#but frequently ill end up picking at anything that's slightly raised that looks like i can get discharge from

[trans-wolf]

I literally can't NOT pick at my face if I look at it any closer than a fucking yard away. At this point I need to just cover all the mirrors in my house ffs.

[kurowrites]

“I hit you with my car and was the only one to visit you in the hospital” AU Prompt for Wangxian, if you like?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

---

When Wei Ying woke up, he had to blink a few times to adjust his vision to the bright glare of the lights overhead, momentarily blinding him. Something was weird. This definitely wasn’t his own bedroom, whose lighting was rather dim and most definitely off when he was sleeping.

He blinked a few times more and then turned his head to examine the room he was in.

It took him far too long to understand what he was seeing, but once his brain actually started processing it, there was no doubt. He was in a hospital room, complete with barren walls and the strong smell of disinfectant. But he had no memory that could explain why he would be waking up in a hospital bed. In fact, now that he thought about it, he had no idea what he’d been doing before he’d woken up here, or even what day of the week it was.

Impatient to have his questions answered, he tried to wriggle around and slip out of bed, but his body felt oppressively heavy, and his vision started to swim as soon as he lifted his head off the pillow.

Exhausted and distressed, he fell back into bed. What the hell had happened to him? Why was he feeling so terrible?

Just that moment, the door of the hospital room opened, and a nurse stepped in.

“Oh, you are awake,” she said. “Good.”

She moved up to the bed and started to check his vitals – or harass him, Wei Ying couldn’t really tell which one it was. She was probably around fifty and had a distinct aunt-y vibe that made Wei Ying lay still on danger of getting stabbed with a needle.

“Do you know why you’re here?” she asked, after she had apparently determined that he was conscious and held it together enough for conversation.

“No,” Wei Ying croaked, and immediately started coughing. His throat felt terribly dry.

The nurse went to his bedside table, where a cup and a pitcher of water had been placed, and filled the cup for him. Then she made him drink.

“You’ve been in a traffic accident,” she told him without ceremony. “You got hit by a car and had to be brought here in an ambulance.”

Shit. Could that be true?

He didn’t remember any of that.

“I don’t remember,” he told the nurse.

“Honey, it’s probably better if you don’t,” she said, patting him on the arm absent-mindedly. “That’s your brain protecting you. You’re also on painkillers right now,” here, she pointed at one of the drips that went into his arm, “and they tend to make your brain a little foggy. You only need to focus on getting better right now.”

That wasn’t particularly comforting to Wei Ying. He’d been lying here, doing–

“My work!” he suddenly remembered.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that!” the nurse said, shaking her head. “I think that nice Mr. Lan has taken care of all that.”

She checked her watch.

“It’s almost time for him to visit, too. Such a nice young man, if only youngsters nowadays were a little more like him.”

She sighed, patted Wei Ying’s arm again, and then left, hopefully to tell someone else that he had gained consciousness again.

Wei Ying sighed and stared at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure what the nurse had meant with “that nice Mr. Lan,” because he didn’t know anyone with the last name Lan. Certainly no one who would visit him at the hospital. Had she gotten his visitor’s name wrong? He tried to think of a different possibility, but couldn’t think of anyone. Wen Ning was away. And Jiang Cheng still wasn’t speaking to him, not to mention that no one in their right mind would ever call Jiang Cheng a ‘nice young man’ if they had spent more than 30 seconds in his presence.

He wasn’t kept in suspense about the identity of his visitor for very long, though. Only minutes after the nurse had left, the door opened again, and through came a man that Wei Ying had never seen in his life. He would have definitely remembered meeting him, Wei Ying was sure, because the man was a devastating combination of tall, handsome and well-dressed. Very memorable. Even in his current drugged-up state.

The man hesitated for one small moment when he saw Wei Ying looking at him, but then continued his progress through the room with a measured pace, finally arriving at Wei Ying’s bedside. He did not speak, but silently placed several items onto Wei Ying’s bedside table. Wei Ying saw a book, what looked to be some healthy snacks, as well as… his phone? It looked terribly beaten up, but a traffic accident might do that to a phone. He should probably be glad if it still worked.

The stranger must have noticed the direction of his gaze, for he finally opened his mouth.

“I have taken the liberty of contacting you place of work.”

“Thank you,” Wei Ying said, sending the stranger an ironic smile. “What I’d rather like to know, though… who are you?”

The stranger bowed slightly, as if to apologise for his rudeness.

“Lan Zhan,” he said. “I was the one… who hit you with my car.”

“Oh, I see,” Wei Ying said, several things suddenly becoming clear to him. “This is a ‘I’m feeling guilty’ visit. Don’t worry about that. It’s fine. I’ll be out of here in no time.”

The stranger, Lan Zan, frowned at Wei Ying’s words.

“It is not guilt that has made me come here,” he said.

Then he was silent again. Wei Ying waited for a moment, but when nothing else happened, he raised his eyebrows at Lan Zhan, encouraging him to go on. Lan Zhan looked as if he’d rather do anything else than open his mouth again, but eventually, thanks to Wei Ying’s pathetic wheedling, he conceded.

“The one responsible for your accident was the driver who suddenly came out of a side street and nearly ran you over,” Lan Zhan explained. “You ended up in front of my car because you were trying to escape his path of collision. He also crashed into my car, nearly hitting you a second time. I have no guilt to speak of, but I am grateful that you survived. I was worried, however, when your family could not be contacted.”

“Oh, uh, well,” Wei Ying stuttered. “Honestly, that shouldn’t be any concern to you. I’ll be fine. My family… well, it doesn’t matter.”

“Your family should care for you if you are injured.”

There was a stubborn set around Lan Zhan’s mouth, and Wei Ying suddenly found himself smiling. He wasn’t sure if he should call it fortune or misfortune, but this Lan Zhan was clearly an incredibly stiff man with very strict notions of propriety, to the point where he involved himself into the affairs of others.

“Ah, Lan-gege,” Wei Ying sighed. “Not to say I’m not very grateful for your help, which I am, but let me assure you that you have officially fulfilled your obligations and are free to leave. You have already done more than I can ask for. If it is as you say, I have no ill feelings towards you. Feel free to go on with your life, and sorry about the car. I think I need to sleep again, I feel very tired.”

He was, in fact, feeling very tired, and it was getting harder to keep his eyes open by the minute.

Lan Zhan seemed to realise that that was the case. He said his goodbyes, but before he left the room, he announced, “I will come again.”

Wei Ying wanted to object, but Lan Zhan was already gone, and Wei Ying’s eyes were closing.

---

The next few days passed in the monotony of sleeping, check-ups by doctors and nurses, terrible hospital meals, and occasional visits from Lan Zhan.

As handsome as he might have been, at first Wei Ying really didn’t want Lan Zhan to come back again. He quickly learned to be grateful for his frequent visits, however. Staying in the hospital was extremely boring, even with the books that Lan Zhan brought him, and everything was much better once he trained Lan Zhan to bring him spicy snacks.

After a few excessively boring days in bed (more than he cared for, certainly), he was finally allowed to walk around a little in order to regain his strength, and Lan Zhan would take him outside into the garden whenever he visited. Wei Ying was extremely grateful for that, since the nurses didn’t allow him to go alone.

Wei Ying quickly learned on their little excursions that Lan Zhan rarely spoke, but was an extremely attentive listener who would prove said attention in the most unexpected moments. It was almost shocking sometimes; Wei Ying would ramble on about something, and Lan Zhan would suddenly say one thing or another that made clear he had been paying attention when most people would have tuned out already. It was… flattering, to say the least. To have someone pay attention to him so much. Definitely something Wei Ying could get used to.

Lan Zhan was also very attentive to Wei Ying’s physical state. More than once, when Wei Ying felt his own strength lagging, he suddenly found Lan Zhan’s hand at his elbow, steadily and unobtrusively making sure that he didn’t fall over his own clumsy feet. Lan Zhan seemed to know that he needed support almost before Wei Ying himself realised it.

Normally, he would complain about being thought a weakling, but if Wei Ying were honest, he would admit that sometimes, he really needed the support. And well… he couldn’t really bring himself to mind being spoiled by a handsome man. If he were really honest, he would confess that he simply liked Lan Zhan’s hands on him, and any excuse that provided him with an opportunity was good enough, even if he had to play up his weakness.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said when they were on one of their garden excursions one day, eating little cups of mango panna cotta that Lan Zhan had brought with him today on a bench. “I will be released tomorrow. You don’t have to visit me here any longer after today.”

“Hn,” Lan Zhan agreed. “What time?”

“Around ten, I think? Why do you ask?”

“I will pick you up.”

Wei Ying sighed deeply and swallowed the last spoonful of dessert.

“Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan. I can ask a friend to pick me up. You shouldn’t do so many things for me. If you are too nice, people will end up misunderstanding. Well, I will end up misunderstanding. You wouldn’t want that to happen, now would you?”

He directed his best salacious grin at Lan Zhan.

“Nn,” Lan Zhan replied noncommittally. “I will pick you up.”

Wei Ying stared at Lan Zhan for a moment. Could it be that Lan Zhan was that thick? That he didn’t realise what Wei Ying was getting at? Did he have to spell it out for Lan Zhan? That he meant misunderstanding in the sense of kissing and possibly getting naked with each other?

“Lan Zhan, I’m serious,” Wei Ying complained, tugging at Lan Zhan’s sleeve to make him look at him properly. “I will misunderstand.”

Lan Zhan looked at him, and it struck Wei Ying again how beautiful Lan Zhan’s eyes were. He had thought that Lan Zhan was pretty much expressionless when they first got to know each other, but that had been patently untrue. His perpetually serious eyes were the source of so much deeply felt emotion. Everything Lan Zhan felt, he felt with his entire heart. So when Lan Zhan looked at him, Wei Ying automatically felt his pulse speed up and his cheeks start to grow hot. That was the effect Lan Zhan had on anyone he really directed his attention towards.

“I will pick you up,” Lan Zhan repeated once again. Stubbornly, insistently. Mulishly.

Without breaking their line of sight even once. Just serious. And steady.

“Oh,” Wei Ying whispered.

Oh. Lan Zhan didn’t want him to misunderstand. Lan Zhan wanted him to understand.

Wei Ying shot up from the bench they had been sitting on and walked over to the trash can close by, to throw away his empty cup of panna cotta. Lan Zhan followed him, throwing his own cup into the trash. As he did it, he looked about as disquieted as Lan Zhan ever did, but right now, Wei Ying was unable to handle anything.

Could he be right? Did Lan Zhan – that Lan Zhan –

As he stood there, he slightly tilted to the side – and there he was, Lan Zhan was right at his side, steadying him. But right now, Wei Ying didn’t want to be steadied. He leaned further into Lan Zhan’s side, putting most of his weight on Lan Zhan right until his head a found a home in the crook of Lan Zhan’s neck.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” he sighed. “Taking advantage of the weak and injured, I see. Do you always flirt like that? Picking people up at the hospital?”

He looked up at Lan Zhan and smiled.

Lan Zhan didn’t answer, but one of his arms most definitely found its way around Wei Ying’s waist, holding him securely to Lan Zhan’s side. It was… intimate.

It was answer enough.

“This is the part where you’re supposed to say ‘No, Wei Ying is the only one for me,’” Wei Ying pouted.

“Wei Ying is the only one for me,” Lan Zhan intoned seriously.

Wei Ying had to bury his face in his hands and scream a little.

“You can’t say things like that out of the blue!” he complained. “My poor, beaten body won’t be able to take it!”

Then he peeked out between the gaps between his fingers, up at Lan Zhan.

“Say it again.”

 (When Lan Zhan picked him up the next day, he received a kiss for his efforts.)

(One kiss, or many.)

(Who was going to count.)

[justmeandmysickies]

A3 and C6 (from the prompt list) with Naoko as the sickee?

Here you go! This isn't my best work and I only proof-read it once but I'm just glad to finally put out some content

Like hell you are

characters: Sungjin and Naoko warnings: emeto

note: for the ones that don't know - Naoko and Sungjin have been best friends since high school; Sevan is Naoko's boyfriend

A3 “Did that sound come from your stomach?“

C6 "I guess I should have taken better care of myself…"

"Are you having fun?" Sungjin asked, lazily spinning a volleyball on his finger.

"What?" Naoko’s head snapped up suspiciously fast at the question which prompted his best friend to raise an eyebrow at him.

"I asked, if you were having fun." Sungjin repeated, still eyeing his friend carefully.

"Of course! I haven't been able to play in ages. Obviously, Volleyball isn't quite as good as Basketball, but it is something."

That last statement earned him a punch to the shoulder. "Volleyball is the best and you know it." Sungjin playfully glared at the taller man, daring him to disagree.

"Okay okay, no need to beat me up" Naoko laughed.

He hadn't lied. It was great to be back in the gym. Due to covid, everything had been closed and Naoko had been working double-time. There had simply not been time for sports, or his best friend for that matter. So being in the gym spending some quality time with Sungjin was great.

Naoko’s stomach however seemed to be disagreeing. It had been unsettled for a while now. Gas constantly shifting inside of him, leading to frequent burps which he had to suppress in order to keep up appearance. And on top of that, his middle had not stopped gurgling since he had stepped into the gym that day.

His stomach had never been very strong, prone to acting up whenever he was stressed out or nervous. Naoko knew, that was probably the reason for his current predicament - he was overworked, and his stomach had had enough. The only remedy was rest, but who had time for that? Nao wasn't going to let his weak stomach ruin the evening so pushing through and acting tough was the only way to go.

Sevan had luckily not picked up on his boyfriend's discomfort yet, but Naoko was very aware of just how observant Sungjin was. So he had to be very careful around his best friend.

He didn't miss the way Sungjin glanced at him in concern every so often. But he never spoke up and Nao was thankful for that.

Practice went by rather slowly. Unfortunately, the cramps shooting through his stomach had picked up in intensity and he was now considerably nauseous.

So it came as a relieve when Sungjin’s coach announced the end of practice. The stench in the locker room, however, was anything but relieving. The smell of sweat mixed with cheap deodorant wasn’t pleasant on a healthy stomach, but it made Naoko feel like passing out or throwing up or maybe even both. So instead of getting dressed or taking a shower, he stepped out of the room and out of the front door.

Sungjin was left staring after his best friend, wondering when he’d finally speak up and tell him what was wrong.

The fresh air helped and fortunately Naoko’s stomach seemed to settle down a bit.

He hadn’t even realized how long he’d been standing there just taking deep breaths, until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t even have to turn his head to know that the hand belonged to Sungjin.

“We’re the last ones here. You don’t have to shower if you don’t feel like it but you should at least pack your stuff up so we can lea-” A low gurgle interrupted him and Sungjin looked up at Nao questioningly.

“Did that sound come from your stomach?” Naoko turned bright red. “I’m probably just hungry.”

Sungjin knew that was most likely not true, but he chose to drop the matter. So he continued “Well as I said, you should pack up so we can leave.” Yes, he wanted to know what was bothering his best friend, but he didn’t want to push it. Even out here in the dark, Naoko looked dangerously pale, and he was still sweating buckets, even though practice had ended almost thirty minutes ago. Jin knew he had been working hard and he faintly wondered if the younger man had been taking proper care of himself.

Nao was grateful. He knew Sungjin wanted answers, but he was too considerate to actually ask.

“Yeah, you’re right. I should pack.” With a glance towards his friend he added “I’m okay by the way.”

Sungjin let out a short huff. “Like hell you are.”

Naoko thought he’d be fine going back into the locker room. He really did. But it turns out the smell of sweat kinda clings to a room. So Sungjin worriedly watched the color drain from his friend’s face as the latter struggled to put his shoes in his gym bag.

Naoko was now swallowing convulsively as he swung his bag over his shoulder. But just as he was about to reach for the door handle, a quiet burp had something splash the back of his throat.

Jin, who had been standing directly behind Nao, jumped out of the way, as his friend spun on his heels, dropped his bag, and made a beeline for the toilets.

Ah, so Naoko had been nauseous. Good to know. And if the painful retching coming from the bathroom was any indication, he was not feeling well at all.

Sungjin stood in the door to Naoko’s stall, wincing, as the latter’s back convulsed with each heave. It took him a while, but Nao eventually managed to regain his composure. Jin handed him a bottle of water along with a disapproving look. “Let me guess: you’re not ill?”

Naoko shook his head. “Just stressed.”

Sungjin sighed. "You're way overworked." And Nao scoffed bitterly at the obvious statement. "Yeah, I guess I should've taken better care of myself." He answered, while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Sevan is gonna kick your ass." Sungjin was a little annoyed himself at his friend's stupidity, but he knew Sevan was going to rain hellfire upon Naoko.

Nao's eyes widened slightly. "Yes, about that..." He said with a sheepish yet pleading look on his face.

Now it was Sungjin's turn to scoff. "Forget it. I'm not gonna lie for you. At least not to Sevan. I want to live, you know."

"You don't have to lie to him! Just don't tell him what happened please." Naoko pleaded now getting a little desperate. He was feeling horrible and really didn't need a fight with his boyfriend on top of that.

Sungjin sighed in defeat. "Fine, I won't tell. But you look like shit - there is no way he won't know that something is up."

"I'll think of something." Naoko stated confidently. "Can you please give me a ride home, now? I'd really like to take a shower."

"Yeah, sure. Let's go."

Obviously, Naoko couldn't think of something. The moment Sevan raised a suspicious eyebrow at Naoko's story of 'simply being a little exhausted from practice' the sick man was done for.

So he abashedly accepted the angry scolding without saying a word and enjoyed the following cuddles all the more so.

[shadowturtlesstuff]

invisible duckling

hi!! im alive, slowly working of fics still. i havent been writing as much as i want to but my brain is honsetly tired, but i have this cressworth (obvioulsy) that started as an invisible string based one, but becuase @fangirling-again has been pestering me about writing one about adopting ducks the ideas merged. somehow. the title is also her idea

(also im working my way through acosf so ill be online more frequently very soon!)

“We aren’t leaving the bed,my love.” I murmur as I feel Audrey Rose sit up and our cat move from his spot at the end of the bed to her lap. “We are staying like this forever.” I roll onto my side, careful not to brush against her leg. Her laugh caresses my skin as she lazily strokes our cat. I would happily stay in bed with the women I love and our son for the rest of my life, perhaps we can both get some more sleep that way.

We’d gone to bed earlier than planned due to the amount of things we needed to get done today but our son decided he needed our attention and who was I to deny his wants. Sir Issac had sat on my chest as I layed and stroked him long into the night whilst talking to my beloved. Audrey Rose had rolled her eyes at me when I had told her he can stay in the middle of us so we can hug him all night long. I was content stroking him until my eyes had grown tired and I could barely stay awake, but he had just meowed until I continued stroking him. It had led Audrey Rose to face me and tell me that is exactly how I act when I don't get enough attention.

“As wonderful as that sounds, we need to leave at some point,” she tells me and I whine about my discomfort. The bed was warm, safe and didn’t involve dealing with people I wished not to deal with. Again her laugh fills the room and I open my eyes to find her face half concentrated on me and the other on our demanding son. I may have taught him too well.

“Remind me what we’re doing today so I can come up with valid reasons as to why we shouldn’t.”  sir issac moves from audrey’s lap to sit right in front of my face, brushing his head against my own. I nuzzle against before I sit up and pull him into my lap. I fear the day when we get our second cat and sir isaac gets jealous of the attention we give it and not him.

“We are not getting another cat thomas,” she tells me and gives me the look that tells me she saw my thoughts on my face. We shall give sir isaac a sibling but I'll concede this argument for now. So I scowl at her and then rest my head on her shoulder. She sighs as she steals my hand and entwines our fingers. “We have to meet Dacinia at the restaurant near cornelia street. She has news for us, then my aunt wants to meet with me for an hour or so then uncle wants us in his office the rest of the day. Our case, it seems, has new leads that he is dealing with alone today but will fill us in and make plans for tomorrow.”

It has been months since we saw my sister and I've been excited since we got the letter she will be in town. We are visiting my favourite restaurant, the archer. We used to go as kids with our mother before she died. I have been meaning to take Audrey Rose but our lives are filled that we barely have time to do anything together like that. As soon as we are able, I'm bringing her to Romania to have a long overdue holiday. “Have you ever been in the archer, my love?” I ask just to keep her by my side a little while longer. Our grip tightens slightly and I know she knows my intentions behind the question. She always figures out how my mind works even when I do not understand it. Just as I do for her.

“I have, many times. My mother would take us all and we’d have dinner there once a month.” I trace shapes on the back of her hand, it shocks me to think we frequented the same place, for nearly the same reason for so long without knowing. There must be more times our lives have crossed without either of us knowing.

“It is a bizarre and wondrous thought that you were a part of my life, in ways i didn’t know, and now you are the most treasured thing. It is like we were pulling on a string, leading us to each other.” We are both silent, contemplating where else we may have crossed paths when she snorts loudly.

“It is absurd how put together that thought was when you have spent the entire morning whining at me,” her hand rests on my face as we smile widely at each other, “yet it is nice to consider that all our actions, all the mistakes and choices have led us to each other. Like an invisible string of sorts, that tied us to each other.”

“I'd go through all the hell again if it led me to you.” I tell her as she leans in and kisses me. I pull her atop of me now that our cat has lept of the bed, most likely to get us to give him food. We kiss, holding onto this moment before life crashes down on us. She pulls back, her smile blooming on her face and her face flush. It is a sight I wish I could witness forever.

“It is crazier to think our actions now are leading us to another cat.” I give her my most charming grin as she rolls her eyes but smiles at the thought of us having another cat. Slowly I am convincing her we should adopt another cat.

“It is crazy,” she begins, rolling off me despite me trying to hold her to me, “that a grown adult whines like a child every morning about leaving his bed.” Audrey Rose moves towards our desk to get her cane and my eyes are transfixed on the sight of her. Her hair is in a state, messy due to her not being a still sleeper, but she looks adorable. Her face still wears the smile that makes my heart flutter and her dazzling green eyes are bright as she faces me again with her eyebrows raised to challenge me into a retort.

“It is utterly crazy, that a man would want to spend all day in bed with the women he loves.” Finally I sit up as she walks back towards me, her face filled with emotions I cannot read through. She kisses me deeply and then rests her head on mine. Her hand rests on my cheek, her hands warm.

“I too, would go through all that hell, I would search for that string forever if it led to you, my love.” she whispers against my skin and I swear my heart either reaches out to hug her itself or explodes. I marvel at the women in front of me, of all the pieces of information about her I have discovered and all I am yet to discover and smile. “I want to stay in bed too, but we are adults Thomas, people relying on us. Soon, though, we will stay in bed all day.”

We stay like that, stealing kisses for a few minutes before we tear ourselves away from each other. The string we have between us loosens but as we go about our morning routine we always find our way back to each other.

~~~

“You little beast.” I hear Audrey rose hiss as she tries to carry a tray of food into the dining hall for us. I laugh and get up to help her, taking sir Issac in my hand so she has a clear path.

“This is why, my love, we are not getting another little pest.” she glares at the cat who meows back, seemingly aware of how much he has annoyed her. I sat him down on the chair beside mine and sat, helping Audrey Rose set the food.

“But if we were to get another cat, our son, not a pest or beast, will be occupied.” I try to convince her as best as I can. “Or we could get a dog, or perhaps even a duck-”

Audrey rose starts laughing, “A,” she tries to speak but cannot get enough air to do so. “A duck?” She breathes out finally and I roll my eyes. It was not my best suggestion, but if i can find any way to get another cat I shall.

“What is wrong with ducks?” as muster as much confidence in my voice as i can and that makes her laugh more. The laugh that fills the room with how genuine and adorable it is and I can't help my own laugh escaping. It's a tad absurd even for me.

She reaches out for my hand, trying to master her features into a serious look. She fails miserably but I take her hand in mine and rub circles on the back of her hand. “Thomas. Know that I love you. And care about you a lot. But have you hit your head today because honestly a du-”

“There was nothing wrong with my suggestion? What has a duck ever done to you?” I interject, both of us trying not to laugh.

“Nothing, because ducks are not pets and we aren't getting one either.” I glare at her as sir Issac climbs onto my lap. I tear my gaze away and pick him up so we are face to face. He scratches at my shoulder and tries to rub his head against my hand. I glance back to find Audrey Rose's face still smiling at my ridiculous actions. The smile that would make me do anything ridiculous just to see again, the smile I try and seek every day, more intoxicating than any drink.

“Son,” I say in a voice parents usually give their toddlers, “how would you like a duck as your brother and sister?” he meows at me so I take that as a yes. Audrey rose is shaking her head as she begins to eat her food, seeming to try to end this conversation. “That settles it, tomorrow I shall inquire about adopting a duck.” i had no idea how i was going to do it, or how i would later convince her to get another cat, as that was my main goal, but now i felt as though i had to get a duck. She rolls her eyes at me as I set sir Isaac down on my lap.

“Do not inquire about a duck Thomas.”

“Why? You said you didn't want a cat, and you heard our son, very lonely, so it seems to be the only plausible solution.”

“Thomas, do not inquire about a duck. Ducks are not pets. How would we even care for a duck? Why are we even considering getting ducks as a pet?”

“Consider this my love,” I try and be as normal as possible, try not to smile as i see her do the same, “we could buy it a little bucket to swim in or another bath with a little ladder,”

She shakes her head at me, our food long forgotten. It had been a tiring day for us, with a lot of walking, and when we'd gotten home she collapsed onto the sofa in our bedroom. So this conversation as silly as it is, is somehow needed for us both. “Why would the duck need a ladder?”

“To climb into the bath. It will be cute! The duck has little floppy feet. Oh! And we get make a tiny hut for our son here and the duck to cuddle in and we can have it next to our bed-”

“So at night we can hear both animals and never get any sleep? Thomas this is-” she once again shakes her head at me. “Madness. Utterly crazy. Are you sure you haven’t hit your head. I can call uncle over to double check.” We sit in silence, staring at each other for a second until we both lose it and start laughing.

“Would it not be adorable to have sir Isaac on your lap, with ducks on your shoulder and head?”

“Ducks? A second ago it was one singular duck, now you want multiple?”

“The duck has to have a friend.”

“The cat is to be its friend. If you get more ducks than sir Issac still is lonely as you like to claim he is.” as if in answer sir Isaac appears at her side, jumping onto her lap. She scowls at him but stokes his back. “Pest. you need to stop listening to your father, he is a bad influence.”  our eyes meet and she smiles at me as I begin eating my own food finally. I can see the exhaustion in her eyes even as she smiles at our cat.

“Imagine love, we have our cat, a duck and a child. All under this roof. I did promise a lifetime full of surprises, with all of those in the equation we’d never have a dull moment.” her eyes soften as the mention of a child. We both wanted one, had discussed it, but as of right now it wasn’t the time. Yet I can picture a tiny Cressworth child, my charm and her wit, playing with sir Issac and our second cat. Even a duck.

“That sounds wonderful. Tiring, but perfect for us.” I stand from my chair and walk around to her side of the table. Her hand finds mine instantly as I lean in for a kiss. She deepens it, her body twisting slightly and her other hand on my chest. I may never get used to the thrill of kissing her, of feeling her love for me. I nestle my hand in her hair, pulling out the pins keeping it up. We pull apart as her hair falls down past her shoulder, her emerald eyes dazzling at me. “I love you,” she whispers, her breath coming out in pants. Sir Issac nudged her and she pulled her eyes away from me as he kept nudging her, demanding her attention be on him. I laugh as she scratches behind his eyes.

“This is perfect too.” I tell her as I offer my hand to lead her up to bed. I will get her settled then return with cake, both of us needed a treat. I could feel my own exhaustion settling in as she took my hand and we made our way upstairs, sir Issac following us and jumping atop our bed and taking over my spot. Wadsworth glances at me, a knowing look on her face. One telling me: ‘you still want another one?’ to which I give her my own smirk telling her yes and kiss her before she can start to tell me no again. I kiss her again one more time before I leave to get us cake.

@fangirling-again @goatahoan @kittycat2187 @city-of-fae @the-hoofflepooff @purplecreatorhorsewagon @padfoot-sirius-black-blog  @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing-wars @lovecakeandmore @yikesitsmaddie  

[doctors-star]

cowboys? cowboy content?? our sweet sweet traumatised cowfolks? pray tell what you have dreamt up for them

yeehaw

She sits very still and perspires gently, hands folded neatly in her lap. The clock ticks methodically on the mantelpiece, polished to a houseproud shine and sitting alone on a doily like a butte in the desert; in the visions she and her brother had shared, there had been more indulgences in her home than just the one brass carriage clock, the good kid gloves and the polished Windsor chairs, but that could all wait. Her husband, she had found, was not the type of man to make a great many purchases, and whilst he is unwell she can hardly go about spending money on anything but food and medicine for her poor darling.

There is a cough in the other room, harsh and bloody, and she shifts slightly on her chair. There will be time for that later, anyhow.

For now, she is restricted to sitting here in the front room with her knees together and hair neatly pinned away at the base of her skull as she waits in the oppressive, dusty heat. The wind is blowing from the southwest, carrying desert sands up with it towards the prairie, so there’s no chance of opening a window today to shift the air; in between the resolute, monotonous ticking, she can hear sand tapping at the glass and at the boards like a thousand ghostly fingertips, scratching to get in. But her house is one of neatness and cleanliness and pristine, precise pride, so there shall be no entrance for any ghosts or spirits here.

Noelle salts and burns her choices, careful lest they rise. Danser Town will be no different.

The door behind her opens with cautious, quiet motions - she has become used to the sound over the long weeks of her husband’s terrible illness as she sweeps from room to room without disrupting the patient. She turns and stands in one quick, nervous motion, but she has been sat still too long: it is less pretence than she would like that she sways dizzily, vision spotting for a moment. There is a careful hand under her elbow, but no more, and when she leans into it a little another hand catches her other shoulder to hold her steadily at arm’s length. Noelle recovers herself, eyelashes fluttering, and reaches up a hand to fan at her face. “My, this heat! I do apologise.”

“Indeed,” Williams says tightly, hands lingering about her arms disinterestedly to ensure she keeps her feet. “Will you sit? Or may I fetch you some water?”

“Please,” she says, gesturing through to the kitchen. Williams, politely, waits for her to enter first, to seat herself at the table in one of the good Windsor chairs, to direct him in the pouring of a glass of sharp, flavourful lemonade. He declines to take one himself. “But you must tell me,” she says, sipping her cool drink and watching him through her lashes, “how does my dear Tobias?”

Williams shifts his weight, resting his hands on the back of the seat he also declined to take. “Ma’am, you know I am not a doctor,” he prefaces carefully.

She does know. She would not have let this man cross her threshold otherwise.

He drums his fingers on the wooden hoop and she braces to respond to bad news. “Your husband is getting worse,” he says firmly, eyes fixed on his own hands, “and there is nothing I can do - ah, nothing I can give him that will make him better.”

Her little gasp echoes in the quiet. Noelle pats at her cheeks with a handkerchief; Williams, politely, looks away. “Is there really nothing you can do?” she presses, playing the dutiful, caring wife almost by rote, now. “You are sure - there is no medicine, no-”

Williams’ gaze snaps to her. It is not so much the spitting fury in his glare that makes her recoil, fingers floating defensively to her sternum, as surprise at it coming from this corner. Will Williams has always been small and polite and harmless, prone to tipping his hat politely at people, and listening to old folks gripe about aches and pains, and crouching on rocks in the river for hours to look at plants and fish and things nobody else cares for. She sees him most often swept up in the dust cloud which follows Holden, Morin and McPherson as they roll all unruly about the town, and maybe it’s only in comparison to them that Williams looks so deeply unthreatening - but the man lets little children push him around, so. She does not think it unreasonable that she had not expected his ire.

“I can advise him to take some morphine for the pain,” Williams says, very slow and measured in a voice like banked coals, “and to watch what he eats and drinks. More than that, for either of you, I will not do.”

Noelle feels abruptly very cold. There is no sound but the distant ticking, an occasional violent cough from the back room, and the sand tapping at the glass like so many revenant ghosts.

Dying does not make a universal sound for all folks. You can’t listen out for it, no matter what some preachers might say; ain’t no choirs of angels, no whispering ghosts, no knocking at your chamber door. People die in so many ways, see, and it takes them all different. Sometimes death sounds like gunshots and screaming, sometimes like long, drawn-out silence and rattling, bloody coughs.

And sometimes, death sounds like watch what he eats and drinks. More than that I will not do.

Noelle sits frozen, her fate hanging from threads in this strange, nervous man’s thin fingers. Williams glances at the window, and sighs deeply. He steps around and folds himself into the chair, looking much smaller now he no longer looms over her like some great spindly crow. “Tommy reckoned I never should have come out to attend Mr Lloyd,” he says conversationally, turning in his seat to pour himself a glass of lemonade which he places on the table but does not drink. “He doesn’t like your husband awful much. Some daughter of a friend of an aunt, or something, used to char here before you married, fixing meals and scrubbing the boards and such. Mr Lloyd, he - well. I understand that her sweetheart was the doting type, see, so it shook out in the end, only they had to get her out to his place in the city awful fast and they married in an embarrassing hurry. People’ll always whisper that that baby doesn’t look like his pa, though.” Will pushes his glasses up his nose and leans back in his chair to fold his arms and watch her carefully, trying to work out if she had known that. If that, or something like it, was what excused the little labelless bottle behind the tin of tea. Noelle schools her features and attempts to look more unsurprised than she is. She would have expected something poor of Tobias, but nothing quite like this. She had known no specifics. Williams raises an eyebrow briefly at whatever he finds in her face. “Tommy only let me come see Mr Lloyd because I said I’d look in on you and make sure he wasn’t knocking you about any.”

Noelle raises an eyebrow in challenge, sipping her drink. “Do you worry about that, Mr Williams?”

He doesn’t cower or dodge her gaze, which she doesn’t quite expect. “I worry about plenty, Mrs Lloyd,” he says calmly, “but I don’t worry so much about you getting into a situation you couldn’t get out of on your own. Incidentally, Tommy’s gonna swing by and pick me up in-” he leans the chair back on two legs to peer at the carriage clock in the other room “-well, any time from now, since he’s late.”

Noelle hides a smirk in her lemonade. She must admit to quite liking this side of the town’s nervous naturalist; Holden would likely skin poor Williams if he knew what Will knew, and what Will was doing anyway. It was smart of him to bring a buddy, but it meant that he had known even before today what she was doing, and he had come anyway. “You’ve awful confidence in me,” she says, batting her eyelashes to see what he’d do, “for a little lady on her own. Why, as my husband is ill, I haven’t even got a strong man to take care of me.”

Will’s brow furrows slightly in apparent confusion in response to her slight flirtation. “No, you don’t,” he says, as though unsure what that should have to do with anything.

The surprise of it makes her laugh despite herself, though that does seem to worry Williams a little. He keeps turning the lemonade, undrunk, between his fingertips, making it rattle slightly on the table, and his eyes frequently dart to the clock on the mantelpiece to note how late his friend is. It loosens her tongue somewhat; Noelle is so frequently entirely honest with people, and it is oddly refreshing to stop talking in double meanings and half truths. She wants him to stay longer in this oddly honest space, where she had never really imagined herself being, and tell him so.

It reminds her of talking to Jonah, a bit, even though a man more unlike Jonah than Will Williams there never has been. Everything seems to remind her of Jonah, now that he’s gone.

“I had thought, once,” she says, watching his face but keeping her tone light, “that when a widow I might marry you.”

As expected, Williams looks poleaxed - quite blindsided by the idea. “I - don’t think you would have,” he says stiltedly.

She waves a hand. “Oh, not now, obviously.” She couldn’t possibly marry a man who has something to hold over her. Noelle could rule Will well enough, but - there was that flash of rage at being made her alibi, her dupe, and he could always ruin her.

“No, I mean - I wouldn’t have-” Will winces and tilts his head, uncomfortable. “I’m not - the marrying type, I think.”

Oh. Noelle shrugs; she could have made that work, too, but it would have been a terrible effort to drag him to the altar, and likely not worth it. “And your Tommy Morin - is he the marryin’ type?” she says, laying the implication on thick. “Or is it Finn Holden? McPherson, now, he’d be disappointing an awful lot of ladies, but…”

The blush spreads from his cheeks at speed, turning his fair northern complexion blotchy and red. “All my friends are morons,” he tells her flatly. “Would you marry ‘em?”

Noelle tilts her head to concede the point. “Naw, you always were the best prospect of the bunch.” Will goes, if possible, yet redder. He looks so like a kid, then, that she cannot help it; he reminds her, again, of Jonah when they were younger and running cons smaller than this one just to eat and even though they were the same age they had ever tried to protect one another. She wants to protect Will, now. “I won’t tell anybody,” she says seriously, and his eyes flick to her and squint, examining her face for sincerity. “You can - whatever you do about Mr Lloyd’s...condition. I won’t tell anybody.”

He tilts his head slightly, like he’s listening for something. “Why not?” he says cautiously.

Noelle turns her gaze on the table and her neatly folded hands there. Sometimes she tries so hard to look respectable she worries that it’s sinking in, making her really into those women who sit diminished and demure at their husband’s pleasure.

Tobias would shoot Will himself, probably, without even troubling the sheriff.

“Because I reckon a person ought to be punished for what they’ve done, not what they are,” she says eventually. “That seems...fair.”

Will nods sharply. “Suits me,” he says, a little too quickly. “But I’m not going to tell anybody about your husband, either.” Now it is her turn to cock her head at him, mirroring like a sharp-faced eagle competing for prey. Will shifts his glass again. “I don’t figure that many people are going to miss him awful much,” he says thoughtfully. “As, as long as no-one else falls ill like him, then, I suppose that’s all right. And - sometimes - people do bad things to bad people. Maybe, maybe he dies, and another aunt’s friend’s daughter has only the kids she wants to have with the man she wants to marry. Maybe you live unbruised. Maybe - maybe you pay your bills at the general store quicker than he did and German can afford credit for a starving family whose kids survive the winter.” Will throws up his hands. “I don’t know.”

Noelle looks at him for a long moment. “But you want to believe it.”

He sighs massively and leans forward to prop his elbows on the table and bury his face in his hands. “God,” Will says, the word muffled and cracking down the middle, “yes, I want to believe that. Of course I want to believe that.”

Noelle reaches out carefully and places her fingers on his forearm lightly. “Will, I think - whatever you’ve done, I-”

He leans back, her fingers falling away as he scrubs at his face. “I haven’t done anything,” he says sharply. “That was - that was someone else, and long ago, and - nothing.”

She doesn’t believe him. She doesn’t even get the sense that he believes himself; rather, that this is something he is attempting to persuade himself is true. But over the sound of the sand on the glass there comes the sound of boots and spurs, and Tommy Morin hollering for Will to come out quicksmart, for something’s gone terribly wrong and his expertise is required, so she never gets to ask. She supposes he wouldn’t tell her anyhow.

Will scrambles to his feet, collecting up his leather bag with a sigh of worried resignation. “Well, ma’am, that’s me,” he says, abruptly all polite once more, and Noelle almost - misses him. The other him, who had been honest and angry and not the moral stickler he had been pretending to be. “I don’t suppose you’ll need me out here much longer.”

“I suppose not,” she agrees, and passes him his hat. What she’ll do then, well… But certainly, Tobias Lloyd does not have long left to keep troubling Will Williams.

He turns to the door, but the wind suddenly picks up; the whole house is briefly sandblasted, the shingles drumming with the vicious, sharp stones, and Tommy quits his yelling to cough and spit. Williams makes a face which he cannot quite help, and Noelle must take pity.

“Here,” she says, passing him the glass of lemonade he had abandoned on the table. “Seems you might want it out there.”

He glances between her face and the glass and back again. And then, carefully, reaches out to accept it. Will drinks quickly, watching her face, and passes the glass back. “Thank you,” he says softly, and for a long moment Noelle wants to thank him too - for listening, and for believing that she might have the right of it, and for drinking her lemonade.

But then he pulls his neckerchief up over his nose and mouth and departs into the sandstorm, Tommy sparing only a moment to tip his hat at her before grabbing Will’s elbow and continuing to yell through the wind about something having happened to Finn’s wrist during undisclosed activities and now needing bandaging. Will twists over one shoulder to offer her an amused, exhausted look and a brief wave as he is hauled away into the dust, and Noelle stays standing in the doorway to watch them go with sand swirling around her ankles and encroaching into her pristine, proper home.

She leaves the door open a while. She’s never really wanted to be upstanding.

[some-cookie-crumbz]

Berry Blast

Berry Blast Fandom: My Hero Academia Pairing: TodoMomo Summary: TodoMomo Positivity Week Day 3 Prompt Fill: Direct partner piece for my previous day fill [here] but can be read as a stand alone. After agreeing to an anniversary picnic, Momo begins stressing about what she should bring along. She isn’t exactly the most domestic of women, after all. Thankfully, she has a little bit of help of her own to get things sorted out. Standard Disclaimer: If you read and enjoy this, please give it a like/ reblog so I know if I should write more.

When Shoto had first suggested to Momo that they spend their first anniversary having a little picnic together, she’d been delighted. The idea of the two of them settling in for a homemade lunch together was something straight out of one of the shojo mangas Mina and Tooru had gotten her hooked on! And to think that Shoto had insisted on preparing all the food himself? Well, that had her swooning all over again. After all, what could possibly be sweeter than a boyfriend preparing a humble lunch for his girlfriend?

And then the thought struck her; shouldn’t she bring something as well?

Drinks seemed simple enough, so she made a note in the back of her mind to pick some up on her way. That, however, seemed far too simple. And impersonal. She wanted to do something just as sincere and thoughtful as what Shoto was doing for her! Then, her mind jumped over to the idea of sweets. They were the most frequently offered gift when a young lady was interested in a young man. That thought then led her to the conclusion of dessert. Why, she could surely bake something to bring along! A homemade dessert would be a perfect partner to a homemade picnic lunch!

And so, she got to work!... And very quickly hit a few roadblocks.

Her initial thought was to make something like a strawberry shortcake. She remembered that Shoto enjoyed that strawberries were a mix of sweet and tart. He liked sweet things on occasion, but he had expressed that too much tended to give him an upset stomach. She had picked up the ingredients but then read another article online that expressed that the one-year mark was something that warranted going that extra little bit to make it even more spectacular, that often times this anniversary could make or break a relationship.

So she cast that idea aside and decided to try something different.

Upon looking into things more, she selected macarons, as they could be various flavors and colors, meaning she could customize them as she wanted. She encountered trouble with separating the egg whites and then with consistency issues. She scrapped that and then moved on to making chocolate souffles. She tried two separate batches but couldn’t get them to rise properly, regardless of what she tried. Momo changed gears at that point and decided to pick a treat that was a testament to her partner; baked Alaska! She had figured that he could be able to safely set the treat on fire once they were actually ready for it. However, when she tried to bake in the ice cream, it completely melted. And that wasn’t even covering the problems she encountered trying to prepare the meringue for the dish!

So, then she decided to try a lemon meringue pie instead. That, she reasoned, would also be a bit more Shoto’s style, as it was a better blend of sweetness and tartness. She had heard that pies could be incredibly tricky to an untrained hand, but she wasn’t worried. After all, it couldn’t be half as hard as fighting villains or training under Aizawa-Sensei! She had done those things with the greatest of ease so she could rise to this occasion!

Or so she’d thought when she started. Instead, she ended up hunched over the counter, on the verge of frustrated tears, unable to miss the whispers of the kitchen staff just outside the kitchen proper.

“Should we be concerned?”

“That’s, what, the fourth attempt she’s made?”

“Well, at least this time she didn’t set anything on fire?”

“No, instead she just managed to under cook it to the point it’s more liquid than anything else. Like, it is as runny and drippy as my son’s nose gets when he’s got a cold,”

“Oh, hush! The young miss is trying her best!”

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, taking a deep breath to calm herself and try to block out the commentary. Yes, she didn’t have a lot of experience with baking, but it couldn’t be that hard! Sato-Kun at school baked all the time and never had nearly as much trouble as all this! He made treats like these for their peers all the time! That was many more people than she was aiming for! So… Why? Why couldn’t she get this right?

She jumped when there was a gentle hand patting at her head, followed by a familiar voice asking, “Now, what’s all this, Momochi?”

Momo pushed herself up and looked at the older man beside her in shock. “Father… I thought you and Mother were going to be away for four days,” she said in lieu of a proper greeting.

He chuckled, shifting to lean more heavily on the cane in his other hand. “Ah, well, you know how your mother can be. She tends to push projects along to a more streamlined process,” he said before reaching out and brushing a thumb under her eye to wipe away the tears threatening to spill. “Now, what’s got you so distressed?”

She felt heat creep up along her cheeks. “I-I was… Well, uh, you see-!”

“Honestly, Momo,” Another voice chimed in, “what is all of this fuss about? And this mess! If you wanted to have some kind of exotic snack you should have asked one of the chefs. We hired them for a reason.”

Momo averted her gaze to her hands, fingers fiddling with the edge of the messy apron she was adorning. Of course Mother had opinions about this. “I was… Trying to prepare something on my own,” she mumbled.

“What for?” she asked with a raised brow.

“My boyfriend and I are having our one year anniversary tomorrow,” she explained, her fidgeting getting worse as she spoke, “So I wanted to make something myself to share with him.”

Mother’s face screwed up in confusion, her head tilting slightly. “Boyfriend?” 

“Yes, dear! Shoto-Kun, remember?” Father said, already moving to and fro in the kitchen as best as he could with the cane. He was rummaging through one of the pantries in search of something but perked back up as he closed the door. “Well, I suppose you wouldn’t. We only know of him from Momochi’s stories and the sports festival footage. We really should work to fix that. If you two are committed enough to be together for a year, it only makes sense we have a dinner at some point to meet him properly.” He nodded to himself at that before opening another drawer and plucking out the matryoshka doll-inspired measuring cups he’d bought shortly after Momo’s Quirk had manifested.

Back then, before Father fell ill, Momo remembered spending afternoons in the kitchen with him while he prepared all manner of snacks for her to choose from. Those measuring cups had been selected specifically to be used for her treats and her treats alone.

“Ah, that’s right… Endeavor-Sama’s boy,” Mother said, clearly remembering at least one conversation they’d had about it before. She then scowled as she watched Father continued rummaging through the cabinets and drawers. “Umeo… What are you doing? You are supposed to be resting.”

“And I’ll rest after helping Momo with this, Mikan,” he said with a small smile as he set the measuring cups down on the counter in front of Momo. He turned to face her with a bright smile on his face. “Our daughter will only get to celebrate her first year anniversary with her boyfriend once, you know.”

Some of the harshness in Mother’s expression dwindled at that, some of her sharper edges dulling. Father always seemed to have a way about drawing that expression from her. “... Very well. But I am going to have someone here to monitor that you do not overdo it,”

“Of course, of course! Now, let’s see… I know I left the recipe book around here somewhere,” he grumbled, moving to open another drawer. 

Mother shook her head, a small smile turned up on her lips as Father released a satisfied cry and held the book up appraisingly. Her gaze shifted back to her only daughter, maintaining that same delicacy that Father had brought out. “And, Momo?” She nodded tentatively at being addressed. “Congratulations on reaching such a significant milestone in your relationship.” With that, Mother squared her shoulders and walked back out of the kitchen, pausing briefly to nudge one of the eavesdropping chefs in to monitor things.

“Thank you, Mother,” she called after her. When she turned back around, Father had replaced the cook book she’d been using with his own and was flipping pages. “Ah, Father! I’m going to be doing this on my own!”

“Oh, my apologies! I promise I’m not trying to step on your toes or take charge; just getting the section pulled up for you, Momochi,” he said before carefully moving to a chair the assisting chef hurriedly dragged over. Sometimes she was astounded at how a man so ill could still be so spry.

She instead turned her attention to which section in his recipe book he’d opened to, tilting her head slightly. “Hmm? These are… So simple,”

“Simple, yes, but always a crowd pleaser,” he chuckled.

“But… I wanted to do something… bigger, I suppose? These are just… incredibly basic,” she said, unable to mask the disappointment in her tone.

“There’s nothing wrong with something simpler, dear,” he said, motioning her to approach him. When she was close enough, he took her hands and gave a small squeeze, smiling widely up at her. “Love isn’t always about grand, sweeping gestures or flashy gifts. Sometimes, the most significant shows of love are in the simple, in the basics.” There was something in his smile as he glanced from her to the entryway where Mother had left through. The gleam in his eyes was one of pure adoration, she knew, and couldn’t help but feel a small smile turn up on her own lips as he turned back to face her. Of all the things Momo knew in this world, the love between her parents was the most comforting to her. “When you’re young and inexperienced, love always seems like something that’ll solve everything, make every day good. That’s what movies and books and everything else tells you, after all. And… That’s only true to some extent. Sometimes, Momo, love is about comfort and familiarity. After all, when you love someone, you know them as well as yourself. Sometimes the best shows of love are in remembering little things, like how they take their coffee.”

She blinked before squeezing his hands in return gently. “Shoto-Kun likes strawberries, so… I want to make something with those in them,”

“Ah, I think I know something that’ll be perfect for you then. I believe it’s on page 53,”

She did as he said, lighting up at the recipe she found, before scurrying over the the fridge to make sure she had all the necessary ingredients to get started.

……………………………………………………………..

Momo let out a small, contented sigh as she took a small sip from her lemonade. “Thank you so much for the lovely lunch, Shoto-Kun,” she hummed happily, placing her empty bento in his waiting hands.

“To be honest,” he said, a faint blush to his cheeks as he started putting their things away, “it wasn’t all me. I had help from Fuyumi-Nee and Nezumi-San. I wanted to make sure the food was actually… Well, edible.”

“I’m sure it would have been fine, regardless,” she argued politely.

He flashed her one of his signature dead-pan stares. “You have too much faith in me, Momo,”

She giggled a bit before turning to rummage through her own bag of goodies. “Well, if we’re being honest… Father helped me with the cookies. Or, rather, Father helped me decide what to make and then assured I followed the proper process to make them,” she said as she pulled out the tupperware container and peeled the lead off. She held it towards him, her heart fluttering nervously in her chest. “Here, please try one.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking one and looking it over. She saw how his eyes lit up when he noticed the strawberry chunks sticking out. The recipe wasn’t anything revolutionary - just a simple strawberry shortcake cookie with cream cheese filling - but she hoped that the care she’d taken in their preparation would make up for that. For as much as Father had reassured her about the gesture not needing to be extravagant, she still couldn’t completely quell her nervousness. She watched as he took a bite, eyes widening as he chewed, before tossing the rest of the cookie into his mouth eagerly. “These are delicious. Really delicious.”

“You like them?”

“Very much, yes. The combination of strawberries and cream cheese is just sweet enough,” he said while grabbing to take out two more cookies, taking a bite out of one the second the words left his mouth. He swallowed his bite and smiled at her. “Thank you for preparing these, Momo.”

“My pleasure, Shoto-Kun,” she hummed, plucking a cookie out for herself and resting her head against his shoulder. As she took a bite, she sent a silent thanks to Father for both the recipe and his advice.

[voidstilesplease]

baby, let’s go home

part four

v.

They are thirteen when Theo's father gets diagnosed with prostate cancer. Theo's great-grandfather died of the same illness. He's undergoing radiation therapy, and their parents tell him his dad is faring just fine. But Theo hears them talk, and he hears Tara cry. They tell him not to be, but he's scared all the same.

Stiles stays up at night all over the computer screen, which was a gift from Theo's parents just months ago. In the morning, he buries his nose in numerous books. At school, he's always beside Theo whenever he can.

Theo gets the feeling that they're babying him on top of lying and keeping him in the dark.

He snaps at Stiles when he turns up late in the dispatch area after class. His mother drives them now, to and from the school, since his dad got sick. Stiles opens his mouth to apologize, but Theo cuts him off.

"If you have all the time in the world to waste," his face is twisted and red. There's something at the back of his mind that's warning him as he speaks that he ignores. It is strange; he's never been angry with Stiles. But he is today. "I don't. I could be doing something better than wait for your ass while you're in the fricking library!"

"Theo!" His mom exclaims, horrified at his behavior.

They get into the car; Theo's fuming and Stiles quiet.

When they arrive home, Theo promptly locks himself in the bedroom, screaming to the pillows. He falls asleep in an exhausted rage and wakes up when it's almost dark outside to a soft rapping on the door.

He exhales and jumps down from his bunk. It's Stiles on the other side. Of course, this is his bedroom too. There's only a slight twinge of guilt mixing with Theo's overall sour mood.

Stiles hesitates, then, "It's only us and Tara tonight."

His brows arch in expectation.

"Your mom rushed out about twenty minutes ago," Stiles fiddles with his fingers as he struggles with words. "A colleague called her. Your dad's in the hospital."

Theo processes the information for a moment and, if possible, gets even angrier with what he hears. Fisting his hands, he stomps past Stiles, jostling his shoulder, down the steps, into the living room where Tara sits bent on herself. Her head is dipped low, and her hands are clasped together as if in silent supplication.

The sight of her only intensifies his fury. Theo rounds on Tara, who looks up to her brother with shiny eyes. "What is going on?" He demands, heaving, words rushing out of him all at once. "Why is nobody telling me anything? I'm thirteen! I would hurt now, too, if dad died. I have the right to know if I'm about to lose a parent!"

It is evident that something is terribly wrong when instead of calling him out for lashing, Tara sags into the couch and covers her face with her hands, breaking down into the cushions.

He doesn't remember moving, or walking away from Tara, or riding his bike, but he somehow ends up in the lake. He picks up stones in the path and throws them in the water, one-by-one; the bigger splash, the better.

He screams with every rock he launches. He loses count of how many there have been, but his last one is a stone double the size of Theo's fist. He raises it over his head, leans his body backward, and hurtles forward with the force of his throw.

It hits the water in a loud plop, promptly sinks, and creates big ripples in the water.

He's wheezing, hands in his knees, sweaty, throat and mouth dry and hoarse. Only a portion of his anger abates, but now that it's out of the way, he feels himself dropping to the ground for a different reason. He hasn't felt this in a long time - the last was just before he realized there aren't monsters coming out of closets. 

He's terrified out of his mind.

There are more than a few times his parents disappointed his little boy's heart. Their work takes them many places, requires most of their time, thus leaving Tara and Theo to the care of strangers. They're more frequently gone than around. But when they are, they make every second worthwhile, and to Theo, it makes up for their absence. He's not going to lie and say he isn't still bitter for all the missed opportunities, but he loves them. He loves them with all his thirteen-year-old heart could give. He loves his mom and dad, and this fear of possibly losing one of them is consuming him. 

He bends his knees and bows his head and cries like never in years. He's a tough kid, he knows, but today he wants to claw at his chest because it feels crushed inside. He wants to soothe it a little -to make it stop constricting too much.

All of a sudden, a weight settles behind him. Arms embrace him as a head leans on his back. Theo doesn't need to look to know who it is. There's only one who could provide the most comfort just by being around.

Stiles doesn't say anything. He kneels and hugs Theo from behind. He's never met another person as tactile as Stiles. Once he's opened up to Theo's family, he makes it a point to touch them always: a small kiss for Theo's mom, a high-five with his dad, leaning his head on Tara's shoulder and pressing close to Theo during the movie nights.

Stiles has never told anyone he loves them, and he's grateful, and he's happy to have them. He doesn't have to.

"I'm sorry," Theo breaks the comfortable silence when he's calm enough, reassured by the other boy's presence. "that I locked you out."

Stiles shifts a little behind him but doesn't pull away. Theo thinks he nods. "I read about prostate cancer," is what he says. "I saw this website where survivors share their stories. I emailed them to your dad. I was hoping it would help."

Theo's chest clench again. He bites his lower lip.

"And then I borrowed a few books from the library so I could read facts about it. I found out quite a lot of things," Stiles pauses. "Do you want me to tell you?"

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Theo nods.

So Stiles tells him what he knows from reading. During the entire informative speech, Stiles moves from hugging Theo to putting one arm around him and sitting beside him on the grass facing the now dark lake.

"So, yes, it's a pretty scary illness," Stiles says after a lengthy explanation of its diagnosis, treatment, and recovery procedures. "I asked your mom, and she was pretty surprised that I know about the Gleason Scale. But she told me your dad's score is 7 - intermediate."

Theo turns slightly to his side. Stiles is busy watching the lake as he talks, and Theo is left to study at the moles dotting one side of his face as he listens. 

"I didn't mean to, but I also saw a letter from a Dr. Henshaw in the mail. I searched for him. He's a urologist from Johns Hopkins in Baltimore, and I saw a lot of good feedback," Stiles looks sideways to Theo. This up-close, Theo can see how light his brown eyes are. Stiles must have mistaken his silent gawking as confusion because he smirks a little. "A urologist is a specialist for the male reproductive system, including the prostate."

Theo's listening, he is, but all he can manage to do is nod.

Stiles smiles, "I think they're considering a surgery, which is probably the best option, Theo. We just have to," he reflects, eyes glossing for a moment, then finishes. "be there for him."

Theo has half a mind to forget the sad expression on Stiles's face, but he recognizes what it is. He knows Stiles well and the emotions that pass him.

"Just like you were there for your mom?"

He startles for a second, the subject coming unexpectedly, and then nods with a curl in his lips. "Until the end."

Theo takes Stiles's arms off his shoulder and entwines their fingers instead, holding on firmly. He doesn't have words. He has so much to say to Stiles - how everything is better with him, how Theo clings on to the brightness he creates for everyone despite the shadows around him that he continues to fight.

In the end, Theo decides with, "Thank you, Stiles."

Stiles beams in the night that settles over the lake. The sun has been down for a while.

He bumps a fisted hand to Theo's shoulder, "That's what best friends are for, Raeken."

"I'm glad you're mine," then, squinting his eyes and side-eyeing Stiles, he adds. "Even though you're a pain in the ass sometimes."

Stiles laughs, and Theo's worries fade.

Somehow, with Stiles, he starts to believe. He's not going to lose his dad. They're frightened, reasonably so, but they're going to be okay.

Stiles untangles their fingers to stand, patting away the dirt at the back of his pants. He turns to Theo and extends his hand down to him.

"Let's go home, Theo."

~•~

title from: Hold On by Chord Overstreet

[smallpumpkinboi]

I've been working on my new wip a bit and wanted to post the unedited version to see if its worth committing to rn or if I should wait a bit

Huge trigger warning (They'll be all in the tags) but it's also missing a few parts so bare with me

Tonks looked down at the picture, the pale man had blood dripping from his nose, leaking from his mouth, eyes blood strained. 

"Harry, it happened again" she shoved the file into his hands. He flipped through it, looking at the torched body, deep cuts ripped black robes, blood pooled underneath him, Harry was far too comfortable with the scene. Throwing the file onto the pile of similar murders he rubbed his head. 

"Again?" Harry glanced at the pile, a high stack of grotesque pictures nearly toppling over, unsettling papers sticking out.

"Yah'' she sighed, this was the 16th poisoning ever since Voldemort's defeat. All people found the same way cases seemingly unrelated, it seems like his death brought the worst out in people. Attacks where becoming more frequent, suicide rates shot up and serial killers running lose. There wasn't enough people in the whole ministry to help build their world back together

"Got any leads on the stabbings" she picked up another file, thinner then the others but deaths just as violent. 

"Yes actually!" Harry smiled "er well it's kind of a lead anyway but we discovered that it's not a spell that's doing the killing and whatever is being used is tainted with dark magic, like dark dark magic." He finished up, most dark objects were being confiscated but if they could trace the magic they could find the object and the owner! 

"That's brilliant, keep it up and maybe we can put away one of these nut cases" Tonks said, relieved to finally have some good news. The war might've ended 6 months ago but it hadn't stopped the death eaters from fighting, people were still going missing, being kidnapped, killed. Last month they put away Fenrir for trafficking magical creatures, selling werewolves and seers to god knows who for god knows what. Harry picked up his file, tired eyes scanning the sheets looking for answers he gave a big yawn before turning to the next page

"You can go home you know" Tonks politely took the file from his hands, she occasionally caught Harry sleeping in her office and was getting concerned. 

"No, there's too much work to be done" Harry picked up the previous file, turning the pages but not looking at the pictures. 

"Hermione's not there, it gets kinda lonely you know? She's busy reading journals from last week's raid but lots of them are burnt up. She wants the piece together what she can, I mean she thinks it's some kind of dark magic they are talking about. Hey maybe it's the same magic that's in my victims!" Harry shot up, throwing the file back into Tonks desk and taking his, 

"I'm going to go see her" he got up. "Coming with? It might say something about your victims too" Harry opened the door, waiting for Tonks to leave. 

"Sure, whatever I can take" she looked at her watch "shit i'm going to be late! Sorry Harry but I'm going to have to take you up on that offer later, I have another meeting" she smiled rolling her eyes, being head of the Auras was hard on her but before Moody died he put in a request for her to be trained as his successor. 

"Ill catch you later then!" Harry waved, running off, Tonks watched him disappear into the crowd. Harry had been a big help in putting away the death eaters, Hermione as well, but they were just children and would soon burn out. Tonks shook her head, a smile still on her face and both kids would do anything to help. Looking back at her watch she swore, swinging her office door shut and making way to her next meeting. 

Rushing along the corridors she looked at the wanted pictures on the wall, most faces of death eaters others who used the war for exploitation. One face always stood out, the young rosy cheeks stood out against the hardened faces, the innocent life vivid in his eyes. She tried to keep Ron off the wanted wall for as long as she could, keeping him with the missing persons, alongside her friends and family but after a while and debate he was slapped into the wanted side, poster saying "traitor, found dead or alive." 

"Oh excuse me! Uhhh- of- oh hi Tonks'' someone ran headfirst into Tonks, making them both fall. 

"Hey Hermione'' Tonks picked the bushy haired girl off of her. Hermione scrambled, grabbing the fallen papers and tucking them back into her arms ``you know Harrys looking for you" she handed Hermione some papers, ink slightly smudged. 

"Oh really? Good I need to talk to him, in some of the books I found the mentions of horcruxes and I think somebody was doing experiments with them, it kept mentioning the " devils fire" and " the others" I don't really know what it means but Harry has destroyed more then me so he's the experts." She said in one breath, eyes wide and full of curiosity. Her hair bounced down her back, papers slowly slipping out of her arms. "I'll catch you later okay?" She smiled, starting to walk off. "I gotta go talk with Harry" her voice waved as she noticed the picture of Ron. His disappearance hit her hard, she could barely go to the burrow neverminded talk the other Weasleys but she was slowly healing, she was even going over for dinner on Sunday. Remembering her previous task she ran off, being late for her meeting. 

.

"Did you find my baby?" Miss Chang ran up to her, hope in her eyes. Tonks barely has walked into the door before the sad lady interrogates her. 

"Miss if you'd sit down?" She gestured to the couch. She hated this part of her job but no one else was willing to do it. 

"But did you find her?" She clung to Tonks robes as she guided her to her seat. "You found her right? My babys okay?" Tears welled in her eyes,

"We are following up on some leads today, I promise I'll let you know what happens okay?" Tonks tried to reassure the crying woman, she has had far too many "meetings' ' with grieving families and just once wanted to give somebody good news. Cho went missing in february, snatched away from her bed no one knew who took her or where she went but because they never found a body they are going off the motion that she's still alive, even if the chances are slim. 

.

"Sorry I'm late" Tonks sat down at the head of the table, two auras where waiting for her full aura gear, ready to go out.

"Where are we heading off too?" He asked

"I got note of an abandoned death eater hideout, it was mostly used in the first war and was used for transporting hostages in the second. Cho was moved and I believe there might be evidence there, if not for her for somebody." Tonks said in a breath, anxious for her mission.

.

The door creaked open, noisily scratching against the concrete floor. It echoed throughout the room, a dim light lit up a cell, blood soaking the floor beside it. A table sat beside the cell, blood dripped off of it, an axe and blood soaked chains draped over each other 

"Hey boys!" Tonks froze where she stood, the voice came from the cell, sounding familiar. 

"Aura Tonks show yourself" she announced,  standing up straighter. Hearing the rattling of chains she stepped forward, coming closer to the cell but keeping her distance. The man shook the door, proving it was locked and rested his hands on the bars, pale skin was covered in blood, it dripped off his long fingertips, falling into the huge pool underneath, dirt matted the parts of his arms that weren't covered in blood, building up under long fingernails. Tentatively making her way over she noticed the man moved, hearing the chains clanking around, 

"Are you coming?" He mocked her, the chains moved again, clanking against one another. Angry she marched forward, and held tightly in her hand wanting to tell off this man for mocking her, but the sight she saw surprised her. 

There he was, thick red hair,  bright blue eyes, well over 6ft and silvery scars wrapping around his arm was Ron Weasley. 

"Took you long enough" he spoke to the ceiling, he was lying on his back, legs raised up against the fall and arms folded under his head. Thick chains clasped around his wrist, connecting to the ground, he laid in a pool of blood, it coated the back of his head, drenching his dirty hair. He looked as if he hadn't taken a bath in weeks, hair covered in dirt making it black, his clothes hung from him, sticking to his body and smelling of sweat, his legs where exposed, all he had on was a pair of shorts, clearly the rest of the jean had been torn off, his bright freckles were invisible under the brown and red, large purple bruises covered his skin, cuts and scrapes alongside them. 

He's been considered missing, no one really knows the true date he disappeared but he hadn't been seen since he left Harry and Hermione

[sleephyjhs]

You Have First Trimester Sickness (REACTION)

[ requested by @sweetbtsboys / masterlist ]

possible tw :: pregnancy sickness

a/n :: it’s gonna be a long one guys, hope you’re strapped in

KSJ

The excitement of learning you were expecting your first baby with Seokjin was soon followed by the dismal sickness caused by the surge of new hormones. You knew it was inevitable, however you never expected it to be as vile as you had experienced.

You had been sat in your en suite with your husband for the past hour, vomiting at irregular but frequent intervals. In the minute he had left to grab you a scrunchie for your hair, you’d somehow become more sick. As he sat back down and tied your hair for you, you questioned him as if he was supposed to know more than you.

“Is it normal to be this sick? One of these minutes I might just throw up my stomach.” You huffed, leaning back into his shoulders. Jin rubbed circles across your knuckles to comfort you, which any other time would have worked a lot better.

“Would you like to go and see a doctor? It’s always worth asking, jagi. Maybe they can give you something for it?” You tilted your red-tinted face to look him in the eyes. A few weeks prior, you had together agreed to do whatever was best for your growing baby. Maybe seeing a healthcare professional was best.

“Let me get myself together first. I can’t travel like this, Jin.”

“No worries, take your time.” He assured you, wrapping his long fingers around the hand he held so tightly.

MYG

When you were younger, you often heard that most women experienced pregnancy sickness in the morning. Cut to 11pm, when your body’s contents threatened to exit through your mouth, you began to realise most pregnancy expectations were going to become lies.

As you presumed your partner Yoongi was fast asleep, you couldn’t resist letting a few burning tears slip down your cheek and onto the tile flooring. You were overjoyed at the bundle of joy growing inside of you, but the gruelling process of carrying them around was proving to be slightly overwhelming for you.

“Can I get you anything?” You snapped your head around to find Yoongi crouching in the doorframe. Although he looked tired, it was obvious his concern for you.

While thinking of an answer, you swept away your tears believing there was a possibility he hadn’t seen them. Your hoarse throat made it clear how sick you really were, “Can you just stay for a while?” All of your willpower couldn’t stop your bottom lip from quivering as you made your request.

“Let it out, honey. It’s okay.” Yoongi assured you, writhing his arm around your curled shoulders. Knowing it would make you feel even worse, you let your pent up emotions flood from your eyes, “We’re going to get through this. Although it might not feel like it right now, you are more than capable of doing this.”

JHS

It seemed every 10 seconds you checked the time on your phone. Impatiently, you waited for your newly-wed husband, Hoseok, to finish his dance practice. Only 15 minutes remained, but you needed his help and comfort desperately.

You felt selfish that you needed Hoseok as much as you did, despite both him and the members telling you that you didn’t need to. He knew that you could become overwhelmed and panicked easily, and had told you it was never a problem for him to leave his schedule earlier to make sure you were okay and safe.

Rapidly, your sickness became unbearable. You felt as though a crossroads had been placed before you, and moving on from today’s sickness episode would be impossible. Although hesitating, you reached for your phone and dialled Hobi quicker than you ever had before.

By the time he had picked up, your heart had increased in speed, leading your hands to shake violently, “What’s up, angel?”

His chirpy response disheartened you, as you knew your low state would convert it into plain panic, “When will you be home? I need help clearing up and getting myself from the floor.”

You rushed your words into one breath, but before you could even finish, Hoseok had begun to reassure you, “Okay, don’t worry, I’m coming. Do you need anything on the way home? Stay on the phone with me, it’ll seem like I’ll get there sooner. You’re okay honey, you’re okay.”

KNJ

“Okay, I think I’m alright for a while.” You told Namjoon. He offered you both of his hands to help you up from the bathroom floor where you had sat for a generous period of the morning. Although you were heading quickly for your second trimester of pregnancy, your morning sickness was still very much prevalent.

“You seem to be a lot better today.” Namjoon pointed out to you, rubbing your shoulders as you turned to wash your hands, “Maybe the twins are making your sickness last longer?”

You really hoped that wouldn’t be the case. Putting up with constant vomiting for 14 weeks was enough, you couldn’t bear the thought of a whole 9 months of it.

As you dried your hands on the towel, you heard Namjoon begin to stammer over his words, “Did you want any vanilla ice cream?”

You couldn’t help but furrow your brows. It was a confusing question at least, “It’s only 7am, Joonie.”

“I know, but it can help your throat burn a little less. It’s worth a try, I know how much you hate mornings like this.” In no time after you agreeing to the sweet treat, Namjoon had already grasped your hand and had begun leading you towards the kitchen.

PJM

In less than half an hour, you and your husband, Jimin, were expected at the last apartment viewing you had booked. With your first baby arriving later that year, you had mutually agreed that more space would be needed. Where you lived now was just too small to raise a little kid.

Every morning that week, you had managed to avoid throwing up in the morning. Wrongly, you had convinced yourself your morning sickness had finally left. However as you applied your blush to the apples of your cheeks, the same doomed urge stormed through your stomach, and you had no choice than to retreat to the bathroom.

“Angel? Are you nearly ready? We should be leaving soon-“ Jimin’s reminders were cut short by a deep sigh. He bent down to your level and swept your falling hair back behind your ear, only to pin it to your head using his finger, “I thought we were past this?”

“So did I,” you replied, refusing to meet his eyes in case of an emergency, “Why did this have to happen today?”

“I can cancel it if you’re not up to it.” You refused before he had finished his sentence. You had to move soon, there was no choice around it, “Do you need some help clearing things up?”

You nodded, kneeling back onto your heels. Now you’d have to rush your makeup as well as tidy yourself up again. In a brief pause to glance at your appearance in the mirror, Jimin came to your side and lifted the blush brush you had dropped, “I know you precise you are with your makeup. I’ve got it covered.”

KTH

It was your last day in Europe with Taehyung, and already you felt guilty it had to begin this way. Your vacation to Vienna would be the last as just a couple, as three months ago you learned you were expecting your first child with your husband, Taehyung.

Prior to your vacation, you believed you had avoided morning sickness altogether. It surprised you that you hadn’t experienced any ill feelings, but relieved you nonetheless. Taehyung had joked your body knew that your fun vacation was coming to an end and so was hurling the worst at you.

“Tae, I can’t board a plane like this. I get travel sickness anyway-“ You sobbed into his chest. At that point in time, leaving the bathroom was out of the question. Nothing could have prepared you for the vile feeling that was brought along with the sickness you felt.

“My love, we don’t really have the choice. It’s gonna be a rough journey but hey, we’ll be home before you know it. And then you’ll be able to get much more comfortable which is better for you and our baby, right?”

He was right, but even his encouraging words couldn’t make today appear any easier to you, “Just.. why today? It couldn’t have been tomorrow or any time in the near future, it had to be today.”

Taehyung thought for a moment while caressing your hand with his fingers, “The way I see it, little one is just letting you know how comfortable of a home you’re giving them. Perhaps not in the most gracious way, but they have to get the message to us somehow.” You couldn’t help but giggle at his interesting analysis of your baby’s signals to you, “You can get through this, for them and for me.”

JJK

Winter sun filtered through a split in the curtains and onto the bed where you laid wrapped in your partner’s arms. You’d been awake for several minutes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to disturb Jungkook’s sleep on purpose. Comeback season always left him particularly exhausted.

However you also knew that it wouldn’t be long until your routine morning sickness would force you from your warm sheets.Although your symptoms were a lot less violent than they were a few weeks ago, you still dreaded the mornings. Before long, you couldn’t control the urge to vomit any longer and tried to leave Jungkook’s arms.

In a sleepy daze, thinking you were playing with him, Jungkook groaned playfully as he tightened his grip, “Kook, you have to let me go. I’m serious, I’m gonna throw up.” He sat up quickly as you rushed away into the bathroom, and were soon joined by a half-asleep husband.

He yawned swiftly before pulling your scrambled hair from your face, “You should’ve woken me up before, you sound even worse than before.”

A brief pause in vomiting allowed you to explain yourself to him. You knew well that he didn’t like when you hid your hardships from him, “You were out cold last night, it’s obvious you’re exhausted. I’m okay, this is normal.”

Jungkook’s eyes fell at your selfless reasoning. While still holding your hair in one hand, he moved to sit behind you and rested his chin on your shoulder, “Don’t worry about me. I can always go back to sleep. You’re the one carrying precious cargo.”

^ thank you for your kind request! 💕

[valatheapprentice]

How I knew you

(plague story/meeting Lucio)

  Its been a month since Asra left. While I miss him dearly, I still hold a little anger towards him. I don’t want to understand why he wouldn’t help find a cure. Perhaps I already know, though. My nightmares have become more frequent and I have to even drink coffee to get through the day. I finally made my tonic to help me not have one tonight and I plan on taking it after helping Dr. Devorak tonight. 

   The hours drag by as I run between medical books and test results. My mind starts to blur everything I see when the doctor comes back into the dungeon. His eyes are wide with deep bags hanging under them. His hair even more in disarray than when he left to attend to the count. I look at him sympathetically as he sinks into the nearest chair. “What’d he say this time?” I ask. 

  He shakes his head as an exasperated sigh escape his lips. “Nightmare. He wants us to ‘cure’ a nightmare or something. You know, not something we can actually do.” He buries his face in his hands. “And there’ll be hell to pay…”  

  My heart drops a little. I take a breath, saying good bye to a peaceful nights sleep. “I have something that will prevent them.” My face drops in to a frown. “I can bring it to him. Take a breather. You’re stressed enough as it is.” 

  He looks at me, lacking energy to even show concern. “I should say no… But you’re right.” His eyes close as he tries to relax a bit. “Just… be careful. And watch what you say. Trust me…” 

  I nod and take the tonic from my bag. And start making my way up the stairs. After asking a servant where to go, I make it to the counts bedroom door. I stand there for a moment, suddenly feeling the anxiety of meeting the infamous Lucio mixed with sleep depravation. I take a deep breath before knocking on the intricately designed door.  

  “Enter.” An angry and sharp voice called. I open the door and do my best to hide my shock. This bedroom is almost completely overlayed in reds. I’m quite surprised by how enchanted I am by it. I stop myself from gawking at everything and look towards a visibly agitated man, staring at me with daggers. “I don’t now you. What the hell do you want.” He snaps. I’m already over this. 

  With the best smile I can manage, I hold up the bottle in my hands. “I’m Dr. Devorak’s apprentice. I understand you were asking about something for nightmares? “  

  He scoffs. “I didn’t ask.” He motions for me and I walk closer towards him. He stares at the bottle in my hand and give a distrusting expression. “I’ve never seen medicine like that.”   Fighting back my annoyance, I nod, confirming his statement. “That would be because I’m a witch and I made this to prevent nightmares.” 

   He starts to laugh, rolling his eye. “Of course. And you expect me to just believe that? How do I know that will even work and not hurt me?” 

   My smile starts to fall. I don’t have the energy to pretend right now. “You know, you’re not the only person in the word who has bad dreams.” 

   He stares at me, standing up. Being a few inches taller, he just barely starts to tower over me. His now scarlet eyes piercing into me. “I’d watch that pretty mouth of yours if I were you.” He sneers. 

   I hold the tonic closer to our faces, making sure he sees it. “If it weren’t for the fact that we can’t get work done when you’re pissy, I wouldn’t even be here. So drink it, or I will. One of us is getting sleep tonight.” 

   His expression softens for a brief moment, taking me off guard. Before I can figure out his expression, he curls his lips in disgust and snatches the bottle from me. “The only thing saving you is my impatience. And if this doesn’t work, I’ll have you executed.” 

   I close my eyes to keep from rolling them as I nod. “Yes sir…”  

  He smirks and downs the bottles contents. He waits for a moment, waiting for… something… to happen. “Now what.” 

  I tilt my head, brows furrowed together. “Now you sleep?” I sigh and relax my muscles a bit. “Itd be best to try to sleep sooner than later. Trust me, you don’t want it to wear off while you’re still asleep. And let me know if you need more.” 

  He looks down his nose at me, but nods. “You can leave now.”  

  With a nod, I all but storm out the door. “Good gods.” I say to my self as soon as the doors closed behind me. “What the hell did I get myself into?” • • •    Three hours. I slept for three hours before waking up in a cold sweat. A sharp pain grinds against my ribs as I labor for deeper breaths. I try to think of something to focus on, soon making a two vials of the tonic. I’m sure he is going to demand more. I’ve never dreaded going back so much. I finish blessing my work and get ready to go to the dungeons again. I pick up some coffee and pastries for Dr. Devorak and I to snack on later before clocking in. For the first few hours, everything runs smoothly. No interruptions out side of Valdemar’s check ins. As I’m in the process of writing down some findings, one of the guards hired to watch over us steps towards the center of the work area. 

   “uh… witch…?” He calls out, unsure of who he was calling for. I look around, seeing no one else stand up. I raise my hand hesitantly, attracting the guards attention. “The count requests your presence.” He beckons me to follow. The doctor and I share an unpleasant look before I stand and follow the guard. 

  I tell myself he’ll be in a better mood. That I have more energy and he’s not as bad as he wants to appear. I keep trying to reassure myself, though nothing in my mind can ease the anxiety building inside of me. I’m in my mind so much, I don’t even realize we’ve stopped at his door until the guard knocks on it. Lucio calls for us to enter. The guard let’s him now I’m here and steps back to let me in, closing the door behind him.  

  His eyes are slightly narrowed and a faint curve is sliced into his lips. I can’t tell if he’s irritated or amused. He sits in the bed, leaning against the headboard. “Don’t just stand there. Come here.” He orders, almost annoyed he had to say it at all.

   I walk over to his bed side, stopping just a foot away. With a small smile, I make eye contact with him. “Good morning, sir. How did you sleep last night?”  

 He raises an eyebrow and eyes me for a moment, his face frustratingly unreadable. “Your potion worked.” As I knew it would. “Ill need one nightly.” He says casually. My heart sinks. As if I wasn’t busy enough with the research, now I have to set aside the time and energy for this. “So long as it keeps working, I’ll cover any… ingredients… you’ll need.” He smiles at me as if he just saved my life.

  I nod, smiling through my disappointment. I pull out one of the bottles from my bag and set it on his side table. “I thought you’d want another. I’ll be sure to bring one every day from now on.” I take a step back, thinking I’ve said all there was to be said. “Ill be off, then.” 

  “Hold on.” He calls out, stopping me in my tracks. “I haven’t had much in the way of visitors. Stay and entertain me.” 

   A sense of unease crawls inside if me. “You’re also dying. So, I should really get back to work...”

   He raises his eyebrows at me. “I’m paying for your time, I get decide how you spend it.” His voice is firm and full of warning.

  “Actually,” My jaw tightens. “I’m volunteering my time. I’m not getting paid.” 

   Flames begin to build beneath his skin. He sits up straighter and hangs his legs over the bed. “Then I order you to stay.” His voice thunders under a cool tone.

   My eyes narrow at him. My hear begins pounding. “I’ve faced worse monsters than you. You don’t scare me. I’m not going to be a play thing for you.” 

  His eyes widen in astonishment. I’m of sure anyone had talked back to him before. Or none that lived. I take the momentary silence as a chance to walk towards the door. “What was it you said yesterday?” I turn to look behind me, seeing a taunting smile across his face. “Work can’t be done when I’m ‘pissy’? Imagine how pissy I’ll get if you walk out.” 

   I bite my cheek, glaring at him. Gods, I hate that smug look on his face. I close my eyes and tuck my hair behind an ear. Why did I have to say that? Now he has one more thing over me. “Fine.” I lift my hands up in defeat. “You… win.” Ignoring that damn smirk, I walk back to the bed, arms crossed. He sits back against the headboard once again and gestures for me to sit opposite him. 

   I sit, avoiding eye contact. This feels really odd to me to be in the bed of a perfect stranger. I can feel his eyes on me, his gaze piercing through me. “What’s your name?” 

  I look at him cautiously. “Vala.” I answer quietly. He stares at me expectantly, and I sigh. Let’s get this over with. “Vala Quintus.” 

   He nods, continuing to stare at me with curiosity. “Why do I feel I’ve seen you before?” 

  “I'm not sure.” I shrug, hoping this will turn out to be pleasant. “I'd gotten in some trouble when I was younger. Maybe you saw my file then…” I trail off. He nods, not saying anything for a while. An awkward silence stretches between us, only interrupted by his coughing. Each time I straighten up, he raises his hand to stop me. “That sounds really bad, I can grab some medicine or make a potion or something.” 

  He shakes his head. “Not if you need to leave.” 

   I roll my eyes, trying to think of a quick spell that would help. “You are impossible.” Once it comes to me, I stand up and slowly walk closer to him. He looks at me distastefully and with just a sliver of fear as I hold my hand close to him. “Fortunately, I know something that helps with normal coughs. But I need to…” How do I say this? “press my hand against your neck.”

   He grabs on to my wrist firmly with the gauntlet and straightens up. “What kind of fool do you take me for?” He hisses at me.

   I try to snatch my arm back with no prevail. If this is him dying, I can only imagine him at full strength. “If I tried to kill you, I’d end up dead. What kind of idiot do you think I am?” I feel his grip loosening as he considers my words. “Besides, if I was going to kill you, strangulation with one hand would be a bit stupid for me.” With my free hand, I gesture towards my body, thin with barely any muscles to show. He looks down my body and back into my eyes. Begrudgingly, he releases my arm, leaving inflamed imprints around the skin. I take a breath and gently place my hand over his neck, a shock of energy I didn’t expect vibrates my finger tips. I close my eyes, ignoring the sensation and envision honey dripping gown his throat, coating it completely with my magic. Once I’m satisfied, I release my hand and back off. “How does that feel?” 

   He takes a few deep breaths, testing the comfort of his sensitive throat. “Surprisingly well.” A small smile rests on my face as I sigh in relief. He may be an ass, but I just hate seeing him in pain like that. No one deserves that. He stares at me contemplatively. “You’re pretty good at that, huh?”   

  Caught off guard, I just stare agape for a second. “I… uh… I’d say so.” I see the wheels in his head turning and I don’t know if I feel dread or intrigue.

   After another bout of uncomfortable silence, he smiles to himself and reaches for some water. “So. How would you kill me?” I stare at him, blind sided and speechless. “You said if you were to, you wouldn’t have tried to choke me. So… how would you?” 

   So he did just ask me that. Hesitantly, I think of an answer. “I mean…” I sigh. “Obviously, you’re stronger than me. You have more training. So anything I would do would have to be a surprise. I could poison a tonic but you’d notice. Honestly, my best bet would be some thing in your sleep…”

    He raises an eyebrow. “Something like what?”

    I stir in my spot as I avoid his gaze. I just want to sink into the floor. “Honestly?” I look around his room, searching for an idea to this ridiculous conversation. A pommel sneaking out from beneath his pillow catches my eye. I take a breath and point to it. “I’d hide that better. I could just use that… and bury it in your neck…” 

  He darts his eyes to the edge of the pillow and shoves the knife further out of sight. “You’re smart, I’ll give you that.” His face has soften towards me. “And cute. I think I’ll keep you around.” 

  I stare at him. My heart races in my throat. “I need to go… um… I… I need time to make your tonic. Its not something I can do in an hour and I still need to sleep so…”

    I climb off the bed and take a few steps towards the door. “I’ll allow it.” He says in a cool voice, surprising me to a stop. “On the condition that you spend a part of your days in my company.” I turn and look at him, and sure enough, he’s serious. “And remember, I can make everyone’s life hell if I wanted.” • • •   The last few weeks pass by surprisingly not as painfully as I had imagined. Dr. Devorak was, of course, not too thrilled with me not being able to work nearly as much, but was relieved to know the Count wouldn’t bother them nearly as often. Lucio, himself, has been a lot more pleasant than I’ve been warned about. Every visit, I’m greeted with a gift that he won’t let me refuse. Necklaces, clothing, figurines, even went so far as to find the largest crystal I have ever seen. He also has kept true to his word, replacing the herbs, oils, and juices I need for his tonic. I’ve come to actually laugh around him and finding we have more in common than I could have imaged. 

   He’s still pretty fickle. He continues to watch me intently when I stand from the bed. Every time he compliments me, its always about him. And whenever I catch him opening up, he snaps a little. I really can’t help but wonder where it all came from. Why is he angry and distrusting? I may never know, but I do know I may be enjoying my time though I’ll never say it.

    I find myself walking a little faster today, arriving at his door far too soon for my liking. I take a moment to ground myself before knocking. After being called in, I walk through and to the bed where an intricate and cat shape crystal rests on my normal seat. I hold it in my hands, feeling a good deal of energy radiating from it. Slowly, I take my seat and look at him. “You really don’t have to keep doing this…” I look back down, feeling my chest swell with warmth. “It’s so beautiful… Thank you.”    He smiles, not even bothering to hide the cockiness of his pride. “It’s the least I could do for everything you do.” 

  I shake my head, closing my eyes to keep from rolling them. I can’t fathom how this is nothing to him. “Still. Where do you even find these things? I mean…” I stare at the fine details on the moonstone cat. “I could travel for months and may never find something like this.” 

  Lucio, who seems all to happy to boast, straightens up a bit, puffing out his chest. “Let’s just say I know a lot of people and I am very persuasive.” He winks at me and I fight back the burning in my cheeks. Persuasive indeed. I stare at the stone, admiring the magic emanating from its core. “I don’t get it.” He says, bringing me back into the moment. “Why are you here?” 

   I look at him, dumbfounded. “I… volunteered?”   He shakes his head, slightly annoyed. “Yeah, but why? You and your magic could be revered. Feared even. Play your cards right and you could rule countries! Why waste your time in a disease ridden dungeon?”

    I feel my chest start to tighten. I close my eyes and fight back any sliver of a memory of Greece. Of Sparta and my parents. “Maybe I don’t want that…” I rest my head in my hand and take a few breaths before looking back at him. “I’ve hurt people before. And I hate that I did that. So I want to help make other peoples live easier. People are dropping like flies because of this plague. How could I not help?”

    His eyes scrunch together. Again, I can’t read his expression. He looks either confused, worried, or in contemplation. “How do you mean? You don’t seem like the type.”

    Surprisingly, I smile a little. “Well, thank you… I think.” I look down at my hands, tangled over each other. “Look, I have been open and honest to you about everything. And I appreciate your patience, but… uh… there’s one part of my life no one will know about. Not Asra, my dad, even you, sir.” I look back at him. “This is the one thing I’ll beg you not to push.”

    I can see in the shape of his eyes he’s not happy with that. However, his mouth remains soft as he nods. “Is there anything you can tell me?”

    I stare at him for a bit. Why the hell does he care? Of what significance am  I to him? I sigh. “Back in Greece, my parents forced me into something bad. I left, which lead to worse things. I got on a boat to anywhere and ended up here. I gave myself a new name and made more horrible decisions that I already mentioned, kind of.”

    He stares at me for a while. His face is soft and quiet. “Understood…” He takes one of my hands, bringing it to his lips, chapped yet somehow still soft and warm. “I’m glad you left then.” 

   I use every ounce of strength to fight off the butterflies he’s given me. I try to tell my heart to calm down with little success. I compose myself enough to raise my eye at him. “Aren’t you a married man, sir?”

   He looks at my hand to avoid eye contact and shrugs. “Its merely a business arrangement if anything else.” 

   My eyes narrow as I tilt my head. “I get that. But you mean to tell me you married her and slept with her and shared a palace together, and you never felt love for her?” 

  He blinks at me. “I… well…” He fumbles to answer my unexpected question. His face hardens a little. “Perhaps there was a time. A short and fleeting time, but maybe. We both knew what this was going to be.” 

   I want to ask more, but he’s been really respectful of my wishes. I just nod. I swear I almost see sadness in his stone eyes. I look down to his hands and lift one to my lips. His skin is slightly clammy, a sad reminder of why I’m here. “It may not make a difference to you, but from what I’ve seen, you deserve to have someone care about you.” 

   He looks at me as if I had three heads. “Why would you say that?” He looks at me bewildered. Confusion stains he’s eyes. His lips form an almost perfect snarl. He straightens up and leans forwards towards me, his reddened eyes staring into mine, I can almost see a war inside of them. “Everything you heard about me is true. What would you know about what I deserve?”

    I know he’s trying to scare me. And its almost working. I am unsure what the mood change came from, but, whether I was ready for it or not, I’m invested. “Maybe. And I’m sure you deserve a lot. But… no one deserves this.” Carefully, I reach my thumb to his cheeks, feeling him shiver at my touch. “Especially alone.”

    Something in him snaps. His human hand reaches for the back of my head as he closes the distance between us. Our lips collide with a fevered passion. His claw gently cups my cheek. My brain screams a hundred reasons to leave right now, this is wrong, he’s up to something, he has the plague. Yet the electricity in my veins are completely drawn to him. My heart beats erratically as we deepen the kiss. My hand glides slowly up his chest an into his hair, a bit stiff from remaining bed ridden. I fearfully feel myself melt under the power of his touch. It terrifies me that I’m defenseless in his arms.

   We feed off each others breath as we pull ourselves closer. His metal hand trails over my chest and down my back. Our tongues start to dance as the heart stopping thud of his door knocking echoes in my ears. We pull apart as quickly as we collided just before Dr. Devorak strolls in for Lucio’s nightly check up. My heart beats with such an intense speed, my blood tells me to just leave. With my face still flushed, I put on my best smile and reach for his tonic. “Looks like my cue to leave…” I said in a frantic voice and hand him the bottle. “I’ll… I’ll be by tomorrow. Good night!” 

   I turn before I can see their reactions and scurry out the door before they could respond. I freeze as soon as the doors close behind me. My stomach drops as I try to wrap my head around the kiss. Gods, why do I feel like an idiot? After a moment or two and my heart has calmed, I started my walk back home, and tried to ready my mind for whatever is to happen over the next few days. • • •   I tried to set boundaries yesterday. I knew this had gotten too far. He’s my patient. He’s married. He’s the count. I needed restraint, which made his lips all the more intoxicating as he held me in his arms. For hours, we had stolen kisses and laughter. It was the one day his smile never lost its warmth. The aura around him was like a summers day at the beach. 

   I have to fight my own bubbling smile as I skipped over to his room. As I was about to knock, I am able to hear barking coughs and my heart sinks into my stomach. I rush in without a second thought and find Lucio curled under the covers, sweating and furiously shivering. I drop my bag and run to his side, placing my wrist over his head. His skin is damp and hot.

    His coughing gets progressively more intense, blood appearing across his mouth and slowly trickles down his face. I press my hand on his neck and try with all of my might to soothe his that through the spastic movements of his head and chest. I start to panic seeing my attempts doing little to help. My face runs cold and my eyes widen. “Okay… I’m getting you medicine...” My voice is barely a whisper as I sprint out the room and into the dungeons, desperation ringing in my voice as I demanded something to break his fever. I don’t even thank them before racing back to his side, feeding him the medicine. I go to wet a wash cloth and place it over his pale forehead.

    After about an hour, his shaking has calmed and he’s able to breathe with less complications. Dr. Devorak has already come in to check up on him. We both share a look. He’s getting worse and he needs rest. As soon as he leaves, I walk back to the bed side, my heart twisted into unknown shapes. He lays on his back, his eyes barely able to look at me. I gently comb my fingers in his now dampened hair. “Hey.” I say with a strained voice and a weak smile. “I’m going to let you rest, okay? I’ll be back tomorrow.”

    He grabs my hand as I start to turn. “No, please.” His hoarse voice shatters my ears with his plea. I don’t think he’s ever utter that word to me before. “Stay with me… I… I can’t be alone.” I just barely keep myself from trembling as I turn back to him. Fear drowns out any bit of color in his face. Tears start to well in his eyes as his breath gets shakier.

    I should go. I need to go. Yet my fingers wrap around his as my feet climb on to the bed to lie down next to him. I watch him fidget as he tries to get comfortable around his metal arm. “Why don’t you take that off. You’ll sleep easier.” To my surprise, he nods and removes it without a word or hesitation. He places it aside, a dead yet frightful look etched across his face. He lays back down and wraps his arm around me. I hold his head close to my chest, hoping the beating of my heart could lull him into comfort. For hours I hold him like this, not moving even as tears, sweat and blood filled mucous begin to dry on my chest. He eventually softens his breathing, finally sleeping.

    A  large, pulsating lump in my chest starts to scream at me. I quietly sob and tighten my embrace. I shed tears for the both of us. For the nights he’s spent afraid and in pain. For every time someone should have told him he wad loved. For everything lost, or will be lost. I cry for doing this to myself, for putting myself in this situation. I cry until my eyes close and the darkness snuffs out any remaining thought. 

  When I wake up, a dull pain takes over my chest, causing me to cough a little. I sit up, looking down at the stains on my skin and clothing. The spot next to me resides Lucio, sleeping deeply, but pained. I shake my head and look up, closing my eye. I take a sharp breath and carefully get out of the bed. I stretch my arms out and muffle another cough. I look to my side towards his nightstand. I tilt my head upon seeing an older book resting on it. Odd. I didn’t take him as the reading type. I pick it up, curious as to what he’s been interested in. On the cover, a strangely familiar symbol is engraved. The meaning is on the tip of my tongue, but the words escape me.  

  I flip through the pages, my face knitting further together. Spells? Rituals? The arcana? What the hell? I thought he didn’t trust magic. I continue to scour through the book, my throat becoming more dry and itchy, until I stop at a book marked page. Ice shoots through my veins like glass arrows. 

Connecting with an Arcana as a magician

  My breathing starts to quicken, only for me to begin a fit of coughs. For what felt like minutes, I struggled to inhale as my lungs forced my own breaths out into my hand, leaving no mercy. I nearly double over in fear and pain. As I feel my body relax and my throat starts to only throb, I look down at my hands, tinged red with the blood draining down my throat. 

  I barely have time to form a thought when I hear rustling from beside me. I look up, finding Lucio staring at me. His eyes wide and his mouth open. A fire starts behind my skin as I glower at him. He tries to speak, but his voice is silenced by the torn flesh in his throat. “No…” I say to him in a low voice. “You made a fool out of me. You were kind to me. You had me believe there was something good in you…” My voice rises frigidly. “I cared about you! I gave you my time and my magic and this is the thanks I get? You buttering me up to use me? I trusted you and you spat it in my face. And now I’m going to die because of you!” He stands up. I flinch away as he tries to touch me. “Don’t.” I step closer to him, our faces inches apart. “You are nothing. You will die alone and scared and in pain. My only regret is not being there to see it.” 

   I turn and storm towards the door. My blood rushes in my ears as my breaths get shallower. The last thing I hear is his last, forced attempt to atop me. “Please…” His voice was small and distorted. It sand in my mind as I slam the door behind me. I pace down the hall, making it half way before I have to catch my breath. The white fire burn as I cough keeps me from thinking this is all just a bad dream. I look down at my body and my hand, shaking from the frays of my nerves. 

   I continue to walk to the dungeons with my head hung over my chest. A guard stops me. “Authorized personnel only, miss.” He looks down to my chest. “Ma'am, is everything okay?” 

  I shake my head weakly. “Please get Dr. Devorak…” I whisper. He nods and quickly moves to grab the doctor.   Soon enough, he stands in front of me. I finally muster the energy to look up. “Dear gods…” he exclaims upon seeing me. “What the hell happened?”   

 Tears start to fill my eyes as I feel the words bubble in my mouth. “Looks like you have another patient to research on, doctor…”

[callboxkat]

Infinitesimal: The Elder Brother

Author’s note: I wanted to offer more insight into Virgil’s and Emile’s past and their relationship before meeting Patton--particularly, Emile’s motivations. Hopefully, this accomplishes that. It includes spoilers for part 15 of Infinitesimal (chapter 17 on Ao3), Sharing is Caring. Please heed the warnings!

Summary: The story of how Virgil lost his tail, told from Emile’s perspective. 

Warnings:  blood (seriously), fighting, illness, injuries, fear, death mentions, guilt, and a very bad cat

Word count: 3370

Infinitesimal Masterpost! 

Writing Masterpost! 

Ao3 Link

...

“So, are we ready to go?” Emile asked, sliding a pin into his belt. It never hurt to have some extra protection. He glanced around once more, just to be sure he had everything.

“Yeah, yeah,” Virgil said, tying a water pouch around his waist. He had a bag over his shoulder, like Emile, but unlike Emile, he had a string looped numerous times around his torso, meant to keep the crutches he used to walk pinned against his back when they needed to climb.

“I thought you’d be more excited,” Emile teased. “It’s not often we go to the seventh floor.”

Virgil shrugged. “It’s still work.” He paused. “Thanks for letting me come, though,” he said quickly. “It’s nice to stretch my legs.”

It had taken Emile a while to warm up to the idea of letting Virgil rejoin him on their supply runs, after what had happened to Virgil’s foot. But Virgil had made a lot of progress navigating on his crutches, even as it became clearer and clearer that his foot would never fully heal. As Virgil argued, he was now faster on the crutches than he had often been before he’d ever broken his foot. It was true that it had been slightly deformed ever since Virgil was born, and he’d had difficulty walking for long periods of time. The crutches took away that problem.

If breaking your foot had any upsides, Emile figured, that would be it.

Regardless, it was no wonder that Virgil had worn him down, Emile thought, looking at his baby brother. Especially with how persistent he could be. Even now, Emile didn’t let him come every time, but the occasions that he did bring Virgil with were growing more and more frequent.

“Sure,” Emile said. “It’ll be fun, having you there.”

“So, what all are we getting, anyway?”

Emile laughed, gesturing for Virgil to go ahead of him. “I only told you twice already.”

Virgil was conspicuously silent. Emile suspected he hadn’t been listening earlier.

Emile just smiled, turned off the light, and strode after Virgil into the tunnel. “We need to get some more lights, since these are probably going to start burning out soon; so that’s why we’re going to the seventh floor. That, and I also want to see if I can get some of that yarn she has. And while we’re there we can get some food before we start working our way back.”

“…like those strawberry candies?”

The old lady who lived on the seventh floor had a container of candy, which she usually refilled if she expected her grandchildren to visit her soon. Virgil’s favorite among them was a hard candy with a wrapper that made it look like a strawberry.

“If she has them,” Emile said. “And only if it’s safe to get them.”

“Cool.”

Emile couldn’t see Virgil’s face, but he knew his brother well enough to know he was grinning.

“After that, we can pick up some food in the apartments we pass on the way home. I figure that’s easier than stopping along the way up and then having to carry it all with us.”

Virgil nodded, not saying anything.

“Whatever we get’ll depend on what’s available, obviously,” Emile continued. “And how much room we have in our bags. So, we’ll see.”

…

 “Okay, wait here a second,” Emile said, working open the door that led into the apartment. He crept forward, glancing back once to make sure Virgil had done as he asked.

It was quiet, which was good, and what Emile had expected to find. It had to be past midnight by now, and the old woman was the sort to turn in for the night early. Emile would have been surprised to find her still awake.

He crept out a few inches, crouching, just to be sure she wasn’t around. There had been one or two occasions in the past where the woman had fallen asleep in her favorite chair in the living room; and Emile didn’t want any surprises, especially with his brother there.

“Em,” a voice hissed. Emile glanced back to where Virgil stood just within the doorway, waiting. He held up one finger. Just one second.

Virgil nodded, and Emile crept further out, looking around. Once he was far enough to see into the living room, he stopped, peering into the dark at the woman’s chair. Empty.

He glanced once more around the kitchen before he turned back to his brother and beckoned him forward. He heard the soft, even tap of Virgil’s crutches on the tile floor as he approached. Even muffled by the bits of fabric tied over the ends, they were louder than Emile would prefer, which was part of the reason why he wanted to be doubly sure that they were alone.

…

“Oh, shoot!”

Emile glanced up from where he sat, organizing the supplies in their bags. Everything had gone well in the apartment, and they’d collected everything they came for. The light bulbs, some wire, some food, and even the yarn. At least, Emile thought they had.

“What?”

“The candy,” Virgil explained, gesturing back out into the apartment, towards the kitchen counter where the tin they were kept in sat. “I almost forgot!”

Emile bit his lip, considering. “Okay, give me a few minutes and I’ll go get it.”

“I can do it,” Virgil said.

“Virge….”

“Come on, it’s one piece of candy. I’ll just go over there and be back before you’re even done with this.”

Emile looked at him for a long second. Virgil stared back, hopeful, pleading, insistent. Confident in his abilities. Emile sighed, giving in. “Okay. But be careful.”

Virgil grinned his crooked grin, turned around, and walked back into the apartment.

Emile went back to packing, making sure everything was secure and that there wasn’t any wasted space in the bags. The more they could bring home on their trip, the better, since it would mean they could wait longer before needing to go out again.

Several long minutes passed. Emile was starting to grow antsy, but he reminded himself that Virgil couldn’t move as fast as he could, and there was no reason to assume anything more was keeping him. So he kept packing.

He had just fastened the button on his bag when he heard the scream.

“EMILE!! Help!”

Emile was instantly on his feet, running before his mind could catch up with his body.

The sight that met him when he emerged from the wall would be forever burned in his memory.

An enormous cat, with gray-white fur and a face that looked like it had been rammed into the wall one too many times, stood in the middle of the kitchen floor. Its yellow eyes, flashing in the darkness, were locked onto something at its feet.

Virgil.

“HEY!” Emile yelled, hardly caring at this point if he woke the human.

It wouldn’t matter. Not if he lost his baby brother.

He ran forward, pulling out his knife so fast that he caught his palm on the blade. He switched it to his other hand without a thought, not slowing down even as the cat’s eyes lifted and locked onto him.

Virgil took the opportunity to scramble backwards. One of his crutches was lying broken on the floor more than a foot away from Virgil lay, where the cat must have dragged him. Now, he brandished his remaining crutch as if to ward off his attacker. He was panting, pale, but very much alive.

The cat, despite Emile’s yelling, didn’t seem overly interested in leaving its prey. As he ran, trying to get to his brother before it was too late, the cat reached over and batted at Virgil with a paw. Emile’s baby brother cried out in terror as he was bowled over.

The cat was playing with him.

“Let him go!” Emile grabbed a piece of the broken crutch as he ran past and threw it, hitting the cat in the eye with a lucky shot. It hissed at Emile, pausing to swipe a paw in his direction. Emile scrambled out of the way, twisting his ankle in the process.

As Emile struggled back to his feet, the cat pounced, jaws snapping. Virgil rolled just in time to avoid being bitten in half, but not far enough.

The cat’s jaws closed on his tail.

Virgil let out a strangled sound and grabbed onto his tail, trying to pull it away from the cat. A few sections slid back out, streaked with blood, but the cat bit down harder, and Virgil shrieked.

The cat tugged harshly, making Virgil slide across the floor until he found a foothold in the grout between two tiles.

Emile ran forward. “NO!”

Too late.

There was an audible snap, like a rubber band pulled too taut. The worst sound Emile had ever heard.

Virgil collapsed.

The next thing Emile knew, he was in the cat’s face, standing over his brother, slashing his knife across the ugly thing’s nose. It reared back, hissing, blood beginning to drip down its face and mat in its fur.

The cat slashed a paw at Emile and knocked the knife from his hand. He went down for only a fraction of a second, blinking away stars, not even feeling the pain, and scrabbled for the pin at his side. He yanked it free and held it aloft like a sword.

For what could have been either an eternity or only a few seconds, he fought, stabbing and slashing whenever the cat dared come close. Eventually, it drew back and began pacing from side to side, hissing with its hackles raised, watching Emile.

It tried one more time to approach, but Emile was ready. He stabbed his pin into its side as hard as he could. It sunk in far enough that he couldn’t pull it back out.

The cat yowled in pain and scrambled away.

Emile took the opportunity to seize his brother under the arms, trying not to think about the pool of blood he lay in, the pallor of his skin, the fact that he couldn’t tell if he was even breathing. He dragged him backwards towards the entrance to the walls as fast as he could, panting heavily, shaking with adrenaline, just waiting for the cat to return.

Which of course, it did, as soon as it noticed its prey escaping.

It bounded towards them, furious, teeth bared. The roaring in Emile’s ears was so loud that he couldn’t hear its hissing. He dragged Virgil even faster, faster than Emile had known he could move.

Emile made it through the entrance and shoved the both of them to the side just as an enormous paw slammed through the opening in the wall. Emile scrambled away, pulling Virgil along with him. His eyes fell on his hook and rope, lying discarded on the ground, and he snatched them, driving the sharpened point of the hook into the cat’s leg with all of his strength.

Another shriek, and the cat was gone. Somewhere else in the apartment, a human voice called out, but Emile couldn’t have cared less.

He tossed the bloody hook to the side and hurried back to his brother, already yanking off his shirt. He pressed that to the gaping wound on Virgil’s tail, feeling sick when he saw just how much blood there was. A shirt wasn’t going to stop this. Pinning the shirt in place with his knees, he grabbed Virgil’s knife and cut his bag off of him. He hacked off the strap of it, and then tied that around his severed tail. He had trouble tying the knot, his hands slipping on the blood.

So much blood.

“Virgil, Virge, stay with me,” he begged, knowing his baby brother couldn’t hear him. “Just stay with me. You’re going to be okay. It’s going to be okay, you hear me? Virgil? Virge, please, open your eyes. Please!”

Please, he has to be okay.

He kept the shirt pressed to Virgil’s wound, his heart pounding, staring at his brother’s pale face, his limp form.

“Please,” he said, his voice cracking, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please wake up! I can’t lose you!”

Virgil was his baby brother. His only family, his only friend. His responsibility, left to Emile after their parents had died. Emile knew that the world was dangerous, especially for a little, especially for Virgil. And Emile had sent him to get that candy, just a stupid piece of candy, alone. He’d sent him straight into that cat’s claws. It didn’t matter that Emile hadn’t known it was there. This was his fault.

If Virgil died, it was his fault.

…

“I’m going to get you home, I promise,” Emile murmured, slowly getting to his feet. He paused for a second, making sure he didn’t overbalance from the heavy weight on his back.

Virgil, his head lolled on Emile’s shoulder, didn’t answer.

Emile had gotten the bleeding from Virgil’s tail under control as best he could, using whatever he could from their supplies. But they had to get home. Emile could do more for him there. They had proper bandages—more than what they had brought on this trip, which they had turned out to be woefully unprepared for—and clean water. Emile knew that he needed to get Virgil’s wound cleaned as soon as possible.

He’d repurposed the string that Virgil usually used to secure his crutches, the rope from his hook, and the strap from his own bag to keep Virgil on his back. He’d be able to hold onto Virgil’s legs in the sections of the tunnel where he could walk level, but most of the trip involved climbing. He wanted to be absolutely certain that Virgil would not fall.

Emile reached back a hand and laid it against Virgil’s cheek, just to reassure himself that Virgil was still breathing. He felt a soft exhale against his hand, and his knees went weak with relief.

“Okay. Okay. You’re okay. Let’s go, baby brother,” Emile said, not bothering to wipe at his eyes, tears slowly sliding down his cheeks as he began to walk.

He went as quickly as he dared, climbing down through the walls, hurrying through the tunnels. Virgil never made a sound, even as Emile talked to him, begged him to wake up, to hold on.

By some miracle, they made it home.

Emile hurried inside and laid Virgil down on the floor, grabbing a blanket at random to bundle under his head, and another to elevate his tail in an attempt to slow the bleeding. He un-bandaged and cleaned the wound, swallowing his nausea at the sight of it, before bandaging it back up again more securely.

Once that was done, he hurried to Virgil’s head and checked for the hundredth time that he was still breathing—it was shallow, but he was—and started cleaning the blood off of him. He was covered in it, soaking his clothes, matting in his hair, smeared across his cheek. There was only so much he could do.

By that point, the adrenaline was wearing off, and Emile was starting to feel some of the pain from his own injuries. He hadn’t gotten away unscathed, of course, fighting off an entire cat. He was growing dizzy, probably from blood loss and the shock of what had happened. Still, he waited until he’d made Virgil as comfortable as he could manage before finally tending to his own wounds.

In addition to the slice in his palm from the knife, there were few slashes on his arms and chest, a couple of them rather deep. Emile couldn’t have said for certain exactly when in the fight he’d gotten them. He stayed at Virgil’s side, keeping a watchful eye on his brother as he cleaned and bandaged them. He also wrapped up his twisted ankle, which was so swollen by that point that he couldn’t tell whether it was broken or just badly sprained.

Finally, when all was said and done, Emile sat there in the dark; and he put his head in his hands and cried.

…

The next three days were some of the worst of Emile’s life.

Virgil looked so vulnerable, lying there in the blankets, his skin paler than Emile had ever seen it. The shadows around his eyes stood out like stark bruises, his dark hair tangled and pasted to his forehead with sweat.

On the second day, when Virgil did stir, he was trapped in a nightmarish delirium, thrashing and crying out nonsense. He was burning up, his skin sweaty and hot to the touch, and Emile didn’t know how to help him. He didn’t have medicine; he couldn’t leave Virgil long enough to get any; and he wouldn’t know what or how much to give him, anyway.

He did what he could, cleaning and re-bandaging his wound and trying to keep him comfortable, but whenever he tried to comfort Virgil during one of his nightmares, he didn’t seem to even know Emile was there. It broke his heart to see his brother that way.

“You can do it, V, you can,” Emile whispered, dabbing a damp cloth along Virgil’s sweaty brow. “You’re so strong. I know you’ll be okay.”

As much as Emile wanted to believe those words, he honestly thought that his brother was going to die. He thought that he had utterly failed as an older brother, and he would lose the most important person in his life. The only person in his life.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then carefully propped up his brother, who moaned at being moved. “Sorry, sorry,” Emile whispered, picking up a cup of water at his side. He pressed it to his brother’s lips. “Can you drink some of this for me? Just a sip?”

He trickled some water into Virgil’s mouth. Virgil coughed, water dripping down his chin, but then his eyelids fluttered, and he swallowed.

“That’s it,” Emile said, “That’s it. Good job. One more sip. There you go.” He set the cup to the side and gently laid his brother down again.

Emile bent over and pressed his forehead to Virgil’s. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I love you so much. We never say that enough, but it’s true. I love you, I love you, I love you. Please, come back to me. Please come back to me, Virgil.”

Emile never let his brother out of his sight, practically glued to his side, just in case something changed. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, could barely stomach more than a few sips of water, he was so stressed.

On the evening of the third day, Virgil’s fever finally broke. When Emile pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and found that he’d cooled to a more normal temperature, he started crying all over again. He’d been crying a lot recently.

Virgil stirred at the sound. “Emile?” his weak voice croaked.

Emile froze, going still, then quickly wiped at his tears. “Virge? Virge, can you hear me?”

“Hurts,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering half open. “What…? Wh-where…?”

Emile couldn’t answer, not yet. He just let out a sob and held his brother close, careful not to hurt him, crying, apologizing, promising over and over that he’d never let anything hurt Virgil ever again

Virgil’s arm came up and rested weakly against Emile’s back, and Emile cried in relief that the world hadn’t taken his baby brother away from him.

…

It was a long and slow recovery, but Virgil did recover. What remained of his tail healed; and while it would of course never grow back, he adapted just as he always did; and if Emile didn’t know any better, he might have believed that Virgil had always had only half of his tail.

One blessing through it all was that Virgil didn’t remember what had happened. Emile wouldn’t wish that horrible memory on him.

Emile did tell him about the cat, about the supply run gone wrong. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell him about what exactly had happened. About how it had all been Emile’s fault.

But Emile remembered. He would always remember.

[hadestownmodern]

Eurydice fakes sick to get out of work

So I saw this picture and nearly fainted-here’s some content

              The night is dark; a frigid cold coming about just at the turn from November into December, a swift and sudden barrage of sharp breezes that has Eurydice bundled twice as much as she would have been just days before. The old coat she crosses her arms over does not belong to her-no, the vintage, nearly knee-length camel colored garment is one she’d taken from Orpheus this morning, unprepared for the dip in temperature and needing to make it to work without stopping at her own now unfamiliar apartment. He’d taken it from the closet, wrapped her in it insistently and kissed her goodbye. He always watched her walk down the hall until she was no longer visible. That morning, she’d turned and come back, stood on her toes and kissed him breathless. There’s a feeling of newness shrouded in familiarity-in wondering exactly when this love wasn’t a part of her life. In Orpheus, Eurydice feels a sense of comfort she’d never felt before.

              Feigning sickness to leave work early was just a piece of that comfort she intended to give back.

              He’d done a few shows since Thanksgiving; he’s a favorite of the bar, the prodigy child that grew up wiping tables and singing fanciful, made-up songs to patrons that still frequent the place to this day. Eurydice had regretfully missed them; working, always working, having to say no when he casually mentioned he was playing another show. This time, when he’d mentioned playing at the bar again, her mind began whirring with a devised plan. She’d held her stomach while folding shirts, put on her best groggy face while ringing up customers. Her feigned illness had even come with a bout of real nausea-brought on by anxiety, she’d been sure as she wiped her mouth and pumped her fist as her boss told her to go home from the outside of the bathroom.

              She’d never rushed out of this retail job faster.

              Eurydice shivers against the cold before opening the door of the bar, making a quick scan of the room. It seems like she’s just on time-from above the heads of the waiting patrons, Eurydice can see Orpheus, bent over and back turned toward her, on the stage. She shuffles quickly to the bar, where Persephone’s eyes light.

              “Well, would you look at that-She finally doesn’t have to work.” Eurydice grins wickedly, shrugging her jacket off and accepting a glass of wine gratefully.

              “I snuck out,” she puts one finger to her lip, laughing to herself. “Don’t tell my boss I’m here, she thinks I have a stomach bug.”

              “Eurydice.”

              Persephone teases, shaking her head at her before tapping her finger lightly on the bar, gesturing to Eurydice and winking. The bartender seems to understand this wordless request, knowing Eurydice’s face from the free time between work and classes she’d spent sitting at the counter pretending to study, keeping Orpheus company on slow days. She’s rewarded with a basket of fries, still steaming, and a shaker of seasoning salt to accompany them. She thanks both the bartender and Persephone before turning her attention back to the stage. Orpheus is still working, presumably setting up whatever small machine is on the floor of the stage. He hums appreciatively as he strums each string of his guitar, with the same tilt in his head she’s seen in each phase of his concentration.

              The spark in his eyes when he finally catches sight of her lights the entire room-she swears she can see it-feel it in the way the crowd smiles at him, some laughing, as he gives her a delighted wave. He brings his hand to the mic and takes a quick breath, stammering, reddened cheeks lifted in a wide grin.

              “I thought you had to work!” He shifts from foot to foot, bursting with anxious excitement. She laughs, waves and raises her glass to him.

              “I pulled a few strings.” It’s all she needs to say now; he fumbles with his guitar for a second, pushes it out of his way for a moment and gesturing to her.

              “Eurydice’s here-I’m going to go on with the show but I just need to say-I just think she’s one of the most brilliant, wonderful people I have ever met. I really-I just think I’m so lucky to have her.”

              She’s still beaming, blushing like a middle school girl with a crush as he dives into his setlist, beginning with an older song of his he’d been practicing a few nights ago, making sure he’d remembered the lyrics. She’s turned completely in her stool, one elbow leaned on the bar, staring dumbfounded as Orpheus plays. He works the crowd, cracking jokes and asking them to sing along with the chorus “I know that you know this-if you came here when I had that stupid little tissue box guitar, you know this song.”

              She laughs along with his quips, sips her wine and rolls her eyes when Persephone teases her for her inability to focus on anything other than him.

              “He’s not going anywhere, you know.”

              “I know.” There’s another meaning there-a solidified feeling of truth as she answers Persephone, watches Orpheus look over at her again and smile his goofy, sideways sort of smile as his entire body plays. When the song is over the audience cheers-Eurydice even hollers, a noise she hadn’t even been sure had come from her own body. He stumbles over his thank-you; humble, soft. He plucks each string of his guitar again, one ear turned to the sound as he shakes his hair from his eyes.

              “This next one, it was kind of long to write but at the same time, it basically wrote itself.” The audience laughs again, Orpheus stopping to sip water and laugh along with them. “Maybe that wasn’t-no, that makes sense. I had this assignment before winter break to write an original piece-the guidelines weren’t anything too strict, honestly, but I really struggled with it for a while. I just couldn’t get out something I was proud of. So then one day I decide to go somewhere new, and I’m in this coffee shop-I don’t even drink coffee, Mr. Hermes always said the caffeine was bad for me and after trying it?” The audience laughs then, turning to Hermes, who sits near the stage shaking his head in teasing disapproval.

              “Anyway-I’m in this coffee shop and there’s this girl sitting in the corner. She has like, twenty books open on this massive table I realize she made herself. She basically made herself a full barricade. And she has three empty mugs, and she’s cross-legged up on this bench just buried in this book. And I can’t even see her eyes but this whole melody pops into my head the second I see her. I’m not kidding-I know it sounds like I’m over exaggerating the situation but I swear to you, it was the whole leading melody. And then I get this drink that’s-it’s not terrible, but it’s not really great- and I sit and write down what I have, and then I’m coming to this stupid coffee shop multiple times a week just waiting to get some form of courage to talk to her. And then, she shows up at Thanksgiving-that’s a long story for another day-and then I have this song written in a night. And long story short, I ended up getting an A on this song after all the stress, and now the girl from the coffee shop is Eurydice, and I’m still wondering how the hell I got this lucky.”

              Eurydice laughs at herself as she wipes tears from her eyes-nods her head at Orpheus and mouths a soft love you; the first she’s ever said. He nearly knocks the mic over, processes the words he’d seen over in his head and says them back, right over the speaker, his voice slightly higher in pitch. It’s a pain for him to move his eyes from hers; he barely does, only to spare occasional glances at the crowd. He could have been playing in his apartment, the way everything else seems to push itself aside for them. She can barely breathe, but it is not a painful sensation. Rather, Eurydice finds her breathing to be more slow, less necessary with his eyes on her and his sweet falsetto singing. She can barely feel the ghost of Persephone’s hand on her shoulder, handing her a napkin to wipe her eyes. He plays with a concentrated passion, with his entire body instead of just his hands. As he sings it’s as if the entire room is invited into this story, this song of soft, sweet love that had come on so soon, had hit so fiercely. If she hadn’t already had these feelings for Orpheus Eurydice is sure she’d have fallen after the first note of this song.

              When he’s finished there is a brief moment of silence-a few seconds Eurydice later turns into a full minute-maybe even two-as she recounts the story. She swears by the power of the song, one she thanks him for profusely. The rest of the show goes off without a hitch, Eurydice entranced and Persephone making jests in her ear about picking her jaw up off of the floor, or having another drink. She can barely wait to see him when he finishes his last song, chats with patrons who surround the stage as he packs up his instruments. Persephone keeps her at the bar, orders another round of fries and tells her this might take a while.

              She’s right.

              Orpheus, her lanky, clumsy Orpheus, sits on the edge of the stage and high fives a group of older men. There’s a circle of people, all of whom seem to hang on his words, fix themselves to their importance. Eurydice watches; his smile, his charisma. He seems to be further in his element here than she’s seen him, relaxed and waving to those that make their way for the door, knowing everyone by name. Eurydice kicks her legs on the stool, waiting impatiently. When he looks her way, catches her waving, he gathers himself from the stage and waves goodbye to his company.

              She’s barely off her stool before Orpheus has her wrapped in his arms, kissing her lips gently. She laughs, touches her forehead to his before Persephone clears her throat. Orpheus pulls away instantly, grinning, and holds Eurydice at arms’ length, staring at her with the same sort of wide-eyed wonder he had since Thanksgiving.

              “You came!”

              “Yeah, I was really sick, so I had to leave work.” His eyebrows crinkle in confusion for a moment, just long enough for Persephone to touch her palm to her face and Eurydice to giggle. “I’m kidding, Orpheus. I faked sick so I could leave early.”

              “You faked sick?”

              “I did.” Eurydice nods, proud, and Orpheus pulls her into another hug. This time it’s tight, satisfying; he doesn’t want to let her go, doesn’t want to feel his arms empty of the feeling of her within them. Persephone gets their attention again, tapping Eurydice’s back and gesturing to her phone. Eurydice pushes her body as close to Orpheus as possible, nearly knocking him over as he holds her. The young couple faces the camera and Persephone lets out an exaggerated, teasing sigh as she looks at them. Eurydice glows, opens her mouth and presses her head against Orpheus’s chest, content. Orpheus, giddy from the feeling of Eurydice’s pride in him and her head on his chest, rests his head against hers.

              “I’m going to send this to your boss!” Persephone jokes as she snaps the picture-then doubles over as she looks at the final frame. Orpheus’s face is contorted in one of forced pity, an attempt to cover the wide smile that had been on his face before. “What the hell is this face?” She laughs.

              “Hey, I was just trying to make her boss believe her.”

              “Yeah, your forced frown isn’t helping anything.” Eurydice pats his cheek, grabs Persephone’s phone and looks lovingly at the still frame before sending it to herself.

              “You know what?” Eurydice grabs hold of his arm, watches Persephone make her way to the door as she leads him to his own apartment. Orpheus looks down at her-warmth, light-and she stops in her tracks to kiss him once more. “I love you.”

[bcbdrums]

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13577191/4/The-Little-Ones

A little Drakgo one-shot.  Trying to get back my creativity bug.

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

The Cure

Shego wore one of Drakken's blue t-shirts but had foregone pajama pants. She had the bedspread pulled up to her waist as she lay on her side in the massive round bed. She had played music earlier from the sound system Drakken had built into the headboard in an attempt to relax, but it ended up irritating her more than helping.

She set a hand over her stomach as it rolled and churned. The ill feeling was getting worse, and she had failed to find any activity or medication, chemical or homeopathic, that would help. She was sure the ginger only had a placebo effect, as she still had to run to the toilet with the risk of vomiting every time she tried to get out of bed.

She felt the almost imperceptible swell in her abdomen and wondered again if she was really feeling the baby growing, or if it was still too early and it was just in her mind. She could barely eat anymore, so she knew for sure any bump was definitely not her stomach digesting a meal.

Behind her she heard the door slide open, and a familiar too-quick step entered the room. She listened to the equally-familiar undoing of buttons and the tossing of faux-leather aside as Drakken removed his lab coat. And then she heard him kick off his shoes and start on his belt buckle. She frowned and lifted her eyes to the clock in the headboard. It was just short of noon.

A minute later she felt the mattress dip as Drakken crawled onto the bed and moved behind her. He gently pushed her hair away and kissed the back of her neck. Her brow rose. So that's why he was coming to bed at lunch time...

She took a deep breath. "No."

He hesitated for the briefest moment, but continued kissing her neck. His hand moved around her waist and slipped under hers where it lay over her abdomen.

She took another breath and sighed long before repeating, "No." Her tone was more insistent that time and he shifted nearer to her so he could move his face over hers and make eye-contact.

"Why not...?"

"Because I feel like I'm gonna throw up even when I'm not moving."

She peripherally saw his expression morph to concern and she turned her head to see him more clearly. Beneath the concern was a strong desire... She knew it well, and it hurt her to disappoint him. But she was too sick.

Drakken's brow furrowed. "You've...gotten me rather used to a routine, Shego."

Shego bit the inside of her cheek as she considered his words. She'd been almost forced to do the research and knew that libido increased in the first trimester of pregnancy. But her sex drive was insatiable. She frequently wondered if the intensity had to do with her unique biology, or if it was really just normal.

But Drakken was right; she had gotten them into a routine. He'd been a bit annoyed and tired for about the first week and a half of her predatory behavior toward him, but after that and after she explained what was going on, he rapidly got on board. And she realized suddenly that that was the first morning in weeks that they hadn't made love immediately upon waking.

She glanced at the clock again. It was eleven fifty-six, and they usually woke up a little before seven o'clock. That morning she had commandeered the bathroom to throw up several times and he'd gone straight to the lab. Considering the workout she was always giving him in the mornings—not to mention the occasional afternoons or evenings—she was impressed that he'd made it till almost noon.

"Sorry..." she said, and she meant it. His behavior made perfect sense. But she was so sick.

His hand left her abdomen to run slowly down her bare thigh, and he pressed himself against her to spoon her. His arousal was unmistakable.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Her eyes narrowed. "Yes."

He looked dismayed. He slid his hand between her thighs. "What if I just—"

Shego grabbed his hand and removed it and then turned toward him and ignited her hand. He was startled and moved away from the green glow.

"Unless you want to be cleaning barf out of your bed, you'd better get over it and get used to not having a routine anymore."

He was distinctly startled by her behavior, but he backed away with his hands slightly raised in surrender. His expression morphed rapidly from afraid to sad to frustrated. Shego looked him over in his white t-shirt and blue-and-white striped boxers. He'd clearly not expected her to say no.

She let her glow go out and sighed. "If you want, maybe I can..." She trailed off and made a particular gesture with her hand.

He shook his head. "Not the same." He spun away from her and scooted off the bed.

"What are you doing?" she called as he headed toward the bathroom.

"Cold shower," he tossed over his shoulder with an irritated expression. Her eyes narrowed again when the bathroom door closed, and she carefully rolled over to see the door more clearly as she battled the morning sickness.

"Jerk..." she muttered to herself.

He had a serious problem if he couldn't go one day without sex. But to expect her to even attempt to be intimate while she felt like death was even worse. Drakken had always had a selfish streak, but that was a new kind of low.

She wondered what she could destroy to appropriately convey her annoyance, since yelling at him wasn't really an option; it would only make her feel sicker. Just breathing made the nausea worse.

She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. It was the only place that the churning of her stomach was slightly less.

When she heard the bathroom door open awhile later, she didn't even look as Drakken silently re-dressed and left the room.

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

"Shego?"

Shego woke from her very-light sleep at the sound of his voice. And then her face pinched in irritation. If he wasn't back to apologize, she was going to set his coat on fire...

"Are you...going to get up today? It's past dinner time."

Shego opened her eyes and peered at the clock. So it was. She felt...perhaps slightly less nauseous? She tried rolling over to face him...and had to swallow down bile as a result.

"No," she gasped when the burn in her throat subsided, giving up trying to look at him. As her stomach continued to turn, her annoyance with him built back into anger. It was his fault she was so sick anyway. He was the one who had gotten her pregnant despite her birth control pills, with his ridiculous fertility... Why was he so virile at his age anyway?

She realized he wasn't saying anything else, and when she turned her head he was already on his way out the door. She blinked in surprise, but then settled her head back on the pillow and frowned in satisfaction. Clearly he had learned his lesson. But if he thought he was touching her when he came to bed that night...

A few minutes passed as she contemplated making him leave the bed altogether. They hadn't slept apart even once since they found out she was pregnant, even though she still technically had her own room. Half of her stuff had been moved into his, and the rest was still in hers. And if she was mad or needed space, sometimes she would elect to sleep in her room. But it had been many, many weeks since she'd done that...

The door sliding open again caught her attention, and she held her breath as she made the effort to slowly roll over. She could threaten him with kicking him out at least, if he was thinking about—

Her train of thought ended abruptly as she stared at a loaded tray of food Drakken was carrying. She leaned up on her elbow to watch as he carefully set it down on the bed.

"Here. Take what you want, and I'll put the rest of it away," he said.

She stared at the tray with wide eyes. There were two kinds of ice cream, a red-orange colored smoothie, a huge tray of saltine crackers and cheese, a steaming cup of tea, a bowl of watermelon chunks, and two small ramekins with one containing a full zest of lemon and the other bruised mint leaves.

"What's this...?" Shego asked.

"The smoothie is watermelon and pineapple... The tea is lemon ginger. The ice creams are...lemon-ginger-coconut, and watermelon-orange sorbet."

Shego painfully sat all the way up. "...Did you make ice cream?"

"Well...you're feeling so much worse today, and I know you said the ginger isn't helping but...maybe you just need a little more. Oh, and the mint and lemon zest are just for...uh...is it called scent-therapy?"

"Aroma therapy..."

Shego looked up at Drakken's concerned face and then back to the tray.

"I guess...I'll have the ice cream?" she said.

He lifted the bowl of lemon ginger coconut with a raised brow, and she nodded. He passed her the bowl and spoon, and then after setting the mint and lemon zest on the headboard he picked up the tray and left the bedroom.

Shego stared at his back until he was gone, and then dipped her spoon into the ice cream and took a cautious bite. It wasn't too sweet, wasn't too tart, and wasn't too rich either. He must have altered the recipe in some way so it wouldn't be too heavy. And it was delicious... And swallowing it didn't upset her stomach.

In fact, after a few slow bites her stomach started to feel better. But her heart started to hurt as she felt a bit guilty. She'd been mad because he didn't get something she'd been offering sometimes multiple times a day... And his response to her refusal, which she'd initially thought selfish, was to pamper her.

It wasn't until she had finished the ice cream and set the bowl atop the headboard that she realized Drakken wasn't back yet. After a moment of thought she understood that the clean-up from all he had done and prepared was going to take awhile. He would probably clean the whole kitchen after making two ice creams and a smoothie... And had he even eaten anything?

She lay down on her side as her stomach turned again, though less fiercely, and waited. She wanted to thank him for all he had done, and apologize for getting upset before. The scent of lemon and mint above her head further helped calm her tortured stomach, and as she continued to wait she found herself drifting off to sleep again.

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

Shego started awake at the feel of the mattress sinking behind her. Her stomach rolled and she grimaced, but a feeling of peace began breaking through the sickness as Drakken's familiar weight settled behind her in the dark.

She was surprised a few moments later when she didn't feel his arms around her as was their normal, and she slowly turned over to face him.

"You're awake?" he asked softly.

"I slept on and off most of the day."

"Oh... Right."

She watched the slight furrowing of his brow as he looked at her. His lips parted as he took a breath to speak, and then he seemed to second-guess himself. The furrowing of his brow deepened and he closed his eyes.

"Good night, Shego," he said gently.

She stared at his face in the dark. He looked concerned... She rolled her eyes at herself. Had her mild threat that morning affected him so badly?

"Drakken..." she said softly. His eyes opened in cautious question. "Kiss me?"

The worry in his eyes began to fade, and when she opened her arms to him he closed the small distance between them on the bed and slowly drew her close. She nuzzled her way into a gentle kiss, and when his lips pressed back so familiarly and lovingly against hers she knew everything was fine. More-so when his hand softly rested against her abdomen.

"You're gonna owe me for these nine months..." she said against his lips as she continued to kiss him.

"All nine?" he asked. When she pulled back to look at him she saw he was half-teasing, as was she.

"Maybe less... If you keep bringing me homemade ice cream in bed."

"Done," he agreed, and kissed her.

His hand gently rubbed her stomach, and she continued kissing him softly until his responses became tired and few. She rested her hand on the side of his head and stroked his hair until his breathing evened and he began slipping into sleep. She leaned closer to his ear to whisper.

"I hope I'll feel up to getting back into a routine soon..."

She watched as the corners of his mouth turned up, and his arm settled heavily around her. Closing her eyes, she rested her face against his and hummed in happiness.

[its-negans-lucille]

Repairs

Ships: The Mandalorian x (M/F) Reader Words: 1,910 Warnings: One curse word, Category: Romance Summary: You work as a mechanic in a small port on Tatooine, everything is quiet until one day you’re called up by your boss because a mysterious Bounty Hunter refuses to have droids work on his ship meaning you have to pick up the grunt work.

Tatooine was a dry place, not only in climate but in activity. The backwater planet was of little interest to tourists aside from petty criminals wanting to spend some credits. Those situated on the planet were not there out of choice but out of poverty, the inability to escape the heat of the two suns which seemed to beat relentlessly down on it’s populous. 

This is why it came as a surprise when your employer, a caring, albeit stern, middle aged woman of the name Peli Motto asked you to come into the landing bay on your day off. She described to you a masked bounty hunter with a distinct distrust of droids willing to pay a large sum of credits for his ship to be fixed within the day. This venom toward droids was where you came in. 

In the community you were known as a prodigy, this generation's Anakin Skywalker (whoever he was) when it came to engineering ships. As you moved through the dusty landing bay you came to understand why Peli needed more help when it came to the ship, it was obvious that the bounty hunter had gotten into a firefight on their way to your discarded planet.

“You start getting to work on the interior damage, I need to go and make sure the droids stop making such a fuss,” Peli ordered as she began walking toward a door where, indeed, a cacophony of distressed beeps and squeaks was emanating.

“You got it boss,” You replied, making your way up the exit ramp. 

As you entered the ship there was a distinct smell of fuel, the fumes filled the cabin. You pulled up the dark handkerchief which hung around your neck, usually reserved for the frequent dust storms which plagued the region. Stifling a cough, you began moving around the ship, scanning the machinery from any discernible damage. You opened a cabinet and was taken aback by the professional collection of blasters, meticulously placed with almost as much care as a collector. You brushed your calloused fingers over an imperial blaster, feeling the cold metal sting against your skin.

Before you were able to explore further, you heard a small squeak from a compartment behind you. Carefully closing the cabinet’s doors with hiss you moved cautiously toward the sound. Perhaps the fumes were getting to you, you reasoned as you stood before the compartment where the sound had emanated from. Almost subconsciously you raised your fingers to press against the button to open the compartment, despite reasoning that you were on an obviously dangerous bounty hunter’s ship and thus had no business putting your nose where it didn’t belong. Perhaps it was a quarry, gagged and tied up, trying to escape. No, you shouldn’t get involved in these matters. But no matter what your logic your brain was speaking, your gut instinct staunchly ignored it as you pressed the button and the compartment swiftly opened.

Whatever you expected it was not this.

A small creature, wrapped tightly in what resembled a sack stood watching you with large, obtrusive eyes. His head quirked to the side, it’s ears raising slightly in an inquisitive manner. Within it’s small hands it held a tiny orb, it resembled the top of a lever that one may find on a gearstick. It looked down at the object in its hands before raising it as an offering, letting out a small exuberant laugh that spoke to your very soul. It wanted to play with you.

“What’re you doing?” A low, modulated voice echoed from the entrance of the cabin.

“Fuck!” You cursed, jumping from your position and not realising that you had subconsciously leaned forward, leaving your head inside the compartment. You reached back to the throbbing pain at the tip of your skull. “Sorry, I thought you were gone,” You murmured, sheepishly as you turned to look at the man.

He was tall, his helmet threatening to touch the ceiling. His whole body was clad in a glinting metal, winking as it caught the light from outside. He appeared to be in a halo, almost an irreverent figure in the light. That was, however, until you saw that he had pulled a blaster and had it leveled at your chest.

“Friendly!” You replied swiftly, without thinking. You briskly raised your arms in a surrender, however. “I’m- I’m just your mechanic; Miss Moto said you didn’t like droids.”

“Oh,” The figure replied, though he still didn’t lower his weapon. “Step away from the kid.”

“Sure, yeah- yeah.” You moved away from the compartment but, to your horror, the small creature had latched onto your belt and was holding on. “I’m sorry-” You said helplessly as, with your hands still raised, tried moving away from the child to no avail.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you registered the click of a safety and a blaster being re-holstered. You stumbled through the ship, much like the movements of a toddler, highly aware that you were in the presence of a deadly bounty hunter but also that you had a small child clutching your hip like it was the only thing keeping it afloat in sea. The child turned out to have an iron grip as you spun around clumsily, you heard it let out a small giggle that reminded you of bells.

You continued mumbling under your breath apologises until a strong hand snaked around your waist, steadying you. You whipped your head around to set your eyes on the mask clad figure. You stood there for a second, your chest heaving, your face flushing from the close proximity and embarrassment. There, suspended between the dust bowl that was Tatooine and the cabin which held the mysterious stranger with his hand encircling your waist, keeping you steady.

“You’re a Mandalorian.” You uttered dumbly, finally placing the helmet.

“I am,” He replied. 

Despite being unable to see his eyes you felt them piercing you, a sense of heat emanating from his gloved fingers and seeming to encircle you to your very core. The moment felt grossly intimate for, only a few seconds ago, one of the most infamous bounty hunters in the galaxy had been pointing a blaster at your chest and now you felt like your face was being studied, a map with a secret that the man was just itching to discover.

The two of you were taken out of your individual reveries when a joyous laugh emanated from your belt. Simultaneously, yourself and the Mandalorian looked down at the child, still gleefully holding onto a pound that held various gears and cogs used for repairs. You suddenly stepped back, though the bounty hunter didn’t move; aside from the tiniest tilt of the helmet, indicating he had fixed his gaze once more on you.

“He- uh- he’s got a strong grip… for a little guy.” You said as you tried to pry the tiny creature from your belt as the allusive Mandalorian watched. You had the slight inkling that he was laughing at you from behind the impenetrable mask.

“Stand still,” He asked, though it was more of a command. 

You complied, your heart beginning to beat restlessly as he moved toward you silently. His mask was motioned toward your face as he stood but a hair’s breadth away, so close you were able to see your own reflection in the visor. You could hear him breathing, just louder than the blood thundering through your ears. 

All the while still looking at you, his hands moved toward the child, gently prying him from the belt with an indignant noise from his counterpart. He held the child in his arms, almost like one would a baby: there was something odd, you thought, to seeing someone so infamous for their violence and brutality holding a being with such care. You had unconsciously quirked an eyebrow as you watched the child look at you from behind the dark fabric. There was something knowing to those eyes, something you couldn’t place.

You stepped aside, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly as you suddenly felt pressured by his gaze. He took the opportunity to return the creature to its blanketed cot from which it had came. You turned back just to see the child give you an open mouthed wave before the doors of the compartment shut with a hiss.

“I’m sorry for prying, I swear I was just assessing the damage inside the ship,” You swiftly said, feeling although with the child gone the bounty hunter could do anything he wanted. The guild didn’t appreciate loose ends after all.

“It’s fine. I just came back for a different blaster,” He replied, his voice softer, now that you could concentrate on the timbre of it. 

“Oh, I can leave if you’d like?” You asked, gesturing toward the door with a brief wave.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be out in a minute,” The Mandalorian replied, moving toward the cabinet of weapons before opening it. You hovered awkwardly in the background, looking anywhere but him so to give yourself a brief reprimand for how hot your face had gotten.

“Will you be on Tatooine long?” You murmured at, what you told yourself was, a vague attempt at small talk. Though, somewhere deeper, somewhere  you were unwilling to admit existed, you wanted to know him more, this murderer-for-hire: you wanted a taste of the danger that you had previously only had a whiff of.

“Just passing through,” He said after a brief pause that could have been seconds or hours. “Do you live here?” The Mandalorian asked swiftly, surprising you. He had turned around now, his fingers moving over the blaster with the familiarity of a pianist and his keys,

“Yes- well, no.” You amended yourself, still looking anywhere but him. “Not here-here, not in this port but in this town, yes.” You felt yourself clamming up with every ill thought of word out of your mouth.

The Mandalorian pushed the long, intricate blaster into his holster, his eyes piercing you through the dark mask the whole time. His helmet cocked to the side slightly while speaking, like a child when confronted with something that entices their curiosity. You were far too concerned with the complexity of the wiring at your feet to notice. 

“You should probably be going,” You said finally after a prolonged period of silence in which the tension in the small cabin was palpable. “Work to do, you know.” You tried not to think about the capacity of his work, however.

“Yes,” He seemed to shake himself from a daze, moving toward the hatch of the ship before turning to you. “Maybe if I pass through here again I’ll look you up.” There was a certain implicature to his voice that you didn’t dare interpret for fear of false hope.

“I doubt you will,” You replied, already cursing yourself for the inability to simply agree. “No one ever comes to Tatooine twice.”

“You never know.” There was a hint of a smile in his voice as he began to move from the cabin.

“You never know,” You murmured under your breath as he moved down the ramp.

But little did you know that the tiny creature, while latched onto you, had moved his orb, of which he was so fascinated with, into your utility belt. 

You also had no idea to what lengths a Mandalorian would go to procure what was his.

***

I hope you enjoyed!! If you liked this please feel free to send me a request for a Mandalorian x reader oneshot via my Askbox! 

Thank you for reading and have a great day!

[the-omni-princess]

Frozen Heart [Chapter 10]

Author: @the-omni-princess

Summary:  After the war against Hydra, King Bucky comes home to take what has been promised to him since he was young, you. But he is not the same person as the young boy that you grew up with. Can she break through his tough shell and bring back the young man she once fell in love with? Or will she be forced to marry the monster everyone thinks he’s become?

Word Count: 3.8K

Pairing: King!Bucky x Fem!Reader (Royalty Au!)

Warnings: A sex mention, Minor illnesses, Surprises!, Language, Violence, Blood

A/N:

Time for it to get funnnn

-

[Series Masterlist]  [Masterlist]

----

As October ended and November began, change frequently occurred in the palace. The furs in your as well as Bucky's chamber got thicker, the candles and firewood got thicker, the trees all looked barren, the only living looking plants were in your new greenhouse. Finished just in time for winter, you walked along the pathway, picking out a new spot for the peonies in your hand, Aurora walking beside you. Your own wolf was still too young to wander the castle with you, but her training was coming along wonderfully. Ever since you and Bucky became one, he had become a bit more protective, if that was even possible. Now, he was in a meeting without you, one of the few nowadays you didn't participate in.

You sat on the ground in the greenhouse, tugging your long sleeves up to plant the flowers. Aurora curled up beside you, the wolf pup had become just as possessive as Bucky, always curled up to one of you, and recently had joined you two curled up in bed at times.

"I thought I might find you here," a familiar voice rang out, you didn't glance back, already well knowing who it was. Aurora whined softly, jumping up to say hello to him.

"It's either here or the library, or one of our beds," you shot back, "not many options with the cold setting in."

Bucky came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you. You happily laid back into his chest, smiling as he spoke. "And here I thought you enjoyed meetings with me," he pressed a kiss to your hair, burying himself into you.

"I do, but I hate meetings involving the diplomats from Hydra's Kingdom. Even defeated they are slimy, uncaring about their starving people." You closed your eyes, leaning your head against his shoulder. "And I can never forgive those monsters for hurting you," you murmured softly.

"I don't enjoy those meetings either, My Love, but sadly they are necessary. Gladly, they are leaving early as the snows are rolling in. We believe a snow storm is coming tonight." Aurora curled up beside the two of you, and you ran a hand through her fur. "Your first snow," he added, excitement in his voice.

"My first snow," you closed your eyes in content. "Gods, I'm going to be freezing!"

He chuckled behind you, tightening his hold on you. "I'll keep you warm," he spoke against your neck, goosebumps raising as his breath fanned across your skin, much to his amusement.

"You did promise to keep me warm when I first moved here, I do suppose you've done a good job so far," you teased with a playful grin.

"I'd promise the world for you if you wanted it, My Queen," he kissed your ear, all his kisses chaste and playful. "Speaking of, My Queen, your coronation has to follow Northern traditions, but is there any part of Southern Coronation Traditions you wish to have?" You shrugged faintly against him.

You and your Ladies in Waiting were in charge of planning the wedding, a perfect union between North and South, both rituals relatively similar. Both used handfasting, but the elements in each differed slightly. Silver in the North, Gold in the South. Diamond rings in the North, Pearl rings in the South. These differences also followed in coronations, only they shifted to crowns and robes.

"I don't mind a fully Northern Coronation, My Love. I'll be Queen of the North, not Queen of the South. It may be where I'm from, and it'll always be a part of me, but it isn't where I'll be for the rest of my life." You reminded lightly. You turned slightly, burying your face in his neck. "The wedding, however, is completely half and half," you smiled against his skin, pleased with yourself as he shuddered. "Nat's idea of course. Two becoming one. Two people, two kingdoms, one soul." you pulled away enough to see the smile on his face, his eyes crinkled, sending warmth through your body.

"That sounds wonderful," he gave you a cheeky grin before adding, "My Queen."

You giggled, smiling up at him. "Soon I will be," you kissed his nose, watching his face scrunch up.

"A month and a half, that's all I have to wait for, and you'll be mine forever!" He sounded giddy, tugging you close as you two laughed.

"We've waited since we were children, a month shall go by fast, the past few have." You ran a hand through his hair, watching as he melted against your touch.

"They go by faster with you here. Our whole lives, then forever." He murmured, eyes closing as he relaxed.

"Forever is an awfully long time, Bucket. You sure you're up for the commitment?"

He gave you a goofy smile in response. "Forever is never enough when I'm with you."

You scoffed, "Stop being all romantic, it's making me feel things!" You gently nudged him, unable to hide the smile on your face.

"Good!" He beamed, showering you in kisses as he tightened his grip on you.

-

As the day passed, the two of you walked towards Bucky's Chambers hand in hand, Aurora at your heels. You sneaked a glance behind you, noticing neither of the personal guards were men you knew, and you knew almost all of them. Something felt wrong, a light in the castle seemed to dim. Bucky noticed your turned mood, and your subtle glances taking in the new guards as the wind started to howl outside. Deciding to speak about it later, in private, he didn’t ask.

The two of you sat outside on your star gazing balcony. The storm was starting, snow slowly falling to the ground. You were tightly wrapped in furs and blankets, toasty warm as your nose started to get cold. You ignored it, grinning as you caught the ice on your tongue excitedly.

"It's so pretty!" You grinned at Bucky, pointing at the snow on the mountains which was growing.

He smiled warmly at you, letting you enjoy the cold and different season. He eventually tugged you inside before you could freeze over, "alright, Princess. No more cold for you, you'll get frostbite." He fused over you, pulling more furs and warm clothes on you until you were covered in layers, sitting on his bed.

"Something is going on," you said suddenly pulling blankets off of you, surprising Bucky as he got into bed beside you, Aurora jumping into the bed, laying her head on his stomach.

"What do you mean, My Love?" He gave you a confused look, his eyebrows scrunched up adorably.

"New guards here, and Steve said he also has new guards he's never seen before, and the Hydra diplomats suddenly are very friendly, and the scouts on the edge of the kingdom spotting movement. They are planning something." You concluded.

He sighed softly with a nod, "I've noticed most of that as well. Until they make a move we can't do anything. Their officials may be terrible people, but a war would affect their people, a people starved and already war raged, they’re still recovering."

You leaned your head against his shoulder. "Has anyone told you how amazing you are?" You asked softly.

Despite these people being the ones that hurt him, he didn't want to rage war on its people. "Maybe someone has," he teased, smiling against your hair, taking in the smell of your lavender shampoo.

"Hope it's not any other girl," you joked back, nuzzling into him.

He chuckled, "Even if it was, you're the only one for me," he spoke seriously, tugging you closer.

You let your eyes close, happy to bask in his warmth as well as his and Aurora's attention.

-

The next morning you awoke with an upset stomach. Knots twisting and stabbing into your guts like a knife stabbing into you. You rolled out of the bed, pulling yourself out of warm arms, rushing towards the bathroom. "Doll?" A sleepy Bucky managed to say as you ran off. Two confused yips sounded behind you as you retched in the toilet. Aurora happened to stride over first, whining as she walked over, lying beside you and burying her muzzle supportively in your side. Bucky showed up a split second later, kneeling beside you as he held your hair out of your face, rubbing your back.

Once your stomach managed to empty itself, you sat back on your heels, leaning against Bucky. "Gods, I must have a stomach bug or something," you mumbled, lazily burying yourself in his arms. "I feel gross though, but tired."

"It's still early, we can go to the healers in a little while. You're still sleepy, aren't you?" He kissed your head as you nodded, standing and picking you up in his arms. You hummed in acknowledgement, letting your eyes close as he tucked you back into the warm bed. He pulled a blanket over you, Aurora jumping into bed after you, Bucky holding you close as you fell asleep again in his arms.

-

An hour later you woke to Bucky nudging you gently. "My Love, wake up, we should go to the doctors," he was concerned, you weren't one to get sick easy and you looked pale and flush. You groaned, eventually awake enough to get dressed and following Bucky to the royal clinic.

You sat there, Bucky fussing over you as Dr. Bruce Banner and Dr. Helen Cho circled you. Wanda eventually joined the party, much to Natasha's amusement. All three fused over you. Bruce and Helen had both known you since your arrival months ago and had taken a liking to you, the prior being a former soldier, and Wanda had known you most of your life. Soon all three, plus Bucky fussing, plus Sam and Natasha at the door, it all overwhelmed you.

"Please, can all of you calm down for just a minute!" You snapped, all eyes turning towards you as they froze in place. "It’s probably just stress, as I've taken more responsibilities and planning the wedding and worrying about the coronation and the changing seasons, I'm sure I'm fine!" You sighed softly, burying your face in your hands. "Please, I feel smothered by you all." You mumbled. Bucky frowned, chancing placing his hand on your shoulder. You melted against his touch, sudden hot tears ran down your cheeks. "Why can't I control any of these emotions?" You whispered absentmindedly.

Unbeknownst to you, Natasha and Wanda shared a look. They both knew everything about you and Bucky's relationship, including that you two had sex about three weeks ago. Natasha shooed the gathering maids from the door, shutting it and sitting beside you, taking your hand. Wanda whispered something to Dr. Cho, who quickly ran some tests on the blood and urine they collected from you.

You sniffled, looking up towards Nat as her weight dipped the bed you were in. "Wanda and I think we know what's wrong," Nat said slowly a few minutes later, looking towards Helen who had walked in with a new paper. Helen nodded, Bruce going pale as he read the results paper. You sat up a bit, hands laced with Bucky's who looked just as confused.

"The mood swings, the morning sickness, the fact that you haven't had your period yet," that made you go pale. You completely forgot you were two weeks late, too caught up in Royal duties. All the symptoms, the sudden giddiness Natasha and Wanda had.

"Am I...?" You whispered, the true nature of it setting in.

Helen spoke up, "According to Urine and blood tests, yes. We'll let you two have a moment," Nat nodded quickly, dragging Bruce and Sam out the door, Helen and Wanda following as they closed the door.

You and Bucky sat in silence for a moment, letting the fact settle in both of your minds. "You're pregnant," he managed to say in a soft voice, though you didn't hear any malice like you might have feared, only awe and a hint of confusion.

"I'm pregnant." You repeated. Deciding to look up at him, you could see the goofy smile starting to lift his features. "I'm going to be a mother... You're going to be a father..." The shock was still there, but both of you started smiling at each other.

"I'm going to be a father," he repeated. He launched forward, showering your face in kisses, sending you into a fit of giggles. "You're going to carry out child, our baby, you're going to be a mother, I'm going to be a father, oh gods can I handle being a father?" He rambled, getting serious.

You gently cupped his face in your hands, kissing him tenderly, stopping his rambles. You pressed your forehead against his, grinning as your lips ghosted across each other. "You'll be a wonderful father. Caring, protective, strong, loving. We'll learn how to be parents together," you kissed him again and again, holding each other close, deciding that the future mattered, but for right now you two would stay in the moment, together.

-

As the week went on, you and Bucky kept the big news to a small few. Clearly Sam, Natasha, Wanda, and a few people in the clinic knew. The maids figured it out when you didn't get your period, already having started their own rumors. The first person you and Bucky told together was Steve, via video chat. He looked ready to slap Bucky for getting you pregnant, cry that he was going to be an Uncle, and proud that his best friend and little sister were living their happily ever after. Your parents knew as well, and your mother was already flooding you with advice that wouldn’t come in handy for months. Other than that, the rest of the whispers and rumors in court were hushed and behind your backs.

You continued to work, though as the week ended, Bucky had started to sleep over in your Chambers. Something in his chamber smelled off, setting your new maternity sense to ring alarms. You couldn't sleep in his bed, a fact you absolutely hated.

Saying goodnight to yet another new guard you didn't recognize, you closed the chamber doors, Aurora jumping into your bed and curling up. You sat beside her after changing into pajamas, ready to bury yourself into the thick furs Bucky added to your bed while another snow storm roared outside. Aurora whined softly beside you, ears perked up and looking around the room in distress.

"What is it Aura?" You whispered, standing and now on defense. Bucky had a late meeting that night and wouldn't join you for at least an hour or two. You had nothing to defend yourself, glancing around the room you noticed nothing sharp you could use to help you with whatever set off Aurora. That was odd, you had a knife letter opener that was absent from your desk. Something that also suddenly occurred to you was that neither Sam, Natasha, Wanda, or Scott was on duty tonight. That never happened in the months since you've moved to the North. A fact that occurred to you too late. You were defenseless, alone, and surrounded by potential enemies.

Aurora growled beside you, haunches raised and glancing in multiple directions. Fuck, multiple hostiles. The wolf pup stood in front of you protectively, as you thought back to something Natasha used to teach you. Pretend you're smaller and more defenseless than you really are.

As two men appeared from opposite shadows in your room, you appeared to look meek, small. They came closer, still just out of reach of you, or Aurora without leaving the protective circle you and the wolf made. "Look at that, the little princess is all alone." One man cooed. His accent sent a shiver down your spine, you recognized him as a Hydra diplomat from the court.

That's when you got a good look at the other man, and you felt your heart drop. General Brock Rumlow, one of the very men Bucky fought against was standing in your bedroom. "Hello Princess, terribly sorry for the late notice, but you're coming with us. I know all about your fight against the assassin we sent to kill your brother, so don't try anything."

You dropped the meek act and snarled at the man, matching growls with the wolf in front of you. "Now why would I just go with you?"

He laughed, a sick feeling filling you. "Because right now, your little fiancé is next to one of my men. One mistake and my men will slit his throat," you felt your face pale. They could threaten you, but they were threatening Bucky. You felt the strong face you had on crack.

"Don't you dare fucking touch him," you growled, Aurora responding with a bark towards the man. You hoped it was loud enough to alert someone to help you, yet the man in front of you laughed.

"That won't help doggie, all the men outside are mine. You know how easy it was to become your personal guard? Manipulate time schedules, find lab results." Your hands were shaking now, and you felt the bile rise in your throat. "So, Princess, follow me, and call the dog off." You glanced down at Aurora, who was tense, but you then remembered she knew all the secret passageways of the castle and was trained to find yours and Bucky's scent. You whistled lowly, Aurora whining. You repeated it, and Aurora slinked away, rushing towards Bucky. That would set him off, Aurora was known to always curl up into you when you slept and would only part ways when Bucky called her. He should be able to notice something's wrong. You hoped and prayed to every god you knew that he did.

You followed Rumlow, the vile man getting too close for comfort as you walked in the halls. He had a sense of arrogance about him, and most hallways were empty, no one able to see you as Brock pushed a dagger into back to dig at your spine, leading you towards the back entrance.

He pushed open the door, the cold rushed in, making you cold to the bone before you even stepped out. He grabbed you by the arm, his grip burned into your skin. He ran his fingers down your throat, and you growled lowly, close to punching the man. The thought of Bucky getting hurt because of the action made you still. No matter how much he hurt you, you wouldn't let him hurt Bucky. His fingers grazed the golden chain of your necklace, and hooked underneath them, "Now this is cute. You practically have a dog collar on, like the bitch you are," he singsonged into your ear. He ripped the necklace off, and you gasped as the clasp snapped against your skin, breaking. He tossed it to the ground, before shoving you forward into the snow. "Let's go, Princess. It's a decent walk till we get back to your new home." You shivered, now on your hands and knees in the snow, your pajamas not helping you at all. You stood on shaky legs, holding your head up high as you bit your tongue, refusing to give this abhorrent man anything to use against you.

You heard barking in the distance, Aurora finding you, and Bucky right behind. He had blood dripping down his cheek, but on second look, it didn't seem to be his own. Sam and Natasha were beside him, Sam had bruises blooming all over his face, and what looked like a broken nose. Brock pulled you in front of him, the dagger held against your throat. You stilled, weighing your options. Bucky looked feral, the same icy look from months ago when he first walked into your life again was back. The warmth seeped out of him, you were in danger, as was the baby, hisbaby.

"Let her go, Rumlow," he snarled, Aurora at his feet, ready to pounce.

"No can do, she's ours now, Your Majesty," he spit back out. He pressed the dagger closer into your neck, making a small trickle of blood appear. You whined softly, Bucky's eyes shooting to you, pained. As Brock pulled you back onto the terrace, you could see more Hydra gaurds hiding behind the doors. It was a trap all along to take more than one royal. Not on your watch they wouldn't.

Your eyes locked into Bucky, knowing he could see you. You mouthed, 'I love you,' before pushing your elbow back. You knocked Brock back, he grunted, not expecting you to fight back. You shot forward, grabbing onto the doors and locking them, knowing the mechanism would need a reboot to open during the emergency alert Bucky had placed on the castle. This was both your saving grace, and your living nightmare. You were trapped, burying yourself in snow, surrounded by Hydra agents, a steel and glass door between you and your family. But that also meant it was that door between Hydra and Bucky, something you could live with. A realization hit you suddenly. You would, without a doubt, die to protect this man. No matter the cost.

To say Rumlow was pissed off at you was an understatement. You saw his reflection in the glass, noticing the mirrored moves between him and Bucky. They both rushed forward towards you, Bucky having a glass barrier between you. Rumlow grabbed onto you, hitting you in the side of the head with the blunt edge of the knife. "You'll regret that, Princess." He snarled into your ear. The last thing you saw as black dots blurred your vision was Bucky falling to his knees on the other side of the glass, as they took you away from him. His own personal Nightmare.

-

Frozen Heart Tags:

@jsmith509 / @lumar014 / @littlemissporter / @kaylaphantomhive  

@damnbuckyishot / @aveatquevale- / @booksbeforebois  

@marvelgirl7 / @minetticatinwonderland  

Bucky Tags:

@cassandras-musings  / @darkness-doughter / @novaddictx / @thedancingnerdmermaid

For a tag, just reply/comment, if I don’t see it, just message me. Tell me what you think! Literally any comment makes me happy! Like, comment, reblog, interact <3

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Blood Inside Of Ewe

I’m had this idea for So Long and I’ve finally written it!!!! Except it’s not how I wanted it to turn out. It feels rushed and the ending is abrupt and ughhhh- I may rewrite it at some point, but for now, enjoy this heavy joyride!

TW: Implied drugging, stalking, self harm

——————

When Joan left for Glasgow because of a new job, nobody expected her to return within a week. Maybe she was just visiting early? She may have gotten homesick! That was normal.

However, the disheveled appearance of the ex-SIX pianist was not.

See, Joan had gotten a better paying job up in Glasgow and, despite not wanting to leave get friends and family, she took it. It was the best thing to do. And so, she left.

But here she was again. Standing in the middle of the backstage wings. And something was very, very wrong.

Her skin was an unnatural milky-yellow color, for one thing. And her eyes were so wide- too wide. Her hair was knotted and greasy and in patches upon her head like someone had ripped random clumps out of her skull. Scrapes and cuts litter her knees from where she must have fallen on the pavement.

There were dark purple bruises encircling her thin wrists.

Joan responded to no one when she staggered through the theater. When someone from the crew tried to grab her to get her to explain, she stiffened and scratched them across the face like a terrified animal. Then, she took off up the Stairs of Doom, nearly falling and busting her head open in the process, and sprinted for one of the dressing rooms.

Having her barge in was a little startling, to say the least.

Jane, Cathy, and Katherine were sitting around inside, waiting to go on. Katherine was snuggled up in Jane’s lap while the woman brushes her hair out and Cathy told them about the climax of the latest book she was interested in. Then the quiet moment was ruined when a mangy version of their old music director came tumbling in like there were demons on her heels.

“Joan?!” Jane shouted in shock. She nearly threw Katherine off when she leapt up to her feet.

“What are you doing here?” Cathy asked before really taking in the appearance of the ex-pianist. “Are you okay?”

Joan says nothing. She put a hand on the door frame for support.

“Joan?” Jane took a small step forward. She knew that look in the girl’s eyes... “Joan, what’s wrong? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

Joan stared at Jane for a long moment, then moved directly into her arms. The minute she was clinging to her queen’s costume, her knees buckle and everything goes black.

———

Joan didn’t get better. In fact, she seemed to get worse.

At home, she ignored her roommates and stayed cooped up in her room. She stayed huddled up in her bed for three days.

For three days, Joan shivered, burned, and cried. For three days she was almost completely helpless, unable to function correctly at all. She even had a seizure, once.

She didn’t eat, didn’t drink, as almost everything put in her system was thrown up. Her body refused medicine and water, so she quickly became severely dehydrated, which only added to her misery. Her constant crying and sweating didn’t help, either.

She drifted in and out of consciousness for most of those three days, always waking up to a daze of heat and pain. She remembered dragging herself out of bed to take a bath and had considered drowning herself. She didn’t, only because she wanted to die in a less painful way.

Jane came over quite often, but Joan could barley remember anything they did. Her brain wouldn’t process the memories, or maybe she just hadn’t been awake in the first place.

The fourth day came forth as slow as half-frozen molasses. After the routinely agony that came with waking up, Joan noticed Bessie sitting beside her bed, reading a book.

And, dear God, her head suddenly hurt. She had to shut her eyes for a moment, but when she opened them again she blearily looked around the dimly lit bedroom that smelled of illness. How long had she been out? She didn’t know. An unbidden whine escaped her dry throat.

Joan rolled over onto her side and squinted at Bessie, who eventually looked up. Her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You’re awake!” She proclaimed, setting the book to the side.

Joan made a small, confused noise. How long has Bessie even been here? When did she get here? She couldn’t remember. Not that it really mattered, though. She probably wouldn’t even remember this because she was just going to pass out again soon.

“You woke up a few times before,” Bessie informed. “Only for a few minutes, though, then you blacked out again. But you didn’t throw up! So good job there, sweetheart! I’m proud of you.”

Joan managed to give Bessie a weak thumbs-up.

“Here,” Bessie took a glass of water off of the nightstand. “Drink something, love. You must be thirsty.”

She didn’t miss how scared Joan became when she held the cup out to her, noticing the way she flinched away and whimpered. It was as if she thought the glass was full of poison.

“It’s just water, honey.” Bessie said softly.

Joan shook her head.

“Please? Just a few small sips?”

She shook her head more rapidly.

“For me?”

She whimpered at that, hunching her shoulders in. Her dull, sunken in eyes cast towards the ground, avoiding Bessie’s sad gaze.

“Joan...”

Another whimper bubbled up, which turned into a noiseless sob. Bessie’s heart broke as she watched the poor girl break down, and she quickly wrapped her up in her arms, setting the glass of water aside for now.

“Shh, shh...” Bessie rubbed up and down Joan’s spine. “It’s okay... You’re okay, baby girl, you’re okay...”

Joan didn’t even cry for five minutes. By two she was out again, slumped limply in Bessie’s embrace.

Not even unconsciousness can make her features look peaceful.

Bessie pressed a soft kiss to Joan’s hot, clammy forehead before laying her back down. The girl has already started to whimper in her sleep (nightmares and terrors have become very frequent for her), so Bessie strokes her sweaty hair to try and soothe her. She’s about to pick up her book with the other hand when the doorbell rang. She went to go get it.

“The mother hen has arrived!”

Bessie raised an eyebrow at Jane’s statement as she walked inside the lady in waiting house. She appreciated her attempt at lightening the situation.

“How’s Joan?” Jane asked, her lighthearted tone switching to a maternal and concerned one in an instant.

“Shitty.”

“Details, please.”

“She can’t stomach anything- not even water, her fever is burning her alive, she can only stay awake for a few minutes before passing out again, she’s completely sore everywhere, she’s starting to cry in her sleep, and she won’t speak at all.” Bessie said, nervousness lacing her voice. “To sum it up: whatever is going on is kicking her ass.”

Jane winced. She had been hoping that her daughter figure had gotten a little better, but to no avail.

“Maybe we can make her something,” She suggested. “Like, soup. Something easy on the stomach.”

Bessie glanced at her then nodded slightly. It was worth a shot, even though it would probably just get thrown up if Joan didn’t refuse it.

They ended up making oatmeal, which they somehow managed to complicate and nearly made a huge mess of in the kitchen. They both laughed, which was a nice change to the grim atmosphere, but that somber mood quickly returned when they approached Joan’s room.

“Joan?” Jane knocked on the bedroom door, “It’s me and Bessie. We’re coming in, sweetie.”

Joan was surprisingly awake, which was a change, but it didn’t make her any better. She was curled up under her thick blankets on the edge of the bed, shivering. Her face was very grey, eyes still traumatized and scared. Her gaze momentarily flicked to the two older women, then returned to the floor.

“Hey,” Jane said softly, hurrying over to the girl’s side. “Feeling any better?”

Joan made a weak hum. If her not being able to speak still was any indication, then probably not.

“Do you need anything?”

Joan shuts her eyes. Jane takes that as a “no.”

“We have oatmeal if you’re hungry,” Bessie said, holding up the steaming bowl.

Joan made a bitter face. Even though she was hungry, the thought of trying to stomach anything sickened her. She shook her head.

“Sorry,” She tried to say, but produced no sound and could only mouth it pathetically. Jane smooths out the hair on her head.

“Nonsense,” Bessie waved a hand dismissively, hiding an oatmeal stain on her pants. “It was no trouble.”

The girl nodded slowly, then pressed her face back into her blankets.

“You’re going to be okay,” Jane said, rubbing her back comfortingly. “You’ll get better soon.”

Joan did not answer.

Bessie and Jane lingered in the room for a long time after Joan passed out again, with Jane rubbing the girl’s back and murmuring sweet, loving things in her ear, and Bessie loitering by the door, staring dejectedly into the hot bowl of oatmeal she was still holding.

Eventually, Jane pressed a loving kiss to Joan’s forehead and stood up. She walked to the door, placed a wry hand on the door frame for balance, dipped her head, and then began to weep. Bessie couldn’t get to her in time to catch her before her knees buckled and she fell to the floor, now openly sobbing.

“Jane,” Bessie said in alarm. She darts to the older woman’s side and set a hand on her back, which makes her crumple completely into her lap. She tensed in shock, watching the usually-very-reserved queen cling desperately to her pants and cry against her thighs. “Jane, Jane, hey...” She gently began to stroke her hair, hoping it may soothe her. “Shh, it’s okay...”

Jane shook her head and loudly choked on a sob.

“She’s not getting any better,” She forces out in a shaky voice. Her body shudders in a way that scares Bessie. “What...what if she...- Oh god-”

“Don’t think like that.” Bessie said firmly. “That’s not going to happen.”

“I can’t- I can’t lose her, Elizabeth. She’s my baby, I-I can’t-” Jane broke off into unintelligible crying.

Bessie opened her mouth, but only a whimper came out. She had been worrying about the same thing, Joan not getting better, but, until now, she had pushed those thoughts away and hoped for the best. But seeing Jane Seymour break down in fear makes her own anxiety rise up and, suddenly, there’s tears rolling down her cheeks.

“That’s not going to happen,” She whispered. Her hands clench in Jane’s shirt and she keels over to bury her face in the queen’s silky blonde hair. A soft sob rattles her body. “It’s not...”

There, on the floor, Jane and Bessie weep for their ill daughter.

———

Two days pass. Joan has still not said a word. Jane and Bessie taking off again to watch over her while the show goes on- the director is getting antsy with their constant absences.

Right now, Joan is sleeping relatively peacefully beside Jane, who is dozing in her bed. She has one hand on the curled up girl’s waist, waiting for her to flinch or whimper so she could leap into action and soothe her. Bessie soon appears in the doorway. Jane looks up and smiled softly.

“Hey,” She whispered.

“Hey,” Bessie replied. “How is she?”

“A little better,” Jane said, looking down at Joan, “I got her to drink some water and eat a piece of toast. Poor little thing was so thirsty.” She gently moves a strand of oily blonde hair out of her daughter’s face.

“That’s good.” Bessie sat down on the edge of the bed. Hoping to lighten the mood, she jokes, “We need to get her a bath. Her hair is a mess.”

Jane laughed quietly and picked through a few locks of Joan’s greasy hair, causing her to stir and whine into her pillows. She quickly stops as to not disturb her.

“It is,” Jane said. “Maybe when she wakes up again.” She paused. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Don’t lie to me, Elizabeth.” Jane said, “You let me cry on you- you can tell me things.”

Bessie looked down at the bed sheets, suddenly sheepish. She shrugged slightly.

Jane purses her lips, then covered Joan’s ears, despite her still being asleep. Quietly, in a hushed tone, she asks, “Did you cut again?”

Bessie is silent.

And then she nods very slowly.

Jane got up and took Bessie’s hand. The bassist doesn’t fight her- she lets the queen guide her to the bathroom and press her down on the toilet seat.

“You we’re asleep,” Bessie whispered as Jane started getting out antiseptic and a rag. “I-I didn’t want to wake you...”

“Oh, Elizabeth,” Jane cooed, smiling sadly. “You’re sweet. But you should have woken me up. Promise me you will next time.”

Bessie nodded silently.

“Say it. Please.”

“I promise I’ll wake you up next time.”

(It’s sad that they both know for a fact that there will be a next time.)

“Thank you.” Jane pressed a soft kiss to Bessie’s hairline before kneeling in front of her with an antiseptic-soaked rag. “I’m going to lift your shirt and clean your belly, okay?”

Bessie wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Never use that word again.”

Jane laughed and then pushed up Bessie’s shirt. Her flicker of a faint smile disappears and morphs into a wince when she sees the amount of fresh cuts on the bassist’s midsection.

“Oh, sweetheart...”

“I’m sorry,” Bessie whispered. “I’m- it’s just- there’s a lot going on right now and...”

“Shh,” Jane hushed her, “It’s alright. I’m going to touch you now, okay? It’s just me, darling. Nobody else. Remember that.”

Bessie took a deep breath and nodded. She closed her eyes, doing her best to not flinch or whimper at the sting caused by the cuts getting cleaned.

“You’re doing so good,” Jane murmured sweetly.

“Thanks,” Bessie grunted.

The cleaning continued for several long minutes in silence. Jane’s movements were so gentle and careful; it was relaxing for Bessie to feel against her bare skin.

But that relaxation was demolished when they went back to check on Joan and found her phone lit up with a notification. When they checked it, everything was flipped upside down.

“If you don’t come back in the next 24 hours these will be posted.”

That was what was sent by an unknown number. With it, a link was pasted. Filled with morbid curiosity, Jane clicked on the link and she and Bessie watched it open up to a PDF.

On it were tons of photos.

At first, they were innocent. One was a selfie of Joan sitting at her work desk flashing a peace sign and sticking her tongue out like a cat. Another was of a picture of her with Maria and then another selfie in her work room. Then, things got weird. There were shots of the theater, a doorknob, a window, a license plate, a back door. Other photos were of random scenery and it took Jane and Bessie a moment to realize these were pictures of Joan.

Pictures that she didn’t know were taken.

Joan in a room that nobody else was in, Joan at a restaurant sitting a few tables away from the photographer, Joan during the show, Joan in a hallway, Joan in her bedroom. Jane and Bessie both didn’t want to keep looking, but they couldn’t stop themselves.

The first shot that changed everything was of Joan on a grey stone floor, curled into a little ball. Her face was covered by her hair.

The second was the same scene but at a different angle. She was lying in a dimly light, but nicely furnished and lavish room. Bessie and Jane prayed that this was just a project for Joan’s new job.

But, oh were they wrong.

The third was a close-up of Joan, who had rolled on her other side over some amount of time. Her mouth was half open and her eyes...oh, her eyes. The stare she was giving the camera was not one even the greatest of actors could possibly convey. It was unfocused and dazed. Mortified. Her pupils were dilated unnaturally wide. She didn’t even appear to be looking at the lens. Then, Jane and Bessie noticed the cables tied around her wrists.

The fourth photo was a zoomed out shot. Joan appeared to be more awake, but she didn’t seem to have all her senses together. It was like she was awake, but doped up on Novocaine. She wasn’t staring at nothing anymore, rather whoever was holding the camera. You could almost see the reflection of whoever was doing this because of how glazed over her eyes were.

The fifth was of Joan raising her legs like she was fighting against someone that wasn’t there. She was twisted slightly on her stomach and looked like a fallen fawn trying to lamb from a carnivore.

The next few shots were blurry and out of focus, as it looked like the camera was moving a lot. In the haze of terrible quality, Bessie thought she saw Joan staring up with one leg fully outstretched. It seemed like she had kicked the cameraman. That made Bessie and Jane want to cheer, but then the photos after the messed up ones were of their daughter figure looking utterly terrified. And angry.

After that, there were more blurred photos of the room, some black shots, and then one of Joan sitting up against the wall in the mix. She had her knees pulled to her chest, bound wrists at her face, slightly obscuring it. Tear tracks etched trails down her cheeks, but she looked livid.

More blackness.

Finally, the horrible blowups ended and there was a image of Joan with her shirt unbuttoned. She was on her back and her knees were propped up. Her eyes were glassy again and it didn’t take long for Bessie and Jane to piece together that the girl was probably drugged on god knows what.

Joan looked terrible. Her hair was a mess and she was drooling with mucus mixed with blood dribbling from her nostrils. She didn’t look scared anymore, just completely out of it. The poor thing probably had no idea what was even going on. Not anymore, at least.

Finally, Bessie and Jane got to the images that made them feel horribly sick. They were snapshots of their naked daughter figure. Multiple of them. Blood, saliva, and other bodily fluids created a sheen on her skin, and it’s worse that Joan had no idea what was going on.

There’s a gag behind Jane’s ear- Bessie is sprinting to the bathroom.

Jane stays rooted in place, silent tears running down her cheeks. She can’t bear to look at the photos any longer, so she looks at Joan, but she doesn’t know if that’s any better. In fact, it was worse.

The phone clatters to the floor. The resounding thud makes Joan stir in her bed and slowly wake up. When she sees Jane just standing there, she flinches backwards in fright.

Finally, Jane understands why.