. Would you?”

He’s thought about it. Really, he has. He’s spent countless nights by the light of the fire, watching Jaskier breathe, pondering this inevitable loss; wondering whether he’d be better off having never loved at all. 

(There’s a poem in there somewhere, he thinks, but poetry has always belonged to his bard, and so he leaves that thread alone.)

“I wouldn’t,” he says finally, and he’s almost surprised to find that he means it, even after all of this pain. “Of course I wouldn’t.”

Jaskier beams at him then, like Geralt himself has hung the moon. “See, I always knew you loved me under all those—” he gestures with the fingers of the hand Geralt isn’t holding like a lifeline. The movement is slow and stilted. “—lovely muscles,” he finishes with an exaggerated wink that deepens the crows feet around his eyes.

It’s a joke, Geralt knows, but he has to be sure. “You do know though, don’t you? That I—“

“I do,” Jaskier interrupts. “Oh Geralt, my love, of course I do. My only regret is that I’ll hate to leave you.”

Gently, Geralt raises Jaskier’s hand to his lips and kisses it softly, willing it to convey all the things he could never say out loud. 

(I hate it too. Please don’t go. Take me with you.)

The silence stretches out between them, and Jaskier’s eyes slip closed. His heartbeat is faint now, even to witcher’s ears, and Geralt steadfastly does not go to pieces. He holds Jaskier’s hand a little tighter. 

Not yet, not yet, not yet, he silently pleads. He is still pleading when Jaskier cracks his eyes open and says, so quietly that were he human, Geralt isn’t sure he’d have heard it, “Before I go, will you promise me one thing, my love?”

“Anything.”

Jaskier grips Geralt’s hand as tight as he dares and looks, for all the world, as if, of every word he’s ever written or uttered, this may well be the most important. “Will you promise to find me? In my next life.”

“That, and every life after,” Geralt says, because he knows this is his last chance to say it. “High and low, my lark, I will search for you. I will love you, always and forever.”

The rapture that washes over Jaskier then is so palpable that Geralt himself feels awash with it, despite everything. “I love you,” Jaskier says, and it’s almost an echo. “In this life, and the next.” 

And then, with a sigh of relief, and Geralt’s hand firm in his, Jaskier is still.

***

Geralt names all his horses Roach.

It is strange, he knows. But when he once again meets a travelling bard with bright blue eyes and a flower for a name, all those years after he made a quiet promise, he finally knows how to answer his question.

The why is knowing that goodbye is not always the end. That no matter how many times they say it, the love is never lost. That the love of the last does not cheapen the love of the extant, no matter the name.

The why is Jaskier. Always and forever. In this life, and the next.

[effervescentdragon]

Hi! I just wanted to say that this week I chose to read some of the fics you have up in AO3 ( and by some of them I mean a lot) and I'm obsessed with your Sebchal Old Guard AU.

I haven't watched the movie yet, but I've been tempted in the past and your writing was the last reason I needed to do it.

That scene when Sebastian has apparently died and Charles holds him while praying in Latin, and he is so devastated about losing Sebastian because immortality is only a gift if Charles gets to share it with him.

That was..WOW..Yeah. No words. Tens across the board.

Those dreams of Lewis and Nico. The ending in Suzuka when Charles is wearing red again. People choosing to spend immortality together just really gets to me, I guess.

That fic really did something for me, and I have to thank you for it.

PS: your Nico/Jenson Soulmate fic made me see why people ship those two.

PS 2:"Red Gods of Old" is so phenomenal. I had to keep pausing to look at the wall and think about every paragraph.

PS 3: I was blown away when I saw you posted again, and blown away again because I had already read the Piarles piece, but didn't realize it was part of a series. I loved your first chapter. So angsty, and I hated the fact that you made me relate to Lando, but also thank for that.

Thank your for sharing your writing, and I know sending this right now seems so convenient because of your post earlier, but I really enjoyed the reading sprint I had on your stuff and I wanted to say so. Sorry for writing so much this got a little bit longer than the single paragraph I had intended it to be. :)

anon this made me so happy. like so so so happy, insanely happy. the answer is gonna get long because i cant not ramble about all this, so, cut.

my sebchal old guard au is my favourite thing ive ever written and i love it so much and people dont often go for it, though i do have some wonderful asks in my inbox that im saving for a rainy day and i just. thank you for coming here to tell me this and i hope you watched the movie because its MASTERFUL. i put so much into that fic, for example i tried to figure out how to make two white boys be joe and nicky without being insensitive or appropriative about race, and how not to apply the fundamentality of joe's loveliness of being an arab man (gentle and kind and a poet in his soul) to this german dude. that one kept me up for a while, so i decided not to mirror it perfectly but to apply seb and charles' personalities into the context, except adapting the other way around. it was a challenge to write, because i wove so much little ideas and nods to other people in there, not the least lewis and nico as andy and quynh, and then in the end i just really wanted them to come a full circle and somehow tie it in with f1. i always do this in my au's, give a little nod to f1 somehow, just to show my love for it. anyways, thank you so much for reading it and just. i love that you liked it.

oh god the princess cake soulmate fic - i saw the prompt and i couldnt resist! it turned out to be a prompt by a tumblr friend so that worked out even better. i love nico and i love him with jenson and i need to get back to writing him some more soon tbh. he is such a complicated and interesting character and he has twists and turns and i just love him insanely much. (if you liked the soulmate fic, i refer to this fic as my princess cake master thesis, so you may like that one too, maybe.)

oh my fucking god. this part. this part had me stopping in the middle of my corridor when i saw it because like. nobody reads that fic? nobody knows it and its my first proper rpf that i wrote and i love it so much and i just. im just heart-eyeing you now, because that was me trying to figure out some things about seb and about ferrari and to make it work in my head so i know how to proceed, so, thank you for reading it, and especially mentioning it!

thank you also so much for reading my carlando, im very excited about it because i never wrote them and im a bit nervous about the characterisation but so far it seems like it has a positive reception. i made it angsty on purpose because lando is just a ball of anxiety and i rly tried to show it. im super hyped about the next chapter two, but please keep all your limbs crossed for my uni work, which i have to do tomrrow on penalty of death.

please, never think its inconvenient to read something as lovely as this ask, no matter if its because of a post i made or just because, it literally doesnt matter, because you took the time to come and tell me these lovely things anyway. it made me happy and it made me hyped up and thank you. and there's never ever too much rambling, i dont see this as rambling i see this as something lovely. thank you <333

[the-last-kenobi]

Most of your fics absolutely destroyed me emotionally so, on my own risk, may I request #13 “You shouldn’t be this easy to carry" with Qui-Gon and padawan Obi-Wan? Thank you!

Ohhh I’m happy to write this one! Thank you! (Always pleased to hear I’ve emotionally wrecked innocent people lol)

From this various prompts list.

_

Qui-Gon descended the ramp of his ship with something less than his usual grace, his expression was rather sour. Other than that, he looked his usual self, untidy but comfortable and serene.

He waved to the attendant heading towards the ship, and bowed to a small mechanic droid that squeaked with excitement, ran in circles around him, and then darted off after the attendant.

Qui-Gon chuckled. He paused to take a deep breath, tasting the metallic scent of Coruscant on the air, but also the warm and familiar notes of the Temple, of home. It was good to be back. Tedious diplomatic assignments that ran well overtime were nothing worth dwelling on, especially when it was done alone.

“Master Jinn!” a warm voice called.

He turned his head and saw Shaak Ti walking towards him, a smile on her lovely face with its striking colors.

“Knight Ti,” he greeted her. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” she answered. “I’m just about to depart to Alderaan; it’s a royal wedding and I’m the token Jedi invitee,” she informed him, but there was no offense in her voice. Alderaan was well known to be genuinely welcoming, and had been more than courteous in their dealings with the Order for centuries on end.

“Enjoy it,” Qui-Gon advised her. “Weddings are rarely something you’d like to miss.”

“I will,” she promised. “Oh, is your Padawan around? I was hoping to catch him when he returned, he forgot to sign off on his departure notice and was scheduled for three shifts in the crèche, which he obviously missed.”

Qui-Gon’s head tilted to one side, and he frowned.

It was obvious that Shaak Ti believed that Obi-Wan had accompanied him on his mission, which had in fact been a solo assignment. The twenty-one-year-old Padawan had remained behind for class rotations.

And Obi-Wan had never missed... well, anything. He was notoriously early for everything, beyond punctual. It was almost annoying.

Perhaps he’d finally slipped into a belated teenage fit of laziness, or he’d fallen so behind on class work that he’d forgotten about the crèche. Both would be extremely out of character, but one instance of this in nearly nine years of training could perhaps be excused.

Shaak Ti was waiting for an answer.

“I’ll talk to him,” he promised, revealing nothing. “Thank you for letting me know. I had no idea.”

She waved it off. “These things happen. You have a good student on your hands; he’s easily forgiven.”

Qui-Gon smiled.

~

The door to their quarters opened for him with a casual wave of the hand. Jedi did not lock their doors often; privacy was an understood thing, something not casually breached. No Jedi would enter another’s rooms without first asking permission.

He wasn’t sure what he expected.

Obi-Wan in the common area, reading.

Or Obi-Wan out and about, somewhere off with some of his more trouble making friends. (Quinlan Vos.)

He was not expecting to find Obi-Wan huddled in the corner of their kitchenette, half-hidden in his cloak, knees drawn up under his chin, crying.

Obi-Wan saw him enter and flinched away, shuddering.

Qui-Gon stared.

The entire scene was so unexpected, so wrong, that for a full five seconds he simply stood there, unable to process it. Obi-Wan had buried his face in his knees and was attempting to stifle his tears, seemingly by holding his breath, which was only making him shake harder.

Qui-Gon jolted out of his paralysis and stepped nearer, dropping onto one knee, sensing that looming over his Padawan was not going to help.

“Padawan?” he asked cautiously.

Obi-Wan looked up reluctantly. His face was a sickly grey; his cheeks were bright red and his blue eyes were feverish. They darted around, seeming to fix on nothing.

“Obi-Wan,” the Master tried again, warily reaching out a hand and resting it on top of one of Obi-Wan’s, clenched around his knee.

Obi-Wan took a rattling breath, more tears spilling down his cheeks. “...What... day is it...?” he gasped.

Qui-Gon’s chest tightened with something close to terror. What in all the galaxy was going on here?

“It’s the 29th,” he said gently. “Taungsday. I returned a day late from my solo mission. Do you remember that?”

Obi-Wan’s tears had increased throughout the brief speech. “Y-yes.”

“All right,” said Qui-Gon, struggling to remain as calm and patient as possible. “All right. Can you tell me what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, his expression crumbling. Suddenly he very much resembled the boy Qui-Gon had met on Bandomeer, uncertain and frightened, although even then he had not cried. This was different.

“Are you sure?” Qui-Gon pressed.

Obi-Wan nodded, strangling a loud sob by clapping one hand over his mouth. He said something, but of course it was impossible to understand behind his clamped fingers.

“What?” asked his Master.

“...so...stupid,” Obi-Wan burst out angrily through his tears. “I just... don’t feel well.”

“Don’t feel well?” Qui-Gon stared at his apprentice in confusion. “You’re sick? Obi-Wan, why didn’t you just go to the Halls?”

Obi-Wan shuddered. More tears slid down over his flushed cheeks. “I...I...I fell,” he said, sounding deeply uncertain. “I was working, and it was late, and I fell. I think I fell. I can’t walk. I can barely move. I don’t know how long it’s been—”

Qui-Gon was already moving, alarm ringing in his head like sirens. In two seconds he had Obi-Wan in his arms, cradled like a child, his head resting under Qui-Gon’s chin.

“You shouldn’t be this easy to carry,” he said tensely. “You haven’t had anything to eat or drink since you fell?”

“Some... some water,” Obi-Wan murmured. His skin was blazing hot against Qui-Gon’s, a sick and feverish heat. He had stopped crying — his tears seemed to have stemmed from a combination of confusion and shame, not pain — but he seemed on the verge of passing out. “I... I got some water... don’t remember when...”

“Stay awake,” Qui-Gon ordered. He was striding down the hallways, ignoring the few bystanders who watched them pass with bewilderment and concern. He did send a grateful nod to one young woman who raised her comm in her hand at him, asking a silent question, and at his gesture raised it to her lips and murmured ‘Tell the Healers that Master Jinn is bringing in his Padawan. Have someone ready.’

Obi-Wan murmured something vague.

“Stay awake,” insisted Qui-Gon. “Don’t fall asleep.”

Obi-Wan moaned but nodded, forcing his eyes to stay open. “I...I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” The words came out harsh and insincere in Qui-Gon’s urgency, and he realized it, because he dropped a swift kiss to the top of the fevered head in apology. Obi-Wan relaxed ever so slightly.

They arrived in the Halls of Healing and were immediately received by a Healer and his apprentice, who had Obi-Wan safely tucked in a bed and monitored in less than two minutes. Obi-Wan had closed his eyes against the bright light and seemed in danger of falling asleep again.

“Stay awake just a little longer, Padawan Kenobi,” the Healer instructed kindly. “I’m fairly sure of your diagnosis but I have to be more certain before I can administer treatment. Then you can sleep.”

“Yes, Healer,” rasped the young man.

Qui-Gon watched from the wall, his hands tucked deep in his sleeves to hide how they trembled. The shock of the last quarter hour was setting in, and he scrambled to keep his wits about him, worried about what this diagnosis might be. He still remembered Obi-Wan’s confusion about the day, his bewildered tears, and that memory was not going to be going away anytime soon.

He had been far too light in his arms.

Just how long had Obi-Wan been trapped in their rooms, unable to call for help and too confused to figure out a way around that? How long had he gone without eating and sleeping?

He found out.

An hour later, Obi-Wan was fast asleep, hooked up to an IV and blissfully pain-free due to a dose of pills he had managed to swallow. The Healer turned to Qui-Gon with a weary smile.

“You’re all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine. I’ve just returned from a mission, but I wasn’t hurt.”

“That’s good to know. I was asking about shock, however,” the Healer said gently. “I know this can’t have been a pleasant homecoming.”

Qui-Gon’s throat tightened, but he said nothing.

The Healer seemed to understand. “Obi-Wan has contracted a strain of the flu,” he explained, moving past the brief surge of emotion. “As you know, most strains of the flu are easily combated these days and many species have evolved or inoculated to the point where it’s hardly a concern. But sometimes the flu is stronger. In this case, it’s clear that it’s job was made easy. I don’t think Padawan Kenobi was eating or sleeping properly before the sickness began to set in. It would explain the severity of his malnutrition, and his confusion.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes flickered to the bed where Obi-Wan was sleeping, the fever still burning in his cheeks.

“...How long?” he asked.

“A few days at most,” the Healer said. “But I suspect it’s a habit that’s related to stress and overwork. Does Obi-Wan struggle with stress or insomnia?”

The Master hesitated a moment, opening his mouth to deny it, and then stopping to think better of it.

“...Maybe,” he admitted. The hesitation stung. Shouldn’t he know? “He’s very private with his habits when we’re in Temple. He prefers to study alone in his room, and we usually only manage to share one meal a day during his busier semesters, if that.”

The Healer nodded. He didn’t look or sound at all accusatory when he said, “That’s understandable. I’m going to suggest keeping a closer eye on that. Don’t force him out of his comfort zone, at least not right away, but make sure he understands that three square meals — or better yet, a light meal or snack every two or three hours — is expected of him. As is sleep.”

Qui-Gon nodded, his throat tightening again to the point of pain.

“Rest easy, Master Jinn,” said the Healer, briefly laying a supportive hand on the taller Jedi’s shoulder. “He’ll pull through this. The illness, and everything else. I believe it’s nothing more than a bad habit formed from good intentions. There are crueler demons out there.”

“Yes, I know,” said Qui-Gon. And he did know. One didn’t reach Jedi Mastery without learning the galaxy for what it was.

But he didn’t think he would ever quite move past the shock of today, of carrying his adult apprentice in his arms, sick to the point of tears and helplessness, and then discovering that he could possibly have prevented this if he had paid a little more attention to Obi-Wan’s work habits.

Well. They would, as the Healer said, overcome this.

Qui-Gon drew up a chair to the side of the bed, resolving to wait until Obi-Wan woke, and slowly reached out and set his hand next to his Padawan’s. After a moment, Obi-Wan stirred, and even in his sleep he gave a contented sigh and shifted his hand, his fingers searching blindly for his Master’s hand. Qui-Gon took it and held it tightly.

They had overcome so many things in nearly a decade together.

They could handle this.

And besides, Qui-Gon told himself, even after Obi-Wan was Knighted, he would always be here to watch his back.

He would never abandon Obi-Wan.

_

[maraudereestauderelb]

Touched

A Duff McKagan smut One Shot

Prompt: You go to a concert with one of your friends and band mates, who's having a thing with no other than the band's guitarist Slash. After the show you get to meet Duff McKagen and somehow end up having your first time with him.

MASTERLIST

Warning: sex (duh)

"They're good aren't they?", Y/F/N shouted over the loud music. "Amazing!" "Told ya!"

We were dancing along to the loud music and enjoying ourselves. It had taken her quite some time to convince me to come with her instead of heading for the Troubadour with our other two band mates. Apparently coming with my bassist had been the right choice though.

After a world tour, a successful album and quite a bit more money in my bank account than before we had left LA, I still felt more at home right here. In a rundown club on the strip with a still upcoming rock band on stage.

Y/F/N and I had fit in perfectly. Nobody would recognize just the two of us having a great time and getting drunk. Except maybe the group of aspiring musicians and rising rock bands of the strip. In this circle everyone knew everyone, knew in which bands they had played, who they were associated with, had partied together before and so on and so forth.

That was exactly the reason why we had ended up here. The lead guitarist used to play in a band called Road Crew and had surely attended one of the parties at our trailer before. Y/F/N knew him and she had told me he was in a new band that was very close on getting a record deal. "You gotta check them out! Heard they're fuckin good", had been the argument that had won me over in the end. Not so much her initial reason to come here. That being the fact that apparently the guy had been an awesome fuck and she wanted to get laid by him again.

Now being here, I didn't regret it. I was having fun! And I was back in my usual habitat and in a situation that was familiar. If after the concert she wanted to leave with her black haired curly-head she was free to do so. Either I'd bump into someone I knew or would simply head home and call it a night.

The singer seemed familiar as well and if I remembered correctly Nikki had left his ass outside at one of their parties.

"Yo, what's the lead singer's name again?", I asked Y/F/N. "Oh that's Axl. Hollywood Rose, remember?" "Oh yea, right!"

I got why those boys were apparently very close to making it. Shit, was Guns n' Rosesgood!

Y/F/N had successfully gotten us all the way through the crowd to the stage, where we danced and sang along some more until the band was finished.

A few moments after the last song had ended the club put on some generic rock music and blasted them through the speakers.

"You gonna head backstage or wait here?" This wasn't the type of club in which the band would go off stage and head backstage never to be seen again. They had a small room for all of them to change and would then most likely come out to party. I knew, because we had played here before.

"He saw me, so trust me, he's gonna come to me", she grinned, and I once again admired her confidence.

It didn't take too long before Slash really showed up. He greeted me as well and congratulated on our album, so I told him what a sick guitar player he is. I give credit where it's due.

But I also understood that it was probably best for me to piss off now. So that's what I did. I figured I'd get one last drink and keep my eyes open in case of seeing anybody I knew. And for real I spotted a few people I knew from college who quickly waved me over.

After telling them the generic shit everybody wanted to know coming back from tour, it actually turned into a lot of fun to party with them. No coke but sure as hell a lot of alcohol.

It was hours later when they decided to leave and I had actually planned to leave with them

when I spotted a barkeeper, I knew. He had also attended a bunch of our parties and was a cool guy. So I sat down at the bar and joked around with him some more as the club kept getting emptier.

The club surely was anything but empty at one point, neither was it packed. It wasn't so crowded anymore, and I had completely lost track of time when someone sat down on the barstool next to me.

I didn't pay much attention and simply took another sip from my vodka lemon until he said: "You know, your friend's already gone, right?"

I turned to face him and recognized him as one of Slash's band members, right after I had been speechless for a moment because of how handsome he was.

"Yea, I know", I nodded and added grinning: "So is your guitarist, right?" "Obviously", he answered laughing: "Should've seen him backstage after the concert, couldn't get to her fast enough!" I joined his laughter, finished my drink and looked around. "Your remaining band member's left with a groupie as well, huh?" "No, fuckin idea where they are", he smiled and waved over to Jimmy, the barkeeper: "Another one of these for the little Rockstar here and I take whatever she has."

"Thank you", I told him with a soft smile. He waved it off: "I'm Duff McKagan by the way." "Y/N Y/L/N", I replied. "I know, was at one of your trailer parties before ya guys became famous." "Oh were you?", I asked surprised. I would've bet I'd recognize such a pretty face. Blond, tall, bassist. I was in fuckin heaven.

"You then ones with the trailer with the IV in the living room, right?" "Yupp, that's us", I nodded with a smirk: "Then I'm sorry for not recognizing you..."

"Don't worry bout it", he smiled: "Doubt we got the chance to talk...not that I wouldn't have wanted to..."

"We should have! Then I probably would've listened to you guys sooner! And Oh. My. God. You're amazing!", I gushed excitedly. "Thanks! Hoping it'll get us where you are now." "You'd have to be a complete idiot not to fuckin sign you!"

"I fucking hope so", he sighed and took a big gulp from his vodka: "You the song writer, right?" He suddenly changed the topic.

"Yes, why?" "I dunno", he shrugged: "When I first saw your music video on TV I couldn't help but fuckin wonder what complete asshole hurt this beautiful girl..."

His words hit me like a fucking train, because they reminded me of my former best friend Nikki Sixx, whom I had been stupid enough to fall for, but soon my drunken brain focused on something else: He thought I was beautiful...

"An asshole that's no longer a problem", I laughed. "Well cheers to that", the blond guy smirked and clicked our glasses: "Lucky me."

I returned his smirk and soon felt his hand on my thigh.

"How come you didn't leave with a groupie?", I tease him and sip on my glass. "Not my thing..." "What an utter liar", I thought. "And also", he went on: "I saw you in the crowd dancing next to your friend and knew exactly who to go for."

The way he looked into my eyes send chills through my body and I quickly took another sip from my drink.

"You alright?", Jimmy asked from further away to make sure I was fine, and I quickly nodded.

"You're pretty confident, huh?", I asked Duff. "Why?" "Well, what if that one girl you decided to go for wasn't interested?", I teased him.

Was I interested? I mean...damn he was hot and watching him on stage had been hot! His touch on my thigh made me feel hot! But for fuck's sake I didn't knowhim!

"That would be pretty sad for both of us", he shrugged and winked at me before looking at his glass and away from me.

Was he right? God, I could already feel the heat inside of me rising and a quiet voice in the back of my head reminded me that I had seen him shirtless on stage and wondered what it would feel like to touch him.

But damn it, I was drunk!

He lit a cigarette and I gave my everything not to stare at his lips for longer.

"I liked you better when you were funny and not seductive", I shrugged as well with a smirk and made him laugh. "Ouch, thanks!", he replied smiling: "In that case you'd have loved to see me lookin like an idiot when I got to Slash and your friend hours ago just to realize your gone."

"Maybe you should've hurried more, you know, the way your friend Slash did", I teased him more and calmed my nerves.

"He's just a funny guy", I told myself: "Joke around with him some more and then get your ass back home."

"Well, in the end you waited here for me anyway." "Rockstars don't wait for anyone", I joked and took the cigarette from him to take a drag as well. I could tell he was staring at my lips this time but was ripped out of his thoughts when I handed it back.

He cleared his throat and said: "Always wanted to fuck a rockstar."

I almost choked on my drink. That was my sign. The cards were on the table. I should tell him that this certainly wouldn't be the night he'd get what he wants and leave! But I was curious... so damn curious...

I couldn't deny that I was attracted to him! Maybe I could at least make out with him...find out what his lips felt like...there was nothing wrong about that.

"That's what the girls always tell you?", I tried to mock him but was too nervous to sound convincing. "You're quite a joker, huh?" "At least tryin to..."

"It's cute", he admitted. "Good, because I never run out of stupid jokes..."

"Trust me, I'd know a way or two to shut you up", he grinned to himself and took a last drag before he stubbed the cigarette out.

God, his words went straight to my core and put pictures in my head I hated but at the same time desperately wanted to happen. I wanted to find out what he wanted to do!

"Ya know what I always wanted to find out?", I asked without thinking about it twice. "What is it, gorgeous?" "If it's true that bass players don't just have skilled fingers when it comes to playin instruments."

I cracked the joke before I had thought about it. Why? Because I always had to listen to idiots tell me that and because I somehow really wanted to find out.

His smirk grew winder than I had seen it all night and it made me knees weak. "I can definitely show ya that."

"How about you first make me shut up?"

I had barely finished my sentence before I felt his free hand in my neck and soon enough his lips on mine.

I felt like melting right then and there! His lips moving against mine felt so good! But what started as a rather innocent kiss quickly became more heated. I grabbed the hem of his leather jacket, not to pull him closer but because I needed to hold on to something, anything."

His lips were moving against mine before he gently captured my lower lip with his. It was hard not too moan on the spot! And even harder when I tasted his tongue.

I damned those stupid barstools! I wanted him closer, needed him closer.

When we finally separated again my entire body was totally antsy!

"Speechless?", he asked teasingly. God, he was so damn hot!

I tried to think of something witty and fun, but I couldn't summon a single proper thought.

"You know...to prove the other thing we should probably move this somewhere more private...", he whispered into my ear and hadn't goose pumps already covered my entire body they definitely would have after he seductively kissed my neck.

I should tell him no. I should move my fucking ass back home.

But when he leaned back again and all I could think about was how I buried my fingers in his blond hair, I just nodded...

He had his arm around my waist when he let me out of the club and down strip. It was still dark and it wasn't hard to tell that there were still a bunch of parties going on in other places as well. Like I said, I had long lost my sense for time.

"My place ain't far from here", he told me and I nodded. Excitement was bubbling inside of me and gosh, I couldn't wait to kiss him again!

All worries and negative thoughts had been long gone as we walked through the cold night. I kept looking at him from the side and tried to hide the excited smirk on my lips. But

damn, he was even taller than I had guessed and looked so handsome in the dim glow of the streetlights.

I didn't know what to say. Where words needed?

I realized how he eyed me as well and a smug smile appeared on his lips. Shit, I wanted him. I had never felt this need for someone before, but I had also never allowed myself to get this carried away.

I bit my lower lip and tried to clear my thoughts but that attempt was quickly thrown completely over board when he suddenly pressed my back against the closest wall and kissed me. The kiss almost took my breath away.

Here I was standing on the strip with my back against the wall of some club and making out with a complete stranger. And it felt so right.

"Duff", I whimpered against his lips in a needy tone. "We should probably keep going, huh?", he smirked a little out of breath himself. "Except you consider this somewhere more private", I said with a grin on my lips but felt how he led me on with his arm around my hips once again.

"Wouldn't mind", he shrugged and lit another cigarette: "But I wanna take my time with you."

I swallowed hard and accepted the cigarette he wanted to share with me.

The next five minutes of us walking passed mainly without much talking but then I found myself in his one-bedroom apartment.

Alone with him now I felt the nervousness set back in.

So this was how it's gonna be?

"You want somethin to drink or anything?", he asked from behind me and I shook my head. Soon I felt him against my back with his arms around my body and his lips on my neck and shoulder.

I suppressed the low moan that had wanted to escape my lips and simply leaned back against him.

He had soon gripped the hem of my dress and pulled it over my head. A shiver ran through me but his warm hands that travelled my body soothed me and quickly found the clasp of my bra and opened it.

He was still kissing my neck when he whispered: "Turn around to me." I obeyed immediately.

The sight of my bare breasts exposed before him made him fight to contain his arousal as he hardened in his boxers. He lowered his head and wrapped his lips around my nipple. He sucked gently and I failed to find something to hold onto.

It was weird to be almost naked in front of him while he was still fully dressed, at the same time it made me feel excited.

"Get on the bed, I got something to prove", the blond haired told me smirking and I nodded. I tried not to run to the bed and could barely believe how caught up in the moment I was. My entire mind was foggy!

I watched him take off his leather jacket before he walked over to me and moved my thighs apart so he could lay down between them.

I could feel him hard against my center through our clothes but before the nervousness consumed me he had his lips on mine again and consumed my senses instead.

His body was pressed against mine and he traced his fingers down my body. He stroked over my thighs and spread them even more before moving to my panties.

Through the fabric he pressed his hand against me and gently rubbed me. A soft moan left my lips and I stirred underneath him and spread my legs further. Duff smirked against my breats and took my nipple in his mouth again as he began to rub me through my panties. His fingers ran over my slit as heat began to pool and I whimpered.

"Duff", I moaned softly.

He pulled away from my titts and brought his lips to mine while his fingers rubbed at my clit.

My eyes were closed, and I was lost in the moment, but I managed to bring my hand to his head and tangled my fingers in his blond, long hair. My lips parted as another soft moan left them and Duff pushed his tongue inside my mouth, massaging my tongue with his own.

His fingers were moving in circles over my clit and I whimpered against his lips as my panties became more soaked with each move he made.

I moaned and writhed on the bed as his hand travelled beneath my panties. Both of us moaned as he ran his middle finger between my folds, feeling how wet I was.

I whined his name again and lifted my hips to meet his hand.

He pushed his erection against my thigh and instinctively I reached down and stroked him through his pants.

"God you’re so wet for me", he growled in in my ear.

I bit my lip and raised my hips when suddenly he pulled away from me.

He knelt on the bed and smirked at me before ripping my panties down my thighs and tossing them to the floor.

My heart felt like it was about to pump out of my fucking chest.

He moved between my legs and crashed his lips against mine.

His fingers made their way back to my core and he pushed his middle finger inside me with ease, making me gasp.

"You want me to fuck you?", he pulled his finger out teasingly slow.

I bit your lip and without thinking I nodded as he pushed his finger back in.

He added a second finger, stretching me slowly: "But not yet."

He pulled his fingers away and I whined at the emptiness. But before I could protest Duff spread my legs apart and laid between them.

He ran the flat of his tongue along my slit, making me gasp and clutch at the sheets.

His tongue ran over my clit in two slow strokes.

I quickly covered my mouth with my hand and let out a moan.

His tongue ran over my clit in slow circles and he reached his hands up to squeeze my breasts. When he sucked at my clit I let out another moan into my hand and Duff pulled away.

"Oh No, baby", he told me and moved my hand from my mouth: "I wanna hear you."

I bit my lip and watched as he went back to his slow licks and his eyes never left mine as he ran his tongue over me. I felt like I was burning.

I squeezed my eyes shut and reached down, wrapping my fingers in his blond hair and raised my hips to meet him. He pulled back, only slightly and ran his fingers over my slit. He let out a growl as he watched, pushing two fingers into your throbbing pussy.

"Duff", I gasped and already felt extremely full. "Don't panic", I told myself and threw all worries away when he began to pump his fingers in and out of me, slowly at first before he increased his speed.

"You like that, baby girl?"

I moaned in response and he stopped his movements. He sucked at my clit and the change in pleasure made me squirm.

I whined and lifted my hips to meet the strokes of his tongue.

He moaned against me and the vibrations sent pleasure soaring through my veins. He began pumping his fingers once more, curling them against my wall and rubbing against my gspot.

I writhed on the bed, clutching at the sheets because of the amount of pleasure.

"Fuck..."

"You gonna cum for me doll?", he growled against me.

I sunk my teeth into my bottom lip as my orgasm coursed through me. MY walls clenched around his skilled fingers and his tongue didn’t stop running over your clit, making my legs tremble.

When my orgasm started to slow down he got up and took his clothes off, throwing them anywhere. Before he sat back down between my thighs, I watched him put on a condom through barely open eyelids.

Without a warning and therefor without giving me the time to over think this he plunged his cock into me. I gasped at his size and raked my nails down his back.

The pain was sharp and unknown.

"God you feel so good baby."

He crashed his lips against mine, stifling my moan as he pulled out of me slowly.

"So tight." He pushed into me again. I was frowning and pushed my eyes closed as I was trying to adjust to him. Fuck, he felt so good at the same time this hurt so bad but in the best way possible.

I moaned and ran my hands over his back as he set a pace with deep and slow thrusts. He wanted me to feel every inch of him entering me and he lost himself in the little whimpers I made as he pushed into me. After a few more thrusts when the pain was starting to die down, he pulled out of me and knelt on the bed.

"Rollover", he ordered.

I bit my lip and obeyed, kneeling in front of him on all fours. Duff let out a breath as he looked at my ass.

I felt him run his cock over my center before he pushed into me once more.

"Duff...", I hissed.

His change of angle set a whole new sense of pleasure and he set a faster pace. It hurt but felt so good... His cock slammed into me and I collapsed against the mattress, falling onto my elbows, arching my back more in doing so.

He brought his hand down swiftly, slapping my ass and making me gasp.

Duff gripped my hips and I moaned between breaths as he picked up a fast and hard pace, slamming into me hard and fast. He leaned forward and pulled my hair into a ponytail, his thrusts never slowing down. With a gentle tug at my hair he pulled me back onto all fours and with his spare hand he reached under me.

His fingers found my clit and he rubbed clumsy circles. I bit my lip, trying to contain my moans and arched my back. He leant over me, his breath on my shoulder and hearing his staggered breathing sent me into overdrive. He released his grip in my hair only to wrap his hand around your throat gently and pull me back enough so he could turn my head around to kiss him. Just what I needed.

"You gonna cum for me?"

I attempted to nod, which proved difficult with his grip on my throat. He didn't wait for an answer though and rubbed his fingers over my clit faster.

"Cum for me, babygirl."

I lost all control, my eyes rolling back as the waves of pleasure rolled through me, sending shivers all over my skin. His pace was sloppy now and I knew he was almost ready as well. He slowly pulled away and turned on his back so I knelt down on wobbly legs. I removed the condom and licked along his throbbing cock and he let out a low moan. I took him as deep as I could and began to suck him off until he grasped his cock and pumped it a few times before coming in my mouth.

I swallowed his load and his deep moans send a few last chills through me.

Both of us collapsed against the sheets, a sheer layer of sweat covering my skin as I tried to catch my breath.

"Shit that was good", he exhaled and placed a lazy kiss on my shoulder. "Yes, it was", I thought and grinned to myself, trying to process what had happened.

[kaz11283]

“Breathe” with Loki from the prompt list. I’m feeling some angst unless you want to not make it angst.

Breathe

Characters: Loki, reader, Thor, some guest appearances from some of the avengers

(Loki x reader) (Thor x reader, platonic)

Warnings: let the be angst

Summary: During a huge battle that you have all been training for you start freaking out, thank the lords Loki is there to help you through it.

Announcement: They requested angst and this is the first thing that came to mind, I truly hope you enjoy it though! Thank you everyone for the feed back and for the follows and the love!💚💚💚💚

Loki Masterlist

~~~~~

You couldnt believe your luck you had made it all the way into the building and fought multiple bad guys to get to where you were at right now, cowering behind a desk in a dark room having a damn panic attack. You didnt even know what had brought it on. Well maybe the fact that you had some how gotten seperated by the others, or the fact that you had been chased by more of them than you had anticipated. Either way you were up that certain creek without a paddle.

"Y/n, talk to us. Where you at?" Tony came over the coms.

You wanted to respond but no words came out. The walls were closing in little by little and you didnt see yourself getting out of here. Everything was to much in this moment, the talking in your ear, the shouting and gun fire onnthe floor below you. You were weak, you knew that, no one else had ran from the fight like you had.

"Come on kid, we cant find you unless yountell us." Tony tried to reason with you. You heard the Hulk smashing through the building, oh god he wasngoing to cause the whoke building to fall.

"Lady y/n, we need your location so we can help you." Thor the graceful god of thunder, your best friend, didnt even get a response. "Loki, shes not answering us." You could tell the panic in his voice.

"Darling," the silk like voice came through your ear piece, "y/n, my dove, you have to help us to help you."

"Loki." You whimpered.

"Yes love, just tell us were you are so we can get out of here." His voice was slowly calming you.

"Panic attack," you took a deep breath in through your nose. You could just imagin the grace of him fighting, it was always something you enjoyed watching.

"Loki pay attention!" Clint yelled from somewhere above you. "You almost got hit." That shoved you right back into your shallow breaths, of course you would be the one to get him killed, he cared way to much for you, a simple midguardian.

"Shut up Clint, I know what I'm doing. I've been fighting for alot longer than you have." Loki yelled over the coms.

"Guys Lady y/n." Thor interrupted. Loki cleared his throat.

"Darling where are you at? Ill come to you." Loki promised.

"5th floor, behind a desk. Not sure what room." You placed your head between your knees.

"Thank god." Tony sighed. "He's on his way just stay there. Everyone else cover him. Make sure no one follows."

"Loki." You wimpered again.

"I am here love, just a few stairs away. Do your breathing exercises that we go over." He instructed. You kept taking deep breathes in through your nose and out your mouth.

"I'm starting to feel better now." You mumbled. You couldnt get over how embarrassing this was to have a melt down when your team needed you most. If it hadn't been for the ever so slight pressure on your back you would have never thought that anyone was there.

"I'm here love," Loki said from behind you pulking you up to your feet and into his arms, you took a deep breath breathing his sent in calming you even more. "Thats it, breathe, there you go. I'm gonna transport us to the jet. Hold on to me."

"But the others-"

"Its almost over, they will meet us back there. You need me, they can handle the rest." He tucked a peice of hair behind your ear.

After Loki had transported you both back to the ship he gave you a bottle of water and his zip up that he normally kept there for you. It wasn't long before the other join you.

You didnt meet anyones eyes you were still completely embarrassed about what had just happened to you, you didnt even notice Tony sit beside you anf place his hand on your knee.

"When we get back I want you, him, and him to meet me in the confrence room." He pointed between you, Loki, and Thor. "We have some things we need to go over about what happened tonight." Your heart sunk to your stomach, you figured you would get yelled at but not Loki or Thor, they hadnt done anything.

Back at the compound you and Loki followed behind Tony and Thor, your hands entwined.

"I didn't want you two in trouble also." You mumbled. He turned his head and gave you a small smile.

"Darling, if you think this is the first time thor and I have been called to the office you are very wrong. How are you feeling?" He gave your hand a slight squeeze.

"A little better, just dreading whats about to happen." You offered him a smile back.

"Y'all have a seat, y/n, I wanna know how long you've been having these attacks." Tony sat down opposite from the three of you.

"Depends, are you asking as my boss or as a father figure?" You said sitting up straighter.

"Depends on how long you've been having them." He raised an eyebrow.

"She's been having them on and off for most of her life." Thor spoke up. "Thor!" You whined

"But she hasnt really had a server one like that in quite a few months, she normally holds them together very well." Loki agreed. "Loki!" You whined again.

"You realize we can get you help for them." Tony answered looking at you.

"Look I have help, Loki does an amazing job keeping me calm and if hes not there next best thing is Thor. I dont know why it just popped up like that tonight. And theres really no way of telling except that maybe ive just been under alot of stress woth this whole mission..... And....and ...." Your breaths where getting shallow again and your eyes started watering, Loki placed his hand on your thight and started rubbing small circles calming you instantly.

"Ill tell you what, missions over so why dont you and Loki get away from here, get some fresh air. We all need it, you especially." Tony sat back in his chair with his fingers laced under his chin in deep though. "But you have to promise to tell me if you think your even remotely close to having another one of those. I had them, I didnt really treat them with a healthy cooping mechanism, but I did have them. I know what its like to have the world suddenly feel like its going to implode on you at any minute. Talk it through with someone though dont just suddenly go silent. Scared the hell outta me."

"Tony. I dont wanna just run away for a few days. Its gonna continue to be the same like it always has. Do good with no signs for a couple months and then boom big ass panic attack. I dont want meds for them either, and i do not under any circumstances see a damn shrink." You huffed flopping back.

"Ok. How about we get the whole team to escape for a little bit, go to the mountains? Heard the weather is nice out there. We can even call it a team building vacation." He slapped the table woth his hand like he had just solvee the worlds hardest problem.

"Fine, dont have to twist my arm to hard to get outta here for a week." You smiled.

"Promise me you'll be more open aboutbthese things, we cant help a team member thats hurting if the team member doesnt tell the team whats going on." He looked at you.

"Ok, fine I promise. I'll tell Loki everytime I dont feel right." You rolled your eyes.

"Alright deal, you kids go pack, we'll leave first thing in the morning." Tiny stood up and gave you a hug before walking out of the room.

~~~~~

Tag list:

@kgirardin

@sophlubbwriting

@supbeeches

[malethirsty]

A Hard Day’s Night: Ethan Chandler

Summary: After working on both finding Mina & managing your telepathic ability, you accompany Ethan to the Grand Guignol, which causes a flood of things to be revealed.

Warnings: M/M smut (21+), Bareback (Wrap Before You Tap)

Inspired by: https://twitter.com/malethirst/status/1196862910745571328?s=21

Working with Malcolm Murray was an experience of a lifetime, but was not without problems. Ever since he & Vanessa Ives recruited your telepathic abilities to help locate Malcolm’s missing daughter Mina, you’d been working non stop. You’d had moments alone with Sembene during break, but he was more of a silent soldier, you needed someone to talk to. You could have talked with Mr. Lyle, but despite you both being closeted, you couldn’t bring yourself to, mainly cause you thought he might sell you out.

So you whiled away, all until one fateful day. The day Ethan Chandler walked into your circle, you were smitten by the American however couldn’t fully read him, it was the same with Vanessa, and you couldn’t work out why. However it wasn’t as important as striking a connection up with him. Ethan responded well, the two of you discussing things like the Demimonde, American history & his potential settling. Over time, you fell in love, but pushed the thoughts away, he was rough and tough, and would probably turn you away, you didn’t want the relationship to end. It couldn’t mean that you could avoid looking at the beautiful rugged man, his amazing long hair, his drawl, how amazing he probably looked naked.

“Y/N, are you hearing me?” Ethan clicked his fingers in front of your face, breaking your thought “Wha?” You muttered confused, Ethan grinning “I asked you if you wanted to come to the Grand Guignol tonight, Miss Ives is already going & I think she could use the company.” “So like you’d escort me like one would a lady?” The words escaped your mouth before you could stop yourself, your inward curse stopped by Ethan responding “Yeah, like that.” You breathed heavily “I guess so, 8PM sharp the production begins right?” “Yes, make sure you look your best Y/N, I’m gonna take my best man for a night on the town.” “I’ll make sure of it Ethan.” Ethan grinned at you as he walked away, you moving up the stairs, ready to pick out an outfit to wear.

As 7PM rolled around, you told Malcolm you would be out but would keep an eye out for Mina. He nodded his head in agreement, more concerned about his acquisition Victor Frankenstein, than anything else around him. You met both Ethan & Vanessa outside “Well Mr. Y/N, you look nice this evening” “Thank you Vanessa, I can say the same of you.” She smiled, which was always important to get from her as what you were able to see from her thoughts, she hadn’t lived a pleasant life, so any chance to make her smile, you’d take. “How’s the anchoring going? And how are you going to adapt it to find Mina?” Vanessa’s questions were important as going into the hustling & bustling public with telepathic abilities was like walking through a busy road packed full of noise, recently you’d learnt anchoring from her & had been locking it onto Ethan so things would be more bearable, but now you’d have to let it down a bit. “I’m sure it will go fine, it did the other night. I know Malcolm used you for most of the work, but I was able to keep it controlled when I had to attempt to seek Mina out.” “Good work Y/N, but we really must head out or they won’t let us in.” At Ethan’s prompt, you all set out to the Grand Guiginol.

The production ‘The Transformed Beast’ was quite a spectacle, thrilling the audience but you knowing of the horrors of the supernatural were not as horrified as the other viewers. You took the opportunity in less important parts to gaze at Ethan, seeing his reaction to what was unfolding on stage. Then the main actor said it, the words that would change everything “There cannot be a happy end, for claw will slash and tooth will rend!” At this your anchoring slipped. Flashes occurred, so quick you couldn’t focus back on Ethan. You saw the lead actor, leading some sort of creature backstage, you saw vampires nestled in the rafters, you saw Mina on a beach with Vanessa, Mina being bitten by some out of focus figure, then you saw people being mauled by a different figure, one that looked wolfish. Claw slashed, tooth rended & finally you saw the creature rest in the dock, time elapse as it morphed into Ethan as he awoke & started right at you, with eyes filled with pain and heartache.

“Y/N, Y/N!” Ethan was shaking you and you pulled yourself out of it “What Ethan?” You said, trying to not act like you’d seen something connected to him kill a lot of people. “It’s Intermission, you want to go out and ask Vanessa what she thought?” “Uhm, I, um” you said, trying to find your bearings, however as a dark look fell over Ethan, you knew he knew what you’d seen “You know don’t you?” He said softly, you nodded. Ethan got up & made his way quickly towards the exit “Ethan don’t!” You called out but he had gone “Ah shit” you murmured under your breath as you tore out to find him.

He was right outside the theater, which made your pursuit seem over dramatic to say the least “Ethan?” you cautioned, not knowing what would happen “Have you ever wanted to be someone else?” This was not the American you knew, this was a man who’d been through so much, close to shattering, it broke your heart to see Ethan so sad. You walked up to him & put a hand on his shoulder “I used to, but I grew used to what I had.” “And you think this is some type of gift?” Ethan asked, his voice raising “Well I don’t fucking know, I don’t even know what it is!” You responded back harshly. Ethan drew deep breaths, attempting to calm down “Mariner’s Inn, that’s where I’m staying. Let’s head back there so I can explain.” Ethan started to walk, you following behind him.

You eventually crossed the threshold and made you way to his room. Locking the door behind you, you turned to face Ethan. “So what is happening with you?” Ethan sighed “Y/N, I’m a werewolf. I turn every full moon into a ravenous creature destined to feed on flesh & blood, not caring who it is, as long as it’s carnal need for flesh and blood is fed” you nodded your head “Alright” you responded, Ethan looked surprised “Alright? Y/N, all those people” “Should not have been slain yes, but I can assume this was something you were cursed with, correct?” “Yes it was, I don’t remember seeking it out.” “So the issue should be with the one who cursed you, not yourself. Ethan, every single person at Malcolm’s house has had to step in blood, you aren’t the first and you won’t be the last. You’ve been here for me, so now I return the favor and be there for you.” “How could you be? I could rip you apart, it’s practically suicide! Why would you stand by my side through all of this suffering and pain?” “Because I love you Ethan Chandler!” The words had fallen out again, but this time you were beyond caring “I was pulled in the second I saw you at the show with that makeshift mustache, when I saw how that girl at the show had been fucked by you, I wished I could have been in her place, but as I got to know you more I started to love your personality, your kindness with Ms. Ives and myself, how you made me comfortable with my telepathy. So that’s why Ethan. Even if you can’t stand me, I cannot bare to see the one I care about distraught and upset, taking his anger out on himself for another’s curse!” You stopped, catching breath. Ethan looked shocked at all you had said.

You took the cue from Ethan’s face “I should go” “No” you turned back to see Ethan making his way toward you “I didn’t mean to take it out on you, I can see you really care despite everything, probably the only person who ever could. You really mean it?” You started up at Ethan “Every word” Ethan kissed you very deep to where a few moments passed before you split apart. You were in shock, however you were both incapable of speaking, everything already being left on the floor. Soon both of your clothes covered said floor as you fell onto Ethan’s bed, “Ride me” Ethan whisper groaned, and you obeyed. Positioning yourself above him, you lowered yourself down onto his cock, moaning out for him. Once sheathed inside your ass, you leant in for another kiss as he began to thrust forwards, him leading you in rhythm and pace, the air filling with moans from the two of you “Oh fuck Y/N, you look so beautiful. You don’t deserve to be fucked like the girl from the show, you deserve to be made love to.” Your eyes filled with tears, though more of love and some kind of happiness that you couldn’t name, Ethan looking at you understood, like he had a telepathic link & leaned up to kiss them away.

You stayed like this for a while, loving how good Ethan was fucking you. He suddenly slammed you down, taking charge of the pace, you continued to moan “Ethan keep going, I love this so much!” He grinned, picking his pace up “You’re taking me so good baby boy, clench down right there. Fuck yes” he began to grab the railing as he neared the end, you also getting close “Y/N, I’m going to cum soon, do you want me to pull out & shoot?” At this you moaned out, shooting your own load as you leaned up to kiss him “N-No, shoot in me Ethan, you’re a damn marksman, make it count.” He laughed “God Y/N, you really are something amazing. Here it comes, FUCK YES!” Ethan groaned out as he shot his load into your ass. He kissed you again, you wrapping your hands around him. Ethan for everything good & bad, was where you were most calm, and here was where you wanted to stay.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Fifty-Five: Timer ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Hyūga Hiashi, Uchiha Itachi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

She’s always thought of it as some kind of pseudoscience, like astrology or basing personalities off of blood types. While many of the other girls she grew up with looked forward to their sixteenth birthdays like it was some kind of rebirth, Hinata just...couldn’t bring herself to put much stock in it.

“Everyone in my family swears by it!” Ino gushed at one point. “It’s how my mom met my dad, and several of my aunts and uncles! And guess what? My cousin’s timer is up in like...three weeks. He’s so nervous he can barely stand it!”

“Doesn’t it seem a bit, y-you know...self fulfilling?”

At Hinata’s quiet interjection, several girls turned to her with disbelieving expressions. “...what’s that supposed to mean?”

Squirming a bit under their gazes, she’d gone on. “...it’s just...people look at their countdown, and they trust it implicitly. Doesn’t anyone t-think for themselves? Or...or want to find love on their own, rather than be shoehorned into it…?”

Ino scoffed. “Y’know, ever since they figured out how to make these timers work, divorce rates, like..cut in half! People are meeting those they’re meant to be with and staying with them!”

“...if it’s so great, then...why are there still divorces at all?”

That earned a cacophony of squawking replies about disbelievers ruining the statistics, and...Hinata quickly removed herself.

She just...had her doubts, was all.

Her parents, and her only aunt and uncle met through their timers. Her uncle, sadly, died when his son was only four, and Hinata three. Therefore, she has no real way to know how their marriage had worked.

Similarly, her mother died not long after having her sister. Hinata was five. All she really has to go on are blurry childhood memories...and her father’s current attitude.

And she really can’t see how the woman she recalls being so kind, so soft, so gentle...could love and marry a man like Hiashi. Cold, calculating, and seemingly emotionally stunted. He rarely if ever smiles.

...she remembers her mother’s smile. So warm…

...so how…?

It’s why, as her sixteenth birthday looms closer, Hinata gets more and more knots in her stomach. The implant isn’t required, but her father has made it very clear that she’ll be getting hers. Likely so he can marry her off as soon as her timer hits zero, and be rid of her.

While so many girls in her year have looked forward to their birthdays...Hinata can do nothing but dread hers.

Like many young people, she attends a school segregated by gender. It’s meant to help avoid fraternizing with the opposite sex and therefore affecting a timer’s readings. Of course...not everyone is attracted to said opposite sex. Hinata herself doesn’t really mind if a person is one or the other, but...she keeps that to herself. Admitting as much would make just about every girl who isn’t highly uncomfortable.

...and yet she wonders what will happen if she’s already met her soulmate.

Will the timer just...not work? Will it already be at zero? If so...then how is she ever to know who they are? Not that she believes it...it’s really all a bunch of nonsense…

...and yet…?

Each day that passes in December sees her more and more anxious - more and more depressed. Hiashi has already arranged for her to have the day off from school, her surgery to implant the timer set for early in the morning. Set into her left wrist, it will allow her to return to school the next day, her dominant hand unaffected and allowing her to write.

The day before, she finds herself at the last stage of grief: acceptance. There’s no fighting it. No use in trying to say no.

This is just how things are.

“Good luck with your procedure!” Ino and Sakura call as classes let out for the day. “See you Thursday!”

She doesn’t answer, just waving farewell. While there’s excitement in her friends’ voices...she can’t bring herself to feel it, too.

Just...get it over with.

Once home, she works on her assignments, numbly browsing social media and not really taking anything in. All she can think about is the surgery. The stupid timer…!

Part of her wants hers to be broken. To prove that it’s wrong. But the rest - despite her stubborn belief that it’s all rubbish - is afraid, so very afraid that it won’t work.

That she’ll always be alone.

Too restless to do much else, she finishes the entirety of her homework, turning in to bed early...and yet unable to sleep, mind too full. Worries eddy in her mind like a slow-moving whirlpool: around and around, always circling back and starting all over again.

By some grace she falls asleep for a few hours, snapping awake at her alarm. Heart fluttering and stomach churning, she gets up, has a light breakfast...and then gets in the car for Hiashi to drive her to the hospital.

The ride is completely silent. Only once they park does he turn to her, expression - as always - unreadable.

“I know you’ve been dreading this...but best we just get it over with. Best to know for sure.”

Hinata doesn’t reply, just exiting the car and following him inside as they check her in. Prep doesn’t take too long. Dressed down in a powder blue gown, she’s wheeled into the surgery suite, given anesthesia...and then goes blissfully blank.

Waking is a slow process. First thing she notices is a dull ache in her arm, eyes dragging open to peer down at her wrist.

It’s wrapped in gauze, her IV in her other arm. The urge to peer at it itches like the skin beneath the wrappings.

Looking groggily around the room, she finds herself alone. Of course her father wouldn’t be here - probably off hounding a nurse somewhere, badgering them about releasing her so he can head home.

...the hospital has bitter memories, after all.

Going lax with a sigh, Hinata stares up at the ceiling. Well...it’s done. No going back now, unless she wants to try digging it out. But she’s not that desperate. She could keep it covered...never look at it...but even now, the temptation is great…

Why does it have to be so repulsive, and yet so enticing? It isn’t fair!

“Hinata.”

Glancing to the door, she finds her father. “...yes?”

“Once the anesthetic has worn off, we can go home. The nurses say an hour or two. Do you...need anything?”

The question surprises her, even more so given his awkward tone. “...no, I’m all right. Um...thank you.”

As he goes, she wonders if he’s been made aware of what her timer said when it was fully implanted. Or maybe they weren’t allowed to tell him…? But something about him just now seemed...odd.

With nothing to do while she waits, Hinata does her best to doze and make up some of her lost sleep. After nearly two hours, a nurse checks on her status, and gives her the clear the go. Hinata changes back into her clothes, moving to leave on her feet...only to have another nurse approach with a wheelchair.

She immediately balks. “Oh, I...I don’t need that -?”

“It’s a precaution for anyone coming out of anesthesia to prevent falls. Just until you get to your car, miss.”

Rather embarrassed - it’s not like she can’t walk! - Hinata sheepishly obliges, head ducked as they pass by other patients, visitors, and staff. As they go, her bowed face is turned to her wrist. Maybe she can just…

Carefully fiddling with the gauze and trying not to be noticed in case she gets scolded, Hinata nibbles her lip as they approach the elevator to the main floor. Easing the material back, she doesn’t look up as the door opens, two other figures in the lift already.

That’s when it happens.

With a soft series of beeps, Hinata flinches back from her arm, holding it aloft as though it’s suddenly on fire. Both Hiashi and the nurse balk, turning to her in question.

And inside the elevator comes a responding chorus of sound.

Time seems to slow.

Looking up, Hinata finally sees the other occupants of the lift. At the front is a young man in a wheelchair like herself, arms loosely folded atop his lap. And behind him, pushing the chair, is a boy more her age.

But he isn’t looking at her. He’s looking at his wrist, which is rapidly trilling.

...oh...you’ve got to be kidding.

The little group remains frozen, half in and half out of the elevator. Hiashi’s face is aghast, looking between his daughter and the stranger opposite them.

Said stranger then looks up, clearly just as taken aback.

The only one calm is the man in the wheelchair, who simply quips, “...Sasuke, I believe you should introduce yourself.”

                                                           .oOo.

     So it occurred to me that I've never written a soulmate AU. Like...ever. At least that I can recall? Admittedly I have a slightly sketchy memory, but...yeah. As soon as I saw the prompt, I remembered seeing this AU floating around, and was like...okay sure, lmao      I know it's a cliffie, but I think I can make tomorrow's prompt work for a part two! So you won't have to wait long, lol - also...with this one done, we're officially down to just ten days left to catch up. It feels a bit weird, admittedly, but I know it'll be even weirder when we're all caught up! Finally xD It's honestly a bit embarrassing having it drag on this long, but...well, couldn't help Life's interruptions.      On that note tho, I really need to get to bed! Thanks for reading~

[redrobinfection]

(14) Chills

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober - Day 14 “Chills”

JayTim | Established Relationship | Food Poisoning | Foodborne Illness | Vomiting | Mentions of other bodily fluids | Sick fic | Want to write with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

"Hey! You alive in here?" Tim calls as he enters Jason's safehouse, carefully balancing a shopping bag of 'goodies' on his hip and ducking low to avoid snagging his backpack on the frame as he steps through the window.

A bedraggled head sticks out of the bathroom doorway at half the height one would expect. "Tim? You shouldn't be here," Jason croaks, hauling himself to his feet with the support of the door frame. He looks awful, face pale, cheeks flushed, and dark circles under his eyes. It's only been a day and a half since his symptoms appeared, including copious vomiting, but he already looks gaunt and hollowed out.

Tim ignores him, continues on into the little kitchen, and begins unloading his supplies onto the counter. He's brought an arsenal of medical supplies: anti-nausea meds, antibiotics, fluids and electrolytes - both IV and oral - various disease test kits, portable diagnostic equipment, as well as broths and soups sent straight from Alfred along with saltine crackers, sports drinks, ginger teas, and ginger ale for when Jason’s appetite comes back. He loads the soup containers, drinks and antibiotics into the fridge, keeping his back turned even as he hears Jason shuffle into the kitchen.

"Let me rephrase that: you can't be here. I'm sick. I've got a fever and chills and I've been hurling my guts out of both ends all night and all day. It isn't safe for you," Jason tells him, hovering at the edge of the kitchen like he wants to step forward and shake Tim by the shoulders but knows he shouldn't.

Tim turns and closes the distance between them in two quick steps, raising a thermometer to Jason's temple while laying the back of his hand across his forehead. Jason startles a second too late.

"T-Tim! What are you doing?! Get away!" He tries to back up, but bumps into the wrap-around counter, knees buckling. Tim grips his forearm firmly to bolster him and follows diligently, holding the thermometer steady until he hears a beep.

"One hundred point nine," Tim reads off, nodding sagely. "That's not too bad. Overall, how are you feeling? Have you been able to keep down any fluids in the past twelve hours?" he asks as he pinches the skin of Jason's forearm to perform the skin elasticity test for gauging dehydration. "Mmm, from that I'm going to say 'no' or 'not enough', huh?"

Jason swats away his hand wildly then leans back over the counter away from the other hand Tim lifts undeterred to pull down Jason's lower eyelid in order to gauge the sunkenness of his eyes.

"Wha-wha-what are you doing?" Jason pants, eyes wild. "You can't be here, I have the flu; you can't touch me, I'm going to get you sick!"

Tim shakes his head, but takes a step back, making soothing motions with his hands. "It's fine, Jason, I made sure to--"

"It's not f-f-fine!" Jason hisses, teeth chattering with a full body shiver. "You could die, Spleen-less Wonder!"

Tim raises his eyebrows. "If you would stop running away from me for five minutes, or stop to answer my calls then you’d--"

"I w-was ru-ru-running to protect you!"

Five minutes after his first episode of vomiting, Jason had run out of Tim's apartment like the building was on fire, and then proceeded to lead Tim on a very bizarre game of tag through five separate safehouses over the past day and a half. Tim had been half convinced their wild chase would end with him finding Jason passed out in the street, or on some rooftop, between one place and the next. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry or tear his hair out over the whole thing. Probably all of the above.

"I th-th-thought you'd given up by now!"

No, he hadn’t given up, but Tim also hadn't wanted to find Jason passed out in the street somewhere, so he had given Jason space and watched from a distance while he gathered evidence and ran tests.

He reaches into his back pocket, unfolds a Batcomputer print-out and shoves it into Jason's face. Jason frowns as he leans in to read the fine print.

"These are the results of comprehensive pathogen testing on a sample of stool and a sample of the foods we consumed the other night," Tim explains to him. "The tests are conclusive: you have food poisoning, not the flu. The food you ate and your stool both test positive for salmonella."

Jason blinks and his eyes dart to Tim with a flash of worry. "But... but you're okay? You didn't eat any of the contaminated foods?"

Tim smiles warmly at Jason for his concern and shakes his head. "No. Alfred and I are pretty sure it was contained to the sausage on your pizza. We didn't find salmonella in anything else and I didn't eat any of yours, only my own."

"Oh, thank fuck," Jason sighs in relief, sagging back into the counter. "Wait," he freezes, pinning Tim with an odd look, "Did you say stool? How the hell did you get a sample of my shit! When?!"

Tim snorts. "I mean, you did leave an incredible wake of contamination in your path as you fled from place to place." Jason glares and Tim shrugs. "You, uh, forgot to flush the toilet at your second stop. I collected it there."

Jason narrows his eyes. "Even if this is food poisoning, you still have to be careful collecting food samples, touching me, touching my shit--literal and figurative... Jeez, if you get a salmonella infection, that could fuck you up for the long term, Babybird."

Tim nods. "I know. I brought gloves, disinfectant, and plenty of hand soap. I plan to be careful. Alfred will never let me hear the end of it if I'm not."

Jason doesn't look happy about it, but he nods his acceptance, trembling as another chill wracks his body with violent shivers. Tim's brow crinkles in concern. He turns to scoop up some of his supplies then steers Jason toward the couch with a light touch on his elbow.

"Why don't you go get settled on the couch while I prep some fluids for you. I'm guessing you haven't been holding much down--or in--for more than a few minutes at a time?"

"Try not at all," Jason croaks as he subconsciously pulls his elbow away and shuffles to the couch on his own.

Tim grimaces in sympathy. "The diarrhea hasn't let up either?"

"Nope."

"Has there been any blood in your stool?"

Jason makes a face. "No," he gasps, gagging slightly. "Ugh. Can you grab me a bucket or something while you're at it?"

"On it."

Tim brings Jason his sick pail, then proceeds to take more vitals and pulls a blood sample to send along to Alfred. Jason suffers through it with as much grace as he can summon between breaks to gag and retch into his bucket.

"The last thing we need is for the infection to get into your blood, so I brought antibiotics along just in case," Tim tells him.

"The last thing we need is for the infection to get into your blood!" Jason shoots back hoarsely as he comes up from another round of vomiting.

"Don't worry, besides taking sanitary precautions, Alfred started me on a course of preventative antibiotics, just in case I did ingest contaminated material and haven't begun showing symptoms," Tim reassures as he begins prepping Jason’s forearm for the IV.

"Wha-what if you get sick? What am I supposed to do then?"

"Alfred will be by shortly to pick up the blood sample and check up on us, and if at any point I start to show symptoms, you or I are supposed to call Leslie immediately. The alternative is for you to return with me to the Manor." Tim wrinkles his nose to say what he thinks of that alternative.

"Nope. Here s-sounds g-g-good," Jason replies, teeth still chattering. Tim finishes inserting the catheter, starts up the fluids, tapes and then wraps the IV site.

"Okay, that should be good to go for a while. We'll know in a few hours if you'll need the IV antibiotics. For now…" he trails off, taking in the small, nearly empty safehouse and then the shivering form of one miserable Jason Todd. "How about we cuddle up on the couch and binge some Netflix?"

"I don't have a TV."

Tim smirks. "Do you think I go anywhere without my laptop and an unlimited 4G data plan?"

He sets up his laptop on a tray table in front of the couch and retrieves several clean blankets from the hall closet. He drapes two of the blankets across Jason's shoulders, which he accepts with a murmur of appreciation, then seats himself beside Jason and spreads another across their laps. He cuddles up to Jason and attempts to wrap an arm around him, his shorter stature be damned.

"Wh-wh-what are you doing?" Jason stutters, leaning away with a comically alarmed expression.

"You've got the chills, so I brought you some blankets and I’m snuggling you?”

"No, why are you practically on top of me! What if I throw up on you?" Jason wails, attempting to push away. Tim pulls him close and hands him the sick pail.

"You're a crack shot, Jay, so I trust that you won't miss at point blank," he teases.

Jason glares balefully, but gives up trying to pull free. "You're still gonna get sick…" he grumbles.

"I doubt it, but if that's a risk I have to take to snuggle you, then I'll take it."

Jason sags into him and grumbles under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said you're an idiot with a d-d-death wish," Jason growls between shivers.

Tim chuckles and squeezes his shoulder. "Whoa, there, Jay, I think you need to chill out."

"Tim."

[bitterbeanren]

Muscle Memory

I love writing about teleportation. Everyone knows I love writing about teleportation.

Prompt from a conversation I was having with my friends: Imagine not finding out you had a super power until you got super high which I altered to “Imagine telling Steve Rogers that you discovered your super power through recreational drug use”

Warnings: Marijuana Use. Ultron.

PSA: As far as I know, doing drugs won’t actually give you super powers.

Rating: ....M, maybe? For Marijuana? And chaos that comes from villains and super heroes?

~*~

The first time it happens, it’s like you can feel everything. As if you were right next to the fan set up to help with the smoke, the breeze hitting you close; but also on the other side of the room, no breeze, just warm. And it feels wrong. Everything feels wrong, and you don’t know why. You’d tried telling your friends about it, and they comforted you while sounding close and far away at the same time. “It’s just a bad high.” They soothed. “You’re going to be fine.” Because, of course, you only started feeling like that after literally the worst, most embarrassing use of your friend’s bong ever.  And the feeling and the sound of everything, it’s so scary, and it’s hard to tell where you are. It takes a bit, but the feeling eventually passes the longer people talk to you. Everything stops feeling like everything, your friends are close, rubbing your back in circles. And you feel grounded, rooted in place. It’s normal, and you feel perfectly fine. And you swear to yourself that you are never, ever, going to smoke from a bong again. Or smoke in general, because your throat feels too dry and it hurts and gosh, you’re tired.

The next time it happens, you know it’s not normal, and you know it’s not fine because you’re at home, alone, and you hadn’t touched weed in weeks. You can feel and see and hear the world around you, as though you’re under your blankets but also in the kitchen and the bathroom and in the middle of the living room and, hell, like you’re jumping off the couch but haven’t hit the ground yet. Everything is spinning, and you feel like you’re lying down, and standing up, and your feet are on the ceiling except they aren’t, and you only snap out of it when your cat, a sweet, loving black fluff ball named Carver meows loud and quiet, soft, and harsh, and somehow you manage to hold your arms open instead of hugging yourself; Carver jumps into your arms, and then everything stops moving and feeling like too much, the sandpaper licks on your cheeks keeping you in place. Keeping you in the living room, next to the cat tree with your pet against your chest.

But you know for a fact that you hadn’t tried to move at all, and you were sitting at your desk working on homework. It’s scary, and new, and it still feels wrong, but you set up a camera in the garage and in the living room with all the blinds down the next time you’re home alone, and you actively try to feel the awful way that would hit you so randomly. And it takes a while. With lots of practice, and trial, and a healthy side of disbelief. And suddenly being in the garage and then not, and then in the closet, and then in your bedroom without taking a single step. Without moving a muscle. Then, it clicks.

You can teleport.

At first you think you’re crazy. There’s no way you have a superpower. That would be insane! And after a couple months of practice, the awful feeling isn’t awful anymore. Still a bit disorienting, and confusing, and hard to explain, but it doesn’t feel awful. Internally, you joke about how you have stockholm syndrome for your superpower. But now, all that’s left to do is to decide what to do. And, like any hot headed idiot would do, the decision was to try and be like the Avengers. To try and help people in danger and be a superhero. Probably foolishly, you figured that if things got too scary or dangerous, you could just teleport away.

Things could never actually be that simple.

On the same day that you decided to be all heroic, and cool like your idols, the news is talking about Ultron. And it’s scary, and you don’t know what to do. And then you feel awful like the first time you teleported, and suddenly you’re throwing up on the floor of a ruined building with a group of frightened little kids staring at you with wide eyes. You don’t know what triggered the teleportation or why it had been so specific because you had never been there before, nor teleported to a place you hadn’t know, but suddenly you were. You were there with the ruined buildings and the chaos and loud noises and you knew that you had to help. Knowing that you needed to do something, you tried to shake off the nausea and stepped towards the kids.There were four of them all looking between the ages of six and twelve. “We need to get you guys out of here,” you told them seriously, praying that you sounded more confident that you felt. “Let’s go.”

So you led them out of the crumbling building only to see chaos outside. Used your ability to teleport chunks of debris just above nearby robots to slow them down and keep them away from the ones you were trying to protect. The eldest of the kids carried the youngest on his back, and you felt a rush of relief as we neared the evacuation area. A man there, wielding a bow, watched the group of you with only a brief look of confusion before helping the kids onto a vehicle that you only later learned was called a Helicarrier. Before you could get swept up with all the others, you felt yourself fall. Or at least, it felt like falling. One blink and suddenly, you were mere feet away from Captain-fucking-America who looked at you like you had two heads. “What the—“ Your nausea cut him off, sentence interrupted by the sounds of you hurling the contents of your stomach into the ruined concrete. Thankfully, while you recovered the once-frozen war hero proceeded to take out a few enemies that had attempted to take advantage of the momentary distraction that was you. True to his reported kind nature, the blonde man rubbed circles into your back as you coughed, glancing up to peer into his blue eyes tearily. “It’s okay,” he spoke soothingly, calmly, as though you weren’t in such a frightening situation. “Can you move? I need to get you somewhere safe.”

His hand on your back made you feel grounded yet not at the same time. Like your first bad high. Unable to answer him, you felt everything like it was hot and cold, like you were being blasted with wind and buried under rubble all at once. There was something like an unending disorientation and you didn’t know what to do. And for the first time in a long time, the realization that you didn’t have any control of your power kicked in, and as soon as you realized that, you had moved the both of you from one part of the city to another.

And then you promptly passed out.

You’re not too sure when you woke up, laying in a hospital bed in another place you’d never been before with an IV sticking out of your arm and bandages wrapped over injuries that you had no memory receiving. But shortly after your consciousness was confirmed, you were formally introduced to a few key members of the Avengers.

“So,” Iron Man AKA Tony Stark began to speak. The Billionaire leaned against a table nearby with a playful expression on his face. “Teleportation, huh? How’d you figure that out?”

You glanced between him and Captain America, feeling a bit on edge and extremely embarrassed. “I… I don’t know if I can say it in front of Captain America.”

Ever the sweetheart, Steve Rogers smiled at you comfortingly. “I carried you across a city. I think you can tell me.” He uncrossed his arms. “It can’t be that bad.”

The guilt was unbearable. You could still remember scrolling through your feed and laughing with your friends about how Captain America filmed a ‘Don’t do drugs’ PSA.

Covering your face with your hands, you wished that your superpower had been invisibility. Or that you were feeling well enough to teleport out of… wherever you were. “...I was smoking weed and then I found out I could teleport.”

[dovahgriin-archive]

Strangers in this Town

Book Two: The High Priestess

Summary: In Which Aza has Two Mysterious Visitors

Character(s): Aza Vallen, Julian Devorak, Nadia Satrinava

Relationship(s): Aza & Julian Devorak, Aza & Nadia Satrinava

Warning(s): This is super long. Like,,,, super mega über long. Also, spoilers for Book 2, but I think you all are smart enough to figure that out on your own.

The knocking continues as Aza steps away from the back door, gradually becoming louder and more insistent. She’s more than half-tempted to just ignore whoever it is and go to sleep (it is rather late, after all). Aza shakes herself and pinches the fat of her cheeks.

“Enough,” she mutters to herself. “Deal with whoever this is, and then you can go to bed.”

Even as she moves towards the door, Aza’s eyes longingly find the stairs that lead up to the living quarters.

She reaches the door and presses her cheek against the well-sanded wood as she peers through the peephole. In the dim light of the street lanterns, a slender hooded figure stands before the door of the shop. Their hands twist anxiously before them. Even in the poor lighting of the street, Aza can see jewels glittering on their fingers and wrists.

Aza can’t see their face.

Please, please go away, she begs the stranger mentally. Naturally, her thoughts go unheard and the stranger reaches forward to knock on the door again.

Sighing reluctantly, Aza reaches up to unlatch the bronze lock. She opens the door.

“Forgive me for the hour, but…” The figure steps over the threshold, unwinding the heavily-embroidered shawl from around their neck as they go. “... I will not suffer another sleepless night. Please, you must read the cards for me.”

The elegant cloth slips away from the stranger’s face, revealing a bronzed aquiline profile and wide carmine eyes. At the sight of her, Aza’s heart leaps into her throat.

“It has to be you,” the Countess says. “It must be you.”

It takes Aza a moment to gather her words. “If it is a reading you seek, my lady, you’ve come to the right place.”

Nadia Satrinava raises one finely manicured brow. “So I’ve been told. Your reputation precedes you, magician.” She looks off to the side, eyes suddenly far away. “Beggars and nobles alike… the people of this city whisper your name in wonder.” The side of her mouth quirks up, “Though, in my dream, you were… different.”

Aza frowns. In her dream? This is the first I’ve heard of the Countess having prophetic dreams.

“No matter. I come with a proposal for you,” Countess Satrinava continues. Aza holds up a hand.

“Wait, you had a dream about me?”

“... Yes. It is an unwelcome ability I have come into possession of. My dreams are haunted by visions of a future waiting to unfold.”

She certainly looks haunted, Aza thinks to herself, for it is true — the Countess’s face is tired, and though her makeup hides it well, Aza can see the dark circles beneath the Countess’s wine-red eyes.

“But the future I saw, the one that brought me to you…” the Countess’s eyes narrow defiantly. “... it is one I will not allow to pass.”

Her gaze softens as she looks Aza fully in the eyes. “Tell me, magician,” she says softly. “Will you heat my proposal?”

Aza’s mouth is drier than the sands of the desert outside of Vesuvia’s borders. “P-Proposal?”

Countess Satrinava’s mouth curls in amusement. “Not very talkative, are you? Are you nervous, perhaps? You needn’t be, you know. I require very little of you.

“Be my guest at the palace for a short while. You will be afforded every luxury, of course. It is as my dreams foretold.” She pauses, considering her next words. “I ask only that you bring your skill as a magician… and the arcana.”

Aza blinks at the woman before her, her words echoing in her head. Dreams… foretold… the arcana… the Arcana… She knows that the realms of the Arcana are from where most magic is drawn, but not very many people that aren’t trained practitioners know that. Either Countess Satrinava was well-educated beyond that which is expected of a noblewoman, or… Aza’s thoughts trail off as she considers the woman before her.

To her credit, the Countess meets Aza’s gaze without wavering. “Well…?”

“I must admit, my lady,” Aza says slowly, “that I am at a loss. What is it that you need me for, exactly? I’m not in the habit of making promises that I don’t know if I can keep.”

The look that the Countess gives Aza is patient. “For now, I wish a reading. To… test the waters, if you will.”

Aza nods. “That is something that I can do. If you’ll follow me, my lady.”

She leads the Countess through the shop to the reading room, the entire while conscious of the noblewoman’s imperious gaze on her back. Aza is suddenly and painfully aware of how humble the furnishings of the shop are in comparison to the Countess’s fine attire, but the Countess doesn’t seem to notice the difference. Countess Satrinava settles herself on the cushion that is closest the the window and the moonlight illuminates her from behind, gilding her hair silver.

Though it feels slightly wrong, Aza sits in Asra’s usual spot because it is the one directly across from where the Countess sits. Remnants of Asra’s power linger here, brushing over Aza’s skin like the ghost of a touch. The Countess watches Aza closely as she lays the deck of cards on the polished surface of the table. She seems… apprehensive.

“Go on,” she says. Aza nods once, reaching over the table to shuffle the cards. As she does so, Countess Satrinava folds her hands before herself and closes her eyes. Aza fans the deck out and holds it close to the Countess.

“My lady?” At Aza’s prompting, the Countess opens her eyes a sliver. “I know this is not usual, but… I find that, sometimes, it is best to let the questioner pick the cards.”

Eyebrows raised, the Countess complies, sliding three cards out of the deck, keeping them facedown. She does not look at them. Aza thanks her quietly, and she responds with a smile as Aza arranges them in an inverted triangle. A wave of déjá vu washes over Aza. She swears that she can almost feel Asra’s presence behind her, his voice in her ear, whispers on encouraging words on the wind.

Asra isn’t there, though. Aza shakes her head minutely, brushing away the residual energy with her own aura. It will only distract her when she is meant to be concentrating on the Countess’s reading.

Countess Satrinava watches closely as Aza’s hands hover over the cards. Aza’s eyes are closed, and she frowns slightly, the skin between her brows wrinkling up. They sit there in silence for what seems like a lifetime. Finally, Aza’s hand descends on the card making up the tip of the triangle and she flips it face up.

The fox-like face of the Magician looks up at the two women through narrow purple eyes.

“... the Magician…” The Countess murmurs. Aza looks up at her sharply. Just how much does the Countess know of the Arcana?

“... Yes.”

“How very appropriate,” Nadia says, leaning back from the table, arms folded across her chest. The light from the candles dotting the room catches on a particularly large sapphire ring, sending flecks of light dancing over the Countess’s face. Her eyes are narrow, but she isn’t frowning. Aza isn’t sure what to make of her expression. “And what does he hold for me?”

Aza’s eyes flutter closed as the answer comes, quick and clear as the rivers in the forest: “You have a plan.”

The Countess’s gaze flicks from the cards to Aza’s face. “Go on…”

“One that is long in the making. Years upon years.” Aza opens her eyes and meets Countess Satrinava’s gaze. “Now, you seek to set it in motion.”

The Countess looks… mildly surprised. She leans forward, elbows on the edge of the table as her hands rest flat on top of it. Her eyes flash brilliantly in the candlelight. “And? Should I move?”

“Yes,” Aza intones. “The time to act is now. Everything has fallen into place.”

“Say no more.” Countess Satrinava abruptly stands, jostling the table as she does so. She casts another thoughtful glance at the card as she brushes past Aza on her way through the beaded curtains. Aza hurries after her into the shop proper.

The Countess turns to face Aza. Her expression has Aza’s heart racing in anxiety. “Your fortunes are simple, much the same as the others that I’ve heard. And yet…” she trails off, gaze distant. “And yet, you are the first to pique my interest.”

Aza isn’t sure how to respond.

Countess Satrinava begins to rewrap her shawl about her head and shoulders. The green-gold fabric shimmers in the low, warm light of the shop.

“Ahem.” The Countess looks pointedly between Aza and the front door of the shop. It takes a moment, but realization dawns on Aza, along with a vague sense of embarrassment. She trips over her feet in her hurry to the door. The Countess catches Aza by the arm, just before she hits the ground. She looks on, mildly amused, as Aza flushes and hurried to open the door for her. “Until tomorrow, then, magician. Pleasant dreams.”

With that said, she glides over the threshold and into the misty night. Still as a statue, Aza stands in the doorway. What on earth could the Countess want with me, she wonders to herself. Why me, out of all of the fortune tellers of the city?

Aza returns inside. All that talk about my ‘reputation’... She locks the door. Could it be that she mistook me for — ?

“Strange hours you keep,” an unfamiliar voice says. Aza shrieks and leaps to the side, banging her hip on the corner of the counter. She looks around the shop, eyes watering.

“Who’s there?” She summons a crackling ball of fire to one hand. Her eyes dart around the room, chasing dark shadows that seem to leap and dance with every move that she makes. “Show yourself!”

“Behind you,” the voice says, and she whirls around. Sure enough, there is a stranger standing behind the counter. She scrambles backwards, pressing herself against the smooth, worn wood of the door. They are tall and thin, but the white plague mask and black-and-red cloak that they wear makes them seem much larger. The stranger steps towards Aza, looming over her like some gangly giant. She grits her teeth and raises the hand that is holding fire.

“Stay back,” she threatens. Surprisingly, he — for the stranger is a man, Aza realizes with a jolt of fear — listens and stops.

“My sources tell me that this is the witch’s lair,” he drawls, folding his arms. Aza blinks.

“The… witch?”

“Yes, the witch. But you look nothing like I was told, so tell me: who might you be?” Aza’s heart picks up speed again as the strange man advances on her once again. He… doesn’t seem concerned about her flames, and that in itself is enough to have them sputtering out.

“W-Wh-Who’s asking?” Aza curses herself as her tongue stumbles over her words, and the slip-up of her stutter has her cheeks flushing a brilliant pink. The man pauses.

“I’m asking. I would rather not to have to do so again.” He sighs behind the mask, a muffled exhalation of air. “But… if it will make you talk…”

Aza flinches as the leather creaks and squeals when the strange man pulls the mask off of his face and tosses it from the floor. The first thing that she notices about him is his nose — it’s absolutely enormous. Her eyes are then drawn to the eyepatch over his right eye. He’s handsome enough, overall, she thinks mildly. A nice face.

But… something niggles at the back of her mind, a thought that she just can’t catch. He looks so familiar…?

“Well, I can tell by the look on your face,” the man smirks, “Shock. Horror. You know who I am, don’t you?”

Something clicks in Aza’s mind, and she is surprised to find that he is right — she does know him. This man… the townspeople used to call him — “Doctor Jules?”

The doctor looks surprised, brown eye widening slightly as his gloved hands fall to his sides. “Huh. Haven’t heard that name in years.” His expression morphs into a scowl. The leather of his gloves creaks as he clenches his fists. “Quickly, now. Where is the witch?”

Aza scoffs. She is now absolutely certain that this man is looking for Asra. “L-Look, I don’t know anything, a-and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell someone who barged into my h-home!”

The doctor’s mouth draws into a tight smile. “And here I thought we could keep things civil.” He folds his arms again. Doctor Jules towers over Aza, chilling the air around them. “Well… if you will not tell me where he is…” It’s like a switch is flipped on his personality, and suddenly the man smiles at her. “Won’t you at least tell my fortune?”

The change in his voice and face is enough to send Aza reeling, so to speak. She stares at the doctor, taking a moment to process his jump from threatening to asking for a reading. “I-I-I... Huh?”

“That is what the back room is for, yes?” Aza bristles at his condescending tone.

“Yes, it is,” she says between gritted teeth. Who does he think he is, coming in here like this…? “If you’ll follow me, sir.”

She leads the doctor through the beaded curtains and into the reading room. Arms crossed, Aza waits impatiently for Doctor Jules to sit down before doing so herself, foot tapping all the while. The doctor waits for Aza to sit before leaning his arms on the table, hands folded. “So, if I remember correctly, I must simply think of a question that I want an answer to and then you flip a card?”

“... That’s the barest bones description, but yes.” Aza grabs the deck from where she left it after following the Countess out of the room and shuffles it. Irritation makes her fingers sure and quick, and she doesn’t hesitate in dealing the cards out in the inverted triangle (again). Closing her eyes, she breathes in sharply, but lets it out slowly, trying to picture all of the excess negative energy leaving her body on that breath.

Calmer now, Aza reaches for the cards.

The doctor slaps his hands on top of hers, effectively pinning them to the table.

“Hey!” Aza pulls away — or, rather, she tries to. Doctor Jules has a grip on her like a viper and doesn’t let go no matter how hard she tugs.

“Now, answer me this, magician: where is the witch?”

“My master is gone.”

The doctor looks irritated. “Yes, I know that. Where has he gone?”

“I don’t know.” Aza’s mouth tightens imperceptibly as the man scoffs. “L-Let me go and I will read the cards for the answer you seek.”

“... Very well.” Doctor Jules releases Aza’s hands. She snatches then back, rubbing at her wrists as she channels a small healing charm through her fingers. Her skin glows a bright blue for a moment, then returns to its normal shade of peach. She’s pleased when the doctor looks guilty.

Aza’s eyes slide shut as she feels the energy of the cards laid out on the table — each is equally strong, which is… unusual. Eventually, the card making up the upper right corner of the inverted triangle proves to be the loudest. Aza’s fingers nimbly flip the card face up.

Her mind begins to race. No voice can be heard from the card, no sound at all aside from the pounding of blood in her ears. “... Death.”

“Death?” The doctor’s voice is incredulous. “Death?” His laughter is uncontrollable, as sharp and cold as ice. However, as soon as it starts, it stops. His brows pull downward, as do the corners of his lips. “You’ve got to be joking.”

Aza jumps in her seat as he abruptly stands, slapping the tabletop with open hands. “Death cast her gaze on this wretch and turned away. She has no interest in an abomination like me.”

He spins and leaves the reading room. Aza scrambles to her feet and follows close on his heels. She feels nothing but confusion, rather than the fear from earlier.

The doctor stops in his tracks, and Aza bumps into his back. He turns to peer down his nose at her. “You’ve been hospitable, so I’ll let you in on a little secret,” his voice drops to a whisper, even though he and Aza are the only two people in the shop. “Your witch friend will be back for you. He’s taught you all his little tricks. You may even say that he cares for you.

“But when he returns…” the doctor bends over at the waist to grab his beaky mask from the floor, staring into its red glass eyes. “Seek me out. For your own sake. That… creature… is far more dangerous than you know.”

Aza bristles. “My master isn’t dangerous!”

Doctor Jules shrugs. “So you say. Keep my warning in mind, though. I promise I won’t say ‘I told you so’ when things go wrong.” With an exaggerated wink, he slips the mask back onto his head, securing it with a leather strap beneath his reddish curls.

“The hour is late, and it seems that my time is up. Don’t let him fool you.” He opens the door and slips out into the early morning mists, letting the door slam shut behind himself. Aza stares hard at the door, like it is the door’s fault for the doctor’s melodramatic warning.

Shaking her head, Aza locks the front door of the shop and, one by one, puts out all the lit candles. She summons a bobbing orb of light once she is finished, and makes her way up the stairs to her closet of a bedroom. Aza strips down to her shift and practically falls into bed. She is asleep before her head hits the pillow.

[raywritesthings]

For the "right to the good parts" prompt list, could you do #8 with platonic Queen sibling vibes please?

I don’t actually remember when you prompted me this, but here it is! *Can also be read on my AO3*

Home is Where You Are

It took Oliver some time to reach full consciousness. He was aware he was lying on a table and that he’d been given something that left his senses somewhat dulled. For pain?

He attempted to sit up but couldn’t quite manage it and groaned instead.

“Ollie!”

Thea was there in moments, still in her Speedy suit sans the mask. It was coming back to him now, the fight and how his grapple arrow had been cut. His fall. He was probably lucky not to have broken his neck. No wonder she was worried.

“Hey, Speedy,” he said, and he managed to squeeze her fingers back when she took one of his hands.

“Oh, my God, I thought you were going to die.” Worry was the one emotion he could pick up from her as she hovered over him, and it took his brain another couple seconds to process Laurel’s silent presence at her side. She spared him a relieved glance but was focusing most of her attention on rubbing soothing circles on Thea’s back. He couldn’t see John, but was pretty sure he was somewhere off to the left. “Please don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“Wasn’t trying to,” he said, his voice still a bit gruff from waking up.

Thea’s gaze fell to the floor. “I know. I just meant—” She stopped herself from finishing and seemed to shrink back further into Laurel’s side.

And it struck Oliver suddenly in a way it hadn’t before. Thea hadn’t been sitting by his bedside. She’d been hanging back even while he was unconscious. Felicity had used to wheel her chair over, but in her absence, he suddenly felt the absence of his sister, which had seemingly been going on unnoticed till now.

“I think we’re all a little tired,” Laurel decided. “The main thing is that Oliver’s gonna be okay.”

“Right,” he heard John agree, to his left as he’d thought. He shifted forward and into Oliver’s view. “Probably should let you keep resting, now that we know you’ve pulled through.”

Thea nodded and turned away from him, muttering a, “Goodnight, Ollie.” She accepted the arm Laurel placed over her shoulder with not a single hint of protest and followed John out of the room to change and leave the base.

Only when he was left alone did Oliver realize he’d forgotten to reply. But a more important question was occupying his thoughts.

When had Laurel become his sister’s protector?

He wasn’t jealous. Oliver had always known Laurel and Thea had a special relationship, but it had always felt in addition to the bond he and Thea had. In recent months there had been a shift, though. Laurel was the one Thea turned to, the one she relied on, far more than him.

If he was being honest with himself, that shift had occurred in the time he’d been away with Felicity. He still spoke with Thea, he still loved her...but there’d been a distance. She’d rarely come to see them in the loft — back when he’d still been welcome there — and, thinking of a bloodstain hidden even now under a floor rug, he couldn’t exactly blame her. And he hadn’t put much thought into how Thea would have fit into the life he’d envisioned with Felicity, whether back when he’d thought they were staying in Ivy Town or even after they came back and he’d proposed. Even when Palmer Tech had been taken hostage, Laurel had been the one to realize that Thea was also in danger, while he had been more worried about his ex-fiancé.

Had he really grown to neglect his sister so much?

Oliver had little to do but lie on his back for the next few hours and contemplate this troubling realization. His mind wouldn’t let him get back to sleep, instead trying to go back through the months and figure out where he’d gone so wrong. There was a time not so long ago that he’d pledged his very life and soul, everything he had, for Thea. It had been one of the only certainties in his life.

The other, he had told Felicity once, was that he loved her. And now that that love had been rejected, he could see more clearly that he’d given up on his dedication to the one woman who was always going to be in his life.

Shame was not an unusual feeling for him, but he felt overtaken by it all the same. Thea was his sister, his responsibility, and he’d shoved her off onto a friend so he could chase a dream life in the suburbs. He’d never even thought to compensate Laurel for that, much less thanked her. Not that she would have been likely to accept it; she’d say it was no trouble. An extra sister wasn’t a burden to her the way he had likely made Thea feel she was a burden to him.

Oliver wondered what his mother would say if she knew how he’d acted. If she’d blame him for all the trouble with Malcolm last year or hate him for leaving Thea behind last summer and refusing to deal with the lingering effects of the Lazarus Pit. His eyes started to feel suspiciously wet.

It wasn’t possible for him to know how much time had passed down in the bunker, but Oliver couldn’t take it anymore. He sat up and gained his feet. After pausing to allow some spots in his vision to fade, he unplugged the IV of pain medication and threw on the first shirt he could find in his still half-packed boxes sitting to one side of the base. Then Oliver took the elevator up and let himself out of the building on street level.

The walk he took wasn’t long, and he could have found his way in his sleep if he wanted. It wasn’t quite dawn by the time he reached Laurel’s apartment, but that didn’t really register to him. Not until it took him three tries at knocking before the door was answered by a Laurel still in her pajamas and blinking sleep from her eyes.

“Ollie?”

“Hey,” he said. “Sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be up.” Laurel reached for his arm and guided him over to her couch. “How did you get here?”

“Walked. Is Thea, um…?” He was asking someone else if he could see his own sister because she lived in their home and not his. He didn’t have a home, but that didn’t seem to matter to his brain or to his throat which closed up and wouldn’t allow him to finish.

“I can get her.” She watched him a moment longer, concern evident, and Oliver dropped his gaze to the floor. He knew he had to seem odd right now, maybe even irrational. He couldn’t explain why he suddenly had this need, how seeing Thea pull away from him physically tonight had made him realize just how much they’d drifted apart.

Two sets of footsteps padded back down the hall towards him, and Thea’s pajama bottoms came into view.

“Ollie, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said automatically.

There was a pause in which he could hear Thea’s frown, and then she sat down next to him. He turned at last to actually look her in the eye.

“What’s actually wrong?”

He didn’t know how to say it, was the problem. He didn’t have the words for just how wrong his life felt now that he wasn’t so caught up in his own relationship.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” She prompted.

“Everything?” His voice was strained again, this time in an attempt not to let the tears that had threatened before while he was alone to fall. It was the lingering painkillers affecting his usual control, some dim part of him knew that, but he also couldn’t seem to wrest that control back with his usual strength.

“I missed- miss you. I miss us.”

She reached out and placed her hand on his leg. “I’m right here.”

“But I haven’t been. All the times you needed me most, I was never there. And not just because I couldn’t be. I left you, Thea. Again and again.”

“That’s okay,” she said in a way that he could clearly see now was a brushoff. She didn’t really mean it, but she was more worried about him. “What’s- what’s brought this on, huh? You having your Wonderful Life moment?”

“No, it’s actually pretty horrible,” he said on a breathy laugh. “But I realized, tonight, that when I thought it was wonderful, there was still something wrong. I realized that I’d let a relationship become more important than my family, and that I’d let it come between us.”

She didn’t have an excuse this time, some words that would let him off the hook. Thea was staring at him like she couldn’t quite believe he was real.

Oliver wondered if this was a dream she’d had before, where her absentee brother finally apologized for everything that he’d failed to do.

“I just wanted you to be happy,” she eventually said, around what sounded like a lump in her throat.

“I know. But I can’t be without you.”

He wasn’t sure which of them moved first, but he had his little sister in his arms, and he held on as tight as he could for as long as his recovering body would allow. After a time, Oliver sat back like she did and wiped at the wetness that had leaked from his closed eyes.

“I’m not sorry that you found somebody to be there for you in the meantime—” they both glanced towards Laurel, who was leaning against the archway to her kitchen while she silently observed “—but I am sorry I let it come to that. And I- I wish I knew how to fix it, Speedy, but I don’t.”

The fact was that he was unemployed and homeless. Thea would be far better off staying with Laurel than following him and his singular failure to maintain a steady personal life and income. How was he supposed to look after her when he couldn’t even do the same for himself?

“So, uh, I guess,” he mumbled, slowly starting to push back up from the couch. He was starting to feel the soreness in his body now that the medication was leaving him, as well as being increasingly aware of how he’d just barged right in.

But Laurel stepped forward. “Oliver, you’re not going anywhere.”

He blinked. “I’m not?”

“No. You and Thea shouldn’t have to live separately if that’s not what you want, and you shouldn’t have to be living in the base, period. You can stay in Thea’s room, and Thea and I can share mine.”

“No, I couldn’t.” He shook his head even as he noticed Thea’s face fall. “I don’t even have anything to give you for rent, Laurel.”

“Did I ask for anything?” She replied. “Come on, you need to sleep, and you’re not walking all the way back to the bunker. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

They each took him by an arm, gently due to his injuries, and led him back into the second bedroom. The covers were rumpled from Thea’s stay in them, and he could smell the spray she used for her hair on the pillow. It was comforting, and his body relaxed without his say-so.

Thea tucked him in, which felt as though it should have been the other way around, but he couldn’t complain.

“Goodnight, Ollie.”

“Goodnight.” He sat up a little as she moved to turn off the light. “Thea?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Her smile was the sweetest thing he would ever lay eyes on. “I love you, too.”

She turned off the light and stepped out into the hall, and Laurel shut the door quietly. He heard their footsteps fade away as they left for Laurel’s room and as he slowly fell asleep.

His mind was quiet now; the guilt and the worries not gone, but manageable in the face of feeling like he’d finally come home after a very long while. Oliver slept through the rest of the night.

[stylessemantics]

VII-2: Oh Marcel (AU part II)

Also called: The Marcel Smut (Read part one here)

Shout out to @overad​ and @legend-waitforit-harry​, my main babes to talk all marcel things about. Also to J(legend-waitforit-harry) and @harrysperfectdimple​ for being angels and beta reading this big chunk of words T.T you’re the real MVPs

Prompt: Harry, pitifully called Marcel as a sour joke, is a nice, young, straight-A student, with a bully that hates him on a personal level, and what he thinks is an unattainable crush on his bully’s ex, who he’s started to tutor and befriend despite how much he dreams of her in the dirtiest of situations. Maybe little old marcel has a chance?

In which Harry and y/n start to form a beautiful friendship, stained by y/n’s past and Jonathan’s blind rage.

Harry felt relieved as he punched his way through a boxing routine, happy he was able to move around a class due to the teacher cancelling on the original time, so he was free to pick up the sport once more at the gym close to campus. For some reason boxing helped him relax. Something about delivering blow after blow to a punching bag felt very liberating. Like screaming without actually having to scream. Only one thing wasn’t allowing him to fully concentrate on his class.

The instructor had told him to drink water and rest up before the next set of exercises and that’s when he glanced through the glass walls and door that divided the boxing area from the rest of the gym and spotted her stretching. Harry immediately gave his back to her direction and cursed under his breath, eyes blowing wide open. Y/N came to this gym too? It made perfect sense, it was close to campus and it wasn’t that expensive, specially for the students. But he didn’t think he’d ever run into her at any place other than the hallways, when they would, by random chance, intersect in the same building. His hands felt sweaty under the bulky red gloves as he remembered the embarrassment that was talking to her last time when she had come around with his forgotten notebook. Harry, with a fast beating heart, tried his best to focus on just hitting the bag, but his mind would wander and he itched to look back at her. She hadn’t noticed him and deep down he wanted that to stay that way. He didn’t really want her to see him all sweaty and tattoos full on display.

Although, when he thought about it, now that he had finished working at the tech place he had been working as a paid intern at, he didn’t have to wear the mandatory vests, so everyone would see his tattoos full on display when he went back to class later in the afternoon not in his classic button up. His contract ended and he didn’t want to continue working there. Instead he applied to go back to his first part time job at the bakery down the road. He figured he had saved up enough money working at a boring tech firm long enough, so he just waited until his contract was up and packed up his things. He was grateful for the experience and all the things he’d learned but he was about ready to go to a much more fun job that would still give him enough cash to get through campus living. It all worked perfectly with his changed schedule, plus he enjoyed the smell of freshly baked goods any time of the day.

He rushed to the showers right after his routine was over. He stretched in the boxing area, still cautious that y/n wouldn’t spot him, and ran to get clean and changed into some comfortable post-workout attire. Pushing his glasses up his nose he took a big breath before walking as fast as he could without looking like a lunatic, over to the staircase that led to the exit of the gym. He kept his gaze down. Maybe if I don’t look up she won’t see me, he kept thinking to himself in a clearly dumb logic. It’s not that he didn’t want to see her – God, all he wanted to do was see her, no matter when. And talk to her – but it was the latter he could never do when she was in front of him, so he would rather avoid running into her all together so that he’d never end up looking like a nitwit in front of her again.

It’s obvious that if you’re not looking at something other than your feet as you walk, you are bound to crash into something, anything, at some point. Which is exactly what happened to Harry. He felt his body collide with another body and with his luck, before his brain could figure out the shapes and colours, he already knew he had crashed straight into y/n, and since they were at the very top of the stairs, the blow had sent her almost tumbling over. His reflexes kicked in and his hands reached out as he pulled her to him, keeping her from barrelling down the flight of steps.

With wide eyes and at this proximity Harry noticed the light in her eyes, and the redness to her cheeks that was extremely adorable and making him blush and stumble over his words.

“I-I… M’ so sorry!” she smiled at him one of her signature sweet smiles and for a second Harry wondered why he needed cardio after all.

“It’s ok! Hi Harry! I didn’t see you here, came for a workout?” Inside her mind she was slapping herself, because what else could someone go to the gym for? She didn’t know why but Harry made her a bit clumsy. She liked his company; the sudden inexplicable nerves that came with it? Not so much.

“Uh y-yeah. I umm… I took b-boxing back up…”

It was funny to watch. How they both seemed to be at a loss for words, how they both looked a lot more flustered than someone who’d just finished a workout routine. How Harry still had his arm around her and held her very close to his frame. Although this one he noticed and he immediately let go of her, careful not to push her back too harshly, as he cleared his throat.

“Would you like to grab breakfast with me?” she asked suddenly and Harry didn’t know what to answer. So he did what he knew how to do best: fix his glasses incessantly. It was a nervous tick. He’d remove them and wipe them and fidget them back on, tap at them, then push and pull and push and pull as his brain wracked for something to say, or rather tried to remember how to tell the mouth the correct positions to go to so that he could form words.

“I just… I uh… I have c-class…” it wasn’t a lie. He did have class… In four hours. But y/n didn’t know that and all she could do was nod as she made him promise that next time he’d grab a bite to eat with her after the gym, to which Harry had to say yes – not that he wasn’t dying to – and continued playing with his glasses during.

Deep down Harry knew he would never be able to grab a casual bite with the girl that flooded his dreams, the girl that made him reconsider running the treadmill – beyond everything, the conversation had left him breathless and with a heartbeat he could worriedly call a doctor about – the girl that made his chest and pants tight at just the glance of her hips in the fitting activewear she donned for the day. But it was nice to imagine. It was nice to wonder. To think that he could be the confident guy who asks her instead, and takes her out and keeps a nice conversation flowing, enough so he can charm her in some way that she’d want to hang out with him more and more.

It was nice to imagine.

And he didn’t need to imagine it much because he found himself being silently beckoned over by a whispering y/n that same night at the library.

“Hey” she spoke in hushed tones as he sat down in front of her with shaky hands and taking a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Harry let out a tiny “hi” in response and forced his eyes to focus on the textbooks in front of him. Y/N understood, after all she was here to study as well.

It was hard not to notice her struggle silently after a while. She kept sighing and every time she erased something she did it a bit more furiously than the last. It was difficult for Harry not to take a peek at her exercises from over the rim of his glasses. With a small grin he figured out the answer to the question with ease in his mind, and leaned his hand over to her notes, circling down the correct option as she looked at him amused and confused.

“It’s Thermochemistry…” he whispered leaning back to pay attention to his notes.

“What?” was all she asked and Harry lifted his book so she could see the front. Of course he was taking Chemistry IV when she was on her second time taking Chem 101 and on her way to fail it again. “How?” she asked to which he just shrugged. Chemistry was his thing. He liked it. In fact he was taking it as extra credits, quite literally just for fun.

“I like it” Harry said taking a quick glance at the clock and noticing it was about time to go. The library was closing soon and y/n also got the hint, hurriedly picking up after herself while staring at Harry. To y/n, any one that liked or could deal with chemistry was a study case. It was her worst subject all through high school, and all the time she lost pulling at her roots to learn it made her eventually hate the matter, so she couldn’t understand how someone could get any of it, let alone also like it to the point of needing or wanting to take the subject 4 times, each with more complex topics than the last. In that moment, Harry seemed like an alien of some sort – specially cause his green eyes never cease to look extremely green – but he also looked like an angel. A blessing.

Harry found himself agreeing to y/n’s claims for the second time that day. Whatever she said – no matter how hard it made it for him to breathe and how much anxiety the thought of her caused him – he found himself nodding to. In his nervous tick he started messing with his glasses when she asked him the craziest thing ever.

“T-tutor… you? Me? I mean…” Her eyes were shining as they walked side by side down the field and in the direction of her building. She nodded excitedly, quietly begging for him to agree. When you put it in perspective it was logical. If you are failing a subject and know someone that could help, why not ask them to help? But even in his smart brain, the situation sounded so insane and out of this world. Him? Tutor her? His palms were already sweaty and his mind felt like it was starting to forget the most basic of the elements in the periodic table. Was it Helium, Lithium, Beryllium? Where was Oxygen again? Still, he was saying yes and agreeing on a time and a place before he knew it. 

Biology wasn’t his best subject, but he believed there had to be some substance she expelled out of her body to make him agree to whatever she asked for so easily.

“Not bad” Harry hummed, reading over one of the exercises he’d asked y/n to do, pushing his hair out of his face and sliding his glasses up his nose as he scribbled on the sides of the paper. Compared to how little he had explained so far and how much she seemed to be struggling, the sheet had more correct answers than he thought he would achieve on the second day of tutoring her.

Y/N was sat at his desk in his dorm room and Harry’s sweaty palms had calmed down a lot since she arrived an hour before. The whole idea of tutoring her was still crazy to him, specially when in the back of his mind he knew that before she was set to arrive, he had taken a nap and dreamt, once more, of her riding his thigh and moaning his name in his ear, and Harry just had to jerk himself off quickly before the real y/n showed up at his door. It was hard to look at her smiling face whenever she understood a concept, and not picture how much he would like to have her spread on his mattress under his body, or wonder how accurate her real life moans were compared to the ones his subconscious made in his imagination, but Harry was making his best efforts to continue focused despite the looming memory of that one dream.

“Awesome!” she chirped back, reading Harry’s notes on the sides of her exercises and putting them in her backpack to revise later. Letting out a sigh she picks up the rest of her materials and books. “I’m spent, and hungry” y/n groans and Harry can’t help but chuckle. Thankfully the past study sessions had also served him to not be so stuttery and shy around her, allowing him to get somewhat comfortable when it came to talking to her.

To him it seemed like a miracle that he’d ever be able to be fairly casual around y/n, but he was handling it so well he even surprised himself – and y/n a little – when he let out a “Let’s go grab something to eat then” after she’d stretched and gotten up from her seated position with a smile after Harry’s statement.

That’s how, 15 minutes later, y/n finds herself sat in a booth at a burger joint in front of a Harry that she’d started getting to know slowly. Deep down she was also thankful that she seemed to be getting along with Harry smoothly, knowing how strangely nervous she would get around him. A few weeks back she was completely convinced that Harry never saw her as a friend, considering how he basically avoided talking to her, but she’s glad to see him speaking freely and see herself laughing along with the curly lad as they joke over what’s left of her serving of fries. And y/n didn’t know it then, but Harry felt the same way.

“You know…” she starts, intrigued and amused by how quickly they had grown more comfortable around each other “I always thought you didn’t like me” Y/N’s cheeks are flushed red under Harry’s strong gaze through his frames.

“What? Why?” Harry wonders out loud, fixing his glasses around. How could she think he didn’t like her? Quite contrary, he was shocked she didn’t already know he died inside every time he caught a glimpse of her smiling his way. Y/N shrugs.

“I don’t know, we never really talked much” “I did like yeh. I do.” the words come out of his mouth before he can stop them, and so Harry’s left scrambling to make sure his actual feelings aren’t exposed on the booth’s table. “I mean, you uh… You j-just looked nice and... and I never really knew w-what to say to you, s-so I… I don’t know I k-kept my distance?” luckily y/n nods, understanding what he meant.

“You know what you could have talked to me about?” “What?” “Chemistry 101. We had it together! Maybe I wouldn’t be taking it for the second time if you had spoken to me back then” she jokes, mocking anger and pointing at him accusingly, making Harry throw his head back in laughter. “Oh god. Yeah, maybe” he says, shrugging after taking a deep breath and sip from his soda “but I didn’t want you to hold me back” he smirks, biting back at her joke making her gasp in shock. “Harry!” and they both continue to poke fun at each other and fill the small restaurant with loud laughs that could easily get them kicked out if it wasn’t for the fact that the place was almost empty.

The laughs they share and details they discover about each other, keeps both Harry and y/n busy enough not to see the seething stares of one young bully from across the street. Jonathan’s fists tighten at the sight, almost drawing blood, and if his personal vendetta with Harry wasn’t already personal enough, this had just made it.

Walking to and from his dorm to class was about a level 4 out of 10 of a dangerous situation for Harry. He tried to do it early, or when a lot of people were around so he could blend in and escape Jonathan whenever he could.

And in hindsight, Harry wonders if he’d been more alert and less occupied on what he would teach y/n later that afternoon – and how cute she’ll look once again – maybe he would have noticed that, this time around, Jonathan had a hawk-like vision driven by rage and hunger for his target, him. Maybe he would have noticed that today Jonathan seemed a lot more angry than any other time he’d faced the broad shoulders of what many would call his nemesis. Maybe he would have been more prepared to receive the punch that left him blank for 10 seconds.

Harry couldn’t pinpoint it at the moment, but every kick and shove, came with a venomous tongue, like Jonathan had wanted to inflict so much more damage than ever before. Harry’s ears rang as he felt another blow to his head, and he stumbled back, books long forgotten and glasses surely broken at his side. Was this what getting the shit beat out of you was? Was this his death? He wondered, but thankfully a passerby turned out to be a friend, that rushed to his aid, and through a blurry view, he made the outline of a man that helped him back to his dorm.

Y/N almost about screamed at the sight.

“Oh my god!” she said letting her books drop to the ground and entering Harry’s room, grabbing his face in her hands and inspecting all the bruises. A purple eye, scrapes and scratches along his cheeks, a busted lip and dried blood all around his features. “What the fuck?!”

Harry winced stepping back from her and letting his body down on his mattress. He waved his hand at her, dismissing the issue like it was no big deal, saying it looked worse than it felt, which didn’t ease y/n’s mind in the least, as she dropped to her knees in front of Harry and took a closer look.

“Harry…” “‘M fine, S’just a purple eye and a scrape ‘ere and there” “This is not just a-” “I’m fine” he says taking a hold of her hand and giving her a comforting smile that does anything but comfort her, but she drops it for the time being, looking to his bedside table, where his spare glasses sat untouched next to the broken ones, and handing him back the bag of ice he apparently had pressed to his face before she arrived. Harry insisted on continuing his chemistry tutoring, claiming that if his memory didn’t fail him, her teacher was one for surprise quizzes.

“Harry…” y/n mumbled, poking at his side. He kept swaying and dozing off on her and her worry levels were at about 15 out of 10. “Hm” he groans, shaking his head as if coming back to life. “Harry, please, I’m worried” “S’ nothing. Jus’ a headache… feeling a bit woozy” “What if you have a concussion?” she presses on, biting her lip in fear. Harry needed a doctor ASAP and he was being so stubborn not letting her take him to one. Harry scoffed at her remark. “Christ, y/n, I don’t ‘ave a concussion” but his words were slurred and slower than usual, and the look on her face tugged at Harry’s heartstrings. She was fidgety and scared. He sighed “Fine… if it makes yeh feel any better, we’ll go to the emergency room” “Please!” y/n was on her feet and gathering her belongings in a flash, as Harry swayed to and fro, holding on to his throbbing head and taking slow steps towards her. Y/N tried her best to help the tall man leaning against her small frame on the way to her car, and in a rush towards a doctor before any of the very dark and horrible scenarios in her head could seep in.

Harry’s eye looked better and his wounds had been cleaned properly in a matter of minutes, by a nice nurse that kept reassuring y/n that her ‘boyfriend’ would be fine and she should stop worrying, but she couldn’t as she saw Harry, dead silent on a hospital bed and she sat by his side.

“No concussion miss, we’ve cleaned his wounds and gave him some medication for the pain, he might be a little dizzy and sleepy for a while. I’d recommend he sleeps it off” a doctor had told her with a soothing voice which relieved her greatly – at least the doctor had a voice that could calm her down, and the news she brought eased y/n visibly –

“Hmmm” Harry groaned, not bothering to open his eyes any wider than little slits, when y/n tried to get him back on his feet and towards her car after everything had been cleared up. Y/N took a deep breath in and out, trying her best not to worry anymore. He was fine. Nothing too bad had happened, and now he needed to rest. “C’mon you need to sleep” she gave him a soft smile as she helped him back into his dorm room and on the way to his bed and he groaned. “What time is it?” he whispered letting his body fall on the mattress. The headache was a lot less poignant and they had applied some ointment or whatever, on his eye that would help it miraculously heal faster. “Around 3:30, why?” “Ugh–” he grumbled – ”Have… a class soon”

Y/n’s hands pushed back at Harry’s chest immediately sensing that he’d want to get up and get on his way to a class that he clearly wasn’t in good enough state to attend to. “Jesus, no, Harry.” “I 'afta...” “You can’t attend a class this way. You need to sleep, and that’s final” she added with a stern voice anticipating his interruption. Harry let himself be tucked in by y/n’s delicate hands. “Can’t miss it… Exam soon” his words were cut short, his body ready to shut down, drunk with numbing drugs that he could no longer fight against. “I… I’ll go take notes for you, okay? But you need to sleep” “I have a… complicated note system” “Of course you do” y/n giggles. “I’ll try my best”

Any other moment Harry would refute, but just this one time he nodded to her words and allowed his eyes to close for a second, his bed had something like a magnetic pull suddenly, felt comfier than ever to his bruised body. “Just record it, yeah?” “I got it, no problem. Do call me if you need me, anything, I’ll be back after my class at 5, yeah?” and like a child being taken care of his mother when he was sick, Harry hummed an agreement and felt y/n’s lips drop a small kiss on his forehead. “Take… key” he says however he can, pointing to his keychain by the door so y/n can let herself back in afterwards, in case he was still knocked out from the medication, before settling into his covers with a groan of pain. And with that y/n left to try and make sense of a sociology class and Harry’s complex yet precise note taking system.

Even in a drug heavy nap, Harry can make the outline of y/n’s bare body in his dream, and it’s around two hours later when he wakes up alert, and much more relieved, that he decides he needs a cold shower for two reasons before y/n came back.

He takes a moment in his shower to think about how his life seems to be a dream itself. He still has a hard time accepting the fact that he’s been talking and hanging out with y/n more and more the last few days, and that he can now laugh and joke around her. His heart still beats the same erratic way and his blood rushes in his veins like it used to, and she still haunts his dreams most of the time, waking him up in a sweat and with an itch to press her down on his body, but now he gets to have the real y/n a lot closer than he used to and it’s messing with his head in ways he doesn’t know how to deal with yet.

He’s just stepping out of the shower and into his room, clad in a towel wrapped around his hips and with the cold air nipping at his shoulders, where droplets of water fall from the curly tips of his hair, when the door to his dorm is closed shut after y/n allows herself in. She’s confused at the sight of Harry’s bed being empty only to turn around and crash with his wet naked torso.

“Oh god!” she’s quick to jump back, mimicking his steps in the opposite direction. Cheeks tainted a deep red the same as his. She only gets a quick glance of his body that assures her he is in fact nude, before covering her eyes from the view of Harry with just a loosely tightened towel around his most important parts. “Sorry! Sorry, oh god!”

Y/N was frozen in her spot and so was Harry. He stuttered and scrambled his way around his room to get dressed, holding y/n by her shoulders to move her out of the way of his drawers, as she did her best to keep her eyes away from the image of harry’s tatted nakedness.

When it was clear to look, Harry let her know with a lump in his throat from how awkward the whole interaction was, and y/n made sure to peek through the cracks in her fingers to test the waters, spotting Harry fully clothed, she sighed and proceeded to apologise some more. “I’m s-sorry, I… I should have knocked, I just, god” “I-it’s ok. Uh, yeah…” his fingers came up to fidget his glasses around and scratch at the back of his neck in embarrassment. He tried to focus on the fact that the situation was uncomfortable, and not think of how in his dreams a situation like that would have a very different outcome.

Dropping his notebook on his desk, y/n told him all she remembered of his class, the notes she’d taken were messy but Harry was surprised and touched that she’d tried her best at copying his note-taking style. She had done it with pencil – so in case she made any mistakes, Harry could arrange them later on – and the scribbles on the edges had multiple arrows pointed to different notes and asterisks. He chuckled at the small ‘sorry!’ she had written at the end of the notes, probably when the class had ended. “Thank you, y/n, really.” “No problem, It’s so messy, but hopefully you can understand” she smiled at him, sitting herself at the edge of his bed. “It’s great, it really is. Yeh didn’t have to” he says with his dimples showing and cheeks blushing, sitting down next to her. “Which reminds me…” he says reaching back and pulling out a notebook that seems to be filled front to back “Right ‘ere… ’S my Chem 101 notebook. Figured it’d help yeh a bit t’have it” he hands her the book that is in perfect condition considering it’s been a year and a half since he last touched it or the book has seen the light. “Oh my! Thank you!” y/n’s smile is big and making Harry’s heart do a lot more flips than he thought was humanly possible or healthy.

Y/N couldn’t help but stare at his bruises, happy he seemed to be much more awake and no longer in as much pain, but still sour that he’d even had to go through it in the first place. Harry notices how she grows silent and places his hand on her shoulder trying to comfort her. “Hey, stop… I’m okay” “I feel so bad…” “Don’t… You’ve done nothing wrong and you’ve nothing t’worry about” he says giving her a comforting smile trying to cheer her up, but he’s immediately caught of guard by the shine in her eyes that looks like tears. Y/N surprises him by wrapping her arms around him, causing them to lay down on his mattress in a cuddle. Harry’s heart is beating rapidly, his palms sweaty, and his eyes open wide in shock as y/n lets out soft sighs and sobs on his chest. He rubs loving circles on her back, confused as to why this is making her so upset. “Hey…” he whispers in her ear, pulling her close to his frame “Don’t cry. ’S okay” “I’m so sorry Harry.” “Y/n, it’s not your fault, please…” he stresses, but she shakes her head and looks up at him through tears, placing a hand on his cheek. Her eyes are glossy and her sad expression makes Harry’s heart ache for her, he wants her to smile, always, no matter how taken aback he is when she says her next words. “It is, Harry. It is my fault…”

Thanks for reading! I’m working on part three so that it can be posted in a few days, a week tops. FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED PLEASE!!! I want to know what you think of this and why you think y/n swears it’s her fault? hmmm. Part three will be the last one of this little Marcel story but there are more Marcel ideas in my drafts and I’d love to write more about this specific Marcel if you’d like me to :)

Smooches Iv. XO.

Masterlist  ||  My Ask

[drindrak-art]

Named After a Hero IV

Sasuke was terrified. He didn't like admitting it, but he was. The woman-man-snake, whatever it was, had appeared with a gust of wind and separated him from his teammates. Naruto found him quick enough. Him not knowing a single bit of the password was sufficient enough for Sasuke to recognize the blond. But Sakumo… that thing disguised itself as Sakumo. It had given the password well enough, but there was just something about it that prompted Sasuke to ask it, “What do you think of the White Fang?” And for a split second a disgusted sneer appeared on his ‘teammate’s’ face. That was all the confirmation Sasuke and Naruto needed to attack the false Sakumo. And then everything went to hell. That thing survived a full blast fireball to the face and had done nothing but peel its own skin off. Sasuke thought he'd vomit right then and there. Through some impressive teamwork with Naruto and some wirework, Sasuke had had the thing cornered and fired off a Dragon Flame Jutsu point blank. But when the flames died down, the thing had melted and disappeared. Now he and Naruto were hiding on a branch, carefully plotting what to do next. Many of their plans consisted of them simply running, finding the real Sakumo, and hightailing it out of the forest. Whether to the tower or over the fence they didn't care. Sasuke had a small twinge of wanting to finish the exam no matter what, but the dark-haired boy had learned a lot about caring for his friends. And that was what Naruto and Sakumo were. His friends. Sure he wanted to be a Chunin soon, but waiting six months was preferable to dying. Sasuke felt his eyes itch to blink. He hadn't for a while, since he had activated his Sharingan a few moments ago. He looked around for that thing. “Sasuke!” Naruto shouted pushing the Uchiha away. Sasuke flipped midair and his eyes widened upon seeing a large snake land where he had been hiding, the thing crawling its way from the snake’s head.

“Kukuku…” The thing chuckled, yellow eyes focusing on Sasuke’s Sharingan. “My, my, Sasuke-kun, what splendid eyes.” Sasuke felt his skin crawl. The thing was after his eyes?! A thud came beside him and Sasuke dared a glance to see a furious Naruto. The blond’s usual blue eyes were bright red and slitted; his whisker-like birthmarks had also darkened, giving him a demonic look. “Who the hell do you think you are, ‘ttebayo!” Naruto shouted. “What do you want!” The thing chuckled again. “My name is Orochimaru. As for what I want…” The thing - Orochimaru - looked to Sasuke and smirked. “I want Sasuke-kun’s Sharingan.” Orochimaru’s smirk widened. “Why, I might just rip the boy’s eyes out right now.” Before Sasuke could process that, Naruto had flung himself at Orochimaru with a feral screech. The elder ninja easily dodged the enraged blond’s attacks, quickly snatching him up with his tongue. “So this is the Kyuubi Container? Pathetic.” Sasuke’s mind raced. Kyuubi? The giant fox that attacked the village? Naruto was its container? Sasuke shook his head. No way that was true. ...right? It does make sense… Sasuke shook his head again. It doesn't matter. Not right now. But he and Naruto were going to have a serious talk if they survived. Orochimaru grinned as his fingers lit up with purple flames. “Five Prong Seal!” He slammed his glowing hand into Naruto's gut. The blond made a choking noise before passing out. With another chuckle, Orochimaru flung Naruto away. The blond had flown maybe two metres before he was pinned to a tree by a kunai. “Shannaro! Bulls-eye!” Sasuke felt relief and a new wave of terror well up inside him. He turned to see his pink haired teammate crouching on a branch just behind him. With a grin, he leapt to the branch Sasuke was on. “Sakumo…?” Sakumo’s grin dimmed into a small smile. “Sorry I'm late. I had to dodge this huge snake.” Before Sasuke could respond, Orochimaru hissed. “So you defeated my snake? Impressive.” Sakumo glanced at the enemy and Sasuke briefly caught the other boy’s eyes widening. “Orochimaru.” Sakumo whispered, a glare settling on his face. Sasuke wanted to ask how his teammate knew that, but figured the boy had read about it. “Sasuke.” Sasuke tilted his head, watching as his teammate dug through his pouch. “Take this.” He handed Sasuke a small scroll with the symbol for dog scrawled onto it. “I want you to take Naruto and run.” A noise of protest rose in the Uchiha’s throat. Sakumo held up a bandaged hand (Sasuke didn’t know when the other boy injured it, probably during the fight with the snake). “When you're safe enough, open that scroll.” Sakumo reached back into his pouch and got out a tool wrapped in cloth. With a flourish he revealed a small white blade. “Sensei gave me this. Told me it would save my teammates one day. Said the same thing ‘bout that scroll.” “Sakumo what-” “I really think you can accomplish your goal Sasuke. Tell Naruto that I know he'll become Hokage.” Sasuke began to shake his head. “Tell him yourself!” Sakumo grinned. “Heh, when? He's out cold y’know.” Sakumo’s grin faded. “Tell my parents that I love them.” He stepped forward and all Sasuke could see was the white circle on the back of his shirt. Sakumo looked over his shoulder. “I always said I'll be a hero. Just like the White Fang.” He smiled. “And I am now.” He turned back to his enemy. “And Sasuke? Tell Sensei…” Sakumo paused. “...tell him I'm sorry.” With that, Sakumo leapt, blade raised, at Orochimaru. Sasuke clutched tight to the scroll and, against everything his teacher had drilled into him, grabbed the unconscious Naruto and ran.

The blade his sensei had given him clashed against Orochimaru’s kunai. The Sannin raised a brow as he looked over the blade. “That looks very familiar, boy.” Sakumo grunted as more pressure was applied to his blade. “Why, I thought that blade was destroyed during the Third War. Where did you find it?” They broke away from each other. Sakumo raised his blade. “Sensei gave me this blade.” Sakumo slashed down, teeth gritting together when the Sannin easily blocked his strike. What had sensei said? Sakumo thought as he and Orochimaru began trading slashes. Right, channel chakra into the blade. Sakumo jumped back and, raising his free hand and laying it over the blade, began to channel chakra. The blade lit up with a bright white light and electricity crackled around him. Sakumo nodded and dashed forward. The glowing blade sliced easily through the kunai that had been meant to stop it. Orochimaru leapt back and hissed. “Impossible!” Sakumo grinned and raised his blade. “Nothing's impossible! Shannaro!” Orochimaru sneered down at him. “You are getting on my nerves brat. Get out of my way, my business is with Sasuke-kun.” Sakumo’s grin turned into a smirk. “Well, Sasuke’s not here right now.” Orochimaru’s head snapped to where Sasuke had been standing. “Can I take a message?” Orochimaru let out a low hiss as he looked back at Sakumo. In a blink, the Sannin crossed the distance between them and had a hand wrapped around Sakumo’s throat. “Grk-” Sakumo choked. “I shall have to make this quick. But I do believe I have time to teach you how to properly use this.” Orochimaru wrestled the still glowing blade from the preteen. He raised it and smirked, loosening his grip on Sakumo’s throat. “This is how you use this blade. First,” Sakumo let out a scream as the glowing blade was shoved into his gut. “you stab your opponent. Then,” Orochimaru twisted the blade and channeled chakra into it. “you channel chakra.” Sakumo screamed again as his body seized, the lightning chakra produced by the blade crackling and ripping through him. Orochimaru stopped his flow of chakra. “You lost me a very important part of my future child.” The Sannin tore the blade out and threw it away from them. “Why, I think I'll just kill you now and then hunt Sasuke-kun down. Your heroics have been for nothing.” Sakumo whimpered, his body still twitching uncontrollably. “I'll kill you and then the Kyuubi brat before taking Sasuke-kun.” Orochimaru raised his free hand and set it on the side of Sakumo’s head. “I never did like messy deaths.” Sakumo closed his eyes. This is it… kind of nice that the last thing I'll hear are all those birds chirping. Suddenly, the hand on his throat let go. Sakumo dropped to the ground and gasped for air, eyes flying open. Orochimaru stood before him, yellow eyes wide; a glowing hand surrounded by lightning chakra through his chest; a heart gripped in it’s fingers. “W-What-” The Sannin choked out as he looked over his shoulder. “Ha..take…” Sakumo felt like sobbing as he finally noticed his sensei standing behind the dying Sannin. “Don't ever harm my students.” His sensei’s eyes were set in an angry glare, his one Sharingan furiously rotating. Kakashi ripped his hand from Orochimaru’s chest, letting the now dead man drop to the ground. He crushed the heart in his hand, eyes alight with grim satisfaction, before dropping that too. “S-Sensei!” Sakumo felt tears slip from his eyes. “I… I…” A sob escaped him. Kakashi knelt down to appraise his student’s injuries. “Sasuke used the scroll I gave you.” He murmured, as he began administering first aid. “He told me what happened.” Kakashi carefully cleaned and wrapped the stab sound. “What were you thinking?” Sakumo sobbed. “...I'm so sorry Sensei! I didn't think, I didn’t-” Kakashi placed his clean hand atop his crying student's head. “...Sakumo.” Kakashi started. “I'm sorry Kakashi!” Sakumo cried, forgoing his usual honorific. “I'm sorry I broke our promise!” Kakashi’s eyes widened as he flashed back, five years old, staring blankly at the note beside his father’s dead body. To the I'm sorrys scrawled onto several sheets of paper. To the broken promise his father had given him. “I'm so sorry! If only I was stronger I-” Kakashi tugged his student into a hug, letting the boy sob into his blood-stained flak jacket. “It's alright Sakumo.” Father… “I forgive you.”

[snickerl]

Elixir Vitae

AU fanfic set around the time of IWTB.

A/N: This might be the penultimate chapter, I’m not sure yet.

Find previous chapters here: Chapter I / Chapter II / Chapter III / Chapter IV / Chapter V / Chapter VI / Chapter VII / Chapter VIII / Chapter IX / Chapter X / Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Pete Randall, the detective in charge of the case which had gotten us into this mess, has just called, and I’m still shaking because of the information he gave me. When Scully enters the living room I’m still staring at the phone in my hand. She takes it from me and puts it on the coffee table.

“Who was that on the phone? You look a bit tense, Mulder.”

“That was, uh, Detective Randall. You know, the one who’s been assigned to the case of the serial killer who…” I can’t finish the sentence, my feelings about this whole case are still too raw.

Scully, on the other hand, is disturbingly unfazed and completes my sentence without hesitation, “…abducted me.”

“Right.”

“What did he want?”

If I could only keep her away from what he wanted. I’m afraid it is going to heighten her trauma again. We’ve settled into a lovely rhythm by now, living almost like any other couple. Almost, as she’s still suffering from memory gaps. Some of them smaller, some huge. Some of minor importance, some essential. But still, I could go on like this, and I’m not sure that what Detective Randall asked her to do won’t throw us back to where we started.

“Any progress with the case?”

“Well…yes,” I admit somewhat reluctantly.

“That’s great,” she exclaims happily, her joyful demeanor cooling down when I’m not joining in. “Is it not?” she asks, apparently confused.

“I guess it is.”

“You guess?”

I avoid looking at her and play with the remote control I’m holding in my hand to keep my fingers occupied. I was watching TV when the phone rang and put it on mute before I answered it.

She places herself next to me on the couch, takes the remote from me and puts her hand on my forearm. “Mulder, what’s wrong?”

“They caught the guy.”

“And that isn’t good?”

“It is,” I say.

“Then I don’t understand why you are so unemotional about it.”

I turn to her and take her hands in mine. Drawing little circles on their backs with my thumbs I let her know what’s bothering me, and, actually, I’m very emotional about it. Emotional and deeply convinced that this is a very bad idea.

“Detective Randall wants you to come in for a lineup. You’re…uhm, you’re the only surviving victim.”

She yanks her hands out of my grip, she’s obviously not so unfazed about it after all. She kneads her fingers so hard I hear them creak. “Randall is sure it’s him?”

“Yes. He finally made a mistake and left his DNA on his latest victim. They ran it through the database and had a match. His name is Stud Herman. He’s been on the records for sexual molestation since his early twenties but has never been accused of a major crime. They’re still trying to figure out when he went from molesting to killing.”

“There’s been another victim?” she asks, stretching herself to appear demure.

I don’t want to upset her, and this is going to upset her, but I also know she won’t let go until I give her all the information I have. “Yes, a 56-year-old woman from Arlington. Unremarkable housewife, slightly overweight, brunette.” I hesitate before I add, “his usual type of prey.”

Her face crumbles to pieces. “I was lucky,” she whispers in a feeble voice.

I can’t whole-heartedly agree. She was taken by a serial killer, locked up against her will for months, something was done to her to make her lose her memory, and eventually, she was abandoned in the cold. He wanted her to die in that parking lot, he simply didn’t know what a tenacious woman she was. She wasn’t lucky, she’s his victim like all the others.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Without looking up she says, “No, I owe it to the other women who weren’t lucky enough to be redheads, and to those who might become his victims if we let him waltz out of this. But what if I don’t recognize him? What if he is in the lineup and I can’t tell? I would be serving him a free ticket out of jail.”

“They have his DNA, Scully,” I remind her to take some of the pressure off, “that’s credible evidence.”

I know as much as she does that if Herman was identified in a lineup by a former Special Agent with the FBI it would be much more than just credible evidence, it would be a lottery ticket for the district attorney. So, yes, she will be under pressure, and that’s exactly why I loathe the idea of her doing this.

“When does Randall want me to come in?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Okay,” she gets up from the couch in a swift move, “let me take a quick shower and get changed, then we’ll go.”

Her ‘quick’ shower lasted more than half an hour, a clear sign she’s not really ready to do it. But Scully wouldn’t be Scully if she’d let herself be ruled by concerns for her personal well-being, so I drove her into the city for her to face her tormentor. When I opened the door to the precinct and made her pass through it in front of me, I couldn’t keep myself from putting my hand at the small of her back. It’s a reflex I’ve cultivated years ago, rooted deeply in my desire to protect her, wanting her to know I’m right behind her covering her back.

I spot Detective Randall at his desk, a phone at his ear.

We've known each other since we met at Violent Crimes, both of us rookies on their first assignments after having left the Academy. For the time we worked together, we’d established something similar to a friendship. We went for an after-work beer now and then or met in the park on a Sunday to shoot hoops. I even attended his wedding. He’s one of the many people I missed staying in touch with after I’d started drowning myself in the X-Files.

“Gotta go,” he shouts into the mouthpiece when he sees us and throws the receiver onto the cradle. He jumps out of his chair and waves at us. “Mulder, my friend, over here!”

I wave back, we close the gap between us and pull each other in a short hug. When we break apart, he turns to Scully.

“Dana, so good to see you again. Thanks for coming and doing this.” He takes Scully’s hand compassionately in both of his and squeezes it gently.

Pete visited us a few times after I brought her home. Initially, he came to get a testimony from Scully, but a witness with amnesia isn’t a reliable source of information, so he quickly put his legal pad aside and just came for coffee from then on. He’s was truly moved by what had happened to Scully and wanted to stay in the loop about how we were doing. It’s quite a ride to our house from the city, so his visits became less frequent, but he’d call me every other week just to check on us. Only that I never told Scully to avoid having to talk to her about the non-existent developments in the case; non-existent until today.

“I hear your recovery is progressing slowly but that you are getting better. I can’t tell you how happy I am for you and this dude here,” he puts his hand on my shoulder, “I’ve never seen him so broken and unable to function like during your abduction. Let me introduce you to Officer Jensen. He’ll conduct the lineup.”

“I thought you were going to do it, Pete,” I say, not hiding my surprise.

“I’m sorry, guys, I can’t. I have to get my butt to court for a testimony.” He glances at his watch. “Oooh, I’m late already. Jenson is a good officer. Young, but very zealous.” He looks around the precinct while he’s grabbing his jacket and slipping it on. Finally, his eyes lighten up and he yells through the room, beckoning a young man over, “Jensen!” When said Jenson joins us, he introduces us. “This is my old friend Fox Mulder. We met at the Academy. And this is his wife who came here to identify Stud Herman. I’ve got to testify in the Sanders trial in…twenty minutes, so I want you to take care of the lineup.”

“Alright, Sir,” the young man answers in a very obedient manner, only short of clicking his heels, so it seems. I’m not sure I want us to be taken care of by this guy. He’s a baby, who looks like he left the Academy last week. I doubt he’s qualified to handle the situation. The lineup in itself will be stressful enough for Scully, I don’t want her to be exposed to any more discomfort than absolutely necessary because of an inexperienced police officer being in charge.

Unperturbed by my grim look, Pete pats me on the shoulder again and throws Scully a friendly look. “See ya, I’ve gotta run!” he says, and off he is.

I’m a bit perplexed about his sudden and unexpected exit, moreover, not very pleased. But now that we’re here, it wouldn’t make any sense to schedule a new appointment and leave. It would stress Scully even more. So I look at Officer Jensen, waiting for him to say something, but all he’s doing is smile stupidly at us.

Eventually, I prompt impatiently, “Officer?” and Jensen clears his throat. “Uh, yes, this way, please.”

He turns his back to us and walks away. Scully and I look at each other and shrug. “We may as well expect the worst,” I mumble under my breath when I nudge her to follow him, and Scully chuckles. When we’re past the door to the lineup room, at the transparent side of a one-way mirror, Officer Jensen turns around abruptly and we almost run into him.

“Let me explain the procedure to you, Ma'am,” he says.

I beg your pardon?

“It’s Agent, Officer, not Ma'am,” I hiss, and our baby officer instantly blushes. “My wife is a Special Agent with the FBI and I demand you address her according to her rank.”

“Mulder,” Scully mollifies me. Looking at Officer Jensen and smiling at him - smiling? - she says, “I’m not with the FBI anymore so my last name will be just fine.”

“Okay, Mrs. Mulder, then let’s-”

I think I’m boiling over.

“Scully, you moron!” I shout. “It’s Doctor Scully! Not Ma'am, not Mrs. Mulder, but Doctor Scully! Are you even familiar with the facts of this case?”

“Ugh, yes, Sir, I am. I’ve been on the squad since day one,” he hurries to explain.

“Fine! In this case, you should know that the full name of my wife, former,” I smirk at Scully, “FBI Agent, is Doctor Dana Katherine Scully. She’d been held captive by your suspect before he abandoned her in a parking lot at night. She survived, albeit with memory gaps, but she agreed to do this lineup regardless of her poor health to help you throw this killer into prison. So, Officer Jensen, would you please have the decency to treat your witness with the respect she deserves?”

“Yes, Sir! Of course, Sir! I’m terribly sorry, Doctor Scully,” Officer Jensen says toward Scully, and I can tell he really is sorry. Drops of sweat appear on his forehead and I bet he curses his detective for having left him here with us. So do I, actually.

“It’s alright, Officer,” Scully says and I can’t believe how calm she is. Isn’t this clown of a police officer driving her crazy like he is driving me crazy?

“Uhm, okay. Well, then, Doctor Scully, the suspect along with other men of similar height, build, and complexion will line up behind this one-way mirror to allow you to remain anonymous and-”

I groan. What the hell is he doing? Is he really explaining the setup of a police lineup to an FBI agent? Former FBI agent. I groan again.

Former FBI agent, it almost makes me laugh. Has she forgotten that she’d been helping me with getting Herman’s profile done? That she’d given me the decisive hint to fully understand him? Making herself a target along with it? She might not be on the FBI’s payroll anymore, but she helped to solve this case and is paying bitterly for it.

Scully must realize my growing impatience because before my stirred emotions get the better of me, she intervenes. “Yes, I am familiar with the procedure, Officer Jensen, thank you.”

“Ah, yes. Of course, of course,” the idiot stammers.

I dismissively click my tongue, loud enough for him to hear.

Scully pulls me away and whispers, “Mulder, would you mind waiting outside?”

“What?”

She wants me to leave?

“I think it’s better if Jensen and I do this alone.”

“Seriously? You want me to leave you alone with this newbie? He doesn’t know what he’s doing, Scully.”

“Probably, but I know what I’m doing, Mulder. You’ve got to stop believing I can’t take care of myself. I’m not-”

“-a tiny, brittle woman who needs me as her protector, I know.” Her look tells me she’s not convinced, so I say it again, a bit more emphatically, “I know!”

“What’s keeping you in here then?”

“Scully, I-”

“No, Mulder! I’m asking you to trust me. I can do this alone.”

I stare at her for a moment, speechless. I see the determination in her eyes. She’s made up her mind and there’s nothing more for me to say, so I leave the room accepting her wish, albeit not happy about it. Anyhow, I’ll be only a few feet away, able intervene any second if I have to. I’d kick in that door if necessary. Wouldn’t be the first time I kicked in a door she was behind.

When said door has been shut in front of my eyes, I take a seat at one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs which are to be found all over the place in this precinct. My left leg is bobbing frantically, but it’s not enough to vent my nervousness, so after a few minutes I jump up and start pacing the hallway. When I pass the lineup room, I put my ear to the door and try to eavesdrop. I don’t mind the depreciating stare of a female officer walking by.

Why are you staring at me like this? My wonderfully strong and courageous Scully’s in there, eye to eye with her tormentor, protected only by a thin pane of glass and a baby officer who probably doesn’t know how to hold a gun.

I know Herman can’t see her, can’t lay his dirty hands on her, but still, he’s going to make an impact on her, once again, and I hate him for it. Jesus, I can’t believe I’m letting this happen.

I know exactly what’s going on at the other side of the gray door I’m staring at. Six men are lining up in front of a wall with markings to aid identifying their height. For the lineup to be admissible as evidence in court, it must be conducted fairly. The police officer present, the Magnificent Jensen in our case, mustn’t say or do anything that persuades the witness to identify the suspect that they prefer. If he blows it, if Jensen allows himself the tiniest mistake and therefore renders the lineup useless in court, I swear to God, I’ll have him expelled from police service.

When I’m at the end of the hallway during one of my frantic passages, the door opens and Jensen and Scully step outside, talking silently to each other.

Wait a minute! Does he have his hand at the small of her back?

Hey, you feeb, that’s where my hand’s supposed to be, not yours! Take it off!

When he sees me and my somewhat angry face I suppose, he backs away from her and puts the hand out which only seconds ago has invaded the space that belongs to me, and my pulse slows down a bit.

Good God, since when am I so pathetically territorial?

“Thank you very much, Doctor Scully,” he says while shaking her hand.

At least, he’s minding his manners now.

“You’re welcome,” Scully says in return, smiling kindly at him.

“I’ll let you know when there are any developments.”

“I’d appreciate that, Officer Jensen. Thank you.”

With this, they part. Scully turns toward me, Officer Jensen only nods shortly in my direction and walks the other way. He’s obviously not very keen on talking to me anymore. I don’t blame him.

Scully’s demeanor is not giving away any clue about what had been going on in that room. Her shoulders are straightened, her chin is up, her strides are extensive and powerful. This definitely isn’t a brittle woman closing the gap between us.

I’m rooted to the spot because I’m not sure what to expect from her after my silly alpha-male behavior earlier. Still, when she’s right in front of me, my injured pride makes me ask, “why did you send me out of the room? I came here to back you up, Scully, not merely as your driver.”

“I know, but I had to send you out. I was afraid you’d jump right through the mirror and strangle Herman the second I identified him.”

“I would never do such a crazy thing!” I pout.

Okay, I might.

She grins, her eyes revealing she doesn’t believe me either but they also show a hint of gratitude.

“So? How did it go in there?”

“Good.”

“Was he…? I mean, did you…?”

“Yes, he was, and yes, I did.” When I look at her clearly indicating I’m waiting for more than this, she adds, “he was number four.”

“You recognized him.” She may consider this both as a statement or as a question, depending on whether she’s willing to tell me more of what happened in there.

She takes a long, deep breath and keeps the air inside her lungs for a moment before emitting it noisily. “Yes. I instantly recognized him. Jensen made them say a few words, but I didn’t need to hear his voice. His face was enough. His eyes…so cold and malicious.” She shudders briefly, then quickly recomposes herself. “His whole demeanor radiates malice and cruelty. He’s a mean person through and through. I’m so glad they got him. I will have to testify in court when they put him on trial.”

“Of course,” I say and just hope I will be able to control my temper when Herman’s attorney cross-examines her.

On the outside, she seems to be doing okay. She’s composed and calm, her facial expression is relaxed, her eyes crystal clear. But I know her. I’ve seen her putting this wall around her a million times before, and I am the only person save her mother who is able to look behind this facade. Over the years, I’ve acquired ample skills to read Scully’s demeanor and I know exactly that the lineup hasn’t left her cold like she wants to make me believe.

Although I don’t really expect an honest answer, I ask, “are you alright, Scully?”

“I’m fine, Mulder, just take me home.”

And my worst fears are proven to be true.

to be continued

[whatif-animagineblog]

Summary: This story is still based off this prompt. If you have been here before you know what’s going on. If not go and read part one which is linked in the author notes.

Warnings: Sickness, angst, some mildly strong language. 

Pairing: Bones/Reader (Predetermined) 

A/N: So chapter 2! I’m glad I got such a great response from the first one! If you missed it here is the link to part one! I’m having a great time writing this and we aren’t done yet!

Word Count: 1674

Three months. Three long aggravating months since your husband discovered your son had Xenopolycythemia and there had been no change. Which was good in this case, you often mused. The need for phlebotomies was an every few days occurrence. You often slept on the cot with Leonard unless M’Benga insisted you slept on a real bed. David was stable.

You were walking into the medbay when you heard the familiar sound of crying, hoarse desperate crying. It must’ve been a phlebotomy day. But, you heard something different on top of the shrill cry, a deep baritone trying to be soothing.

“Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, Go to sleep little baby. When you wake, you shall have, All the pretty little horses.” As you crept into the private room you saw Leonard bouncing your child hand rubbing the small sobbing back. His eyes were eyes closed, walking in small circles. “Blacks and bays, dapples and grays, Go to sleep my little baby,”  The crying began to subside but was still so loud and heartbreaking. “Come on buddy, you gotta rest. David,” your husband sighed as he sat on the cot, still rubbing his back. The small boy in footie pajamas started to hiccup as the teas finally subsided. “There you go pal,” he murmured as you walked in to sit by him.

“How are my boys,” you asked as Leonard peaked at you.

“Good, good. Should have known that would work. Worked on Jo, that and you are my sunshine, and weirdly the Irish lullaby.” You smiled as he shifted your boy so he was laying in his arms. You leaned on your husband. It was oddly relaxing. It felt normal. What a normal family with a 7-month baby would do.

That same day he stopped eating. That was a ‘not so good’ sign according to your husband. You tried to entice the small boy, gently prodding the small mouth with soft food or a bottle. Begging him to take a bite, a nibble, as sip, anything. Nothing. Len threw out a request for a bag of total parenteral nutrition. When Christine came at you and your son with a bag of a milky substance and a set of tubes and needles. You instinctively curled him away from her, then you felt Len’s hand on your shoulder.  You glanced up and he gave you a knowing look. “It’s okay, Y/n. He’s not eating. We need to get nutrients in him so he can fight.” He snaked his gentle hands around your son, carefully prying him from your grasp.

You didn’t want to let go,”Just let me try one more time. Leonard. Please.”

“Y/n, We have to do this. He’ll be alright.” You finally let go, a hand reaching subconsciously as he moved from you. Len moved him to the biobed, he started the IV himself, soothing the now few tears that came.

It wasn’t fair to you. Babies David’s age were supposed to be starting on solid foods. Learning that it’s fun to play with and throw your food at mommy and daddy. Starting to figure out that their gibberish means something. But David wasn’t getting that luxury. No. He got poked and prodded, blood drawn, scans taken. Cried desperately, not understanding why his mother and father never did a thing to stop the pain. He didn’t get to play and have no worries, he slept. He slept while his lethargic body over produced his blood cells.

M’Benga made you and Len go to the mess hall to eat. Insisted being out among others would prevent a fish bowl effect. Leonard barely agreed, stating, “I know you’re right, Geoff, but.”

“No buts Leonard. It’ll be good for you and Y/N. Take a few laps too. Take a breath and a step back.”

“How can I take a breath when my child is dying?” You snapped and Geoff recoiled You had been mostly quiet through this whole ordeal. Taking it all in stride. But how dare he? How dare he tell you to ‘take it easy’! Your child was dying from a mutated form of a rare blood-born disease. Which, until now, had no known history of being genetic. Probably, because no one lives long enough to worry about procreation after they contracted the disease. You couldn’t ‘take a step back.’ You needed to be on the front lines of this war, fighting with your son.

“Y/n,” M’Benga started softly. “I know what you are thinking that if you take a breather you’ll fail your son. You can’t help him if you are sick too. The way you two are going you won’t be any help to anyone.” You opened your mouth to protest, “Go, doctor’s orders.”

“I’m the CMO,” Leonard chided with a soft laugh.

“Not while you are compromised like this. Christine and I are in charge. And she agrees with me.”

“I do,” came a soft chime from the other side of the Medical-bay.

The walk down to the mess hall was a quiet one. You held hands, Leonard’s thumb rubbing soft circles into the top of yours. It was a quiet dinner, both of you picked at the food. You had nothing to really talk about. Your days were the same. Crying, tests, scans, the occasional blood draw, barely sleeping, rarely eating. It was all blurring together as one long unending day.

You watched the other crewmembers mull about, talking laughing, living life. While you felt stationary. Despite what M’Benga said you felt more isolated out there then you did in Medbay. You felt stuck in a fishbowl, swimming in the same areas, the same circle day in and day out. Some days you swam higher when you could make your son laugh. Others, like today, you sawm down towards a worse condition. You hadn’t talked much to anyone since, because all you wanted to talk about, all you could talk about was your son. You had also decided to keep this matter private, you didn’t need the pity of crewmen you never knew. Watch them receding in their eyes during the conversation about what this sickness entailed. Almost immediately regretting the status updates. You saw that in Jim’s eyes sometimes when talking to Leonard, it was minuscule, it was mostly fear for his best friend.  And even though they didn’t know, ignorant to the whole thing, you felt an anger. They just kept going on and smiling why two decks above them your son was suffering.

You were quiet in your room, lying next to your husband on your back. Both staring at the ceiling. It was fine until you heard Leonard’s breathing became uneven, you turned your head to see tears spilling down his red cheeks. He took in a shuddering breath as he placed his hands over his eyes. “Len,” you whispered. You leaned over him and placed a hand on his chest. “Leonard.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he sobbed out. His voice broken, and weak. “This is all my fault, y/n. It’s all my fault.” His whole body was shaking, his face is contorted in agony.

“Leo,” you whimpered feeling tears forming in your own eyes. “Don’t say that. Please. It’s not your fault!” Leonard sat up, trying to catch his breath in sobbing gasps. Shaking his head, messing up the brown locks even more.

“It is,” he cried. “It’s all my fault! I’m the one who caught the damn disease. I gave it to my son. I passed it on to him. I’m the reason why he’s dying! H-how can you still be speaking to me? W-Why aren’t you mad?” Leonard had a hand balling up his shirt on his body. Those now nervous, legendary hands twisting and pulling on the material.

“Because I love you. And because hating you would add unnecessary work to this hard time.” You ran a hand along his back, making small circles. “Lee, you had no control over this. I could never be mad over this.” You kissed his cheek gently, running your fingers through his hair.

“I’m killing our kid. I’m killing him,” Bones pulled away. Tears still falling thickly. You kissed him. You knew that wouldn't solve the problem, but it would solve the immediate sobbing.You couldn’t bare it. Seeing him so broken, shattered your already injured heart. You melted at the feeling of his lips melting into yours. It was slow and passionate. The way he held your neck, rubbing a thumb over your pulse point, sent all the love he wanted to express into your body. It had been a long while since you two had been more intimate than a hug or a peck on each other’s cheek.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered, pulling away. “Leonard Horatio McCoy you are not a fault. I love you more than anything. You wouldn’t cause harm if you could help it. This isn’t you, this is just life being an asshole. I don’t blame you.” You held his face firmly, forcing him to look at you. “I promised you that I be with you no matter what. I’m still with you. Please, don’t blame yourself. This is hard enough without you beating yourself up. Please, Len.”

“I love you, so much you know that darlin’,” Leonard finally spoke, changing the subject. You realized what he was doing but decided it was best to let it go. When he was ready, you would talk about it again. “I love you so much, and I am so scared. I still haven’t heard much from the labs.”

“Me either,” you mumbled, pecking his lips. Leonard yawned, a big wide powerful yawn. You often teased him about it. Claiming that he looked like a lion. “Let’s get some sleep. We need it to be strong tomorrow. For David.” You commented as you snuggled down into the blankets.

“For David,” he parroted back, his voice still cracking, tears still lined in his eyes. Holding you close to his body before you both fell into an exhausted sleep.

TAGS: @outside-the-government @feelmyroarrrr @answer-the-sirens @yourtropegirl @starshiphufflebadger @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse @trekken81 @bkwrm523 @imaginestartrek @imaginenterprise @wificrazymisfit @athena1138 @ucy161 @thebassoonerthebabetter @emmkolenn @medicatemedrmccoy @mamawasabi  @kaitymccoy123

If you want to join the Tag Team let me know! If I forgot you I am so sorry I got a lot of tag request so if i missed you message me again.

[venusbled-archive]

meta repost ( incomplete )

i've organized all my mini essays into sections for easy reading, and also because i don't expect many people to want to read this entire analysis. there's so much i've packed into here about shimizu's characters, and perhaps only one of these many topics interests my followers. so, for the sake of organization and accessibility, here are the various categories upon which i will touch:

i. beauty + subsequent reactions of the public ii. body image + public reaction iii. ( internalized + externalized ) reaction to rumors / whispers / affections iv. shimizu as a nominal fanservice character v. personality traits ( meyers-briggs, moral alignment, etc. ) vi. astrological sign traits vii. the irony of shimizu's character ( misconceptions, surprises ) viii. the irony of shimizu's character ( comedic appeal ) ix. connections between other characters ( friends and teammates / adults ) x. abilities xi. roles ( canonly ) xii. roles ( based on hq extras ! ) xiii. positivity + pros of shimizu xiv. negativity + cons of shimizu xv. what happens when she's gone ?

also, i try to source everything i mention in this meta from either the manga or the anime. so for reference, my abbreviations are as follows:

- vol. for volume - ch(s). for chapter(s) - s. for season - ep. for episode

i. beauty + subsequent reactions of the public

furudate makes it well-known to the reader that shimizu is an attractive character. through the use of special panels, characters' reactions, and common beauty tropes, he defines her as one --------- if not the most --------- attractive character of haikyuu!! of course, this is always open to opinion, but based on the context which he's given us throughout the manga, it would appear that only shimizu and oikawa, who constantly receive attention from the opposite sex no matter where they are, are the characters that furudate pointedly and explicitly marks as attractive.

common beauty tropes that shimizu shows are in her size, her beauty mark, her glasses, her style of dress, and her facial expressions. she's one of the taller female characters in haikyuu!! --------- a trait which has her pegged as different, in a good way. it's one of the more defining physical characteristics which separates her from being "cute" and instead alters people to describe her as "sexy" or "beautiful." something about height inherently changes the words with which one can be described, and because her taller stature is also paired with other beauty tropes, shimizu is considered more attractive than other characters. what do i mean by this?

well, her beauty mark is remarked as being an "erotic" feature rather than a "cute" one (yahaba, vol. 2 ch. 11). in nearly every experience she's had at practice matches with other schools, training camps, or official tournaments, people always call her "beautiful," and once yachi joins along, she officially becomes "beautiful" whilst the word "cute" is reserved for the younger, shorter, less-composed manager. 

shimizu's glasses also make her out to be sexier than she might've been seen without them. in lots of official art, her glasses are a key symbol of her, and label her as the type of "sexy/hot librarian" trope that one constantly sees in modern day media. furudate has even remarked in an interview that when he created shimizu's character, he had intended for her to be a "secretary" type (hence, the glasses --------- a stereotype of secretaries). we can infer that the glasses, in addition to the decision to make shimizu a "secretary," separate her from cuteness and allow her to mature to beauty and erotic appeal.

her style of dress also lends itself to her relative attractiveness. while she's a conservative dresser, never showing her legs, the fact that she's so fashion-forward in official art where she's OUT of school (chs. 78, 150, 219 coloured covers), and has such a nice physical form (crow's angels side story, vol. 13 promo images), she's seen as more attractive physically. she's able to pull off different styles, and even when wearing her regular uniform, tracksuit, or manager outfit during tournaments, she's always presented as extremely attractive (s.1 ep. 2 @14:48-14:55).

additionally, her facial expressions, though reticent and not varying much, are always common focal points for other characters whenever they meet her. for example, terushima says that he loves shimizu when she "looks shy," and even the slightest blush from her sends tanaka and noya into a stupified state (source unavailable; i can't find the name of the extra).

overall, it's undeniable that she's physically attractive and it's nigh impossible for a character to not --------- at one point or another --------- have pointed out her attractiveness (all karasuno teammates except kageyama, tsukishima, kinoshita, narita, and ennoshita have at one point or another been thrown off by her beauty; and in addition, it's not uncommon for her to be gawked at whenever the team travels and she's subject to being seen by boys from across the prefecture). however, there's a distinction in her attractiveness that makes her more "hot" than "cute," and it's likely a result of her self-presentation, maturity level, and appearance in comparison to other female characters in the series.

ii. body image + public reaction

i previously mentioned in the section about shimizu's beauty that she's remarked as having a beautiful figure and always portrayed with a beautiful body no matter what she seems to wear (crow's angels side story, vol. 13 promo images, s. 1 ep. 2 @14:48-14:55). she's canonly a healthy weight for her height, and like many female characters in manga series, is well-endowed in the bum and breast regions, and thin at the waist.

but this also, obviously, leads to a lot of inappropriate comments by other characters regarding her body, and while for certain this can't be attributed to the fact that she dresses somewhat conservatively and always covers her legs in official art, it may influence shimizu's behavior. the volume 13 promo images include her dressed in a sarashi, the only thing that prompts bokuto, kuroo, and oikawa to participate in the promotion. at the end, bokuto exclaims that he got shimizu's pictures while she was dressed in the attire, and immediately both kuroo and oikawa ask for him to send them the photos. shimizu is shown in a small panel as looking upset, with her arms crossed and a frown on her face -------- either in disapproval, discomfort, or distaste for bokuto's actions and kuroo's/oikawa's response. then, in the that's absurd! extra, again, bokuto and kuroo are infatuated by shimizu's body, and appear at the movie premier in order to see kiyoko-chan's skintight body suit. however, most of her movie/extras costumes are rather revealing, though this may be attributed to fanservice rather than her personal preference. nonetheless, she's never voiced any canon concern for her manner of dress, nor does she seem to be affected in any way by the many boys that point out how sexy her figure is, or how erotic she looks at any given time.

iii. ( internalized + externalized ) reaction to rumors / whispers / affections

it would be nearly impossible for shimizu to be unaware of her influence on boys, given the amount of attention she receives on a daily basis (not just from tanaka and nishinoya, but also other first and second years, and even girls). by virute of being a center of attention, though unintentional, shimizu must have some sort of self-realization and thereby be aware of her influence. however, while she may notice how she affects others around her, she's never acted upon the whispers she must hear day-to-day.

for example, the most obvious cases in which she blatantly ignores the attention she receives are whenever tanaka and nishinoya tell her, "kiyoko-san, looking beautiful as ever today!" or some other variation, and she walks away without responding to them (vol. 1 ch. 1), or when terushima asks for her number and she would rather just leave without engaging in conversation (vol. 12 ch. 105).

additionally, shimizu has never been shown to turn her head in public whenever those around her comment on how beautiful she is (vol. 5 ch. 37, vol. 9 ch. 72); yet if tanaka and nishinoya attempt to be protective over her to keep these suitors from approaching her, shimizu tells them to stop, which insinuates that she had at least heard the whispers before and therein knew why tanaka and nishinoya were surrounding her. in general, she keeps composed and ignorant of these affections, and doesn't so much as blush whenever she must hear them.

i've also mentioned how rumors have shaped her life as karasuno's manager. in vol. 2 ch. 11, yahaba is talking to kindaichi on seijou's campus about a beautiful manager from karasuno he'd heard word of. assuming that karasuno hasn't been to seijou in POTENTIALLY 2 years (as yahaba is a second year and obviously hadn't seen shimizu in person, but oikawa's current concern had listed that when he tried to talk to shimizu she ignored him --------- something which may  insinuate that they had met as first years, or may just be that they met in their third year), rumors of her beauty had still spread across the prefecture to seijou and ended up in yahaba's "circles." because seijou is one of the top four schools in the prefecture, and --------- at the time --------- karasuno was considered a school of "flightless crows," it's incredible that rumors of shimizu's attractiveness could actually reach seijou if karasuno's practice matches were limited in the past years to other lower-level schools. AND it's incredible considering the fact that seijou COULD BE all the way across the prefecture (though technically we don't know the canon locations of all schools and their geographical relations between one another).

iv. shimizu as a nominal fanservice character

i have to bring this up because i think this meta would be incomplete if i didn't address the elephant in the room: the sexualization and tailored appeal of female characters in manga to suit the "fanservice" role of women. i would be stupid to deny that shimizu doesn't serve as a fanservice character, but even stupider if i said that being a fanservice character was all she was. nonetheless, i still feel that it's necessary to bring up WHY she's classified as one and what her fanservice role entitles.

i've mentioned facts about her appearance --------- it's a subject that isn't brushed over when shimizu is described in the manga. she's obviously attractive both bodily and facially, and to bat, her personality does at first fulfill a fanservice trope of being passive/shy/quiet. granted, there are other types, but shimizu is what i would describe as the "shy bespectacled beauty" (as we can't forget the trump card of her glasses: one of her more defining characteristics which incidentally classifies her as a certain type of character). she's now physically and mentally very attractive and appeals to male readers.

additionally, though the manga isn't sex-centric, there are still lots of sexual references or questionable material. s. 1 ep. 2 @14:48-14:55 includes shots of her bum and her breasts, in the "sparkling anime background" meant to set off characters as being otherworldly or worth mention. many of her outfits in ennoshita's movies are revealing, and even her roles are rather sexualized for the sake of a potential increase in viewership (skintight bodysuits in crow's angels and that's absurd!, a very revealing costume that shows off most of her cleavage in final haikyuu!! quest, the "stoic yet sexy military officer" in haikyuu!! fighter, and even the nun in house of crows). this also occurs in special manga covers (chs. 36, 78, 86, 99, 111, 131, and 179) and in the vol. 13 promo,  so although the manga is tasteful in not including too much sexualized material, the extras try to make up for this by sexualizing shimizu and making her a more visually appealing character, thus subjecting her to fanservice.

MORE TO BE ADDED.