#but the cough is annoying cause it's been compulsive

[medicinemane]

Ok, can I just complain about what has just clicked to me that it's actually a full on trend with youtube thumbnails?

Fucking sick of the pointing arrow with "winner?" every fucking time there's anything that involves any kind of competition these days

Saw it a little, thought it was dumb, but it's becoming more and more and more common and... and I'm not even that mad at the people who do it cause I get it, but fuck I'm sick of it and fuck I'm kinda sick of... of if it's working the people who have shiny brain and click cause oh! must find out, or if it's not working the youtube algorithm for I guess making it seem like it work

Actually I suppose I just am fucking tired of the whole culture that leads to it in the first place of fucking gotta have jingling keys at all time, gotta fucking consume, always need something to consume

Fuck man, I'm almost glad that some days like the past couple I've just kind of sat around in malaise, bored out of my mind while not being able get myself to do anything I wanted or find anything that was entertaining... but like, fuck, I think I'd rather get like that sometimes but know how to just sit through it than have to have new content every second of every day or else

(And this isn't a straw man and this isn't railing against the youth or something, I know a dude that's like that who is a bit older than I am)

"Winner?", man, just fucking pitch me what's happening and I'll watch it or not

[korpuskat]

Cinnamon Burn [Dabi/Reader]

[Ao3 Mirror]

Rating: Mature Word Count: 5,296 Summary: An incredibly drunk Dabi hits on you and things get a little out of hand- emotionally and physically. Contains: angst, self-depreciation, whiskey dick, drunken shenanigans, 

Gender and Sex-neutral Reader Insert

Mild Dubcon warning (both parties are inebriated), mild emeto warning

=====

“Don’t let him overdo it, you don’t know what he gets like.” Himiko warns you- or perhaps she meant to direct it to Kurogiri, the only person actually making drinks. Her cheeks are flushed bright red, her mouth hanging open. You’re almost certain she’s only had one shot- something a deep scarlet that made her squeal in appreciation- but she leans hard on the bar’s counter and gestures vaguely with a knife, “He gets all waaa, waa, I’m Dabi,” She breaks off laughing and you can’t help but grin, even if her impression was terrible.

“The brat’s already wasted.” Dabi complains. You think it’s meant to be scathing, but it comes across as playful- like he’s too amused at Himiko’s frankly pathetic tolerance to really be annoyed at her equally pathetic impersonation. “Should get her home before she’s passed out here.”

“Whaaaat?” She squeals, stumbles forward until she’s hanging off your shoulders, one hand raised towards Dabi. “We’ve slept here before, what’s the big deal?”

“Cause Shigaraki’s drinking too for once, not going off to play with his games.” Dabi tips his glass towards your leader. Across the bar Shigaraki stiffens immediately, his sneer plainly visible with Father moved up a few inches so he can join you in drinking, already expecting the insult that’s coming. “Best leave before he remembers he’s never touched a-”

You smack Dabi’s arm, hiss out a shocked but not unamused, “Dabi!” 

He turns towards you, pretends to rub at where the back of your hand has so obviously bruised him. “You’re drunker than you look, maybe you should be the one going home.”

“Thought you all wanted to celebrate a good mission, but here I am stuck with this.” Shigaraki spits, his free hand already raising towards his neck. “Everyone else is already gone, she’s drunk,” His head tips towards Himiko, who giggles too loud, “He’s an asshole,”

Dabi grins into his drink. “Nothing to do with the alcohol on that one.”

“And you,” Shigaraki turns towards you, his nails scraping across pale skin. “You’re not even drinking.”

“I’ve had a drink!” You protest, show off your long empty cup. Even you can admit it’s a shitty attempt to get them off your back.

“Nah, I agree with Crusty on this one.” Dabi says, taking your glass with too much dexterity for someone who’s at least three shots into the night.

“Fuck off.” Shigaraki turns on his heel and marches through the curtain, “Get the fuck out of my bar.”

Dabi sniggers, flaunts your empty glass again, urging Kurogiri to fill it again with whatever sweet concoction he’d made before. “C’mon Giri, give ‘em another drink.”

Foggy hands don’t move, his head still half-turned towards the curtain where Shigaraki had left. His voice rumbles out, “I don’t think that’s-”

“I’m fine, really, Kurogiri. Don’t mind him.” You wave your hand at Dabi’s scowl, choosing to ignore it and nodding towards Himiko- who was already falling asleep, halfway drooling on your shirt. “You mind sending this one home? Don’t think anyone’s at the safehouse in Kashikuu.”

Kurogiri hesitates, eyes up Dabi with a golden, measuring glance before audibly sighing. He crosses from behind the bar, gently taking her off your shoulder- you’re still not quite sure how his misty hands support weight, but he guides her into a dark, swirling portal. Himiko mumbles something as she goes and you wave at her, wish her a good night.

And just like that, you’re alone with him.

Dabi wastes no time. As soon as Kurogiri has stepped through, his knee comes up on the stool, boosting himself up and over the bar. He reaches with one arm, stretches as far as he can to grab some hidden bottle from behind the counter. “You’re no fun.” He complains, already pouring whatever he’s snatched into his cup- and then into your empty glass as well. “One more drink, then you can go be fucking boring somewhere else.”

You snort, “Wow, really persuasive.” He sets the drink before you- and before you can even pick it up, Dabi’s throwing his head back, the amber liquid disappearing behind scarred lips. “Slow down. What even is this?” You give the glass a sniff- cinnamon washes over your senses, makes you recoil and blink.

“Fireball.” He says, his voice gone low and rough from the alcohol. He doesn’t even hesitate, already pouring himself another shot. “And you’re too slow.”

You should’ve guessed with how many cartons of cigarettes he’d blow through on a mission what he was like with alcohol. “Fucking hell, Dabi.” You swallow down half the glass, throat burning- but you can’t tell if it’s the cinnamon or the alcohol.

“Just ‘cause you can’t handle a good time doesn’t mean I’m going to stop.” He lifts the shot glass, before looking over your shoulder. All you hear in turn is a heavy, echoing sigh. Dabi’s gaze turns to you, not bothering to watch Kurogiri return to his place behind the counter. He throws the drink back, not breaking eye contact as he rasps out, “Come on.”

He’s out of his seat before you realize what he’s doing. Right up next to you, he takes your glass and presses it to your lips. “Live a little.”

You shouldn’t. He’s clearly drunk and determined to seek trouble- and with everyone else gone, he’s got no options left but to make it himself. But he’s also right. The mission was pulled off perfectly, not a single hitch- you deserved a little fun. How often did you really get to enjoy Dabi’s company?

So you lay your fingers over Dabi’s on the glass and open your mouth. His mouth parts in a smirk so haughty that pulls at his staples. “Yeah, just like that…” You swallow, pinch your eyes and huff through the burn- bask in his quiet, rumbling praise. Dabi takes the glass, sets it too hard on the counter behind you, and grabs at your hands. “Get up.”

“What, why?” You cough.

“I want to see you dance.” He tugs again, and you’re sure he could force you out of the seat if he actually wanted to. But he wants you to want to.

You sputter, “No way, you’re way too drunk. Besides, I can’t dance.”

He laughs, loose and easy, “Now I really want you.” He steps closer, eases you off the cushioned seat. You don’t fight him. As he pulls away he grabs the still open bottle from the counter with his left hand, holding it by the plastic stem. Upright you watch as his steps waver, a little unsure of his balance.

“No, no, Dabi, come on…” You resist him weakly, embarrassment making your cheeks heat, but still let him drag you over towards the open space in front of the door. “There’s no music!” You complain, “I’m not nearly wasted enough to dance without music playing.”

He lifts his chin, pulls you close. “I’ll give you that. Hey, Kurogiri, you got any music?” You can only sigh, press your free hand against his chest.

“No, we had no reason to install speakers.” Glass squeaks as Kurogiri cleans it and you look over your shoulder to shoot him an apologetic look. You can’t read his amorphous face- his only response is the tightening of his drifting golden eyes.

“Guess we’ll have to rain check our dance.” You’re almost sad, if you’re entirely honest- you’ve never seen Dabi this relaxed, but it feels wrong, somehow. This feeling has been building up too long to finally acknowledge whatever does exist between you while he’s inebriated.

“Mmm, I don’t think so.” Dabi practically purrs, “What about this…” He trails off- and begins to hum. You can’t even place the tune, doubt it’s even a real song, the alcohol too heavy in his mind for him to think of anything other than the same few notes over and over again, winding in a up-beat melody. And with him holding your hand, he begins to dance.

You can’t help but laugh, the pink hue over his cheeks, his off-key humming in place of music, the off-balance way he moves, feet falling heavy where he means to be smooth. Maybe it’s the Fireball talking, but when he spins you, you let him, twirling at the end of his arm- and before you can really think, you’re joining him. Bobbing along with the made-up song that’s getting more and more erratic, unable to keep up with his own melody.

He shifts his weight back and forth, pulling you along with him as he circles the open space, wrapping your arm up into another spin- and catching you halfway through to pull your back flush to his chest. His warmth seeps through his shirt, but if it’s from his quirk or the alcohol you can’t tell- but it’s definitely the alcohol that strips off his inhibitions, lets him shamelessly grind up against your ass.

All at once you’re breathless, heat winding through your body- and you can’t help but push back against him. He sighs, half chuckling as his other arm crosses over your hips, still holding the bottle of Fireball. It pokes at your stomach, but the pressure gives you more friction so you can’t bring yourself to complain. He turns you both, spinning away from the bar as he backs off, lets you turn again to face him. He sways to his own tune, raises the bottle up. You watch, completely enraptured, as his lips wrap around the plastic rim and he drinks. Beads of amber escape between the edge of his mouth and the first staple, run down his chin, wavering side to side as they jump over the thick scars there. His throat bobs as he swallows- and lowers the jug again.

Your throat compulsively swallows with him, mouth suddenly dry. “You’re so drunk…” You laugh, airy and soft.

And something dark sparks in his eyes. He smiles without teeth, lips pressed tight- and he guides you to walk back and back- until he’s dropping your hand, coming to grab your chin and meet your mouth in a hasty, messy kiss. You gasp- and let yourself close your eyes, melt into his warm touch. It’s been so long coming and yet you never expected it all to finally boil over now.

Nor do you expect as soon as you let his tongue- unbearably hot and pierced twice- into your mouth is the sudden rush of liquid that follows. Cinnamon. Fireball.

You sputter, but Dabi only laughs, presses his hips against you again as you struggle to swallow down the drink he’s kissed to you. Your throat burns, but you let him lick into your mouth again, tasting nothing but his drink of choice. His piercings click against your teeth, but you can’t seem to mind with how his tongue rubs against yours. His hips roll against you again, his thigh pressed between your legs- and the meager pressure has you shuddering against his chest.

“You must be the drunk one,” He says, pulling away and fuck, with each word his mouth is practically steaming, puffs of air slipping between the staples in his cheeks. Something shifts in his voice. “If you’re finally letting me kiss you.”

Your face tightens, tries to decipher the change- but settle on pressing one palm against his chest. “You’re way too drunk for this.” You hesitate, then add “So am I.”

“Cause you’d give me a second look sober?” Bitterness. He steps away, his warm grasp gone from your skin, the room going cold.

You swallow thickly, try to fight the pleasant buzz in your head to follow his thoughts. You don’t have to try for long; Dabi steps back again, but the Fireball has shot his balance. He wobbles, foot not quite where he expected it to be. His arms fly out to balance himself, whiskey sloshing in its bottle and you don’t even have to think before you’re closing the distance, slotting yourself up against his side and taking his weight. “Careful,” You say, ignoring the growl from Dabi’s chest. “You should get some sleep.”

“Yeah? You gonna take me to bed, tuck me in?” He hisses, “Or are you too drunk for that, too?”

Exasperated, completely lost by the sudden shift in his mood, you spit back, “Gladly.” You nod towards Kurogiri- and fuck, Kurogiri’s been standing there through all of this, dutifully cleaning the glasses left over by the League’s short night of celebration and ignoring your inebriated nonsense. “Do you mind? I don’t… know where everyone else ended up, what safehouses are left.”

“Got my own place,” Dabi huffs. You blink, look up to him. You misheard him right? You knew Twice and Spinner had their own places to lay low, but as far as you knew- “Just open the portal.”

Gold eyes linger on you, even as the black fog slips over the edge of the counter, spreading wide. Off to the side you can still make out Kurogiri’s featureless face. “Are you quite sure?”

His worry is touching, but with Dabi so wasted he’s having trouble standing, surely you can handle yourself if he does get rowdy. “Yeah,” You say, wobble towards the opening. “You can close it after us, I’m sure it’ll be a while before he’s out.”

Dabi raises his free arm, waving the bottle he’s still holding. Fireball sloshes as he speaks, “I’m taking this.”

You can’t help the sigh that escapes your lips. Not bothering to wait for a reply, you step through into the darkness. On the other side, you’re in some apartment. You blink, look around- because damn, it’s actually in pretty good shape for a squatter’s hole. The furniture is pretty retro, but aside from some light dust on some untouched shelving, it’s practically pristine. You have to rely on Dabi’s lead as he stumbles- veering off to the right as you struggle to keep him walking straight. The arm that wraps around you holds tighter as he sways, unsteady.

He leads you through a doorway tight enough that you can’t stay beside him- letting him walk through first then lean on the doorframe as you follow. Dabi takes the moment to take another big swallow of the whiskey to which you side-eye him, but at this point you’re not sure how much more damage it can really do.

“Holy shit.” You laugh as you realize he’s made it to the bedroom. "Holding out on us." The room has a nice, big bed with rumpled sheets and soft-looking pillows. The pillowcases don’t match the blanket and you wonder if he’s swiped them from somewhere else. You ease him onto the mattress, which groans and dips with his weight. You open your mouth to ask if he needs water or something, if you could leave him painkillers for tomorrow-

Plastic thuds against the floor, ringing as the bottle spins upright-

And Dabi’s hands grab your thighs. He pulls you forward, traps you between his legs- angles your mouth down. He bites at your lips with abandon, keeps you pressed close even as his hands waver, get lost over your body. You can’t help yourself, the alcohol has made you too loose, too pleased with his touch. You kiss back, lean into his touch.

His lips leave yours, nipping at your jawline- and your head tips back of its own volition, giving him permission to continue down your neck. “Come on,” He pleads between wet, sloppy kisses. “Just once, it’ll be worth it.” A groan slips from your throat as he meets your collarbones, teeth clamping over the thin skin there. So quiet you almost don’t hear him: “Don’t even have to look at me.”

What? You push at his chest, careful of his staples, trying to make any room between your bodies, any room to think- “Dabi?”

He doesn’t let you. One hand- warm, much too warm- presses at the back of your head, pulls you down to meet his mouth again. The hand still at your ass squeezes, makes you gasp- and Dabi’s tongue once more slides into your mouth. Hot and cinnamon-flavored, you can’t help but melt into his touch again, let one hand run over the length of his neck, feel over the rippling texture of his scars. He stiffens as you touch him, leaning back, away from you- but settles for pulling you along with him by the hands on your neck and butt.

The motion makes your head spin even with the meager amount you’d had- frankly you’re not sure how Dabi’s still functioning enough to keep his mouth moving against yours, even if his kisses are messy and not quite centered on your lips. You should really stop, stop rubbing your tongue against his, stop sliding the tip between the two hard edges of his barbells- but the hand on your ass slides up to your hip and rocks you down against him. Friction between your legs makes you sigh, closing your eyes and surrendering as his mouth again travels to your neck. His breath is hot, makes your skin erupt into sweat as he guides your hips to keep on working against him. You’re painfully needy- the warmth inside you has been building for too long, the minuscule pressure from Dabi’s strong thigh shouldn’t have you mewling and pliant, but you’re relaxing even more into his too-warm touch.

It’s not fair, you shouldn’t be coming undone with hardly any alcohol in your head while he’s practically unwavering. It’s hard to coordinate your hand worming between your bodies, even harder to remember how to undo his belt while his teeth scrape along your pulse. The click of metal is all you need to hear before you’re ripping at his jeans, ignoring the throaty laugh and the taunting “Can’t wait?” that rolls off his lips with far too much ease. You want to shut him up. Make him moan just like you, come undone with your touch--

and as your fingers slide under the elastic, your mind halts. Dabi keeps on nipping at your throat, sucking a dark mark while his hands try to keep your body sliding on his thigh- completely unaware. “Dabi?” You start, unsure what to say.

“Yeah, doll?” He hums against your skin, keeps you struggling to think straight. You bite your lip, squeeze softly between his legs- and Dabi goes completely still. His panting quiets, keeps his face hidden as the silence stretches on. A single huff of a laugh, exasperated, tired- “Fuck.” and another one follows. His dark hair waves at the corner of your eye as he shakes his head. He falls back flat onto the bed, arms limp at his sides. The heat and bravado in his voice has drained away, leaving something strange and foreign. Hollow. “Pathetic.”

He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond, raising one hand up to rub at his face, the skin stretching, pulling at his staples as he laughs emptily. “It’s fucking pathetic isn’t it? God damn fucking whiskey dick.” He laughs and it makes your chest ache. “Fucking finally get your attention and I can’t even get it up.”

“It happens, it’s okay,” You say, withdrawing your hand to rub soothing strokes over a patch of unscarred skin on his chest. “Just gotta sleep it off.”

“Bullshit.” He stops, stares up at the ceiling. In the darkness you watch as his brow knits, cerulean eyes dancing back and forth as he thinks. And then they settle down against the edge of his scars, staring at you. You blink once, can’t quite read what he’s thinking- before he’s grabbing you around your waist and flipping you over.

If falling forward made your world spin, this leaves you clutching desperately to Dabi’s coat as your vision swims- and his mouth is burning as his lips wrap around your earlobe. You shudder under him and he’s rumbling low in your ear, “Come on… I’ve waited so long,” his hand slots between your legs, “I want to watch you cum.”

It’s a fight to keep your legs from spreading, to stop your hands from shaking as they press weakly against his shoulders. “Dabi, stop…” He huffs against your ear, stilling as you speak. “You’re way too drunk, we can try again another time…”

Dabi raises himself up- and for the first time in what feels like hours there’s finally any space between you. And you wish there wasn’t; cerulean has turned ice-cold, withdrawn as he rolls himself onto his back. “Sure. Another time.” He repeats, twisting your words until they sound sinister. “If you’re so disgusted by me then just get out.”

disgusted.

The word rings in your head, the gears turning despite the heady liquor urging your mind to just stop. Ever so slowly you turn your head, peering at Dabi. Perhaps he’d look disinterested if you didn’t know him, if you didn’t see the tightness in his jaw, how his scarred throat ripples as he swallows compulsively. How his last batch of face-grabbing has torn at his scars. Your chest aches- the patch of scar tissue below his eye has curled back, strains against the staples. Blood runs along the edge, beading around each metal bar before running in one long streak down just in front of his ear where it meets up with the next line of his scars.

Alcohol still fuzzes your decision making- and with one wavering hand you reach for him. His blood is warm and sticky, smearing over your fingers as you touch his cheek. His head tips, but you can’t read his expression in the shadows. Your mouth feels numb from his hot kisses, “You’re bleeding.” You say, already kicking yourself.

You recognize the scowl that warps his face, so you swallow and work your way up onto one elbow. You have no idea what you’re doing, but you reach over and cup his far cheek. In the darkness you feel his eyelashes flutter against your palm as he closes his eyes. “Dabi,” You say quietly, draw him to look to you. Only when you find the tiniest slit of blue under his dark lashes do you continue. “You’re not disgusting.” His lip is already twitching to speak, so you press your thumb over it. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”

His lower lip rubs rough against the pad of your thumb. “You’re here because of the Fireball. You’ll go crawling back to the bar as soon as you sober up.”

“I doubt it.” You let a wry smile stretch over your lips, surrender to the remaining Fireball in your veins. “How about I stay here ‘till we’re both sober, and then when I still want to suck your soul out of your dick in the morning-” Dabi snorts, can’t help how the corners of his mouth rise a fraction of an inch- “we can talk about it.” You wait for a moment, give him a chance to tell you to get the fuck out again, but it doesn’t come. “That sound okay?”

“You just want my nice bed.” He says, the playful deflection back in his voice. It’s nice, familiar after the unpleasant rawness of the night.

You laugh, “Oh, absolutely.” It is true- your own crashpad’s mattress was the first thing you could find on ebay but was still only a half-step above a mattress left on a street corner. “Sit up.”

He obeys with unsteady arms, muttering a little “Not how I imagined this going.” as you push his thick jacket off his arms, careful to not pull any more staples. You leave his shirt alone, but slide off the bed to yank at the ties to his boots. With the haze of alcohol still making your fingers loose, you give up halfway through and just pull them off his feet. He smirks as you get him to lift his hips and you work his jeans down his thighs, revealing more patchwork skin before you peel them off.

Freed of all uncomfortable clothing, Dabi immediately turns around on the mattress, pushing himself back and sinking under the covers, claiming the gray pillow as his own. The apartment is so damn nice, he doesn’t even disturb a layer of dust as he pats the blanket, summoning you over. You bite your lip, look to your own pants. You’re not quite drunk enough to pretend sleeping in these would be comfortable either- you earn yourself a brow raise as you fumble with your button for a moment before dropping your pants into the pile of his clothes.

“Don’t say anything.” You warn him as you slide into the bed with him. Already the blanket is warm, cozy. He grins wider.

“I didn’t say anything, doll.”

“Shut up.”

You weren’t sure how this would work before, but now it feels easy. He raises one arm, pushes it under the dark blue pillow and lets you curl up, flush with his side. Your exposed thighs meet his- makes your skin tingle, feeling his staples, the hairless skin of his scars. Heat rises in your cheeks and you dare to look up to him- your heart pounds in your chest.

His eyes, half-lidded and soft, are focused on you. Fingertips land on your arm, running up your skin, jumping from your shoulder to the curve of your jaw. His thumb strokes over your cheek, blunt nail dragging softly. This close you watch as his mouth tightens as though he’s about to speak- but his mismatched lips part and he sighs.

The spiced scent of the whiskey washes over you- and as he leans down you meet him halfway, let the taste of cinnamon cover your tongue. It’s slow, unhurried- his mouth lingering over yours between kisses and you let yourself savor each moment of his closeness. He meets your lips again- tipping your chin until the staples below his lips press against you, the coolness of the metal in contrast to his warm breath making you shiver. Your hands ghost up his sides, sneaking under his shirt to slide along the lines of his scars, over the shapes of muscles and ribs. Dabi withdraws then, but doesn’t go far. His hand again tips your face how he wants, forcing your chin down until he can reach your forehead. The kiss he lays there makes your eyes flutter closed.

Tension eases out of him by inches, occasionally interrupted by the drift of his fingers on your skin, brushing over your cheeks, over the back of your neck, tangling into your hair. The scratch of his nails over your scalp makes you hum in contentment and Dabi’s mouth quirks up as his eyes close again. In his warmth, it’s easy to relax, to nose closer to him until your face is tucked up against him and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulls you to sleep.

.

.

.

A wretched taste coats your teeth and no matter how much your tongue- which is uncomfortably thick and dry- rubs across your mouth, it lingers. You swallow and force your eyes open- only to groan. Vision blurred, you blink over and over to try and force some wetness to gather again. It takes a minute to remember where the fuck you were- but with the heat radiating from your side, the memories return quickly.

In the night you’d kicked the blanket half-off, revealing your bare leg from under the black fabric. With the warmth that’s still trapped by the blanket and the dampness of sweat that gathers along your neck and back, you can probably imagine why. Yet, you’re still side by side with him. He’s pushed the blanket down around his waist while his shirt has ridden up, revealing a twisting line of scars and staples that dips near his navel before winding off under the white of his rumpled shirt.

You grin, reach over and touch him- and he’s just as warm as expected. His healthy skin is taut, covering the muscles of his abdomen and as your fingers slide over his stomach, those muscles clench, twitch-

His hand catches yours and he groans- face twisting into a grimace.

“Sorry,” Your voice comes out rough with your dry throat. “Thought you were asleep.”

“Hung over.” If your voice was rough, his is in absolute tatters, deep and gravelly and caught in his throat. His hand releases yours to come up and lay over his face- which now you can see is pale and sickly, making his scars look even more purple. His fingers touch his cheek, pick at the blood that has dried from last night, peeling and sticking around his staples.

“Need water?” You ask, already beginning to scoot away from him- figure you’ll share a glass with him no matter how he answers.

“That eager to get away from me?” His reply rumbles. Without the fog of alcohol in his veins, he actually sounds teasing. Playful. Blue eyes burn into you through his dark lashes. You think you know better now.

So you come back to him, lean over him with one arm pressed to his pillows- the hand that had been on his face graces your hips. When you lean down, his chin lifts, meets you halfway. It’s simple, not the demanding kisses from last night- hardly more than your lips sliding over his. You break away just enough to rub your nose against his, feel the cool metal of his triple studs as you speak, “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

You don’t give him a chance to reply, pressing a quick peck to his half-open mouth and scooting off the bed. You don’t, however, miss the dazed look that tracks your body as you slide off the bed, nor the pleasantly surprised huff that follows. Dabi eases himself up onto his elbows to watch you as you make your way to the doorway, looking each way down the hallway there, unsure where the kitchen is. You turn back to ask- “Where’s-?”

And watch as Dabi scrambles out of bed, nearly tripping over the pile of clothes in the middle of the room, knocks over still-open the Fireball, as he dashes towards a cracked door- “Dabi?” Alarms set off in your head as you move to follow-- until the telltale sound of Dabi being sick echoes out of the bathroom.

Of course. You turn your back to him, give him a little privacy as he heaves and grab the Fireball and your clothes before the pool of amber alcohol can reach them. The strong smell of cinnamon makes your lip curl, your stomach flipping in protest, so you leave your clothes on the bed and take the offending bottle with you as you explore the little apartment.

Once you’re back in the room you’d teleported into last night, you spot the kitchen. You leave the bottle on the counter, pushing it as far into the corner as you can, then grab a spare rag left out. In the bathroom, Dabi’s heaving has been replaced by the running of the sink- the rush of water occasionally interrupted by what you suspected was his cupped hands or mouth. You peak in as you drop the rag on the floor and are rewarded with the sight of Dabi bent over the sink, forehead pressed to the metal faucet, one hand scooping water to pour onto the back of his neck. The collar of his shirt has turned transparent, clinging to his back.

“Still glad you stayed?” The tiled bathroom makes his voice echo strangely.

You think about it, mop up the Fireball with your foot. “Yeah.” His head turns, one blue eye peeking out at you from behind dark hair. You grin. “Really glad I kissed you before that, though.”

[mochideleche]

you can’t keep away from fate | CH1

Pairing : Percy jackson x demigod!reader 

summary : The daughter of destiny- literally, along with inevitability, compulsion and necessity. Being the child of a primordial goddess doesn’t really assure you a quiet calm life but when you return to new york after five years of being shipped off to boarding school, your once mundane life says goodbye.

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A/N I’ve been wanting to write this for quite some time so here it is! this is going to be quite a long fanfic so i’ll have the parts linked in each post when they’re ready. (p.s the pov’s might change from yours to percy’s just because some parts of the story will seem better that way) enjoy!

 It took about 2 weeks to convince your father to let you tag along with him to his business trip to new york. You were certain he would never comply but after you pulled your ‘puppy eyes’ and ‘it’s been 5 years’ cards, he grudgingly agreed. 

So for one week only you said goodbye to your sophisticated private boarding school and you were off to america, the current central of western civilisation- in other words, the land of the gods. 

Once in New york, your father had let you roam around on your own which surprised you a lot. You’d had expected him to get one of his assistants to babysit you but you both knew deep down that you were rather capable of taking care of yourself- wether that was being kidnapped or attacked by a monster, or both. 

Before you left he made sure that you were wearing your mother’s bracelets, two pearl and diamond encrusted items which could extend into long elegant swords by the flick of your wrists. You didn’t use them on the regular so it felt foreign to you, the last time you had used them was when you lived with you mum. 

Your mum wasn’t exactly a sore subject, yeah sure, she had sent you off to live with your father at the age of eleven and then disappeared off the face of the earth without any trace or any goodbye to anyone- which you guessed wasn’t exactly difficult for a goddess, but you knew it was for the better. She’d wanted you to live an as normal life as you could, keep you out of harms way- but that was wishful thinking. Being her daughter, you would never get a normal life. 

Even though northern europe didn’t exactly host a load of monsters, unless you were near the mediterranean,  and you had lived like any other mortal- you knew that was sure to end, someone or something would find you one way or another. 

and by coming to new york, standing in front of the empire state building, was exactly how you’d ended it. 

Your father hadn’t exactly said you were forbidden to go there, but it was an unspoken rule that didn’t exactly needed saying. It was just like your father not choosing to state you weren't allowed to commit mass murder but you knew not to do it anyway. 

You stared at the building, you had an itch to go inside; maybe just to see who was manning the lobby- but you knew you wouldn’t be allowed up, would you? it would be a very bad idea to go up. You wondered if olympus still looked the same.

 It sometimes made you angry that you were tossed out of there five years ago, even though there were valid reasons as to why, but you couldn’t be blamed, after all- it was where you were born.  

......

It was one of those days where percy wished nothing would interrupt a lovely day with his friends. But when those friends are a satyr and a demigod you can’t really expect nothing to go wrong.

Annabeth and grover had come down from camp half blood to spend the some time with percy which was the very thing he had been looking forward to this entire week, him and his two best friends enjoying pizza at the best place in the whole city.  But in the mid way of their lunch, grover paused, a look of shock painted on his face.  “What is is?” Percy asked, looking around for any threats, his hand clasping on riptide in his pocket.

“It’s a demigod- i think” Grover muttered the last part, then his shocked face turned to fear.

“What, grover what is it? What do you mean you think it’s a demigod?” Annabeth questioned, but grover continued to nervously shake his head. 

“And a monster” Grover started to panic, “There’s a monster, there’s obviously a monster-i could sense them from a mile away” he rambled and annabeth and percy shared a look of confusion. 

Percy didn’t know why grover was in such a state of shock, he’d sensed demigods being followed by monsters all the time and never had he panicked like this- something was wrong and for about the millionth time this week, percy just wished he was normal. 

“Do you know where they are?” Percy questioned, already standing up, annabeth following in suit. 

Grover looked up with them with scared eyes, “uh yeah, but we aren’t following them are we?” he asked, picking up percy’s empty coke can and nervously chewing it.

“Yes we are” Annabeth and percy said in unison, and grover slumped. 

“Alright then, let’s go fight a monster”

It wasn’t long till Grover had lead them down a few blocks and stopped in in the middle of the street, facing the other side with his legs shaking so hard, he could barely keep his crutches straight. 

“There” he said, not pointing or giving any gesture to show who he was looking at but percy knew immediately who he meant. 

There, walking hurriedly was a petite girl, with long caramel hair dressed in a thin black army jacket, jeans and a grey tube top. gods you were pretty. You practically made percy breathless and almost forget that you had a monster following you somewhere. 

You glanced back quickly then turned your attention back to the road but not before your eyes landed on the three of them. You put them all in a state of shock, it was like you could tell they were watching you, it was like you knew what they were. 

Percy watched you take an intake of breath like you were going to say something, but you turned your head and disappeared into the new york crowd. But before percy could think about what had happened, Grover shrieked and hid behind annabeth and percy could see exactly why.

Lumbering slowly through the crowd was a giant, with pudgy skin seeping in places and wearing nothing but a loincloth. He walked through the mortals and nobody acted like they could see him, whatever they saw the giant as through the mist, it must’ve been normal. 

“What’s that thing doing here?” Annabeth hissed, and she immediately made her way to cross the street, percy followed after her and after a short pause, so did grover. 

They followed the giant, which wasn’t exactly hard, through the busy flow of people. They knew they had to kill the giant but they couldn’t do so in the middle of the street filled with mortals. And just after a couple of blocks the street began to empty, leaving the three of them with a clear view of you and the giant in front of them.

But you suddenly ducked into a side road which made percy curse. 

The giant would have no problem trying to kill you now.

The giant seemed to take this in too, he looked around the street just to check there weren’t any others planning to duck into the alleyway and followed you in.

The three of them ran. 

Percy had already uncapped riptide, taking the lead of the chase, he couldn’t imagine what the giant would do, he had to save you- quickly. 

But as he turned the corner, it seemed like you didn’t need saving. 

Somehow you had thrown yourself onto the giants head, your legs chocking the giant as he aimlessly tried to swat you away like some bug that annoyed him. He dangerously swayed side to side, threatening to smash you into the narrow set walls either side of you.

“Tell me who you're working for!” you shouted, a slight accent perking your voice. 

it made you all the more cuter, percy thought.

“Who sent you!” you screamed, hands pulling up on the giants ears causing it to yell out in pain. 

“You shall die!” the giant bellowed but it didn’t phase you.

You rolled your eyes, you seemed bored and tired of this monsters bull crap and  with one hand you made a gesture as if you were pulling a string away from the giants nose and the monster began to cough. 

Then it stood still, eyes wide and then- it exploded into ashes. 

And that left you sitting on nothing, so you fell towards the floor. 

Percy acted before he could think and ran under you, arms spread out and in a split second, you landed in his arms. 

“Oh-” you said, shocked, staring at the dark haired boy whose arms you were laying in, “hello” 

His sea green eyes shifted awkwardly to the side for a second before returning back to you again, “ uhm, hi” 

smooth percy, smooth. 

The two of you looked at each other, faces inches apart. None of you spoke and just looking at your coffee coloured eyes made percy’s heart beat erratically, but the fact that you were there in his arms made his heart burst it’s way out of his chest. 

Percy gulped, you smiled at him. 

“ahem” annabeth coughed, and percy turned to see the two of his best friends with smug grins of their faces, “ sorry to bother but she was just attacked by a giant” 

“More like the giant was attacked by her” grover said a sheepish smile on his face, amazed by the mystery girl’s unexpected ability.

“You can put me down now,” you said quietly, patting percy’s chest to which his awkwardly mumbled out a ‘right, sorry’ and set you down gingerly beside him. 

Percy could hear the sniggers from behind him and it made him even more flustered. gods he was going to kill the both of them. 

“How did you do that? I mean, you barely did anything and the giant died” Annabeth questioned, adoration and confusion lacing her voice as she approached you.

“Oh, i uhm,” you stuttered, tucking your hair behind your ear, “i made him stop breathing” 

“by strangling him?” percy asked and you shook your head with a small smile. 

“No, i stopped the air from entering his lungs” you replied innocently as if you were saying “i asked him if how his day was” 

Percy’s mouth fell open, “you what?!”

“So you can manipulate air?” Annabeth asked and you nodded. 

“Wait you’re definitely a demigod right? not some sort of sorceress or minor goddess” Grover questioned, still shocked at the fact that you had defeated that giant so easily.

You laughed, “i’m no goddess, just a demigod” 

well you sure looked like a goddess, percy thought, had a laugh like one too and had the power of one, he wasn’t even sure he could defeat a 7ft giant with no weapon. 

“I’m annabeth, this is grover and this is percy” Annabeth introduced, hand stretched out in greeting, you shook it and gave them a large smile.

“I’m Y/N” 

The more he stared at you, the more details he seemed to take in, how your hair was actually dyed- your black roots appearing at the crown of your head, how your jacket was two sizes too big and how it draped slightly on one shoulder, how perfectly manicured your nails were. 

could you be anymore attractive? 

“So do you know who your godly parent is?” Annabeth asked and you nodded but you didn’t expand on the question and it was obvious to the three of them that you weren’t too keen on sharing information to 3 strangers. 

“If you want, we could take you back to a safe place, it’s for demigods, it’s called camp half blood” Annabeth coaxed, and percy knew she was trying to recruit the you. 

These were desperate times and camp half blood needed all the help it could get. 

“Camp half blood? oh! i know that place!” you said excitedly- throwing the three of them into shock.

“You do?” percy asked, and you nodded your head.

“My father went there, he was a son of Hephaestus” 

If it was possible, this put the three in even more shock.

“You’re father was a halfblood?” percy asked amazed. It was known that once demigods got older they would leave camp and try to make a life for themselves, but at that moment it seemed so impossible to even survive after 16 that percy found the idea so foreign. 

“How come you didn’t go to camp half blood then?” grover asked.

“I don’t live in america” you explained, which was rather evident from your accent but now that it was stated, percy didn’t have to assume.

 “Well i think chiron would really want to meet you, he might have known your dad” Annabeth said, leading you out of the alleyway as you two talked.

Percy was left staring at our back, grover stood next to him.

“you know, you could try talking to her rather than just ogling at her” Grover snickered and without a word percy punched him. 

[artificialqueens]

Off Limits, Chapter 1 (Bitney, Willaska) - Veronica/Albatross

A/N: Hey guys! This is the companion story to “No Strings Attached.” We’re tagging them both as “Just Friends” so that it’ll be easy to read the chapters in order, but once it gets complicated, I might include a guide. Both ships are in both stories, but generally, “No Strings Attached” is Willaska-focused and this one is Bitney-focused. (Link to all chapters in order, which so far is just 2.)

Summary: When Bianca meets her new roommates, she’s especially captivated by one of them. Worse, the feeling seems to be mutual.

***

Bianca hated being fucking late. It was bad enough that she’d had to drive all the way from New Orleans to California, praying that her 7-year-old Kia wouldn’t break down. But for the last leg of her trip, which should have been 45 minutes, she got caught in an accident on the freeway that turned what should have been a short, pleasant zip up the freeway into a torturous 4-hour crawl.

By the time she reached the dorms, she was fuming--not to mention exhausted. And having to lug her shit from possibly the worst parking spot in the garage did nothing to improve her shitty mood. By the time she’d achieved some semblance of order in her room, she was hot and thirsty and as cranky as she’d ever been.

She chugged about a gallon of water and then collapsed on the sofa, arm over her eyes, trying to summon the energy to think about a shower.

It was then when the front door swung open and a trio of laughing, chattering girls poured inside.

Bianca looked up. At first glance, all she saw was Blonde, Blonde, Blonde. A bunch of perfect, plastic sorority girls, exactly the type of girl she couldn’t stand. (And, if she was honest, exactly the type of girl that she always feared a little bit.) She groaned inwardly, sitting up and giving them a withering glare.

Unable to help herself, she announced, “Great...I’m living with a bunch of bottle blonde bitches.” As the words left her mouth, she realized that she was perhaps not making the best first impression. But instead of taking it back, she doubled down with, “So whose hideous leopard duvet is that?”

The Littlest Blonde burst into delighted giggles, before glancing at the (Bianca assumed) Duvet-Owning Blonde beside her and pressing her lips together contritely.

Slutty Blonde slung an arm around Duvet Blonde and said, “Calm down, bitch. Some of us are garbage pails with hideous taste. We’re still people.”

Bianca pursed her lips, determined to continue hating them all.

With that, Little Blonde skipped forward, flinging herself onto the sofa and offering a bright smile.

“Hi, I’m Courtney. You must be our fourth roommate,” she said.

She had an accent--a cute accent. Shit. Do not let the accent fool you. This Barbie doll bitch isn’t your friend.  

“Wow...what gave that away, detective?” Bianca asked, narrowing her eyes slightly.

“Well…” she leaned in conspiratorially, speaking in a low voice. “It would be a little weird for you to be here, if you weren’t. So...” She finished with a flutter of lashes and another dazzling smile, green eyes dancing with amusement.

Well, fuck. Bianca was not planning to be this charmed, this quickly. The plan was to be grumpy and sulk for awhile. Foiled by a pretty face...not the first time, but still annoying.

“Genius.” Bianca tried to suppress her smile, but dimples poked through anyway.

“I knooow, right?”

Australian. Bianca winced. Surely this was some kind of karmic justice for a terrible deed she’d done as a child. After all, there was no way in hell that Bianca would get involved with one of her roommates. She was many things, but she was not that messy.

“So, are you gonna tell us your name?” Courtney asked.

“Yeah, sorry. Bianca. Hi.”

“Hi, Bianca, nice to meet you.”

God, even the way she said her name was sexy. Bee-aaaahn-cah. Ugh. Bianca was well and truly fucked.

“Hey, I’m Willam,” Slutty Blonde said, perching on the arm of the sofa. “And that’s Alaska...your roommate. You should be nicer to her; she’s cool.”

Duvet Blonde gave a halfhearted wave.

“Hi, Alaska,” Bianca said, slightly chagrined, “I’m sorry...about your lack of taste. We’ll work on it.”

Courtney giggled again, tossing her hair, still watching Bianca closely. And as much as she wanted to look away, to dismiss her as some airhead, she had to admit that something in her eyes was captivating.

“So, Bianca...where are you from?” Courtney asked.

“New Orleans,” Bianca told her.

“Oooh, have you ever been to Mardi Gras?!” she asked, eyes lighting up.

“Uhh. Yeah.”

“Did you bring us any beads?”

“Why not get out your tits and see, Court?” Willam suggested.

Courtney started to lift the edge of her shirt, and Bianca’s eyes went wide--this girl was turning out to be a lot more than she’d bargained for. Courtney glanced at her surprised face and burst out laughing again.

“Just kidding.”

“Good one,” Bianca offered, a little ashamed at the flash of disappointment she felt. Of course she was kidding; Bianca needed a cold shower.  

“So, are you a new student here?” Courtney asked.

“Yeah.” Bianca cleared her throat. “I transferred from LSU.”

“Where’s that?”

“Louisiana...State...University,” Bianca explained slowly, as if she was talking to a child. Her tone was intentionally condescending, but Courtney continued her rapid-fire questions undeterred.

“Ah! Brilliant. And have you-”

“You ask a lot of questions,” Bianca said. She’d never experienced that many questions in a row, and considering her gigantic nosy-ass family, that was saying a lot. If she wasn’t so cute, Bianca would be thoroughly irritated.  

“Sure does,” Willam added with an eye roll.

“Oh yeah. I know. Is it annoying you?” Courtney bit her lip, head tilted cutely.

“That’s another question,” Bianca declared stonily, pretending once again not to be charmed. And doing a piss-poor job of it, if the glimmer in Courtney’s eyes was any indication.

“Hmm, I guess it is,” Courtney said, tone lilting and gently mocking. “Sorry, I’m just trying to get to know you.”

“Maybe I should ask you some questions.”  

“Maybe you should!” Courtney replied brightly. She stretched her legs--long, tan, killer legs--placing them on the coffee table and folding them delicately at the ankles. “What would you like to know?”

Do you moan in an Australian accent?

Bianca coughed, mind blanking for a moment, before admitting with a shrug, “I guess...I’m not very curious.”

“Pity. ‘Cause I’m an open book.”

“Uh. Good to know.” After a beat, Bianca offered, “So. I had kind of a shitty morning.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Courtney sat up straighter, the teasing smirk replaced with an expression of genuine concern. “Are you okay?”

“It’s fine, I just...I was actually about to jump in the shower. I’ll probably be in a better mood after that.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” said Willam, and Alaska let out a clipped laugh.

“I deserved that,” Bianca said with a nod and wry smile. “So I guess I’ll go...do that.”

With one last glance at the group, Bianca got up and walked towards her bedroom to get her things.

“What a cunt,” Willam said loudly--loud enough that Bianca knew it was for her benefit. She chuckled to herself.

“Bill!” Courtney scolded, then added, “I like her.”

“Clearly. Why don’t you go make my bed?”

“Make your own bed, dickhead!” Courtney shrieked.

The shower was much needed. Bianca could feel the stress of the day literally rinsing away, muscles relaxing in the steamy water. When she re-entered her bedroom, Alaska was lounging on the bed, flipping through a magazine. She sat down at her desk, pulling over a light-up mirror.

She took her time blow-drying her hair. Even put on some makeup. No reason not to look nice for a relaxing afternoon of getting to know her roommates, right? She pulled on a casual summer dress and sandals and then began to put everything away in its spot...blow dryer in the stackable basket with her curling iron, makeup in the case, brushes in the cup.

She turned around to Alaska, who gave her a smile.

“I like your bins,” Alaska commented, gesturing to Bianca’s compulsively organized and labeled plastic bins, lined up under her bed and stacked on the dresser.

“Thanks. And I like your...uh…” Bianca surveyed the mess on Alaska’s side of the room before settling on the word, “...piles.”

Alaska let out a loud cackle. The most Bianca had seen her laugh yet. She grinned wryly.

“I’m a little bit messy, sorry,” Alaska said.

“It’s cool,” Bianca shrugged. “To each their own.”

“I’ll keep it contained, I swear. And on my side of the room.”

“You fucking better!” Bianca exclaimed, and was rewarded with another laugh from her roommate.

***

Courtney didn’t like to admit it, but she’d had a bit of a lonely summer. She’d decided with her parents that, since she wanted to come home for Christmas again this year, it made more sense for her to stay at school, taking a few classes and working at an internship.

It usually wasn’t hard for Courtney to make friends, but somehow, she hadn’t connected with anyone. Her classmates seemed lovely, and her coworkers were nice enough too, but she missed the late-night gossiping with Willam, the chance to let loose and be silly. The girls she attempted to hang out with over the summer just weren’t the kind of unpredictable fun that Willam was. And her summer roommate was a reclusive Belgian girl who spent all of her time buried in her laptop wearing headphones.

But today, she was thrilled. Willam was finally back, and even better, she had two new fantastically wonderful roommates.

Alaska was great. A little reserved, maybe, but that was alright with Courtney. She had a great sense of humor and a genuinely kind soul that Courtney adored right away. Plus, she seemed to get along really well with Willam, which was a relief. (Courtney loved her BFF, but she knew that getting her seal of approval could be difficult.)

And then there was Bianca. Blunt and a bit abrasive, but Courtney found herself thoroughly enchanted almost immediately, reveling in her sharp wit and acid tongue. Her dark, flashing eyes. She was unlike anyone Courtney had ever met before, truth be told.

As Courtney helped Willam stuff her clothes into the closet and dresser and arrange her shoes and bags under the bed, she sighed happily, grateful to be surrounded by people with whom she could really let down her hair.

It took ages before Willam was satisfied. Well, not so much satisfied as much as resigned to accept the confines of their limited space. She turned to Courtney with a sigh, saying, “Well, it is what it is, I guess.”

Courtney laughed and suggested that they check on the others, skipping happily over to Bianca and Alaska’s open door. She pushed it in further, asking, “How are you ladies doing? Bonding?”

“Oh yeah,” Bianca said, turning around in her desk chair, large curling iron in hand. “Our periods are already in sync.”

Alaska laughed, and Courtney was glad to see that some of her earlier tension had melted away.

“How disgustingly primal,” Willam said, collapsing on the bed next to Alaska, who moved over to give her space.

Courtney settled on the floor nearby. She watched as Bianca carefully styled her hair, admiring the color—a rich, reddish mahogany brown—and wondering how she got it so shiny.

“Is your room bigger than ours?” Willa asked, pulling Courtney out of her thoughts as she looked around suspiciously.

“I don’t know. Is it?” Bianca asked.

“Bill’s pretty pissed about the closet space,” Courtney explained. “I gave her one of my drawers, but…” She shrugged, pulling affectionately on one of Willam’s bare feet, “Some people are just never satisfied.”

“I have an extra drawer, too,” Alaska offered, and Bianca’s eyebrows shot up.

“You sure you don’t want to use that for some of the stuff that’s…” she gestured to the top of Alaska’s dresser.

Looking at their spaces, Courtney could see a clear clash of styles. Bianca’s things were almost obsessively organized, lined up in containers with p-touch labels. Alaska’s side of the room was more haphazard, similar to Courtney’s space.

“Nah, she can have it,” Alaska said with a sweet smile, and Bianca responded by sticking out her tongue briefly.

Courtney giggled, seeing them tease each other, happy that they already seemed to be friends. She relaxed against Alaska’s desk chair, finally content to just let the conversation drift as it were, taking a break from her usual Oprah mode.

“So...not to be a wet blanket on all this delightful female bonding, but...where can a bitch find some decent vegetarian food around here?” Bianca asked, putting away her hairstyling tools and turning around.

“You’re hungry?” Courtney looked up at her.

“No, just thought I’d buy some food and throw it at seagulls. Yes, I’m fucking hungry.”

Through Courtney’s immediate laughter, Willam muttered, “Decent shit is mostly downtown...but edible? There’s the cafeteria next door, the salad bar over by the biology building, food court in the quad, the-”

“No, Bill,” Courtney giggled out with a weak swat at Willam’s leg. “Let’s get something different. Something better.” She decided not to add ‘for Bianca.’

Willam rolled her eyes and huffed out, “Fine then, cunt. Where do you suggest we eat?”

There was a moment’s pause as Courtney pondered over the question before thoughtfully looking up at Bianca, asking, “Do you like burritos?”

“Wow. That’s racist.”

“No, it’s not because you’re--I didn’t mean--it’s just that they’re really good and you said-” Courtney tripped all over herself to explain, flustered, cheeks growing hot. Shit, she hoped she hadn’t been offensive.

After a beat, Bianca burst out laughing.

“I was kidding, calm down. Burritos sound good.”

“Courtney, are you talking about that hole in the wall on Fair Oaks? We’ll have to take a car.”

“It’s good, and they have tons of veggie options, and you love driving,” Courtney insisted. “Plus, everything on campus will be chockers right now.”

“‘Chockers’?!” Willam repeated. “That’s so Aussie!”

“Packed, full, whatever, you know I’m right.”

“Ugh. Alright,” Willam groaned, then asked, “Alaska? You in?”

“Uh, I’m not really all that hungry,” Alaska said. “You guys should go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m getting a little bit of a headache.”

“Oh no!” Courtney leapt to her feet. “Do you need something? I have magnesium supplements. Or, vitamin b-complex. That’s great for headaches!”

“Or, if you want something that actually works, I got Tylenol and Advil…” Bianca gestured to one of her boxes.

“I’ve got Vicodin,” Willam added. “And weed.”

“Thanks guys, but I think I just need to lay down for awhile.”

“Okay, we’ll leave you alone. Let us know if you want us to bring you back any food,” Courtney offered.

“Thanks.”

As the group trooped out of the room, Bianca grabbed her purse and then slung an arm around Courtney’s shoulder, asking, “Magnesium supplements?”

“My dad’s a doctor of alternative medicine,” Courtney giggled.

“Well, that tracks…”

***

By the time they perched on the rickety stools at the burrito place, Bianca was beyond starving. She dug into her food with a passion as Courtney resumed her questioning from earlier.

“Sooo,” she began, drawing out the word in that infuriatingly adorable Australian way, “You said that you transferred from Louisiana, right? What brings you out here?”

“Well, I’m majoring in marketing and international relations, and they have this scholarship that combines-”

“You’re an Ashford Scholar?!” Courtney exclaimed, eyes widening dramatically.

Bianca couldn’t help be a bit pleased with herself, happy that the prestigious scholarship was known even beyond the business school. Courtney was clearly impressed, and so she gave a small shrug of faux modesty.

“That’s amazing, that’s really...you know only 1 person a year gets that, right?” Courtney asked.

Bianca nodded and swallowed, then said, “Can’t wait to meet last year’s bitch. I assume they’re extraordinary too.”

Courtney giggled, resting her cheek on her hand. “So I guess that means you’re gonna have a lot of work to do. I heard those Ashford internships are seriously intense.”

“I’ll manage…”

Though her answer sounded nonchalant, she was enjoying Courtney’s obvious respect for her accomplishment. Her eyes practically glimmered in admiration.

“What about you, dollface?” Bianca asked. “What’s your major? Psychology?”

“No...although actually I did consider that!” Courtney said.

“Shocking.”

Courtney giggled, crunching down on a chip and saying, “I’m doing PoliSci.”

“Oh, cool.”

“Yeah…” she leaned in and stage whispered, “Your political system here is absolutely up the shit.”

Bianca laughed, not entirely familiar with that expression but getting the gist. She was about to agree when Willam interrupted her thoughts.

“That’s so Aussie!” Willam said, mouth muffled with food.

She assumed that was some kind of inside joke, but found herself unconcerned with being left out. What was more troubling was that until that moment, she’d temporarily forgotten that Willam was even there. She could already tell that it was a problem...how enchanting her new roommate was. Not to mention beautiful. The more Bianca looked into Courtney’s face, the more captivated she became. She cleared her throat, forcing her attention to Willam, who was working her way through a steak burrito bowl. Bianca nudged her foot.

“What’s your major, then?”

She expected a proud, boastful response but instead, there was just further silence. Conversation dropped dead for a few moments before Courtney chimed in softly with, “She doesn’t have a major yet...She’s still undeclared.”

“What?” Bianca exclaimed in amazement as a hint of pink rose to Willam’s cheeks despite her stony expression. “How can you still be undeclared? What year are you in?”

“Third,” Willam answered tensely, “And it's not that unusual. I just haven’t found the right thing yet, okay?”

If it wasn’t clear before that this was a touchy subject, the little huff at the end of her defense made it painfully obvious.

“Okay, well...cool.” Bianca grimaced awkwardly. Served her right for trying her hand at some Courtney-esque interview questions. She racked her brain for a lighter topic of conversation. “So...what do you guys...do for fun?”

“Shop,” Willam answered decisively.

“Oh! You know what we should do!” Courtney exclaimed brightly. “We should go to Cielo Plaza tomorrow!”

“What’s that?” Bianca asked, relieved that the subject change had worked.

“A mall,” Willam answered. “It’s no King of Prussia but there are a few good stores in there.”

Bianca wasn’t sure what the fuck “King of Prussia” was, but Courtney breezed right past it, happily pitching how great the activity would be.

“Yeah! And it’s so cute. We could have lunch, find some more decorations for the apartment, get some new clothes-”

“Should ask Alaska if she wants to come too,” Willam said, continuing to speak through mouthfuls of food.

“Of course!” Courtney enthused. “And then Saturday, we could go to the beach! Do you like the beach?”

Bianca did not like the beach. Sand in her asscrack was the last thing she wanted. But the idea of seeing Courtney in a bathing suit was pretty appealing…

“Love the beach,” she said with a smile.  

“Great!” Courtney leaned back proudly.

“So, uh…what about nighttime fun?” Bianca’s eyes flickered unconsciously to Courtney’s glossy lips, the way her tongue toyed with the straw, before quickly adding, “Any good clubs?”

“We’re underage,” Courtney said sweetly.

“Oh, right.” Bianca turned to Willam. “Come on. I know you’ve got a fake ID. Where do you go?”

A secretive, almost mischievous smile spread across Willam’s lips as her eyes narrowed in on Bianca consideringly. There was a confident, daring tone in her voice as she responded with a simple, “Depends.”

Arching her brow, egging her on, Bianca shot back, “On?”

Willam’s smile grew just a little wider as answered, “On what your type of scene is.”

Fully catching onto the joke that had gone over Courtney’s head, Bianca sat back in her seat, arms crossed with an amused grin of her own and asked, “What do you think it is?”

There was a loaded pause as the two stared one another down. Courtney’s eyes darted back and forth in confusion, looking absolutely lost.

Finally, after what felt like a decade of waiting, Willam broke the silence of the group and replied almost smugly, “I think you'll be right at home in Sierra's.”

“Willam!” Courtney scolded harshly as she gave her friend a firm smack to the arm. Turning a bright shade of pink, she turned to Bianca and apologized, lowing her voice, “I'm sorry, that...that's a gay bar.”

The way her voice had dipped into such a low whisper had Bianca laughing on the spot. As soon as she managed to get ahold of herself, she inquired with amusement, “So? What’s wrong with gay bars?”

Stunned, Courtney blinked several times before finding her voice again. “Nothing! That’s not what I-it’s not that there’s anything wrong, she just shouldn’t assume...I mean, if you’re okay with it, then-”

“Well, it’s probably gonna be my best bet at getting laid,” came the nonchalant answer.

Looking rather pleased with herself, Willam piped back up for affirmation, “So you are...?”

Nodding her head, Bianca confirmed, “Mh-mm...And what about you? Casual observer or part of the family?”

“I mean...if that's what I'm in the mood for, yeah.”

“Makes sense,” Bianca quipped as her brow arched, “You do seem like the ‘take it anywhere you can get it’ type.”

The comment earned a loud laugh, one distinct enough to draw the attention of nearly everyone else in the shop. Despite the onlookers, Willam reassured her with a playful grin, “Trust me bitch, it’s not that hard to get it around here...”

“Sounds promising,” Bianca replied before turning back to Courtney, “You alright, dollface? You’ve been awfully quiet over here.”

Stumbling to collect herself, Courtney found herself mumbling, “Oh...um, no. I mean, yeah, I'm not-I mean-”

“Court is straight,” Willam said, saving her from stammering any longer.  

“You don’t say,” Bianca said, trying to sound like she’d known all along. Secretly though, she was a bit surprised. She could have sworn that the blonde had been giving her vibes all day. Well...too bad. Karmic justice, indeed. With a sly sideways glance at her, Bianca clucked, “Pity.”  

Snorting through her laughter, Willam shook her head and said, “Yeah, you wish, bitch. But that pussy’s a boys club.”

“Bill!” Courtney wrinkled her nose in distaste.

Bianca shook her head sadly, asking, “So...you’ve never even been eaten out by someone who actually knows what the hell they're doing down there?”

“Hey! Men can learn!” Courtney exclaimed defensively, then a tiny conspiratorial grin crept onto her face and she admitted, “I mean...hypothetically.”

Bianca burst into cackling laughter.

“Oh, you poor baby,” she cooed, still giggling, slipping an arm around Courtney’s shoulders. Courtney turned to her with a look of good-natured self-pity, lower lip puffed out, batting her lashes slowly for comedic effect.

The more Bianca thought about it, the more she realized that there was something a bit freeing about Courtney being straight. She was straight. There were lines that would never be crossed, ever. So it meant she was safe to flirt and have fun and it would never make her living situation complicated.

Win win, right?

Bianca looked into Courtney’s sparkling green eyes one last time before removing the arm from her shoulder, chuckles dying down.

***

Bianca suggested a stop at the grocery store on the way home, which Courtney realized was a great idea, since she had barely anything stocked, having chosen to eat most of her meals for the past few days in the cafeteria by their building.

Plus, she didn’t mind at all that they were extending their outing, finding Bianca to be both hilarious and fascinating. While Willam was occupied on her phone, Courtney hopped into the cart, beaming up at Bianca.

“Uh, I’m sorry, are your legs broken?” Bianca asked pointedly.

“Come on, please?! I wanna riiiiide,” she wheedled, and Bianca smirked at her.

“Oh, I can give you a ride.”

Courtney bit her lip, both hating and loving the way her stomach twisted every time she looked into Bianca’s brown eyes. It was thrilling, but also terrifying, like being on a rollercoaster--and Courtney loved rollercoasters. She was still a bit miffed at Willam for so adamantly proclaiming her straightness earlier, though she couldn’t really say why. It was true, of course, she was straight, but the way Willam said it so definitively was annoying, especially since she’d only just found out that Bianca was gay moments before.

All Courtney did know, for sure, was that she was having fun, so she decided just to enjoy herself and not stress about it.

They sped through the store, picking up pantry staples and some produce for the next couple of days, along with a few treats that Courtney insisted on...coconut water, dates, kale chips. Bianca pretended to be disgusted by all of it.

At one point, in the freezer aisle, Courtney found herself gazing up at Bianca, admiring again how thick and shiny her hair was. When Bianca leaned over the cart to toss in a package of frozen peas, Courtney reached up, fingering a lock gently.

“Is that your real hair color?” she asked.

“No,” Bianca said, “Not even close. Why, is that your real hair color?” She reached out, unceremoniously ruffling Courtney’s hair.

Courtney ducked and giggled, saying, “Almost! It’s...slightly enhanced.”

A wicked look passed across Bianca’s face as she said, “You know, there’s a way to check that.”

“Eyebrows?” Courtney asked, lashes fluttering innocently.

Bianca cackled gleefully, dark eyes dancing with joy, and said, “Yeah, eyebrows. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

Courtney bit her lip, feeling a surge of pride at making someone as funny as Bianca laugh so hard.

They were almost to the check-out when an employee asked tiredly for her to please get out of the cart.

“Oh yeah, sorry!” she said, scrambling to get up.

“Need a hand?” Bianca asked.

“Thanks.” Courtney let Bianca help her out, one hand holding the cart steady and the other on her waist. A faint blush colored her cheeks as she jumped down and found herself chest to chest with Bianca, close enough to smell her perfume, which was lovely--warm and smoky. It made Courtney want to lean in closer...

“Let’s go!” Willam screeched, slamming the cart into their legs.

“Soz Bill!” Courtney snapped out of her daze and headed for the registers, making sure to snatch a few bars of dark chocolate on the way, chuckling slightly at Willam’s mumbled “that’s so Aussie.”

It was still early when they got back to the apartment, and Courtney was too riled up to sleep, so she suggested opening a bottle of the wine that Bianca bought. Alaska was dozing, so they left her in peace while the three of them sat around Courtney and Willam’s room and chatted for a few more hours. They shared stories about their childhoods and families, generally getting to know each other--at least until Bianca’s eyelids began to look heavy and they sent her off to bed.

As Courtney finally snuggled down into her comforter, lightly buzzed and perfectly content, her last thought was how lucky she was, how wonderful her roommates were, how life-changingly amazing this year promised to be.

[acantha-j-roberts]

Reader X Bill Skarsgard Sickfic: A little too selfless

Chapter 1

It’s your 21st birthday! You wake up, shaking with excitement. Your roommate bursts into your room, wearing a party hat, singing happy birthday and holding a mountain of presents. You didn’t expect so many gifts from your friend, but you were more than flattered. As you read the birthday cards, you can tell who wrote which, just by the writing and the words used. Films, CDs, makeup, sweets (Candy), jewellery, your friend know you well.

Once you’ve opened the majority of the presents, you notice a single unopened card, lying on your bed. You reach for it and it is obviously addressed to you. As you opened the card, you realise something that makes your smile widen. Everything is written in Swedish. You aren’t from Sweden; however, you’re are fluent in the language. Your best friend taught you the language, since he is from Sweden. You read through the card, unable to keep yourself from smiling. You’re near the bottom of that card when it ends with the simple word “Wardrobe” (Obviously in Swedish).

You look up and see a red ribbon hanging out from inside your wardrobe. Excited, you jump out of bed and rush towards it. You pull the closet door open and see a large bag, hanging from a coat hanger. You grab it, lay it on your bed and begin to unzip it. Your eyes light up when you see a gorgeous burgundy gown, with added black jewellery. A large white tag is tied to the dress, you pull it off and this is what it reads:

I’ve seen you admiring this outfits for a while

Hope you like it

Bill

You begin to tear up, you have been admiring this outfit since your first saw in a store window. Now you have it. You gently remove the dress from its packaging and hold it out in front of you. Your roommate looks at the dress, then at you.

“Let me guess, Bill got you that?” She asks.

You nodded, smiling with excitement.

“Y/N, he spoils you.” Your roommate says.

This just makes you smile more, “It’s a shame I don’t have anywhere to wear it.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Your roommate says, “Just wait.”

Chapter 2

For the rest of the day, you watched the films and listened to the music you were gifted. You wondered what your roommate meant when she said, “Just wait.” The sun was setting and you were preparing for a long night of movie watching, when your roommate suddenly comes rushing into the living room, holding your knew dress.

“Try it on!” She exclaimed, excitedly.

You didn’t think anything suspicious about this because you were really excited to try it on anyway. Your roommate was smart for asking you to do this, because whenever you try on a dress, you have a compulsion to put makeup on to make yourself feel even more like a princess. You go upstairs and try on the dress and all the jewellery. You fall in love with the dress even more when you have it on. You look through your new makeup, thinking about what makeup look you should do.

After 20 minutes of applying your makeup, you are finally done. You stare at your reflection, is awe of how amazing you look. You hear your roommate calling you from downstairs, asking if your ready. The walk down the stairs, feeling like royalty, when suddenly your friends jump out on you, screaming happy Birthday!

You are startled at first, but then you begin to jump up and down with excitement. Your roommate then explains that your going to a fancy restaurant, which only makes you more excited. You all enter your roommate’s car and begin to drive to the restaurant. You are listening to your favourite songs, with headphones. When you suddenly hear your friends talking. Not wanting them to know you’re listening, you only pause the music and keep the headphones in.

“I can’t believe he didn’t turn up.” One friend says, “After he organised all this.”

“Give him a break.” My roommate says, “He just finished filming Battlecreek, he’s probably exhausted.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Your friend says, “He should have at least shown up for the surprise.”

“Maybe he’ll be at the restaurant.” My roommate suggests.

“He’d better be.” Your friend says, “Or I swear to god, I’ll kill him.”

You know exactly who they were talking about, since you only have one male friend. You’re not mad at Bill at all for not showing up, he’s been really busy with filming and the premiere of Battlecreek. He already bought you the amazing burgundy dress, and organised this surprise birthday dinner, that is enough to satisfy you. You arrive at a classy restaurant and you and your friends walk in. Your roommate tells the waiter your name, and he leads you and the group into large room, which was decorated with red and black balloons.

The waiter was about to leave, when he asked your roommate whether or not we where expecting anymore people.

“We’re expecting one other person.” Your roommate answers

“Do you want us to wait for them to arrive before serving the food?” The waiter asks

Your roommate was about to answer, when a second waiter appeared. He whispered something to the first waiter, which then caused him to call your roommate away. You watch as you roommate walk, with the waiter, back towards the entrance. You’re having a conversation with your friend (The one you overheard in the car), when she suddenly walks off. You turn around to where she had gone and smile.

Chapter 3

Your roommate had returned, with Bill. You see that your friend is scolding him for showing up late and you’re not happy with that. You walk over, pushing your angry friend aside. You catch eyes with Bill and he smiles.

“You look stunning.” He says, stepping closer to you.

You blush, “Thank you. For the complement and for the dress.”

“Sorry for being late.” Bill says, guiltily

“You’re here now,” You say, “I’m happy with that.”

You smile again, Bill tried to smile but suddenly starts coughing. He turns away from you and coughs into his elbow. Your friend and roommate lean away from him, acting like germophobes. While you step closer to him.

“Are you okay?” You ask, placing your hand on his shoulder.  

“I’m fine.” Bill answers, turning to face you.

Now you’re close to him, you notice he looks a little flushed. You’re becoming a little concerned for him, but you don’t have time to question, because the food that your roommate had ordered arrives. She’d ordered it before we arrived at the restaurant, so we wouldn’t have to wait. You sit down at a large dinning table, placed in the centre of the decorated room. You sit beside your roommate and Bill sits opposite you. You’re severed an array of food, so you can pick what you want. Your favourite drinks are also being served, as well as unlimited cups of water.

You’re laughing with your friends, while eating your favourite foods. They are all asking you what you thought about the presents they gave you. While your talking with your roommate you glance over at Bill and you can’t help your expression changing to worry. It had been half an hour since the food had arrived, but Bill hadn’t eaten anything. He was shivering, despite him still having his jacket on.

Your roommate continued to talk, so your pretended to be listening, but you still glancing over at Bill. You’re taking mental notes on everything he does. Everything he swallows, he grimaces and rubs his throat. Every 5 minutes he’d have another coughing fit, then takes a sip of water to stop the fit. His face was becoming more and more flushed and his skin was covered in a sheen of sweat.

The food was finished and you had to wat about 20 minutes for desert to be served. While the waiter’s cleaned the tables, you’re talking with your roommate and friends. You glance behind you and see Bill standing in the corner, leaning against the wall and rubbing his forehead.

“I’ll be back.” You say, stepping away.

Your friends aren’t bothered with you going and they don’t even notice where you’re going. You walk towards Bill when he suddenly burst out in another coughing fit. You quickly grab a cup of water from the table and rush back to Bill. He looks up at you, his eyes watering from coughing so hard, you hand him the cup and he gently sips it. The coughing ceased and Bill tried to catch his breath. He catches eyes with you and he could see you’re worried.

“I’m fine.” He says, not giving you a chance to talk.

“I want to believe you, Bill.” You say, “But I can’t. I’ve been watching you all night; something is clearly wrong.”

Bill just smiles, “I’m fine, you shouldn’t be worrying about me. It’s your birthday, go and have fun.”

You try not to smile, but you just can’t help it. You’re still worried about him, but he was doing something he knew would make you smile. You’d gone to the premiere of Battlecreek and you really liked his character Henry Pearl. So, since you saw the film, Bill sometimes acts like Henry Pearl, just to make you smile. When Bill goes this, you’re both annoyed and giggly.

“You’re sure everything is okay?” You ask.

Bill was about to answer when the waiters called for us to sit back down. You turn around and your eyes light up again. The table was again covered in some of your favourite foods, but this time it was all sweet foods. You gasp with excitement and rush to your seat. You don’t wait for everyone else to sit down, you already have your plate full of food. As you begin to eat your food, you can’t help glancing over at Bill.

Again, he wasn’t eating, and he wouldn’t even look at the food. You sigh, being certain that Bill was lying when he said he was fine. Something was obviously wrong, he was flushed, not eating, shivering, and clearly had a bad cough. You’re trying to think what to do, knowing Bill won’t admit he wasn’t well, you didn’t was to call him out for lying and you didn’t want him to get any worse.

You’ve finished your food and you just sneakily monitor Bill when another coughing fit began. This fit was much worse than the prior ones, so more people noticed. He stood up and sped walked out of the room, the coughs becoming harsher.

Chapter 4

You and your roommate jump up and run after Bill, you walk faster to get a head of her. Bill had rushed out the restaurant and was standing in the unoccupied outside seating area, still coughing violently. Before you run out to him, a waiter approaches you and asks you if everything is ok. You ask the waiter for some water. The waiter glances outside, sees Bill and immediately rushes away to obey your request. Because the waiter was as worried as you, he rushes back, with a large glass of water.

You gladly take the cup and you rush outside, your roommate following shortly behind you. You feel your heart fill with panic, Bill is on his knees, fighting for breath as the coughs became sharper. You kneel beside him, trying to hide your panic. Bill catches eyes with you, trying to stop himself from coughing so hard. You hand him the cup of water and force him to take a sip. Your method to stop the coughs worked, however Bill was still breathing rapidly. Your panic increases when you see the colour draining from his face.

“Don’t you pass out on me!” You exclaim, panickily.

Bill doesn’t answer, his eyes begin to shut and he starts passing out. You talk to him, asking him basic questions, to try and keep him awake. Unfortunately, Bill doesn’t respond, his eyes fully close and he loses consciousness. You shake his shoulder to try and wake him, no response. You the gently tap his face for the same reason and that’s when you feel it, the heat radiating from Bill’s skin. Your suspicions have been confirmed, as if there were any doubt to begin with, Bill is sick.

You cuss under your breath, “Why didn’t he just tell me?” You think, “I wouldn’t have been mad if he missed this celebration because he was poorly.”

A waiter comes rushing out, gasping when he sees Bill, unconscious.

“Do you want me to call an ambulance?” The waiter asks.

You look down at Bill’s pale face, then back up at the waiter.

“No, an ambulance isn’t needed.” You say, “Just bring me some paper towels and more water, please.”

The waiter nodded and rushed back into the restaurant. Your roommate gives you an odd look.

“Why did you say no?” She asked, “Doesn’t he need a hospital, didn’t he choke?”

You shake your head, “He didn’t choke, he’s sick. He’s been coughing all night and he’s really feverish.”

Your roommate leans over Bill and gently placed her hand on his forehead. She cusses and looks back at you.

“Why didn’t he tell us?” She asks, “Why did he even show up if he’s unwell.” “He didn’t want to disappoint me.” You say, “Even though, he’s already done so much, he didn’t want to miss this celebration.”

The waiter returns with a roll of paper towels and a large pitcher of water, he hands it to you, then stands back.

“Anything else I can do to help?” He asks.

“No, that is all.” You say, “Thanks you for your assistance.”

The waiter smiles and walks back into the restaurant You rip off a foot of paper towel, fold it up, dip it in the water filled pitcher and gently begin pressing it on Bill’s forehead and cheeks. You’re hoping this will cool him down and make him wake up. After a minute of you doing this, Bill’s eyes slowly open.

You breathe a sigh of relief and glance over at your roommate, “He’s waking up.”

Chapter 5

Your roommate also sighs in relief. You look back at Bill, who finally has colour returning to his cheeks. He looks around, in confusion, then looks up at you.

“What happened?” He asks, his voice shallow and raspy.

“You passed out.” You answer, “You were coughing so hard, you made yourself faint.”

Bill looked away, either blushing from embarrassment or from his fever. You sigh and are about to speak when another coughing fit begins. You gently help Bill into an upright position, before handing him the cup of water. He gladly takes it and sips the water. Luckily, you stopped this coughing fit before it started to become dangerous, so Bill wasn’t breathing rapidly when the fit ceased.

When Bill held the cup in his hands, you could see the water rippling, meaning his hands were shaking. You gently place your hand on his shoulder and you can feel him shaking, despite him wearing a jacket.

You turn to face your roommate, “Could you do me a favour. Go back into the room and grab all of my belongs and bring them out here, please?”

“Sure.” Your roommate says, “But why?”

“I’m going to call a taxi and take Bill home.” You answer.

“No, you don’t have to!” Bill says, tapping your shoulder.

Your face becomes stern, “You can’t tell me you’re fine, when you just passed out, you’re burning up and your shivering, despite the fact you’re wearing a jacket. You’re sick, Bill. I’m taking you home.”

Bill wanted to argue, but knew you were right. He wasn’t feeling well and didn’t want to tell you in case you got upset. He gives in and gently nods, agreeing with you. Your roommate returns with your purse, which contained your phone, makeup and emergency money (Which you now needed to use). Your roommate also snuck a small plastic bag, filled with sweets (Candy) from the table, when you find it, she smiles at you.

“Enjoy.” She whispers before, walking back into the restaurant.

You sit, with Bill, in the outside seating area. You pull out your phone and call for an Uber. While you’re waiting, you can tell Bill is purposely not talking to you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick?” You ask.

Bill turns to face you, “I didn’t want to ruin your birthday.”

“You should be more concerned about your health, than my birthday.” You answer, “What would have ruined my birthday, is if you ended up in hospital.” Bill sighed, “I still feel I ruined your birthday.”

You smile, “Alright Henry, you didn’t ruin anything.” Bill smiled, realising he was acting like Henry Pearl.

“As I said, you haven’t ruined anything.” You say, “I mean, look what you’ve done. Bought me a stunning dress, that I’m sure was expensive. Arranged a birthday dinner without me even knowing. You somehow were able to come, despite you being really unwell. You’ve already done so much for me and I’m more than satisfied.”

Your thankfulness just made Bill’s smile widen. He shudders and starts rubbing his arm with his other hand, trying to warm himself up.

“Do you want to go back inside until the Uber arrives?” You ask, “Its probably not good for you to be out in the cold.”

“No, its fine.” Bill answers.

You wait another minute and notice Bill is beginning to sniffle. You suspect he’s getting a runny nose from being in the cold. You grab Bill’s arm and gently pull him along with you and you walk back into the restaurant.

“I was fine out there.” Bill says, when you turn back to face him.

“You’ve got the sniffles from standing out in the cold.” You say, “There is no harm in just waiting inside for the Uber.”

“I guess you’re right.” Bill answers, “Again.”

Bill sniffles again, he blows his nose on the tissue, which was followed by a cough. He throws the tissue into a small metal bin, placed in front of the counter, then turns to face the road.

Chapter 6

The Uber took another 20 minutes to arrive. By the time it did arrive, Bill had gotten rid of his sniffles, by constantly blowing his nose and occasionally sneezing. All this had caused his nose to turn red and you can’t help giggling about it.

A black car pulled up outside the restaurant, a man rolled down the window and called your name. You grab Bill’s arm and walk towards the car. You greet the driver with a polite smile, before opening the car door and entering. Bill entered through the opposite door and sat in the seat beside you.

“Where to?” The driver asks.

You tell the driver Bill’s house address and he starts driving. About 10 minutes into the drive, Bill has another coughing fit, luckily the waiter (Who gave you the pitcher) gave you a bottle of water before you left. You open the plastic bottle and hand it to Bill. He gently takes it from your hand and sips it.

“You a little under the weather?” The driver asks, looking at Bill in his rear-view mirror.

“A little.” Bill answers, earning an unsatisfied look from you.

The driver falls silent for a minute, before asking Bill a question.

“I’m sorry, but I have to ask.” The driver says, “You’re not Bill Skarsgard, are you? The guy who played Henry Pearl in Battlecreek?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Bill answers.

“I went to watch that film with my wife.” The driver said, “Really enjoyed it, I’m impressed with the accent you had in the film, compared to your regular voice.”

“Thanks.” Bill said, smiling.

“My wife loved the film, and really liked your character.” The driver continues, “She wants to meet you and normally I’d ask you to sign something for her. But since you don’t seem very well, I won’t bother you.”

“I appreciate that.” Bill says, followed by a few sharp coughs.

The rest of the journey, the driver didn’t speak. You talked with Bill, until he started to lose his voice. With all the coughing fits he’d had throughout the night; you’re not surprised by this. Bill still tries to talk with you, until his voice is almost completely gone.

“You’re losing your voice.” You say, “Stop talking before you lose it completely.”

Bill smiles and stops speaking. You sit in silence, for the remainder of the drive (Which was only another 10 minute) The driver stops outside Bill’s house, he turns to face you and asks you if this is the right address.

You glance out the car window, “Yes, thank you.”

You open your purse and pull out your emergency money, you have just enough to pay for the ride. You hand the money to the driver, open the car door and exit the car. You walk around to the other side of the car, where you meet Bill, as he exists the car. The driver rolls down the window and looks out at you and Bill.

“Hope you feel better soon, Mr Skarsgard.” The driver says, kindly.

Bill smiles and driver smiles back, he rolls the window back up and drives off. Bill looks back at you and the two of you walk up him driveway. When you reach the front door, Bill reached into his pocket and pulls out his house keys. But he drops the keys and suddenly starts swaying.

“Bill, what’s wrong?” You ask, worrying he might faint again.

“I feel dizzy.” Bill mumbles, his voice so quiet you could barely hear it.

Your brain immediately becomes panicked, you don’t want a repeat of what happened at the restaurant. You swiftly bend down, grab the keys and unlock the door. You wrap your arm around Bill’s shoulder and gently lead him into his house. Since you’ve been in Bill’s house before, you knew your way around. At first you think to take him to his bedroom, but looking at Bill’s flushed and exhausted face, you know he’ll probably pass out before he makes it up the stairs. So, you just lead him into the living room and gently sit him down on the sofa.

“How do you feel?” You ask, sitting beside him, “Has the dizziness stopped?”

“Yeah.” Bill answers, “I’m good.”

You sigh, “Don’t scare me like that. I was panicking enough when you fainted at the restaurant, I don’t know what I would do if you fainted again.”

“I’m sorry.” Bill says, guiltily.

“Well, you’re home now.” You say, “Lets just focus on getting you feeling better.”

Bill smiles weakly, clearly drained.

“You need some rest.” You say, “You look exhausted.”

Bill nods, “You’re right, I am exhausted.”

“Well, first off, give me your jacket and I’ll hang it up for you.” You say, reaching out your hand.

Bill takes off his jacket and hands it to you. You take it and when you look back at him, you see his shirt is drenched in sweat. His fever was making him sweat profusely, in an attempt to lower his body temperature.

You sigh, “You need to get changed, your shirt is drenched in sweat. Give me a minute and I’ll get you some clean clothes.” “I can get them.” Bill says.

“I don’t want to risk you passing out.” You say, “Just stay on the couch and I’ll get you some clothes.”

Again, Bill knows you’re right. He just sits back, leaning his head on a large pillow. You rush upstairs and into his bedroom. You hang the jacket up in his wardrobe, grab some clean clothes and rush back downstairs. Bill is sitting on the couch, shivering and grimacing. You can see the sweat dripping down his face and his cheeks turning a darker red.

You place the clothes on the coffee table and sit beside him. You gently place your hand on Bill’s forehead, checking his fever.

“Your fever’s getting worse.” You say, a little panicked, “We need to bring it down.” You jump up and rush towards the kitchen. You grab a tea towel from off the counter and run it under cold water. You wring out the excess water and run back to the living room. You sit back beside Bill and gently hold the damp cloth on his burning forehead.

“Thank you.” He mumbles, catching eyes with you.

“If your fever doesn’t go down, I might have to call a doctor.” You say, worried.

Chapter 7

You sit with Bill, pressing the tea towel of his fevered face, for about 10 minutes and his fever just wouldn’t go down. You realise that you needed to cool down his entire body, not just his face. You cuss and Bill hears you.

“What is it?” he mumbles.

“Your fever isn’t going down.” You say, hiding your panic.

You sit beside Bill, silently panicking to yourself, when you finally have an idea.

“I think I might know what to do.” You say, hesitantly, “But I don’t think you’ll be comfortable with doing it.”

“If you can prevent me from going into hospital, I’ll do anything.” Bill mutters.

Before you go ahead with your plan, you feel Bill’s forehead, to know whether or not your plan works. Bill’s fever is getting to such a high temperature, he could start becoming delirious. You stand up and run into the bathroom, grabbing a large towel. You turn on the cold tap and let the bath fill about an inch deep. You then submerge the towel in the cold water, before wringing it out.

You hang it over your shoulder and rush back to Bill, who is extremely flushed and close to losing consciousness. You sit down beside him and gently place your hands on his shoulders.

“I need to remove your shirt,” You say.

Bill looks at you, confused.

“Where am I? Who are you?” He asks.

You cuss, he’s delirious. You grab the rim of his shirt and begin to pull it up and over his head. You lay the soaking wet shirt on the sofa next to you, then you gently wrap the damp, cold towel around Bill. The towel is large enough to complete wrap around Bill, covering both sides of his torso.

Because you submerged your hands in the cold water as well, your hands are icy cold. You gently place your palms against Bill’s cheeks, both cooling him and monitoring his fever. The two of you sit in silence, you focus on if Bill’s fever drops and Bill to exhausted to even talk. You sit in this position for about 15 minutes, until you finally feel Bill’s fever dropping.

“Thank God.” You sigh, feeling relived.

“Y/N, is that you?” Bill mumbles, his delirium finally ceasing.

“I’m here.” You say, feeling the panic washing away.

Bill looks down and sees that he’s shirtless and has a damp towel wrapped around him.

“Your fever was getting dangerously high and it was making you delirious.” You explain, “I needed to cool you down, before you ended up needing an ambulance.”

Bill could hear the panic in your voice, he knew that he must have scared you. You see Bill’s guilty expression, which makes you sigh.

“I think it would be best if you just get some sleep.” You suggest, “But just sleep on the couch for now, I don’t want to risk anything else happening.”

You stand up and walk upstairs, you first pull the covers off his bed, then take the two pillows as well. You also grab a T-shirt from the wardrobe, not wanting to make Bill be shirtless while he slept. Carrying all the items you’d taken; you walk back downstairs. You let out a sigh of relief when you see Bill in the exact same condition as when you left him. He was shivering a little, but you weren’t worried, he was still shirtless.

“Here, put this on.” You say, handing Bill the T-shirt.

“Thank, Y/N.” Bill says, taking the shirt from your hand.

While Bill puts the shirt on, you gently place the pillows on the couch behind him. He lies down, gently placing his head on the soft pillows. You lay the covers over him, making sure his body is fully covered.

“Do you mind if I sleep in the guest bedroom?” You ask.

“Be my guest.” Bill answers, glancing up at you.

“Call me if you need anything.” You say, turning away.

“Thanks for this, Y/N.” Bill says, shutting his eyes.

You smile and walk towards the downstairs guest bedroom. You grab your purse and take out your phone. You dial your roommate’s number, to update her on the situation. She answers immediately.

“Hey, Y/N.” Your roommate says, “How’s everything going?”

You sigh, “Its been a rough night, but everything is fine now”

“What happened?” Your roommate asks.

“I almost ended up calling an ambulance because Bill’s fever was getting dangerously high.” You explain, “But everything is fine now.”

“Good God!” Your roommate exclaims, “How’s Bill now?”

“I finally got him to sleep.” You explain, “But I’m going to stay with Bill until he’s feeling better, so do you mind bringing me some clothes over?”

“Sure.” Your roommate, “See you in 10.”

My roommate hung up, I placed my phone on the bed and snuck out of the guest bedroom. You tiptoe past Bill, who was fast asleep on the couch. You briefly smile, before continuing your way to the front door. You wait at the front door for exactly 10 minutes, before your roommate arrives. You open the door, hug your roommate and take the bag of clothes she brought.

“Here.” She suddenly says, handing you a small plastic bag.

“What’s this?” You ask.

“Once the rest of our friend found out Bill was sick, they insisted on me giving you those.” Your roommate explains, “Its home remedy ingredient, medicines and other items they believe can help Bill.”

You open the bag and inside is cough medicine, ibuprofen, aspirin, fever patches, a home remedy recipe and a few ingredients and cans of soup, all supplied by your friends.

You smile, “Tell them all I’m very grateful, and I’m sure Bill would be grateful as well.”

Your roommate smiles back, “We’re glad we can help. Now, I’ve got to go, I’m tired. But feel free to call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks again.” You say, “Bye now.”

Your roommate turns and walks away, you shut the door and walk back inside. You walk into the kitchen and carefully lay all the items on the counter, before heading back into the guest bedroom. You change into some pyjamas that your roommate brought and you settle down to sleep. It takes you a while to drift off because you’re still worrying about Bill, but you assure yourself he’s fine.

Chapter 8

You wake up at around 8 am. When you open your eyes, a brief feeling of confusion crosses your mind because you don’t recognise your surroundings, but soon remember where you are. You sit up and suddenly remember why you’re here. You jump up and walk out into the living room, finding Bill still asleep on the couch. You smile and head towards the kitchen. All the items you were given last night are laid out on the counter. You decide to make the home remedy your friend supplied you with.

You’re sure it works, because you have used it before. It consists of ginger and Coke, which is an odd combination, but it works. You follow your friend’s recipe, using the ingredients they supplied and soon enough, the weird remedy is done. You pour it into a large cup and gently carry it into the living room, being careful not to burn your fingers. You sit on the edge of the couch, place your hand in Bill’s shoulder and gently shake him awake. He groans and slowly opens his eyes, making eye contact with you,

“Morning.” You say, “How do you feel?”

“A little better.” Bill answers, smiling.

You hold the cup in one hand and gently place the back of your other hand on Bill’s forehead.

“You’re still feverish.” You say, “But you’ve cooled down a little from last night.”

“What’s in the cup?” Bill asks.

“Well, my roommate came by last night, to give me some clothes.” You explain, “Once my friends found out you’re sick, they wanted to help, so gave me a bag of things they believe will help you get better. This is a home remedy my roommate uses to help with fevers, she gave me the recipe and the ingredients to give to you.”

You gently hand the cup to Bill and he gladly takes it. He drinks from the cup, before leaning over and placing it on the coffee table. He was about to speak, when several sharpe coughs interrupted him.

“Your cough has come back.” You sigh, “I’ll be right back.”

You stand up and walk back into the kitchen, you grab the bottle of cough medicine of the counter and head back into the living room. You sit down in the same place, before reading the instructions on the medicine bottle.

“Is that cough medicine?” Bill asks.

You nod, “Another thing my roommate gave me.”

You open the bottle and find a small plastic spoon inside the lid, it measured the correct doses of the medicine, without the need of a syringe. It says on the back of the bottle, an adult male should take two spoon fulls of the medicine. You say this information aloud and obviously Bill hears you.

“I can measure the dose.” He says, gently taking the bottle from your hand.

“Good.” You say, “Just take the same dosage twice a day and your cough should get better.”

“Thanks, Y/N” Bill says, pouring the thick cough medicine onto the spoon.

“My friends also got you a few painkillers,” You explain, “As well as a pack of fever patches and a few cans of soup.”

You were explaining this to Bill because, although he deeply appreciates your help, he is still embarrassed about you taking care of him for several days until he gets better. So, you’re telling him this, so he knows what to do when you’re gone.

Once Bill had taken the dosage of medicine, he places the bottle on the coffee table and looks back at you.

“I don’t want to keep you here,” Bill says, “I can take care of myself from here, thanks Y/N.”

“You sure?” You question.

Bill nods, “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, but call me if you need anything, okay?” You say.

“I will,” Bill answers, “But I’ll be fine.”

You smile, stand up and head to gather your things. As you walk towards the door, you leave something on the dining room table. The bag of sweets your roommate gave you last night. You were giving them to Bill, as both, a way to say thank you for all he did for your Birthday and as a get well soon gift. You check on Bill one last time, he had turned on the Television and was drinking the ginger/coke mixture you gave him.

“Get better soon.” You say, gently placing your hand on Bill’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Y/N” Bill answers, smiling.

You walk towards the door and leave the house, you call and Uber which takes you to your apartment. You roommate is surprised to see you, to which you explain that Bill can take care of himself and didn’t need you to look after him for several days.

Afterward

Bill was unwell for a week an a half, texting you every day to sure you he was fine. Once Bill was completely healthy again, you find out about a new role he is about to audition for. Pennywise, the dancing Clown from the It. You wish Bill luck as he goes for his first audition and you wonder if he’ll get the role.

[hufflepuffhollander]

Could you do number 14 and number 11 for Tom please? ❤️

yes yes! didn’t know if you wanted these separate or together so I just mushed em into one extra fun extra long blurb!

tom x fem costar!reader(contains language, but don’t they all)word count: 934enjoy!

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14. “Would you just shut up and listen to me for a second?”

11. “Are you flirting with me?”-“You finally noticed?”

You pursed your lips together, adding the final touches of your liquid matte to your pout, looking at the rest of your makeup, feeling relatively unsatisfied with the result. You usually allowed an artist to do your makeup before a big live talk show interview, but for some reason, today was the day you decided to try doing it on your own - and what a mistake that was. Sure, you’d watched hours of makeup tutorials, perfecting the look you wanted to flaunt on the stage, but you could never let yourself have a win, always finding any flaw you could catch and doting on it forever.

To any objective viewer, you looked beautiful. To Tom, you looked like an angel. 

If only you thought so, too.

He walked into your dressing room, pausing at the door to take in your features, the overwhelming smell of your perfume may have given anyone else a headache; Tom inhaled as strongly as he could, hoping that fragrance would linger in his memory forever. 

You did another compulsive once over in the mirror.

 I look like a wide-eyed raccoon.

Tom walked into the room so he could see you in full.

God, she’s stunning.

He snuck up on you, making you jump, almost swiping a wand full of dark lipstick across your cheeks and over your nose. 

“Fuck, Tom! Don’t do that!” you laughed, taking a big, deep sigh of relief when you realized your look was still intact. 

“You look really, really, uh...nice,” he stuttered, kicking himself on the inside for giving you a compliment that would completely fly under your radar.

“Ugh, no, my hair is frizzy, my eyeliner keeps smudging under my eyes, and there’s powder caked in the creases,” you wholly ignored his attempt at flattering you, going on to reveal your little imperfections that he never would’ve noticed otherwise.

“Don’t talk like that, love, you’re gonna stun the whole crowd,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder, looking at you through the mirror, enjoying the sight of you two posed together.

You continued on with the complaints, pointing out any mishap in your appearance that you could find, Tom continuously trying to settle your conscience about it, but each attempting ultimately failing.

At one point, he’d had enough of listening to you degrade yourself, especially when the only thing he saw on you was beautiful.

“Jesus, would you just shut up and listen to me for a second? You look absolutely gorgeous, and you’re the only one who doesn’t think so, and it’s killing me that you’re so hard on yourself, I just wish you saw what I see, and--” he stopped in his tracks, wide eyed, realizing he had easily started to spill too much.

When it rains, it pours.

You turned around in your chair, taking his hand in yours, a smile starting to creep up on your face.

He coughed out of sheer nerves, attempting to reconcile the ridiculous amount of genuine sweetness he had just let pour out of him. He has a reputation of being your annoying on-set brother to keep up, after all.

“Um, I mean, you’ve gotta keep up to a certain standard if you’re gonna be seen with me in public,” he laughed, playfully pushing your shoulder back, running an awkward hand through his curls, clearing his throat even though there was nothing stuck in it.

“Right, thanks, that makes me feel so much better,” you replied, silently appreciating his cute attempt at a cover up. You stood up and walked out of the room together, making your way down the halls to get ready to make your appearance. He placed a hand on the small of your back, leading you slightly in front of him, readying himself to make another comment that would hopefully grab your attention. He’d been trying for months to feel out your relationship, trying to decipher your unspoken code, not being able to tell you he was realizing that he had feelings for you that went beyond friendship; hoping that maybe the feeling was mutual.

The stage manager got you ready to go on, asking who was walking out on stage first.

“Well, Tom, if you need to keep up that standard of excellence, you should go first,” you said, reference his playful comment earlier, your wink making his palms sweaty.

“Yeah, you’re right, I should go first,” he started, causing a small sink in your chest.

“...I would hate to go on after you, looking like that, and have to come up with an excuse as to why you’re so much prettier than me.” he looked to the floor, and then to you, trying to gauge your reaction.

I’m trying to tell you that you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

You caught a glint in his eye that told you he was trying to express this upwell of feelings he had for you in the only way he really knew how. You squinted your eyes and smirked at your co-star, one you thought only ever saw you as his annoying on-set sister, suddenly realizing you had it all wrong.

“Tom...are you flirting with me?”

“What, you finally noticed?”

The stage manager started to count down the seconds until you walked out together in front of thousands of your fans.

3...Tom took your hand in his and squeezed it lightly.

2...You squeezed back.

1...Could this really be happening?

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 33 [End Iron Man 2]

Despite the mess that he’d caused, you obliged Tony for a sit down late lunch at one of those fancy restaurants you loathed. Not because the food was good or because you wanted to be there, but because the security was tight. And the right kind of ears were around for a not-so-subtle conversation of Stark Industries looking for buildings in New York City. Everyone in the room was half leaned in as you and Tony pretended to talk at each other dropping hot buzz words.

It was easier, you’d both agreed.

Make them come to you.

Although he had had some resistance at the idea. “Just go outside and point at a building. What could be easier than that?” His penchant for just buying whatever the hell he pleased shining through. Or, in this case, buying you whatever the hell you pleased.

...or was it the both of you doing the buying? Your bank accounts weren’t merged, but your company accounts were. And since it was a Stark Industries purchase…

You sipped lightly at your glass of juice, not indulging as he (and basically everyone else in the room) was in a glass of afternoon liquor. “I like to make people work. If they want to sell, the price comes down a little.”

“You shouldn’t be worried about price tags.”

You hummed out a noise of mock agreement. “Right. And how much does each one of your Iron Man suits cost from build to finish?” Arching a brow at him.

He had enough sense to pale. “That’s uh- unfortunately a very close to the vest trade secret. Can’t talk about it.”

“I thought so.” In your best knowing smarmy tone as you smiled at him.

At least he grinned back. “Speaking of. You know. Considering we have a big. Hm.” Turning his head he coughed while also very clearly saying SHIELD, “Thing. That thing. Tomorrow. Have you decided on a suit spec yet?”

His pretend gaff should probably have garnered some sort of reaction. But after everything they’d put you through, you couldn’t really muster up anything more than dull amusement that he was being so flagrant with their top secret organization. It didn’t matter. The people around you weren’t listening for things like that. Only things that suited their interests. “Had we gotten that far that I’m up to specs now? Because as I recall all our conversations about that stopped short at no.”

“I’d say last night was a pretty big conversation starter.”

Unable to help it, your eyes dropped away from him and you shrunk just a little inward. You didn’t really want to go over what had happened last night- aside from the wonderful life-affirming time you’d had in bed with him. The parts before it… “I don’t know, Tony. Being Iron Man is your thing. My thing is...”

What was your thing? Getting lost in the carnage and chaos that was Tony’s life? Even though you’d inserted yourself so far into his activities, you got stuck when it came down to the violent things. Scraping with death. Because you were stubborn. And also probably stupid.

“I’m not saying I want you to be Iron Man. Let’s face it, I’m irreplaceable. But whatever you decide your thing is, my thing is needing to protect you. Because as it just so happen many of my other things kind of invite trouble.” He had his chin in his palm, elbow on the table, leaning in just looking at you with those big soft eyes of his.

Honest.

Candid.

“Hm.” Another soft noise, smile light. “Where have I heard that before?” You were pretty sure you’d tried to impress upon him what being a hero like Iron Man would bring. So far you had not been wrong.

“A smart woman said it. Probably in a book somewhere.” Shifting forward, sitting up, he reached across the table to put one of his hands over yours. “I’m serious about this. I’m not saying I want you in the fray, because I don’t. But last night- last night scared the hell out of me. I don’t ever want to see you put in that position again.”

A soft sigh left you, twitch of a frown at the corner of your lips that you forced away. “But when I say that to you it doesn’t matter?”

Silence for a few seconds as he looked at you before answering. “It matters. But we are where we are. There’s no going back.”

It stung how right he was. The future was both bright and frightening at the same time. “You’re not gonna stop even if I say no right now, are you?”

“Have I yet?” Playful for just a moment before he echoed your earlier sigh, squeezing your hand. “I just want to know that you’re safe. ...I need to know that you’re safe.”

Agreeing to this felt like it would be the next step into even bigger and nastier consequences. But without it… would they come regardless? You found yourself nodding weakly. “Alright, Tony. We can draw up some specs.”

You were no superhero. Then again, Tony Stark didn’t used to be, either.

What a strange world.

He smiled, finally, and you sensed some ease settle in. “Thank you.”

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

 The rest of the night after that was a breeze. You’d told Tony to put off specs until you were actually home in the lab, for now. And for now he seemed to be at bay. It was something you were really going to have to think about, and not give in hastily just to let him do whatever he wanted. It would have to be a team coordination. Your indoctrination.

It was also easy not to get into it, as he was busy fixing up his own suit, courtesy of Happy lugging a few large tool kits up to the penthouse, and you being on several different phone calls with PR and real estate brokers at the same time.

You were sure you’d settled on a space after it was well past midnight. His hands came over your shoulders in a light knead. “Don’t you think it’s time for bed?”

Tilting your head back, you looked at him alight in mock surprise. “You? Saying that to me?” Usually it was the other way around.

“What can I say. I’ve grown kind of fond of you. I’d like you to be somewhat healthy.”

The two of you were softly laughing with each other as you beckoned him closer, and he came around to the side so you could slide your arms around him as he leaned in. “Oh, hey. The feeling is mutual.” Followed by a delightfully sweet kiss.

One that he ruined by saying directly against your lips, “Also- we kind of have a big day tomorrow-”

Moment effectively ruined, you let your head drop back with a groan. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

Slipping his hands underneath you, he lifted you up into his arms as he’d become very prone to doing. You didn’t mind- despite your little squeal- you found you liked being there. “I’m reminding you.”

Trying to let him know just how you felt about that, you began to whine. But he kissed you quiet- well- more into giggles that he was not far behind in as the bed engulfed the both of you. If only life could continue to be that perfect.

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

 You were not as prepared as you would have liked to feel the next morning. In between about fifty more phone calls and a quick jet trip to DC, you at least found time to be annoyed that Fury was still playing with the both of you. Treating you like children and not the assets he was apparently seeking.

He didn’t want Happy driving you to their makeshift compound. He didn’t even want the two of you driving yourselves. For what reason? Anyone’s guess. Because the car that took you there didn’t have blacked out windows. They weren’t hiding the location.

Still, despite your mounting ire, there was also anxiety creeping in hot and heavy. Guards at the door gave you a brief glance before waving you in. Into a reception hall that had no one waiting inside, and then through an equally empty corridor- and then into the main compound. Which had a few agents poised at the exits in the back. The main space was taken up by a large desk and at least ten monitors all playing different footage from around the world on mute.

Fury, of course, was nowhere to be found.

“Oh. We’re just supposed to wait? Is that what he wants?” Tony, just as frustrated it seems, asking an agent that was not responding. “Because we’re very busy people. So if this is one of those things that was better in an email-”

Giving his hand a tug, you walked him back to the lone desk to sit down in front of it. “Don’t let him get to you.”

“He’s not getting anywhere. Neither are we. That’s the problem.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Trying to soothe him with a little pat to his knee. It wouldn’t do either of you any good to be wound up. Regardless of if you were or not. Looking on the otherwise empty desk you spied a lone manila folder. SHIELD logo up top. Bold words on front-

 Avengers Initiative Preliminary Report

 Fury was indeed playing with the both of you. Leading you to an otherwise empty compound, with only one thing of interest on the desk, while he was out of the room. But to play into his game?

The both of you cast a side glance at each other. Probably thinking the same thing. And at the same time went to reach for the report. At least until a hand came down on top of it.

“I don’t think I want you looking at that. I’m not sure it pertains to either of you anymore.” By the grace of god, Fury finally appeared, moving to sit behind his desk. “Now these, on the other hand...” He held out two other folders. “These are Agent Romanoff’s assessments of you. Who wants to go first?”

Tony took hold of his, offering himself up eagerly. Maybe just to get this over with. You let the other folder sit in front of you as he glanced over the paper, “Uuhh…” Taking a breath, taking it all in. “Personality overview, Mr. Stark displays compulsive behavior.” He looked up, brows raised. “In my own defense that was last week.” Then looking back down, “Prone to self destructive tendencies.”

You pressed your lips together to keep from saying anything- much less agreeing. But. You did. A little.

He made an offended noise. “I was dying. Please- and I mean, aren’t we all?” Not helping himself really. You steeled the shake of your head. You had to stay on the same team. “Textbook narcissism.” He glanced up at Fury first, then you, then back down to the paper. “Agreed.” At this you held back a smile. “Okay- here it is- uh- recruitment assessment for Avenger Initiative, Iron Man yes.” Closing the folder, he laid it back down on the desk. “I gotta think about it.”

Unease settled within you, not sure how to feel about this. The meeting was supposed to be a debrief of the Expo events- but you supposed that was your fault for not following up. It was actually a debrief of Natasha’s time with you. And this, this team thing. The tree Fury had been barking up this entire time-

“Read on.” Fury said carefully.

Tony sighed, opening the folder again. “...Tony Stark not- not recommended?” He looked about as confused as you felt. “That doesn’t-” Looking at you, “That doesn’t make any sense, right?” Then directing his gaze back at Fury. “That doesn’t make any sense. How can you approve me, but not approve me?” He seemed upset. “I got a new ticker. I’m trying to do right by her-” A little head nod in your direction, but your eyes were on Fury as he stood up. “I’m in a uh- uh stable-ish relationship.”

“Ish?” Unable to help yourself. Not hurt over it just offended he’d say something like that in the first place.

Tony’s hands went up to placate anything else that would have come out of you as Fury sat himself on the corner of the desk and spoke. “Which means at this juncture we’d only like to use you as a consultant.”

Consulting. That was… better? Whatever this Avengers Initiative stuff was it sounded dangerous. Tony didn’t need more help getting into trouble. Into tight spots where he got hurt. He had enough of that on his plate already.

While he stood, your attention diverted to your file. And when they shook hands, you pulled it closer, opening it to take a look at your personality profile courtesy of Agent Natasha Romanoff.

“You can’t afford me.” Tony was saying to Fury. He apparently was ready to leave it at that, and maybe that would have been the smarter play. But when you didn’t get up to follow him, he stopped. “Honey?”

You could tell Fury was looking at you. You just picked out the keywords. “Rash. Distrusting. Underdeveloped.” All negative. Tony’s had been, too. But were they truthful? Was that what this SHIELD agent had seen from you? Was this your true self? Were you prone to overreacting? Prone to being distrustful? ...the last one made sense, at least, if it was the thing they were talking about. But it was the last word that struck you. “...capable?”

Tony crossed his arms. “How come she gets capable and I get narcissistic?”

“I couldn’t possibly imagine.” Fury was grinning just a little at his expense.

You read on, “Revisit recommendation for Avengers Initiative for Lightfall after one year of SHIELD training. Until then, recommended for consulting position only.” SHIELD training. This disturbed you. Made you nervous. But you couldn’t show that. Looking up, “Uh- actually- I don’t like that name.”

Fury’s grin evaporated immediately and he went back to looking his usual annoyed self. “Oh you don’t, huh? You think that matters?”

“Branding is everything.” Tony offered, a little casual shrug.

Fury scoffed but shrugged right on back. “Maybe so. Seems like the public already gave you a name. And it’s second lady to his leading act.”

Tony waved a hand in dismissal. “Actually if we’re going for metaphors, I prefer first lady to my president.”

You couldn’t let them keep talking at each other. “This is- that’s if I even want to be involved. You’re talking to me like I don’t have a choice.”

“You can do whatever you want.” Fury leveled a very serious look your way. “But we both know what your answer is already.”

“Why? Because of that phone call?” You couldn’t let him push you around.

“Because you’re better than sitting around waiting. Agent Romanoff seems to think you’re capable. Is she right? Or is she wrong?”

“I don’t even know what the Avengers Initiative is. Because you people are so far up your own asses with keeping secrets, you’re telling people they’re supposed to join your little club without even knowing what war you’re going to throw them into. I’m sorry, Fury, but I’m not interested in being conscripted.” You couldn’t fall into their trap of letting praise get to you. You didn’t know these people. Their assessments mattered little.

What mattered was not getting thrown into the public eye as a superhero and having damage and loss of life pinned on you when things went screwy. You weren’t stupid.

“You literally just told me I’m not allowed to look at the folder you- the only folder- sitting on your desk. The entire reason you even came to talk to us in the first place. The act is pathetic and I’m frankly very tired of it. Either start being honest with me or we’ll both walk.” Watching him. Unflinching. Very serious.

You wouldn’t be pushed around. He’d promised to help you with your powers- whatever they were- and you still didn’t even know how SHIELD knew about them. They wanted your and Tony’s consulting help- they wanted to train you, and for what?

He stared right back, becoming a heated match until he broke first, shaking his head with a little amused puff of air. It seemed like he was going to dismiss the both of you, which would be fine, you could go back to your regular messy life. But instead, “The Avengers Initiative is meant to be a carefully selected group of enhanced individuals. Individuals that are meant to protect people from threats that regular forces can’t handle.”

Tony had gone back to crossing his arms, standing stiffly. “Protect them from what? What kind of threats?”

Fury’s gaze went to him, the air in the room went cold. “I think you already found that out. Vanko was not the first of his kind. He will not be the last.”

Other enhanced individuals. That’s what he was saying. He wanted to get together a group of people with powers to protect others in need from danger that could not be suppressed by any other means. What if Tony had failed last night? What if Vanko and Hammer had been free to roam the earth? To cause destruction and death?

You didn’t like Fury, or SHIELD for that matter. You didn’t trust them. Part of you was screaming that this was only going to lead to more terrible things… but…

“If I do this…” Taking a deep breath as you drew both their attention your way. “What are the chances that I can protect my identity?” Or would you have to face this enmeshed life like Tony had? But even asking made you feel stupid. “Like- ...I’m just a person right now, for the most part. Whatever this training is- does it come with uh… a suit? A costume?”

“This isn’t some dumb 90s magical girl anime bullshit. What are you talking about? A costume. Are you serious right now? I’m talking to you about protecting the earth and you’re going on about a costume?” While Fury did have a point, it really soured you.

“I was just asking. Besides, you gave me a dumb superhero name, it doesn’t come with a dumb superhero costume?”

“Lay off, would you? I think you’d agree that not having her identity out there as one of your agents is a pretty smart move. Property damage? People getting hurt? Nice to not have a name out there to sign to that.” Tony sticking up for you would always warm your heart, but he was also stealing bits from a speech you’d given him not too long ago.

Maybe he’d come to wisen up on that after everything that had happened.

Fury scoffed. “You think the public is stupid enough not to put two and two together? You already blew your cover. If they see you out with some new super-lady on the block, you think they won’t get it?”

“You were the one who pitched bodyguard. Maybe if I’d been given a smarter option...” Shrugging his shoulders.

“What does training consist of?” Deciding to move on before they really got into it.

“Enhanced individuals are graded on a grid scale. We’ll take some assessments first to determine your base levels. But after that it’s basically gonna be you getting your ass kicked every day to get you into shape.”

You couldn’t help but glower. “What a winning sales pitch.”

“To get control of yourself.” The two of you shared a look, and for a moment you thought you sensed a very tiny shred- about the only one- of honesty. But he eased up with a shake of his head. “Do it or don’t. Like I said. I’ve got other people, and I’ve also other problems to attend to.” Basically telling you to hurry it up.

But this was not a decision meant to be hurried. If it was even one to make at all. You needed more information. Maybe the only way to get it really was giving in. But then, for what reason should you? And at what cost?

Standing, you moved to shake his hand. “We’ll start with a month. If I don’t think I’m making improvements under your guidance, I’m going to walk.”

Maybe Fury really would make the mistake of training you enough to easily see through him. Then you really would get to the bottom of it all. Going to Tony’s side you gave him a brief little nudge. The two of you had other places to be.

He moved to step in line, although he turned back. “If she’s playing ball… I’m willing to waive my customary consultant fee. For a favor.”

You didn’t need any powers at all to know Fury was at the edge of his limit. “What.”

“Rhodey and I are being honored on Capitol Hill in a couple of hours. We still need a presenter.” The devilish smirk on his lips was almost too much.

Fury found it in himself to grin at this, at least. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Once firmly tucked away in the car headed back to the hotel, you turned to give him a look. “Who are you hoping for?” You already knew. You just wanted to confirm.

“Well. Since Hammer is unfortunately unavailable due to a long prison stay...” Smiling to himself. “Let’s see if he gets the pick right. Can’t trust people who don’t know your interests.”

You couldn’t help a return smile. “You could have just asked me.”

“I have no doubt in my mind you could bend Rizzo the Rat into a Möbius strip-” This got a giggle out of you that you couldn’t help, something he grinned wider at. “Which- by the way- have I mentioned how incredible it is to watch you work?” The way he leaned that word, the little warm hitch was more indicative of a different word he would have liked to use.

One that sent a thrill down your spine. A little heat in your chest. Incredible, huh? “I’m glad you’re impressed with my skills.”

His hand took yours and you chanced a look over. He was giving you quite the look over the top of his sunglasses, head craned down so that he could press a kiss to the backs of your fingers. “Since the day I met you.”

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

 In the lobby of one of the smaller government buildings- because of course they were not going to honor their newest heroes on the steps- you straightened out Tony’s tie. A very nice striped pink and wine colored piece that stood out against his striped white and pale blue shirt, and then went on to retuck his pocket square, a bold plaid blue and pink. The murmur of the media crowd outside was loud already. This was more a fluff piece than anything, and you already knew the only reason Tony wanted to be here-

Which appeared off to your right side, trying to scramble through the doors. You gave Tony a pat on the shoulder and turned quickly. “Senator Stern.” Calling to him sweetly.

Delighting when he tried and probably purposefully failed to stow his displeased face before smiling. “What can I do for you? We’re short on time. I have to get to a-”

“I just wanted to thank you for taking time out of your busy day to honor Tony and Rhodey for their accomplishments. I know it’s hard for you- because you’re so busy. But it really means a lot to us. And it’ll do a lot of good mending your image.” Wave after wave of pleased amusement was rolling of Tony behind you. So much so that he might as well have been vibrating.

“My im-”

“Really. Sir. Thank you. I know you’re up for reelection soon, so I’m sure your constituents will be glad to see you shaking hands with Tony Stark. After everything that’s gone on.” Continuing to smile pleasantly in that overly glossy way. “If you’d like Stark Industries to consider making a campaign donation you can always fill out a form.”

No chance in hell of that.

Realizing, hopefully, that he was unable to bite back, out of his depths, he put on one of those slimy smiles and reached out, so you shook his hand. He attempted to crush yours. You held steady. “You have such a way with words. You fit right in here.”

“I’m not looking for job offers. I like a career that’s a little more steady. If you know what I mean.” Threatening him.

 Boldly.

 Right there.

 His smile vanished. His grip tightened. “Is that so?”

“It’s unfortunate that Stark Industries is so busy. Maybe if you keep nice and quiet everyone will forget about this soon.”

 If you ever come after Tony again, I’ll bury you.

 At his stunned silence you wrenched your hand free from his grip. Your smile was sweet as honey. “We hope to see you at the dinner tonight, Senator.” Turning your back on him you crossed the hall.

Back to Tony who was waving at Stern, “See you out there, buddy.” Stern wasted no more time stomping out into the front and Tony’s hands came to your arms. “I could absolutely kiss you right now.”

Rhodey, who looked stunning in his dress blues, had appeared from upstairs- you hoped early, so that he’d caught the whole thing- was all smiles. “Save it, lover boy. I’m getting first dibs after that.” And when he opened his arms you obliged with a tight squeezy hug. When it was over he left his arm over your shoulder. “Just damn. You’re sure you shouldn’t be getting a medal?”

“She can have mine.” Tony offered, crossing his arms, still terribly delighted. “Otherwise it’s going in the garbage.”

You put your arm around Tony, pulling him in, completing a nice little open huddle between the three of you. It felt amazing for things to finally- mostly- be right. “I’m sure Stern will love that.”

“-excuse me! White House press!” A young reporter was calling, already kneeling on the carpet just in front of the door, holding her camera up. “Can I get this?”

“What do you say, Rhodey?” Looking up at him cautiously. While you and Tony took this less than seriously, you didn’t want to hurt his image.

Tony’s brows raised beyond the rim of his sunglasses. “Come on, Top Gun. You can look like a happy person in one photo in your entire career.”

Rhodey mulled it over only a couple of seconds before relenting. “Oh- fine. Alright. But get my good side, alright?”

The picture of the three of you, all smiles, arm in arm in arm was printed right alongside the photo of the two of them with their shiny new medals of honor in every newspaper around the world the next morning. The headlines didn’t matter. The positive ones. Or the critical ones.

This was your new future. And you couldn’t have asked for a better team to start it with.

[omgktlouchheim]

Word Vomit Wednesday - Romanticizing Rejection

Welcome to Word Vomit Wednesday! A series of blog posts where I attempt to process thoughts and feelings around a specific topic or current events that I, and sometimes the rest of the Internet, ruminate obsessively about. All thoughts/opinions/experiences are my own (unless otherwise indicated); I don’t claim anything that I write to represent anyone other than myself.

Recently, I’ve made some more deliberate efforts to create community and meet people now that I’m more settled and steady in Tucson. This need to venture out and start testing the waters led me to sign up for a three-month virtual community that was being beta-tested by my life-coach. The calls were scheduled to happen once a month for two hours with a max of up to 30 people. They began with an exercise to ground us and any anxieties we might be bringing into the call, a brief ice-breaker to get acquainted with one another, then a specific topic that the majority voted for would be presented, either by my life coach or a volunteer from the group that we would build a conversation around. On the last call that we had in November, the topic was about rejection. Mostly around intimate or romantic relationships, although we also got into the ways we’ve felt rejected by others in often small, subtle ways that resulted in big impacts on our lives. Other than discussing those smaller moments I admit, I was not interested in the topic. I couldn’t quite figure out what was so compelling about rejection.

Then, as I do, I started thinking about it. I read a Refinery29 article that talked about the man who invented “Rejection Therapy,” a game where the aim is to get rejected by others to build resilience to the fear of rejection, and watched a TedTalk where another man who took the game and challenged himself to vlog getting rejected for 100 days and how it changed his life for the better. As I thought, and read, and watched I came to an understanding that underneath the blanket of “rejection” seems to be where the issues actually lie. Fear of putting yourself out there. Not wanting to open yourself up to potentially painful situations. Anxious/avoidant/dysfunctional attachment issues. Asking for help or for something that you want or need. Tapping into your own creativity. Setting a boundary. The rejection itself doesn’t seem to be the actual issue. The underlying issue is showing up in the world fully as yourself and the reality that you may have to make some tough decisions regarding your relationships when certain people are not so accepting. Sometimes the fear of rejection is also about how a rejection is relayed. Humans are notorious for responding to others in a multitude of fucked up ways. Ghosting, public humiliation, abuse, torture, condescension/belittling/minimizing, interrupting, ignoring, attacking, defending, stonewalling, projecting/deflecting, lying… the list goes on and on. Given all of this, I feel like rejection and the ways it can be demonstrated is more telling of the source and is imperative information to have for our own health and well-being.

Pain, in and of itself, is important. Not in the bullshit “no pain no gain” way, but in that it is a part of the human condition in the same way that joy, sadness, excitement and other emotions and sensations are a part of the human condition. When feelings come up for us, they present us with data based on internal and external stimuli and it is our job to interpret that data as accurately as possible to then take any action that may be required of us. We can have a tendency to have difficulty when thinking about our feelings this way because in this society we are essentially conditioned to cut off communication between ourselves and our emotions and other physiological sensations our bodies use to relay important messages to us. It can make it very hard, scary even, to retrain ourselves to listen to ourselves. Instead we choose to ignore feelings when they come up, maybe become annoyed with ourselves when uncomfortable feelings arise, binge eat to try to physically shove discomfort down, shop compulsively because we think something external will quiet or “fix” the internal, and develop a variety of other coping mechanisms because we don’t know what to do with them and probably had never been given the space to safely explore what they could be trying to tell us. When pain gets activated either physically or emotionally, it usually means a major boundary has been crossed, or something is wrong and needs to be checked out right away. When we stub our toe walking into the couch going from one room to the next in our house, we learn to pay more attention to our surroundings and adapt. When we’ve been running around from errand to errand all day and our body begins to ache, we know we’ve reached our limit and need to take a break. And when we come down with some illness and are coughing so hard that it hurts to even breathe, we go to the doctor. Because we feel pain, we are able to take charge and make any number of possible necessary changes to our lives. It can become trickier to know what action to take when our feelings get hurt (because it’s both a physical and  largely internal response), but really the same principles apply. When someone says or does something that hurts your feelings you figure out what nerve that hit and determine if this is a person you keep in your life and to what extent based on your particular boundaries and needs. Easier said than done, I know. 

On the flip side of this, and as the title of this essay indicates, we are not only a society that teaches us to fear pain and any “negative” feelings but we are also one that is OBSESSED with suffering. Everything from our narratives about tragic “starving artists,” the 24-hour news cycle, the internet, the romanticization of drama in our relationships, violence permeates almost every aspect of our culture. There is a huge difference between pain and suffering though. Pain, like I said before, is there to relay a message to us that we then interpret, take action on, and release. Suffering, on the other hand, is something we do to ourselves. We replay old narratives on loops that keep us trapped in emotional purgatory and we take our issues out on others instead of tackling them head on and making difficult but necessary changes in our lives. And sometimes we even allow and cause the suffering of others because we benefit from the exploitation of others. So, it’s entirely possible that it may not even be pain from rejection we’re all trying to avoid, but all pain because we’re already so overloaded with so much pain AND suffering. We are so desensitized to pain in a variety of forms, no wonder our relationship with it is dysfunctional. We may honestly, be too tired to even think about engaging with it. Unfortunately, when we ignore it we allow injustice to flourish and we lose out on so much. Not only do we not see all the choices and opportunities laid out before us, or take risks in relationships, we are so used to fear that we end up rejecting ourselves. Our worlds become so small and we do this to ourselves. And this is the main difference between pain and suffering. Pain releases when we recognize it and take action, suffering is what we do to ourselves by choice even when there are so many other options available to us.  

We will often choose to reject and betray ourselves before stepping into the unknown. I am no stranger to this myself. There have been so many times that I had an inkling to do that thing or talk to that person or allow myself to want something and I never would. I would make up some excuse or other and not give myself a chance. “Well, if they’re interested they’ll say something. I don’t want to bother them.” “That sounds like a really cool job, but I don’t think I’m qualified.” “I’m not going to submit this project for the competition, I probably don’t have a shot at winning.” This year I’ve been recognizing many of the ways in which I reject myself, often so subtly, that I barely even know I’m doing it. Because it’s typically modeled and learned behavior and unless we start doing healing work, rejecting ourselves just seems normal. It takes a lot of work just to hear the whispers: “Don’t go out tonight, everybody sucks so it’s not like you’d meet anyone decent anyway,” “Don’t speak your truth because everyone you care about will abandon you,” “You have to hustle or you’ll never be worthy of success or love.” There are probably millions of examples and they’ll show up differently for different people. Not only do we adopt these behaviors and narratives, we let them drive everything we do because we believe they are part of our identities. It’s a lie. The fact is, you get to decide who you want to be and how you want to show up in the world. It takes practice, work, and a lot of self-discovery. We also face many obstacles and various forms of systemic oppression that are so much larger than any one individual, which can also be another reason why showing up as yourself can feel dangerous. As difficult and scary as it may be, it’s also worth it even if you don’t initially know  how you’re going to do it or where it’s going to take you. 

There’s this game I really like to play on my phone called Flow. It’s kind of like a connect-the-dots puzzle. You have a shape with multiple pairs of dots inside that you have to connect without impeding the other paths of the other connecting dots. What I like most about this game is that once you get one path, the other ones start to become more clear. Flow is all about taking that first step on one path and connecting the dots as you go. The paths are not always linear and straightforward. Sometimes there are twists, sharp-corners and backtracking. But once you start toward something; an idea, goal, etc., worlds you never knew existed start to open up. Toward the end of my studies to get my certificate in audio engineering and production the faculty held a competition for the post-production projects we’d been working on. I hadn’t planned on submitting mine even though I loved it and was really proud of the work I did and how it turned out. The moment I was aware of the competition I heard a whisper that said, “It’s probably not as good as other people’s.” Flash forward: I won first place. After seeing my project, a friend in my class said I should submit it. For whatever reason, I decided to internalize his belief in me and my talent and I went for it. Had I not done that I would have missed out, not only on winning the top prize, but on being asked about my process and being celebrated for something really cool that I did and integrating more self-confidence and the message that I deserve to be in the running for the things I want into my psyche. What I learned from that and other experiences since, is that on the flip side of rejection is courage.

Katie Louchheim would like to wish everyone a very Merry Impeachmas!

[minimus-ambus]

so i had an idea for a fic idea centering around starscream and an incident with a truth serum, and i thought i’d write down a rough outline of it but whoops it’s five pages now

anyway here u go 

so like, Starscream (still leader of Cybertron) is making a public announcement when there’s a sudden movement at the edge of the crowd. A second later, Starscream feels a sting on his neck. He pulls out what hit him immediately: it’s a long capsule with a needle at the end. It’s then that his tanks churn and his processor starts throbbing, and he curses himself for being so stupid, for not reacting fast enough, for... At this point, the scene has devolved into chaos: the crowd is panicking, and bots are trying to run away from something that they can’t see. That’s when the guards tackle a bot at the front of the crowd: a bot with a mod on their arm that now clearly is a gun. As they hit the ground, the bot cranes their head to look up at Starscream, who’s two seconds from transforming and flying away. They’re wearing a mask, but their optics are clearly smiling as they wheeze, “My *lord*.” Starscream, not one to lose his composure in front of a crowd, straightens up as much as he can and growls, “An attempt on my life? Disappointing.” But the bot just laughs, something made hard by the guards putting them in stasis cuffs. “No, that’d be too kind.. you, you deserve so much-aghk-worse!” They’re hauled to their feet, but the bot’s glare never leaves Starscream. “Truth serum. Compulsively answer every question asked of you- truthfully.” The bot is grinning now, but there’s an edge of desperation in the expression. “Scared?” Starscream looks at them as if they are crazy, opens his mouth to scoff, and- “Yes.” An eerie quiet descends as the world stills. The crowd is frozen in their rush to run every way, all optics turned towards their leader. The masked bot’s grin has lost its desperation. Starscream blinks, the sound of his own voice repeating in his audials. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. A servo moves to his throat, still sore with the injury made by the needle. For a minute, everyone absorbs what just happened. And what it means. In one movement, Starscream stumbles back- the crowd rushes forward- the guards lose the masked attacker in the rush- and Starscream’s engines tear through the sky as he flies up and out of the crowd, drowning out the shouted questions of the bots below. So basically after this Starscream is constantly trying to avoid everyone cause almost everybody wants to ask him something and actually get the truth- which in most cases he’d rather die than do. Starscream can’t think of anywhere that would be safe... until he remembers something: Thundercracker is staying on Cybertron for a few months. Dreading the prospect of facing his old trine mate but knowing TC is the best option he has, Starscream goes there. Of course Thundercracker is really surprised to see Starscream standing outside his apartment, and asks him what he wants. Starscream’s optics go wide, and for a second he chokes- before he says “I was hit with a truth serum in front of everyone and nowhere else is safe.” TC is dumbfounded by this... honesty? But then he processes what Starscream said and goes “oooohhhhhhhhhhh” and then he goes “awww” because Starscream feels safe with him??? So TC agrees to let him stay cause he’s nice like that TC doesn’t really take advantage of the truth serum to ask Starscream questions, if he does it’s usually by accident (“Hey Star do you mind if Buster stays in here?” “Yes I absolutely do mind, that four legged insect is not allowed within 50 feet of me”) Thundercracker talks most of the time, cause Starscream’s too nervous to even speak. TC tells him about Buster, and Marissa, and his screenplays, on and on and on. Starscream pretends like he’s not listening but at some point actually becomes just a little bit interested.   Eventually, Starscream actually speaks of his own volition, probably to say something like “your organic insect is gross and I don’t want it to touch me ever, but I suppose I could maybe understand why you like it...” “Heh, that’s progress in my book.” “Shut up.” “No way, this is the first time in vorns you’ve actually let me speak at length without interrupting to insult me!” Then there’s a vworp and Skywarp appears in the apartment, startling Starscream who screeches and then promptly shuts up Skywarp’s like “oooh hey Screamer!! I just knew you’d be here with this dirtlover.” Thundercracker grumbles “it’s called Earth and it’s not that bad, you guys are just mean” “Pssh whatever, anyway, I came here for Screamer, not you” Skywarp grins at Starscream, who is glaring sharply back at him. “Soo, I heard you can only tell the truth, huh?” Before Starscream can stop himself he says “yes I can, also I hate you so much” Skywarp’s grin gets even wider and he asks “then tell me, how sexy do I look when I pose like this???” and he strikes a ridiculous pose that gets Thundercracker laughing and Starscream for once wholeheartedly telling him how terrible he is Thundercracker thankfully gives Starscream a bedroom for the night, but it surprisingly takes a while for the former trine to actually part and go to bed. Starscream thinks about this as he sits on the edge of the berth. The ache in his processor that’s been there all day has lessened and lessened over time, and he’s actually kind of calm. Then, Bumblebee sits down next to him with the strangest little smile on his faceplates. They start talking in quiet voices, and at some point both of them realize that despite the truth serum still in Starscream’s system, he’s talking and acting just about the same to Bumblebee. Starscream’s always been truthful and open to Bee, at least for as long as he’s been a ghost. Bumblebee’s silent for a bit, until he says very softly, “I’m sorry about this.” Starscream is like “What are-“ but Bumblebee cuts him off and says with his optics locked on Starscream’s: “Do you think I’m real?” Starscream freezes, his vocal processors working. But he tries to stop the words about to escape him, so intensely he devolves into a small coughing fit. Bumblebee is immediately concerned, about to speak again- when Starscream looks up and with a crystal clear voice, says “I don’t. But god, I wish more than anything that you were. ” Bee feels stunned. His spark (or ghost spark, whatever it exists as now) is pulsing, and now more than ever he wishes he could be solid if only for a second. Then, Starscream swallows. And lies down on the berth, staring up at the ceiling. He lets out a dry, bitter laugh. “But you’re not. I’m just a guilt-ridden glitch who hallucinates and talks to himself. Leader of Cybertron... Pathetic, really.” Bee stands next to him for a few minutes, and Starscream begins to fall slowly into recharge. The minibot rests a hand on the edge of the berth. “If I was just some hallucination. Or a figment of your imagination. Then... why were you forced to answer my question?” Starscream only blinks. One of the hands lying at his sides curls into a fist. He closes his optics. The room is silent. In a whisper, he says, “I think you’re the best thing to happen to me in a very long time.” Bumblebee smiles. Very slowly, very carefully, he leans down and presses a kiss to Starscream’s cheek. Starscream doesn’t react, so Bee sighs, but still with a small smile. “I love you too.” Not fully in recharge, Starscream feels the strange tingling electricity dancing on his cheek die down. It does nothing to calm the flutters if his spark in his chest. The next day Starscream’s back to normal, so he bids farewell to Thundercracker (actually he just leaves a note on the door that says Thank You and sneaks out) and flies home.  Mustering up his strength, he goes to the council, who are just like “aw dang you’re fine now?? man, we really missed an opportunity there" Starscream is just incredulous cause someone ATTACKED HIM??? IN A PUBLIC SPACE????? AND THEY LET THEM GET AWAY??????????? he’s a very angry birb, his wings get all poofed up But I gotta add something in about Wheeljack, maybe he shows up after Starscream’s back to normal and jokingly says “oh you’re better? Dangit, I really wanted to study that serum’s effects! that, and- heh, no offense but I kinda wanted to ask a few questions myself. oh well..” but instead of being annoyed, Starscream looks at him, glances at Bumblebee in the corner (who’s gesturing vehemently at Wheeljack and whispering “go on you idiot”), and takes Wheeljack’s hands in his own. Wheeljack was *not expecting this* and tries to pull back, but is cut off by a “Wheeljack.” Starscream’s looking him right in the optics, something very unusual for him. The seeker seems to be struggling to keep eye contact, and it takes him a few seconds before he actually speaks: “...Wheeljack. I could.. I could never lie to you. I-I can’t. I don’t know why. But I can’t.” Wheeljack blinks. The room is quiet for a minute, and Starscream begins to get nervous, which isn’t helped by Bumblebee muttering “come on you idiots” over and over again in the corner. Then, Wheeljack finally seems to have gathered his thoughts. He smiles (maybe, the mask makes it hard to tell). Withdrawing his hands, he squeezes Starscream’s own, and says quietly, “...yeah. I think I’ve- ...I know.” And then, he steps back, and walks out the door. Starscream just stands there with his hands still out in the air, feeling the ghost sensation of Wheeljack holding them. He probably has a dumbstruck look on his face, but for some stupid reason, he can’t make himself feel embarrassed about it. Outside, Wheeljack is similarly stunned, but it’s showing in how he’s holding his face in his hands and quietly screaming at himself. Bumblebee is smiling in the corner, shaking his head as he mutters, “Idiots...”

[amorphousea]

today has been ROUGH

i am now sucking on a cough drop and waiting for some soup

(i’m not even sick my house is literally just covered in dust and mold so when you try to clean all the dust flies every where and i’m 99.9% sure i am allergic

trust me i’ve been compulsively taking my temperature and analyzing my symptoms and thinking about everything that’s ever been in my body... as you do when you experience discomfort that isn’t just your daily extreme pain

i also wonder how much of my other issues are caused by like... allergic reactions to shit in the air + food etc

honestly my endurance has been wearing thin! i should be more okay with feeling like i am dying but i am just getting more and more annoyed each day

it is okay though!

anyone else get sickened by the vulnerability of someone seeing you throw up? like my mom tried to hold my hair up and i asked her to leave the bathroom because... weakness

i love being multifaceted because yes i have no boundaries yes i am juman yes i am terrified that i have a human body yes i need so much yes i don’t want anything from anyone yes i don’t want to feel helpless but yes i need help

i cut my finger open yesterday and spilled boiling water on myself this morning and i couldn’t sleep because i feel like shit and i am happy i am not as freaked out as i was earlier and i am grateful for my home and i am bitter i am not acquainted with fresh air

[drcraneandmrcrow-blog]

Sends in Edward Extra Nygma for the name meme.

Send me a character’s name and my muse will tell how they feel about them

“O’ course, Edward Nygma. Should’ve known y’all would ask; I’m sure anyone who knows of our interactions is humoured by them. After all, what’s funnier than one Rogue havin’ ta be helped by another cause some guy carved up his chest?” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Scarecrow has still not earned my forgiveness fer that…but I digress, I am ta talk ta y’all about Edward Nygma.”

Jonathan scratched at the scar running through his lips. “I find Edward ta be an interesting man as much as I do an irritatin’ one. His vocabulary is as impressive as it is taxin’ and he spends much of our time together laughing at me, which I do not appreciate. Reminds me somewhat of the Joker, a comparison which I’m sure Edward would not be amused by, considerin’ any and all similaritiy between the Joker and the Riddler has been pointed out by the folks of Gotham. I neither discourage nor encourage y’all ta tell Edward I said that.”

He faltered, then frowned. “He has also referred ta me as both ‘cute’ and ‘silly’, neither of which are words I would like associated with me, as I am neither.”

Jonathan cleared his throat, then stood up from his chair, walking away from his desk to work out the fidgeting his body had started up. “I must confess that I am disappointed that Edward was not a Rogue durin’ my time as a therapist at Arkham Asylum (I’m sure he was too busy dealin’ with acne or experiencing his first kiss ta be thinking about riddle-based crimes back then). Edward has a mind that I would find pure, sheer delight in pickin’ apart and exploring and I would have jumped at the chance ta be his therapist back then. Perhaps I would have held off on usin’ my toxin on him, if only so he would be coherent enough ta share his thoughts with me. I missed out, is what I’m sayin’, and I shall curse my own bad luck fer that.

“Though this does bring me to confess a…discomfort in the fact that Edward and I share a past of childhood abuse at the hands of relatives. Vile man as I am, I do not wish that fate upon anyone, and I’m sure I would’ve been much more sympathetic toward him than the current folks at Arkham are…plus, it is a strange thought that Edward and I have more in common than just placements in the Rogue Gallery and little-to-no concern about killin’ folk (he has, after all, watched me throw bodies into the river). While I would like ta explore this further, I would understand if Edward said no. Would not entirely stop me from pryin’, but I would understand nonetheless and, perhaps, tread carefully.

“In the very least, perhaps it would enable me ta get to the bottom of Edward’s psyche. He has firm denial that he has any sort of problem - namely the Obsessive Compulsive Disorder - and this bothers me on the grounds that it feels as though he is disregarding my place as a psychologist. After all, I was not Head Professor of Psychology at Gotham State University fer no reason. As well as this, I am a fellow ‘certified nutjob’ and - while I am aware it is not smiled upon that I consider Scarecrow’s presence in my life a good thing - I can, at least, admit I have a few issues. I just will not concede with the idea that I need help. For Edward to think he doesn’t either is fine, but I would like, at least, fer him to admit he has reasons ta be recognised as ‘crazy’.”

There was a pause, then he puffed out a chuckle and smirked. “Don’t tell ‘im I said this now, but, ah…I appreciate that he makes me laugh. Nowadays, I usually get my kicks from Scarecrow’s morbid sense of humour or Harley’s shenanigans durin’ the times where she stays with me while she and the Joker are on the outs and Dr. Isley isn’t available ta take her in.” He faltered, then looked to the side. “Oh, uh…Note ta self: find a way ta contact Harley. She left some of her magazines here and they are not the kind of reading material that I enjoy. I have no interest, after all, in finding out what kind of breed of dog I would be.”

He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Yes. Edward. Annoying, but bright. Should there ever be a time where he doesn’t make me wanna slap ‘im upside the head, I would perhaps like ta invite ‘im out fer coffee ta have a chat about our interests in how the mind works, given my fascination with his own and his apparent interest in Scarecrow’s overall influence in my life. I feel that, perhaps, we might…learn from each other.”

Jonathan faltered again, then raised an index finger. “I would also like ta add that - despite Edward’s claims - any implication I might’ve made that I like Edward was purely unintentional. If he continues to say otherwise…he’s a dirty, rotten liar and y’all shouldn’t listen to him.” He coughed awkwardly and waved a hand. “Discussion over.”

[jeontaeh]

〚TEN〛

Visiting day was always the worst.

It was the one day Jungkook dreaded, because it meant his parents would come all the way to his school to meet him. He doesn't know why, it's not like they gave him any attention back at home.

Jungkook was quite neglected as a child. His parents, both rich and running a million dollar company, were quite busy with work. He was taken care of by numerous nannies. But being alone was something he got used to at home. Once middle school was over, his parents sent him over to boarding school- making up some shit excuse about 'teaching him how to be independent'. He already knew how to be independent.

To be abrupt, Jungkook was rich. In the social elite. His parents gave to many charities and said a bunch of bullshit to get more people buying their stuff. Truth was, they didn't care about any of that. His mother only cared about fancy clothes and how people see them, and his father only cared about money.

So here he was, 10 am on a Sunday morning, in the cafetaria. Tables were filled with students and their parents, talking rapidly. Jungkook could see Jimin on the side, laughing airily while talking to his mother, who had warm eyes.

"Your parents not here yet?" A deep voice broke his chain of thoughts, and Jungkook turned to the side and saw V walk up to him, wearing a grey jacket with the hood on and black track pants. Dressed quite casually than the other kids, who all dressed up neatly to see their parents.

"Yeah. Tell me if you see an overly dressed woman and a man who looks like he doesn't give a shit about his son, 'cause that'll be my parents." Jungkook said, and V snickered, leaning against the wall beside him.

"Where are your parents?" Jungkook asked, and V took a sip of the orange juice in his cup.

"Eh. They don't come to these things." V said, and then looked at Jungkook, who hummed, not questioning further.

"By the way- um- y'know the test we had on Thursday? Well I got it back, and I got a B+." V said with a smile, and Jungkook gasped, standing up straight.

"Really? Oh my gosh- V, that's so great!" Jungkook said softly, and then reached forward, but then realised V said not to touch him in public, so instead he resorted to patting V's shoulder. "Good job."

"It's all thanks to you, mr. A star student." V said with a small grin, and Jungkook laughed at that.

"Well, thanks to you, mr. Star athlete, I'm not that shitty at football anymore." Jungkook said, giving him a coy smile and poking his chest lightly.

Jungkook turned around with a spin, and then let out a grunt when he saw his parents enter the cafeteria from the other side. "I've gotta go. See you later?" Jungkook said to V, who nodded with a knowing look.

Jungkook rushed towards his parents. His mother, who was in a fur coat and big glasses and a high bun, and his father, who was in a dark trench coat and jeans and some fancy belt. Did they really have to dress like that to a school?

Jungkook waved at them, and then saw his mother smile and walk up to them, his father following behind her. "Oh, Jungkookie! Look at you- my handsome son." She said, walking up to him and hugging him tightly.

"Hi mom." Jungkook said, and she pulled away from the hug. They found a table and sat down on it, and Jungkook looked at them with a small smile on his face. The least he could do is try.

"How's the company?" Jungkook asked.

"Good. We're flying to New York tomorrow night for a meeting with an American company. It's great. You'll honestly love working there. Y'know, once you get out of school and do business in University." His mother said with a warm smile, squeezing his hand.

Jungkook chuckled nervously. "Would you want me working for your company, though? Can't really do much-"

"Yes. No question about it. Hopefully you'll get married by the time you're 25 to a nice girl, preferably one from a nice business family." The father said, and Jungkook's breath hitched.

"Right. Um- anyways. School's going well. I got an A in all my subjects-"

"Just an A? You couldn't get an A+?" His father snapped, and Jungkook looked at him uncertainably.

"I-I did. In Biology and-and Chemistry. I think I got one in maths too-"

"Think?" His father cut him off, and Jungkook looked down, fiddling with his fingers on his lap. "Well, I-I did some extra credit to get my grade up from A-"

There was a silence, with his father taking out his phone to check it for a moment. Jungkook turned to look at his mom. "Um- my art teacher put one of my artwork's in this exhibition she was holding. And- many people saw it and said it was really good, and it might go on the newspaper-"

"Don't waste too much time on all that, Jungkook. Spend more time on polishing your subjects that will actually be important." Jungkook's father said sternly, and Jungkook's face fell a little.

"Yeah.. um- I-I actually really like doing art. I mean, of course I focus on my other studies too! But, my teacher also said I-I'm really good at it. And she said if I do it in the future as a career-"

"Art as a career? Have you lost your mind?" Mr. Jeon snapped, and Jungkook tensed. "Since when did you get so caught up in all this art stuff? Snap out of it and focus on what's important. Like football. I hope you haven't dropped that for all these girly things."

Jungkook was frozen for a while, and Jungkook's mother sighed. "Sweetheart- Jungkook's always been interested in arts. Ever since he was a kid.. but, anyways. Kookie, show us your dorm room! We've never seen it."

Jungkook nodded faintly, getting up, head held heavy. He walked out of the cafeteria along with his parents. They began discussing some business related thing which Jungkook didn't care about as they walked up the steps to go to the dorm rooms.

All he could think about was how his parents were so goddamn annoying and literally didn't care about his wellbeing. They didn't know anything about him.

He could feel himself getting angrier as he kept walking. How can they call themselves his parents when the only parental thing they've done is fund his education? Maybe they should know. They should know what happens when you ignore your child and force him into things he doesn't want to do.

Jungkook was angry. And with anger, comes strange impulses. A spontaneity. A spur, something that fizzed in his brain and made him compulsive. Doing something without thinking. He was sooo angry.

For walking down the hallway, he saw V walk out of his dorm, and there wasn't anyone else on the floor except his parents, V, and him. So Jungkook did it. He acted dumb.

"Mom, dad," Jungkook started, and then reached forward and grabbed V's arm. "I want you guys to meet someone."

V looked a little confused, wondering why Jungkook was introducing him, of all people. Jungkook's mother smiled. "Oh, hello. You must be Jimin."

"No mom. This is V. He's the captain of the football team." Jungkook said with a nod, and his father suddenly nodded with a classic business smile. "Ah. Glad to know Jungkook's making good friends."

V smiled awkwardly, not knowing how else to react. Jungkook suddenly linked his hands around V's arm. "No dad. V's not my friend." Jungkook said, and then he gave V a small smile, and then looked at his parents, eyes glinting. "He's my boyfriend."

His mother gasped. His father froze. And V just choked on his spit.

"He's your what?!" Jungkook's father snapped, and Jungkook blinked at them in innocent confusion, smiling while tilting his head.

"My boyfriend. Aren't you, babe?" Jungkook asked softly, and V felt a jab to his side, and nodded hurriedly. "Yes- y-yes I am that." V mumbled, and Jungkook gave him a look and then smiled at his parents.

"What- what is this? Are you joking?" Jungkook's father snapped, and Jungkook shook his head.

"Sweetie I'm sure this is just one of those teenage phases you're going through. You're just friends, nothing more, I'm sure!" Jungkook's mother tried, and Jungkook smiled.

"It's not, mom." They blinked at him in confusion. Jungkook smiled harder. "I'm gay."

His mother spluttered out a gasp, and his father still stood there shocked. V widened his eyes at that one too, but then gulped, pretending this was information he already knew.

"You're what?!" Mr. Jeon snapped once again, and Jungkook sighed.

"I'm gay. I like men. I'm never going to marry a business family girl." Jungkook said with a fake sadness. "You know what!" Jungkook gasped, eyes growing big. "Maybe, instead- I can marry a rich CEO! Wouldn't that just be so beneficial, father?"

V sealed his lips, trying not to laugh. Jungkook turned to the side and kissed his cheek. "Oh, but don't worry. I'm still focusing on my studies. In fact, V's helped me improve so much in football. We practice every day! Don't we?" Jungkook asked, nudging V really hard again.

"Yup. We do." V choked out, and Jungkook smiled. "Y'know what they say. Any hole, is a goal-"

"Jungkook this can't happen- you know you can't do this." Mr. Jeon growled lowly, and V gulped, but Jungkook giggled. Giggled. It was like he was drunk. Drunk off this high he was feeling. He felt like he had metaphorical big tits, like he could rule the world.

"You're right. It would be a shame if I was gay." Jungkook said, and then let go of V. But then, he looked up. "It would be a bigger shame if I were to, y'know, release a statement online about how you two are homophobic. Especially when one of your biggest clients is gay herself. I'm sure she'd love to drop you guys as a company when she finds out you're homophobic. It'll only lose you.. what, a million dollars?" Jungkook said, innocently tilting his head.

V smirked to himself, and coughed into his hand in an attempt to hide it. "Good god, this is enough. I'm going to pass out! C'mon dear, let's go. W-we'll see you some other time.. Jungkook." Mrs. Jeon said, and then turned around and stormed right down the hallway, and left.

There was a silence, and V looked around, thankful that no one saw them. He cleared his throat, hands in his pockets. "Any hole.. is a goal?"

But Jungkook looked nervous, gulped. "C-can we please go into y-your room?" Jungkook said in a small voice, and V nodded, and the two quickly walked towards V's room. V opened his door and walked in, and once they were secluded, Jungkook grabbed his shirt.

He pressed their lips together, and V just grabbed his hips, trying to slow him down. Jungkook was messy with the kiss, breathing into it, clearly not in the right state. Jungkook pushed V until he sat onto the bed, and climbed on his lap, straddling him.

V pulled away and looked at Jungkook in confusion, pulling his hands down. "Jungkook slow down," V said sternly, and Jungkook looked at him for a few seconds, and then burst into tears.

V's eyes turned big, and Jungkook continued crying, reaching his hands to his face. V circled his arms around Jungkook's waist.

"Oh baby, what's wrong?" V said softly, and somehow that got Jungkook to cry harder.

"I-I'm s-s-so stupid, t-talking non-nonsense- forced y-you to act a-as my boy-boyfriend-" Jungkook sniffled, and V reached his hands under Jungkook's sweater, massaging his waist softly. "I'm sorry." Jungkook let out, trying to stop his crying.

"It's okay. Let it out, let it all out. You can cry." V whispered, and Jungkook felt fat tears roll down his red cheeks. "There you are." V talked low, and Jungkook sniffled, gripping onto V's shoulders with his fingers.

"I j-just.. wanted my parents to know t-that they know nothing about me. B-but I shouldn't have told them like this.. I-I shouldn't have dragged you into it." Jungkook said, and V kissed his cheek.

"It's okay. I don't mind. I just... I-I didn't know you were gay." V said softly, and Jungkook's breath hitched. "Like.. you told me you were into girls too."

Jungkook nodded, looking down. "I.. um.. I thought you would react badly. I-I knew I was gay.. just didn't want people finding out. You know how everyone is." Jungkook said, and V pursed his lips.

"Yeah, I get it. I mean, that's completely fine with me. I don't care if you're gay or- or whatever." V said, and Jungkook looked at him. "I mean I'm straight! 101%.. but still. It's cool that you're gay." V said quickly, and Jungkook let out a small smile.

"Thanks." Jungkook squeaked, and V looked up at him. "God, you're pretty." V let out, and Jungkook froze.

He felt a deep blush set into his cheeks. "So soft and-and pretty. And you like being called baby, don't you?" V said, and Jungkook blushed harder and nodded, tugging on his bottom lip.

"Hm? Baby likes it?" V smirked, and Jungkook whacked him on the shoulder. "Shut up." Jungkook squeaked out, and then cleared his throat.

"Do you mind sucking me off right now?" V asked, and Jungkook hesitated.

"Um.. k-kind of. I'm not really in the mood right now. Sorry. I'll-I'll leave you alone." Jungkook said quickly, getting up from his lap.

V grabbed his arm and pulled him down onto his lap. "It's fine, dumbass. Let's play videogames." V said, and Jungkook snickered.

"Sure thing, dude." Jungkook said, and V looked at him.

"Dude. Really? I called you baby, and I get dude in return?" V scoffed, and Jungkook laughed.

"Why, do you want a nickname too... babygirl?" Jungkook whispered, wiggling his eyebrows, and then giggled when V let out a fake puke noise.

"No thanks. How about... daddy?"

Jungkook made the fake puking noise this time, and V whacked his arm. Jungkook started laughing hard, practically falling to the floor. "F-fuck- did you really just say daddy-"

"I'm kidding!" V snapped, and Jungkook continued laughing hard, clutching his stomach. "I'm sorry- I just-" Jungkook tried, but then began wheezing.

"Bro it's a joke. I don't want that shit coming from your mouth. Plus, girls call me daddy all the time. It's cool." V said, grabbing a controller.

Jungkook wiped the tear from his eyes, sighing. "Sure thing, father." Jungkook said, and V smacked his thigh. "That's weird!" V snapped.

"Papa?"

"I hate you."

"What do you want me to call you? Your name consists of one syllable, it's kind of annoying." Jungkook said, and V looked at him, and smirked a little.

"Well I guess you're not finding out what my name is, then. keeps the mysterious charm." V said, and Jungkook grabbed a controller as well, sitting on the bed with his back against the wall, facing the tv, squished right beside V.

"Okay.. fine. I'll find out someday, V." Jungkook said, and saw V put on some game, humming.

Jungkook turned to the side, taking a second to look at V, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thanks." He said quickly, and then V smacked his thigh lightly.

"Don't be gay about it. I was just helping out. I'd do it for anyone." V said, and Jungkook hummed to himself, nodding quickly and looking ahead.

V sighed, dropped the controller and pressed a chaste kiss to Jungkook's lips. Jungkook squeaked out in surprise, and then V grabbed the controller again and faced ahead. Jungkook just smiled.

"No homo." V said quickly, and Jungbook burst into giggles.

https://jeontaeh.tumblr.com/post/647263548434792448/eleven

[moonandstars1989]

Red As A Rose - Part 1

Living with the Winchesters was never going to be easy, especially for a three-hundred-and-something-year-old vampire. But immortality gets boring. Rosalie D'Angelo is looking for some fun. Two hunters, an angel and a blood-sucking monster equals a whole lot of mayhem. Let's hope not too many people get hurt - THREE PART SHORT STORY

5192 words

WARNINGS: Some violence, language.

------

The moment I heard the bunker door shut I materialised in an instant in front of the hunter, grabbing the rucksack he'd already slung off his shoulder.

"Geez, don't do that!" he snapped at me. I could hear his racing heart thudding against his rib cage and I shot him a smirk, ripping open the ruck sack and pulling out a blood bag. I grimaced at the cold temperature, my tongue itching to taste something warmer. Preferably thirty-seven degrees... "I couldn't get as many as last time." There seemed to be an apologetic edge to his voice, but I let it roll over me as I ripped the corner of the bag open and started to sip on the glorious crimson substance I craved every waking hour.

"Well maybe next time I'll make the blood run," I suggested after swallowing down several mouthfuls. He rolled his eyes at me. I knew he'd never agree.

"You know how I feel about compulsion," he reminded me, referring to my neat ability to make someone do whatever I wanted. Sometimes I wished morals had a physical substance. That way I might've been able to surgically remove his.

"And you know how I feel about O-positive," I shot back, shaking the blood bag at him. "But we can't always get what we want, kiddo." His eyes narrowed at me. He was far from a kid, but compared to my old age, he was still brand new. Plus, I knew the belittling term would annoy him which always made my day moderately better. The hunter always made sure he stole that particular type of blood, the most common type, as if to redeem himself somewhat from stealing from a hospital. It didn't taste bad, but it was nothing like the B-negative I preferred.

"Just be glad I got it in the first place," the hunter said, frowning grimly at the way my eyes flooded red as I gorged myself on the blood. My supply had run out a day or two ago and I'd been climbing the walls, resisting the urge to ask Sam or his brother if I could tap a vein, knowing it would've ended badly. "Dean would've brought you road kill." I swallowed thickly, the thought causing bile to rise in my throat. I suddenly wasn't hungry any more.

"That's true," I said, tilting my head at him as I swung the bag onto one shoulder and pressed the empty blood bag to the hunter's chest. "Thanks, Sammy," I said with a sarcastic smile, watching as he fumbled with the empty blood bag, trying not to let any of the crimson liquid get on his shirt.

"It's Sam," he said, clearly already irritated by me and it was still early in the morning.

"Whatever," I replied flippantly, using my rapid speed to get to the kitchen and load the remaining bags of delicious goodness into the fridge.

My rocky friendship with Sam Winchester was certainly not one to be jealous of. I don't think I'd even call it a friendship. I'd never cared much for humans, seeing them merely as warm bodies waiting to have their necks ripped open, not to mention the fact that Sam was a hunter. That alone told me that I was highly stupid to even converse with him, let alone breathe the same air as the man twenty-four hours a day.

But there was something about him that I liked. No. That was too strong a word. There was something about him that I didn't hate. It was probably the fact that he felt like he owed me which made me feel like I could live in close quarters with him without worrying he'd stake me in my sleep. I had been the one to single handily save his ass from a nest of vampires. Of course, it'd been unintentional at first. I'd gone into that nest with the sole purpose of slaughtering everything inside, not realising there was a pair of hunters already there to complicate things. Needless to say, I'd chopped the heads off of every single pathetic vampire groupie in the place before one could chomp down on poor Sammy's neck.

The hunter had proceeded to stop his older brother from decapitating me after all was said and done. That had made me chuckle. There was no way Dean Winchester could've caused me any damage with the pathetic machete he'd wielded that night. I was far too old. It would take someone with supernatural strength to have enough power to lop my head off.

I liked to think of myself as part of the superior vampire species. I was descended from the Original Family, not some crappy alpha vampire claiming to be the king of all. The two species had been feuding for as long as anyone could remember, which for a vampire, was a long time. The hatred my species had for who we regarded as second class citizens mainly stemmed from their lack of power. They weren't pure vampires like we were. They were weaker, not as fast and most importantly, they didn't possess the useful little ability of compulsion. This meant they were sloppy when it came to feeding and drew attention to themselves, highlighting our existence like a sore thumb. They were reckless, conspicuous and slapdash when it came to disposing of their victims. I hated them.

The Winchesters, on the other hand, I hadn't been able to bring myself to kill when I'd discovered them in the old barn. Sam had been taken and his older brother, Dean, was busy untying him as I hacked off the last of the vampire's heads right in front of them. The younger Winchester was bleeding at the time and I hadn't been able to stop my fangs from sliding down as hunger surged through my veins.

Dean had lunged for his machete and I would've snapped his neck in an instant had it not been for the stench of vervain that filled my nostrils and burned my windpipe like acid. The damn vampires had been burning it for protection, knowing that it was toxic to my species. As I crumpled to my hands and knees, grasping at my throat, Sam had been the one to stop his brother. Although he wouldn't've been strong enough to take off my head, it wouldn't've taken long for the hunter to realise that a wooden stake would do the job.

"Stop!" Sam had yelled to his brother as he rounded on me. "Dean, wait. Don't kill her."

"She's a vampire, Sam!" No shit Sherlock I remembered thinking. I didn't say it though. My lungs were filled with a thick fog of vervain. All I could do was cough as I clawed at my neck.

"She helped us, Dean," Sam had insisted. "She killed the others." Dean had reluctantly stood down at Sam's request and after putting up an impressive fight, he'd finally agreed to bring me to the bunker to recover. That brought me to where I was today, Rosalie D'Angelo, a three hundred and something year old vampire stood in the kitchen of the Men of Letter's bunker roughly six weeks later. It wasn't out of choice that I had stayed this long. Dean had annoyingly slipped my daylight ring off my finger at one point or another, meaning that if I set foot outside the bunker during the day, I was toast. Literally. Of course, I could leave during the night, but daylight rings didn't grow on trees. I was lucky to get my hands on one in the first place. I'd met plenty of other vampires of my kind that confined themselves to the shadows when the sun was up. I couldn't leave the bunker without it. I'd be far too vulnerable on the outside. After finishing loading all of my new blood bags into the fridge, I made my way down the corridor towards the guest room I was staying in, passing the elder Winchester's room on the way. His door was ajar, but I knew he'd still be sleeping. I'd heard the sound of him sipping on a glass of whisky until the early hours of the morning. He'd be out for another hour or so.

A smirk pulled at my lips and I silently pushed his door open and wandered in. It was unlikely that he kept my daylight ring on him at all times, but I'd looked for it everywhere else I could think of.

The beam of light cutting into the room from the open door illuminated the man's features as he lay sprawled on his back, the covers covering half of his bare torso. I took a moment as my eyes roamed his broad chest, his muscles straining under his skin as he breathed in and out. Don't get me wrong, I despised Dean Winchester with every fibre of my being. He was moody, rude and categorically hated my guts. But that didn't mean I didn't enjoy looking at him.

As I silently approached, I found my gaze honing in on his chiselled jaw and perfect cheek bones. I could hear the steady thud of his heart, the sound of his blood rushing though his arteries making my mouth water, though his blood wasn't the only thing I craved. I may have been a vampire, but I was still a girl. The man was bloody beautiful, as was his younger brother. I wouldn't complain if I ever had the fortune of finding myself as the filling of a delicious Winchester sandwich.

I cursed myself for even thinking it. Who did I think I was? Katherine Pierce? No way. I grimaced at the thought of doing something that remotely imitated the psychotic bitch I'd had the misfortune of running into too many times. I shook my head, clearing my thoughts as I stepped closer to the bed. Where would he keep it? Perhaps in a pocket?

I carefully pulled back the sheets that covered him, my keen eyes focused on his grey sweatpants as I reached a finger inside his pocket. Within a moment, my back hit the floor, a warm body pinning me to the ground as something sharp was pressed against my chest. The elder Winchester's heart hammered in his rib cage, his teeth gritted together as he breathed heavily.

"Dean, if you wanted to be on top, all you had to do was ask," I told him with a wicked smirk, keeping an eye on the wooden stake that he was pressing into my skin. He grimaced at the mere suggestion that he could ever want me in that way.

"You shouldn't sneak up on a hunter," he warned and my smirk widened into a grin. I could do whatever the bloody hell I wanted. In less than a second I'd used my speed to push him off of me and had him pressed against his bedroom wall, the wooden stake discarded to the floor. My recent meal had left me buzzing and I was eager for some action. I needed to run. Staying in the bunker all day made me feel like a caged animal.

"You shouldn't think you're powerful enough to intimidate me," I replied calmly as if I hadn't just completely turned the tables on him. "I want my ring." "And I want you dead," he replied. I smirked at him, removing one of my hands from his chest to run my fingers through his hair. I hadn't yet decided whether he was blonde or brunette. Maybe somewhere in the middle. Either way, it felt soft on my cool fingers and I lost myself for a moment.

"You don't mean that," I said, my eyes locking with his as I tried to pull him under my spell. I knew it wouldn't work. He'd been taking vervain every day since I moved into the bunker, much to my annoyance. Dean Winchester under the influence of compulsion was something I was dying to see.

"And why is that?" he asked, pretending not to be intimidated by how much stronger I was than him. His heart gave him away. It was beating erratically. It made me want to sink my teeth into his jugular.

"Because you like me," I said with a smile that I knew would get under his skin. "It's not your fault, Dean," I whispered, backing him further against the wall. "You can't help it. Everything about me is designed to draw you in."

"I don't like you," he said, shoving a hand against my shoulder to push me away. I resisted at first, but when he did it harder I removed my hands from his chest, glaring as he pushed past me. "I tolerate you. For Sam's sake." He flicked the light on and I winced, my eyes stinging at the brightness. "The moment Sam realises you're no different from any of the other monsters we hunt, I'm sending you straight to purgatory."

"You can't send me to purgatory, dumbass," I told him bitterly as he pulled a shirt over his head. I'd had my fun for the morning. He was far more entertaining when he was asleep. "I'm not descended from Eve."

"Right, I forgot," he deadpanned. "You're an entirely different type of freak." I rolled my eyes, finding his sarcastic comments utterly trivial. I had better things I could be doing with my time. If only I had that damn ring.

"Just give me my ring and I'll be out of your hair," I asked, trying to sound as pleasant and polite as possible.

"I think I'd much rather leave you out in the sun without it and watch you burn," Dean spat, bending down to pick the stake from the floor and gripping it in his fist threateningly. "God, you have no idea how much I want to use this."

"Well you have no idea how much I want to rip your vocal chords from your throat, you mother fu-!"

"Guys!" I didn't have to turn to see that Sam had materialised in the doorway, his hands stretched out as he jumped between us. His right hand met Dean's chest and he pushed him back. Luckily for him, he didn't do the same to me. I would've snapped it right off. "Seriously, do we have to go through this every morning?"

"Come on, Sam, she started it," Dean said accusingly, sending me a glare which I returned, only harder.

"I don't care," Sam replied sternly. "I don't care if you hate each other. But you can't kill each other."

"I can try," I mouthed at the man opposite. Sam caught it out of the corner of his eye and sent me an unimpressed look.

"Cut it out, Rose," he chastised and I rolled my eyes, pushing past him and out of the room. "Hey, I'm not done!" he called after me. I didn't care. I certainly was.

"Go to hell," I snapped back, the fact that they'd both actually been to hell giving my comment more weight. I sauntered down the corridor back to the kitchen, grabbing another blood bag from the fridge as a midmorning snack, uncaring that I'd soon run out.

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

The week that followed dragged miserably until Sam popped out to the hospital for a quick supply run. The batch of blood bags included one labelled A-positive. Not my favourite but definitely better than what he'd given me before. When I questioned him on it he'd said it was a treat for good behaviour which made me almost laugh. I'd refrained from tormenting Dean as much as possible since the incident a week ago. Apparently, in Sam's eyes, that warranted a reward.

This, however, left me mind-numbingly bored. I wasn't allowed to leave the bunker under strict instructions from both the boys. They'd made it clear from the start that if I so much as breathed the same air as another human they'd have to put me down. I'd promised I wouldn't, but they didn't seem to take my word for it. If I was honest, I didn't blame them. I craved blood straight from the vein more than anything.

Sam often asked me why I didn't have more control over my urges. I told him I did. I'd perfected the snatch, eat, erase method over two hundred years ago, but then something had gone wrong. A few decades back I'd decided to flick the humanity switch, ditching all emotions and gorging myself on as many humans as I could. When I finally flicked it back on, a deep hunger within me came back with all the other crappy human feelings I'd been void of for so many years. I told Sam it would just take a while before I'd build up my tolerance again, but that didn't satisfy the younger Winchester. He'd taken it upon himself to help me control my urges, and apparently, that meant no feasting on humans, even if I didn't kill anyone.

I found the kid in the bunker's firing range. My enhanced hearing made the shots seem like they were going off inside my head. On physical appearance, I was probably ten years younger than him, but in reality, I was far his superior.

"Hey Sam," I greeted, causing the man to jump as I appeared silently next to him, the breeze my speed created ruffling his shirt. He didn't tell me off for it this time, simply releasing a sigh as he resumed his target practice.

"What do you want?" he asked, and I pouted at him, slightly hurt that he'd think I'd only talk to him when I wanted something, though he was entirely correct. I played it off, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

"Nothing," I replied nonchalantly, watching as he fired twice at the paper figure across the firing range. My excellent vision told me he'd hit the target both times. "You're pretty good at that." He chuckled slightly under his breath.

"Thanks," he replied, lowering the weapon as he squinted at the target. He proceeded to remove the clip from the gun and I watched closely as his deft hands moved against the metal. Sam had tried fruitlessly to try and teach me all the different makes and brands of weapon he and his brother used. I tended to zone out whenever he got all nerdy about stuff. Pretending to be interested was exhausting.

"I'm bored," I said flatly, arching my back and bracing my hands against the metal bench in front of me. Sam hummed in response, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. It was getting rather long, but somehow it suited him. I almost liked it.

"You're always bored," he replied matter of factly, not turning towards me to reply. I listened to his heart beat closely like I always did. It was steady, unlike Dean's which was always erratic whenever I was around. But Sam wasn't stressed at all. He wasn't even remotely terrified by how close I was stood next to him. He may have been bigger, towering at least eight inches above me, but I was far stronger. He knew that, but yet he still didn't seem to fear me. I now had my new game: if I wasn't allowed to tantalize the elder Winchester, Sam would have to be my new target.

"We should do something," I suggested absentmindedly, shuffling a little closer to him as he reloaded his pistol. "Have you ever played murder in the dark?" I asked, locking eyes with the younger Winchester as I licked my smirking lips. "I'm really good at it." There it was. The oh so satisfying sound of his heart beat picking up. I grinned at him wickedly as I moved even closer.

"You know, you're kind of creepy," he commented, shooting me a weary look before stepping away from me. I watched him go, my grin deflating along with my mood as his heart returned to its steady speed.

"Some would say sociopathic," I replied as I glared at the back of his head, my tone flat and icy. He murmured a response that I didn't bother to listen to. I was too angry. Too riled up. We'd been playing house for too long. Now I needed some answers, but most of all, some entertainment.

I shot up beside him just as he turned around, though I was careful not to touch him this time. I wasn't playing games anymore. "Why do you keep me here, Sam?" I asked seriously, my eyes narrowing at the young hunter. I wasn't somebody's pet they could train.

"What do you mean?" he asked. I thought he was faking misunderstanding, but his eyes seemed genuinely confused.

"Is it information you're looking for? More knowledge about my species?" I guessed, watching his eyes carefully. He didn't give anything away. If anything, he only grew more confused. "We're barely friends," I said quietly, shaking my head. "I irritate you, we don't trust each other. Your brother detests me." And I hated him right back. Other than his divinely chiselled features, the only redeeming quality Dean Winchester possessed was his car. The '67 impala was definitely something to be envious of. If I ended up killing both of them in the near future, I'd definitely be nabbing the keys.

"Maybe I wanna help you," Sam said in an equally soft voice, only his lacked the hardness that mine always had. "Like you helped me."

"You don't owe me anything," I told him, shaking my head.

"I know," he said, his eyes so alarmingly kind that I almost had to look away.

"But I know what it's like to crave blood. I've been through it." He paused, swallowing thickly. "I understand." I scoffed.

"You don't understand," I snapped at him, quickly losing my temper, though I wasn't sure I ever had a handle on it anyway. "You were hooked on demon blood for what, a year? I've been hunting humans for over three hundred." He looked alarmed by my admission and took a step back. I was happy he did, but I didn't let my usual smirk pull at my lips. "You can't detox me. You can't make me better." I spat the words at him, watching as he gritted his teeth together. "There's no cure for what I am."

"You don't have to hurt people. Just let me help you," he said, almost pleadingly. I snapped.

"I don't want your help!" I yelled, stepping closer to intimidate him. "I'm not an addict, Sam. I'm a vampire." He needed to get it out of his head that I was a person who could be fixed. This wasn't a phase. This is who I was. "I'm a cold, heartless killer. I don't care about anyone or anything." I enunciated each word carefully, stepping closer with every syllable until I was close enough to practically see his carotid artery pulsating in his neck. He was nervous now. I could feel it.

"You saved my life," he said, his face stubborn as he refused to be intimidated, though I knew he already was. "You didn't kill me."

"I wanted to," I told him, my features schooled as I stared at him "I want to right now." His heart was hammering in his chest just like I'd wanted. He was afraid of me. That was how it should be.

"You won't."

"Why not?" I questioned. "It would be easy. I could snap your neck in a second." He took deep breaths as if to try and calm himself down. I didn't breathe at all. If I took even one breath and inhaled his scent when I was this close to him, it was lights out for Sammy.

"You won't kill me," he repeated. "You would've done it already weeks ago."

"The only thing stopping me is that ring your brother has," I told him bitterly. "If it weren't for that, I'd drain you dry in an instant. I wouldn't even bat an eyelid." Sam supressed a grimace as he shook his head. I knew I was getting to him and I couldn't help the sense of satisfaction that rolled over me at the sight of his distress.

"I don't buy it," he said, trying to sound convincing. "You give off this tough exterior to make people afraid of you, but underneath all that, there's just a lonely Italian girl." I stepped away from him, taken aback by what he'd said. I hadn't told him much of my past. I'd told him nothing of my human years.

"You don't know me, Sam," I told him, trying not to falter as I shook my head. "You don't know what I've done. You don't know what I will do."

"You can change," the younger Winchester insisted. His eyes stared into mine and I couldn't look away. It was as if he was the one with the power of compulsion. "I know you want to. You wouldn't've stuck around this long if there wasn't a part of you that wants to be different. That wants to be good."

"I'm the devil," I whispered, my jaw tight. Sam shook his head.

"I've met the devil," he reminded me. "You don't even come close." He was so near to me now that I could feel his breath. It felt so warm on my cold skin that I wanted him ever closer. I'd never craved him so much until that moment. He raised his hand and for a moment, I thought he was going to stroke his thumb along my cheek. He changed his mind at the last minute, perhaps remembering who I was. What I was.

"I'm no good, Sam," I said quietly before stepping away. I turned, taking maybe three steps before I heard the sound of a knife being unsheathed. The noise of the blade scrapping against the leather rang in my ears, intensified by my heightened senses. "What are you doing?" I asked the boy before me as he held the blade against his palm. "Sam…" It was too late. A small stream of blood had formed where the knife cut into his skin, the crimson substance bubbling at the open wound. I made the fatal mistake of breathing in, the intoxicating scent filling my nostrils and driving me crazy.

"It's okay," he said, taking a step forward. Fear flared in my gut and I rushed backwards, my back colliding with the wall.

"Don't come any closer," I panted as he made his way towards me. He didn't seem afraid at all. I wished I could've said the same about myself. There was literally nothing stopping me from killing him right then and there. I tried to search for a way out but all my mind could process was the blood dripping from Sam Winchester's hand. "Stop," I told him weakly. "Stop!" He wouldn't. He came closer until he was a foot away, standing over me as I cowered on the floor, trying to push myself into the wall and disappear.

My fangs descended, the whites of my eyes flooding red. I was hungry. Too hungry. I wanted it more than anything. I imagined the coppery taste of it as it slipped over my tongue and the rush I would feel from draining the life out of him.

"You're not gonna hurt me," Sam repeated, crouching down beside me. I flailed on the ground, trying to get away.

"There are smarter ways to prove a point," I spat, panic rising inside of me. And that's exactly what he'd done. He knew I'd never hurt him. He wasn't trying to prove it to himself. He was trying to prove it to me. It was all part of his plan to make me realise I wasn't just a heartless killer.

"I knew you wouldn't," he told me. I stopped breathing and forced myself to look away from his hand. This time, Sam did grab my cheek, using his unwounded hand to pull my face back towards him. My teeth were gritted together and I felt my fangs pierce my bottom lip, my mouth filling with the bitter taste of my own blood. The worst part was that I knew he wasn't on vervain. He wore the herb around his wrist to protect him from compulsion, but that wouldn't help him now.

"It's okay," he whispered. I held my breath, my eyes squeezing shut as I tried to block him out. The sound of his heart hammering against his ribcage was deafening. I felt his palm against my face. His touch was scorching on my cold skin. I was frozen still, my jaw clamped shut over my deadly fangs. "You're not gonna hurt me."

"You might not get so lucky next time," I forced out between my lips before pushing him away and sprinting from the firing range. I ran close to my full speed and I didn't stop until I was in my room, the door slammed shut with my back against the dark wood.

My breathing was rapid as I tried to focus on anything other than the younger Winchester's blood. What Sam had done was reckless and stupid, but I'd managed to resist the urge to rip into his skin and drain him dry. For now, Sam was safe. For now.

These Winchesters were going to be the death of me.

[snickletastic]

Asswipe [Damian Wayne Imagine]

Damian had never seemed to be a fan of anyone. You found him hard to please, compulsive, and he was a hothead if you ever knew one. You’d been living with the infamous batfamily for 3 months now, and almost everybody took a liking to your personality and tendencies, all except for Damian. The second Bruce sat everyone down and announced he was adopting you, Damian slammed his fists against the table and stomped off to his room. Dick was more than excited to welcome you into the manor. Tim was thrilled he had a new person to teach how to hack and code. Jason was pretty cool with you to begin with and couldn’t wait to hang out with you on a regular basis. All but Damian were happy. 

You had never done anything to Damian to make him dislike you besides the sarcastic remark every once in awhile. Bruce told you not to worry, because Damian hated everyone.You’d dealt with his rude comments and obnoxious actions for the past 3 months, and tonight was enough. 

You were surprising the family by baking a chocolate cake. Alfred insisted it wasn’t necessary and that he’d do it himself, but today had marked your third month anniversary in the manor and you felt you should celebrate with your new brothers. While you were stirring the batter when Damian stepped into the kitchen to get a drink. Quickly, you turned your back to the bowl of cake mix and tried to cover up the mess the ingredients made on the counter. Of course Damian noticed and stared at you for a moment before asking,

“What are you doing? Are you hiding something behind your back?”

“No… I  have no clue what you’re talking about,” you coughed inconspicuously.

Damian stepped closer to you, trying to look behind you. You shifted your body in front of the bowl, but he saw the spatula covered in batter on the counter.

“Oh, you’re just baking something…” he scoffed and turned to walk away, “as expected.”

He put extra emphasis on the last two words, which filled you with anger.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you questioned, annoyed.

Damian quickly turned his feet and looked back at you, “It means you’re a woman, and women are meant to be cooking and baking in the kitchen…I didn’t mean to offend you…” His voice trailed off when he saw your red face and teary eyes.

Slowly, he stepped towards you to comfort you but you lashed out on him.

“For the past three months I have been nothing but respectful and kind to both you and your family! I have done all I can to please you but you won’t accept my plea for a friendship! You haven’t shown me an ounce of gratitude! God forbid I want to bake a cake for my family without getting a remark from you! I even made it vegan, you asswipe!” You yelled at him as your voice broke. 

Damian stood still for a second, astonished by your sudden outburst. He awkwardly scratched his head as you cried a few feet away from him. Finally, he stepped forward and hugged you.

“I’m..so sorry,” Damian whispered as he uncomfortably patted your back, “I didn’t realize I got to you like that. I was only harsh to you because I was jealous.”

You looked up at him, “Jealous? Jealous of what? You have everything. I was an orphan on the street, Damian. I just got lucky to meet the Batman on the street one night.. you’re the prince of the League of Shadows.” 

Damian sighed and contemplated whether he should continue or not, but decided to go on. “I was jealous of how quickly you were accepted into the family. How quickly everybody liked you and enjoyed your company. I was afraid that you were going to replace me as Robin. I worked hard to prove my father that I was not a lost cause… you never had to prove anything in the first place,” he spoke softly as he inadvertently stroked your hair, “I’m sorry for everything offensive I’ve ever said to you. I know I can be ill-mannered at times. I’ve been trying to fix it since I was a kid.”

You were surprised by the truth, you never knew he’d felt this way. It was easy to tell that he was extremely uncomfortable being so emotional with you, but it was almost sweet how much he tried. 

“I forgive you….if you help me finish baking this cake,” you giggled.

Damian sarcastically groaned but then laughed it off and got together the rest of the ingredients. Tonight you two would be baking the best damn cake the family had ever tasted.

a/n~ i’m sorry that i made damian such an ass, i was kinda stuck while writing this so i had to write him as a bit of a dick ahhhh

[sneezehq]

Yuri Plisetsky Sickfic

WARNING(S): descriptions of nausea & vomiting below ! . . . . . . . . .

Needing a break from practice and needing to refill his water bottle in order to continue, Yuri left the rink with a quick excuse to Viktor. Slipping on his skate guards easily before walking towards the skaters’ locker room, remembering that there was a water fountain specific for filling water bottles in there. Plus it would be quiet with most of the skaters on the ice or elsewhere preparing for tonight’s competition.

Walking through the threshold, seeing it empty after a quick scan had Yuuri entering fully and walking over to the fountain just past the toilet stalls. Only catching the sight of someone on the floor in one of the stalls with the door still open had him jarring to a halt. After a moment, realising the stock of blond hair belonged to a wilted Yurio.

Mutedly gasping, before his brain kicked into gear and he completely forgot about filling his water bottle, his attention now on the younger skater in concern. Approaching the stall Yuri was sprawled in.

“Yurio? How long have you been like this?” Yuuri exclaimed at seeing the younger skater state,kneeling down just outside the opened stall door to be moreso on the other’s eye level.

Lifting his head from where he dropped it to rub at his temples ; having thought he was alone , dropping his outward pretense of fine and giving in to the compulsion to press against the pain in hopes of relief. Hearing another’s words , one’s intoned towards him had caused the startled action. Edges along his eyes crinkling in an attempt to starve off an outward wince at the slice of dizziness that came at the sudden motion.

Being found seated on the public restroom floor, curled up against the stall wall, wasn’t the least dignified state he had been found in. Yet it didn’t lessen the sting of having his weakness witness anymore for the younger skater. He’d even taken the precaution when he couldn’t keep his breakfast down this morning, to sneak several organic peppermint candies that Milla enjoyed, hoping the natural antiemetic within peppermint would help settle his stomach. Not wanting to take any form of medication before a competition. And they had worked for a while at least.

Giving into defeat, no excuse nor platitude would sedate Yuuri’s worry. Lips parting in a quiet sigh, gaze trailing the linoleum patterns along the floor instead of meeting the other’s eyes. Voice roughened from the last few hours of vomiting, yet his tone held a weariness that spoke to his exhaustion and the degree of misery he was experiencing. Too tired to fight the inevitable.

“ … An hour? I think. ”

A hand came up to press against his forehead, the headache settled there made worse by the harsh light of the bathroom, while the other didn’t stray from where it encircled his midriff. Still he hesitated in making any form of eye contact; uncomfortable when under this brand of scrutiny and naturally tentative when he wasn’t up to his usual par.

“Nothing to get all worried about… And nothing to go tell Yakov and Madame Baranovskaya about. ”

“Yuri-” Yuuri began to say, only to be interrupted by the ailing skater speaking up.

“I am fine.” Voice roughened due to his current physical predicament, tone striving for it’s a portion of his usual tone yet failing, falling from his intended goal.

Though his words held very little to place faith in, his current predicament proved them otherwise. His current state completely contradicting his own words, no matter how much he wished to will them to be true. And as if fate wanted to cruelly remind him, he felt his stomach churn ominously.

Swallowing thickly against the sudden rise of bile and flood of coppery salvia in his mouth, Yuri levered himself back up to his knees to lean over the toilet. Hands coming up to grip the rim of the toilet, bracing him over the bowl as his stomach churned threateningly. A breathy burp forced its way up, then another one of a louder degree immediately brought up a surge of partially digested food. It pouring into the toilet bowl audibly.

Yuuri immediately scooted forward to place a hand on the other’s back, removing it at feeling the younger flinch at the contact. Concerned over making it worse, yet at hearing a miserable whimper slip from Yuri’s lips before he was lurching forward again to bring up more watery stomach content, Yuuri stood to stand beside the sick skater to gather his hair in a loose ponytail. Not minding having to use his snap hair band form his wrist, Yuri needing it more so than he did, and laying a hand across the other’s fevered forehead while again placing a hand on Yuri’s arching back. Just letting it rest there a moment before beginning to rub slow circles.

Leaning back on his hunches with a low groan, his hands still gripping the toilet seat, to lean away from the mess within the bowl in an attempt to breath deeply away from the sour smell of vomit. Inhaling and exhaling rhythmically. Yuuri let him move on his own, releasing his gentle hold on the younger skater as he reached forward to flush the toilet, whisking away the sour contents to hopefully clear the air more and ease whatever queasy feeling remained for Yuri.

“Still feeling sick?” Yuuri asked, concerned over the silence from the ailing skater

Yuri sighed heavily, nearly too exhausted and miserable to feel annoyed at the mother henning, “I’m fine.”

“You and Viktor have the same definitions of ‘fine’.” Yuuri remarked, worry colouring his expression and uncertainty on how to exactly help in this situation causing his worry to steadily increase, Yuri wasn’t making it any easier but he refused to give up and leave as the younger kept implying for him to do.

Instead Yuuri crouched beside the other, the stall a slight cramped but not enough to feel overwhelmed in such a small space, expression determined yet kind, not pitying but displaying a gentleness that ensured Yuuri only cared about Yuri’s welfare, no ulterior motive nor enjoyment of the younger’s misery, “What can I do?”

Coughing harshly, scraping against his already raw throat, and his eyes watering a slight against the burn, needing to clear his throat twice before he was able to hoarsely answer, “Nothing.“

Yuri scrubbed the back of his hand along his mouth, leaning back further to sit on his knees then listing to the side to rest his shoulder against the stall wall. Turning so his forehead met the cool metal, it feeling heavenly against his heated skin.

“Ugh, I feel like shit.” Yuri mumbled, face scrunching in reaction to a slight twinge his stomach gave, unable to even produce a moan of discomfort.

“How about I tell Yakov you have a headache and that I’m taking you back to the hotel to rest before the competition tonight?” Yuuri offered, trying to find a way to help his fellow skater while keeping the other’s wish of not involving his coach nor suggesting he withdrawal; though he wanted to, Yuuri knew that’d only cause Yuri to push him away and at least he could keep an eye on him this way.

“No, I’m feeling better. I can skate.” Yuri countered roughly, moving to stand and thus shoving Yuuri out onto his butt just outside the stall.

“Wha? Yurio, you need to rest. You’re sick!” Yuuri tried to convince the other, stunned but not surprised with Yuri’s stubbornness.

“I said I’m fine!” Yuri snapped, gaining his feet underneath him and stalking past the older skater.

Yuuri sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get through to Yuri this way, standing and brushing himself off, he tried another tactic, “At least drink some more water and splash some on your face. You look sick. And maybe take some emetrol I have in my skate bag?”

Yuri paused, considering the other’s words, still feeling unsteady and a slight queasy, “Fine.”

Yuuri nodded, glad that at least Yuri was willing to cooperate with this compromise. Thus while Yuri went to wash his face, Yuuri shuffled through his gym bag to locate the emetrol that he kept for when his stomach was acting up before competitions. It was accepted and approved to use by the ISU, thus neither need worry over it affecting their drug tests. Pouring out the correct dosage into the small measuring cup, straightening to see how Yuri was holding up and seeing him coming over he plucked up the tiny cup to pass it over to the Russian skater.

“Drink it all and take it easy for a few minutes then it should begin to work.” Yuuri instructed, having been using the product for a while now and finding it worked best if he didn’t immediately jump into his routine just after drinking it.

Yuri nodded, eyeing it warily before placing the cup to his lips and knocking it back in one swallow. Grimacing at the odd taste, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth several times to nullify the taste as he handed the small cup back and accepted Yuuri’s water bottle again to wash down aftertaste.

“Spasibo.” Yuri called out to Yuuri as the other made to leave and the older went to wash out the measuring cup to return it to his bag in a clean state.

“Glad to help.” Yuuri answered, mostly to himself as Yuri was already partially out of the door, it swinging closed with a soft click.

A/N: I’m sorry this one was so short! And isn’t really during the Rostellecon Cup but at the day’s practice durig open rink hours. I hope it’s okay still. I’m so sorry if they’re ooc! I’m trying. I hope this isn’t too disappointing. I’ll be better next time! I promise!

(Don't apologize, this is awesome! I love your descriptions and I think your characterization is excellent! You get better and better with each fic you write! Thank you for writing this for me, I really really appreciate it! It's awesome!)

[the-uptake]

The Uptake, The 704. 2|2|3|W. Book 1, Chapter 3. Go to previous. TWs: needles/phlegbotomy, medical diagnostics, emetophobia, forcefeeding, abusive dynamic. Revised 2019.06.28.

Galen came to in a small room with a polished concrete floor and walls and ceiling edges with simple recessed studio lighting. He attempted to roll over on his back. When the discovery of handcuffs halted him, he instead rolled onto his face to ease getting into a kneeling position. He pulled on the cuffs to guarantee they had been soundly clicked shut. He looked around the room. Whoever had brought him here had removed his tattered attire and clothed him in a dark tank top and pajama pants.

Fumbling to his bare feet, he found a locked heavy metal door in the middle of one wall, while the flimsy door in the corner led to a one-person bathroom. The layout of the room couldn’t manifest its current function at first glance. He kicked at the metal door trying to make some noise, but it didn’t get him anywhere, and it didn’t have any knob or handle anyway. He tried repeatedly to reach the cuffs to suck on them, but couldn’t manage to get his hands in his lap from behind him, and each time an exhausted derangement defeated him more and more. Eventually, he laid back down in the middle of the floor, and welcomed the cool of the concrete against his body.

He must have dozed off at some point, because two pair of dress shoes appeared in front of his face. He jerked back a ways with a hushed slaggit! under his breath. They belonged to two clean-cut older men, one a good bit taller than the other.

“Sorry to startle you, Galen.” The taller one, brunet, crouched down nearer, and rested his arms on his sprawled knees. “And we’re sorry that you had to be brought here under such circumstances. Hopefully, we can help you.”

Galen gave them a wild, sarcastic look before the fatigue wiped the expression off his face. Still, he craved the cuffs.

“--I know y’all?”

“Oh, my, no.” The shorter one, with longish swept-back pepper-blond hair, adjusted his glasses by scrunching his nose a bit, and joined his colleague in crouching. “Confirm for us, if you would: You were in an accident recently? And you believe it was chemical in nature?”

“Forgive Lyst.” The taller one shot an annoyed glance at his colleague, then motioned at him. “This is James Lyst, and my name’s Daniel O’Donnell. He’s very... task oriented, to put it mildly. Try to be patient with him, if you can.”

“How do y’all know all this-- Bell.” The stalker deflated and slumped on the concrete, recalling how poorly the exam had gone. “Must be bad, if the Good Doc thought he had to toss me into somebody else’s care. I, I, I, I. I’m dead, yeah? Thought so. Y’all must be morticians, with my luck.”

His features sympathetic, O’Donnell’s nod turned into a shake of the head.

“We’re chemists. Well, a chemical engineer and a pharmacist. And we currently have you under supervision for the sequelae of your toxic waste exposure. Between access and the square footage to house it, our facility is better suited to accommodate whatever diagnostics we determine can assess your health.”

“It’s a momentous occasion, really,” Lyst continued with a grin of large teeth, in an affected lyricism which seemed typical of him. “A new class of metahuman. Really, you’re something special, Galen.”

Galen struggled to keep up.

“Metahuman? My DNA’s all screwy now? This didn’t happen cause a street chems. This was a buncha drums a truck. They. They fell on me an’ broke an’ I was trapped to where I. I think I inhaled and swallowed a buncha it.” He flinched from trying to piece together details, and shoved down his tic as hard as he could. Something about these two felt more trustworthy and candid than Bell had, but he couldn’t place why. “If y’need me to remember the exact names of every thing that bust open an’ drowned me... you’re S.O.L. ‘cause I. I. --I wasn’t payin’ attention t’that kinda stuff at the time.”

Lyst and O’Donnell listened attentively, but it was Lyst who spoke up.

“You don’t need to remember all that right now. It’s quite all right. But yes, metahuman. I’d suspect you’d know what a metahuman is through some knowledge of Ketonamil, considering its prevalence in casual Quarter use, or perhaps through the politics of hybrids, but based on our current knowledge of your predicament, we both doubt any of either related substance was present on site where the exposure took place. And although a number of different chemicals can induce metahumanity, in the history of the one we suspect... there haven’t been any who took exposure with such resilience as you have.”

Galen balked, increasingly nettled by the metal around his wrists.

“Wouldn’t call it resilience. --Are the handcuffs necessary? Course they are. Y’all had t’drug me to get me here. No tellin’ what my reaction could’a been. Forget it.”

“We’re to understand it’s for your own protection as well.” O’Donnell frowned. “You have compulsion troubles?”

“I get hungry. Brain’s slagged.” He turned over, away from them. “It’s... hard t’get comfortable. Not for the floor. ‘Cause the cuffs. ...Can I say somethin’ weird?”

“I’m sorry to hear the restraints are making comfort difficult. We’ll work on that. Are they on too tight? What’s on your mind?”

“...These handcuffs.” Galen jammed his tongue up in the roof of his mouth and squinted. “...Metal. I get y’all not trustin’ me, but can we maybe not do metal? S’not the cuffs hurt. S’that...”

“What is it? You can speak with us without consequence.”

“...S’makin’ me hungry. Don’t get how, but it’s like I, I, can smell ‘em. Metal’s been drivin’ me loon. An’ with my hands behind me. Sure y’got cameras in here or some truck. Couldn’t sleep, for tryin’ t’get at ‘em.”

“Fascinating...!” Lyst had to sit down at this. “It’s affected your sensory acuity as well?”

O’Donnell dismissed the callous commentary with a cough.

“Trying to sleep with a loud appetite can’t be working well for you.” He ignored his colleague. “We’re going to try to make this arrangement as easy on you as possible. I’ll look into it personally this afternoon.”

“You must be ravenous.” Lyst leaned in to coax Galen’s eye contact, without succeeding. “It’s been a while since you were brought here.”

“Don’t remember last time I wasn’t. Not since--”

“A healthy appetite isn’t always a bad thing.” He patted Galen’s shoulder. “What would you like us to bring you? Within reason, of course. Our budget won’t allow for steak dinners.”

Galen just lay there for a moment, in a double-take.

“I don’t get y’sense a humor. That was a joke right? He was jokin’?”

“We’ll get you whatever you like,” O’Donnell insisted, increasingly exasperated with Lyst. “Burger Block? Chick Digs? King Pho? A pizza?”

Another long silence.

“Y’too, then. Let’s get somethin’ crystal here. Last I tried t’eat food, threw up. Out every end. Know y’all don’t wanna clean that up, an’ I ain’t inclined to it neither.”

“Do you remember the last thing you ate, out of curiosity?”

“A bottle a iodine. Buncha those lil’ funnel things the doc sticks in y’ear. I dunno, was a little stressed out at the Clinic.”

“Food, Galen. Not the compulsions. Stay with me here.”

The stalker let out a shrill bark, unmoving.

“Been weeks since I ate food, doc. ‘Fore ‘Piphany. Can we--” He fidgeted with his wrists and swallowed his saliva.

“Which of us has the smart sense of humor here again?” Lyst rolled his eyes.

“Y’think I’m slaggin’ y’all? Bring me Burger Block. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya. Can we, maybe--” More squirming.

“If not... food... then what? The offer still stands, to get you anything within reason.”

“--I want these slagGIN’ HANDCUFFS--”

Almost in tears, Galen rolled on his face and tugged at the cuffs until his wrists were raw. The two men scrambled to each take one upper arm in hand and steady the boy.

“Cool it, cool it.” O’Donnell made hushing noises as he fished the key out of his pocket. “Stop squirming and I can-- Here-- wait, that’s not--”

The instant the cuffs were off, Galen wrestled out of their grip and snatched the restraining tool from them. They vanished down his throat in a series of curled links, and he lay back and stared at the ceiling with mental clarity afterward, hands laced on his stomach. Despite having contended with the offending article, an odor still divided Galen’s attention.

The scientists failed to hide their alarm.

“...You’ve... certainly done that before,” Lyst commented.

“Told ya I wanted ‘em. Nah. If y’makin’ a point f’me not, not chewin’. Y’couldn’t chew metal neither.”

“To your understanding, do you digest it slower or the same? The metal?”

“...Faster, t’be fair. A lot fastern’ what I think makes any sense. Paint. That’s what I’m smellin’, fresh paint. I...”

Lyst and O’Donnell glanced to each other.

“The lobby was being renovated earlier this week. Do you... you want paint?” Lyst looked at O’Donnell again, making sure he’d heard Galen right. “How-- how is he able to--”

“You’re able to smell the fresh paint upstairs?”

“Y’just seen me swallow handcuffs. Wouldn’t be weird as that, bringin’ me a bucket a paint, yeah?”

“You see that look in his eye.” Lyst wagged a finger at the flightiness Galen couldn’t quite shove down. “He’s just as overwhelmed by this as we are.”

“James, shush. It’s our job to figure this out, not shrink him. Besides, don’t you think it’s fair for him to be confused and disoriented? Clearly this condition has altered his perception in some way.”

“I’m right here, y’know. ...Will y-- will y’bring it? A bucket? Or a coupla cans?”

“Will that tide you over? We won’t be coming back to check on you until tomorrow.”

Entertaining his own warping appetites felt ill-advised at best.

“Ss, somethin’ plastic, maybe? Dunno. Don’t think ahead to well with it, jus’ makes me wanna eat it all at once if I do. Y’all haven’t got any books, yeah? It’s... borin’ in here.”

O’Donnell smiled, and helped his colleague up as they both stood to leave.

“We’ll see what we can do.”

Before Galen knew it, he was alone with himself again, the inception of the commonality of intermittent solitude. He didn’t catch how the door worked.

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

A rough boot to the butt jolted Galen awake, and he rolled over in anticipation for a fight, but his fists and gaze stiffened where he lay in confusion when he saw a stranger joined him. The man pulled a folding chair across the concrete floor and unfolded it with a series of rusty creaks, purposefully generating nuisance, and he sat mere feet from Galen with a big paper bag with its top rolled over. Younger than the two scientists, he had long grey-blond hair with the top half pulled back, angular features, and a white neoprene jumpsuit. Galen could tell by smell alone the bag contained fast food. Burger Block. Queasy, his fists and face drooped.

The man set down a fountain drink to one side of him, and fished out a hamburger piled up with vegetables. He tore into it with a diligent politic, seemingly less for keeping it off his uniform and more for some obligation to etiquette. After a few bites, once he was sure Galen had thought he was ignoring him, he jammed the burger right under his nose with a curious brow.

“--I, what, no.”

Galen moved to squirm away, but from where he sat the man pinned him down by the inner thigh with one foot. The man pressed down harder on Galen’s leg, until the treads of the boot dragged his flesh through the thin pajama pants. The stalker winced, and the man offered again by holding it there.

“I, I, I, I, I, I--” Galen swallowed, trying not to tremble. "--Can’t eat that.”

The man sat up straight and pulled off the bun to glance coolly back and forth between the bun and toppings.

“Educated guess whether you were a mustard or pink sauce kind of dreg.” He put the sandwich back together and took another bite. “Couldn’t exactly take your order, you know.”

“Are you... with those two guys from before? Lyst an’ O’Donnell?”

“You could say that.” The man shoved the food against Galen’s mouth this time, smearing mustard at the corner of the stalker’s mouth as he sustained unblinking eye contact. “If you don’t eat, going hungry will be the least of your worries.”

Galen grabbed him by the wrists, and the man allowed it.

“I, ii, if you were with those guys, you’d know s’got nothin’ t’do with whether I like mus--”

The man had only let Galen talk to get his mouth open, and jammed the burger in, even once the rest met Galen’s gnashed teeth. The mixture of bread, meat, lettuce, tomato, onion, and mustard elicited the same revulsion as a wad of hair in his mouth. With Galen caught off guard, the man pulled one hand away easily and used it to steady the shaven backside of Galen’s head so he could continue forcing more burger. Galen’s hands flew up to pry the salty oil and veggies away from his face, but it did little good save scatter a bit of lettuce.

“Chew. Swallow. Repeat. Stop being difficult. Didn’t anybody teach you how to eat? Don’t make me help you the entire way. I don’t get paid enough to babysit.”

Galen could smell the man’s holstered gun through the assault of fast food smells right under his nose, and opted not to argue. But these mutations, if that’s what was really going on... they’d given him such trouble stomaching anything... Still, it couldn’t be worse to resume being bathroom-ridden, than to second-guess the man’s disposition. So, he swallowed. He pulled the burger out of the man’s hands and shoved the whole thing in his mouth, and after the same level of mental preparation as taking a large pill, he swallowed whole what was left of it, just to get it over with.

Feigning he wasn’t shaking at the display, the man unstuck by letting go and offering up the soda.

“Supposin’ I can’t just say no thanks.” Without objecting beyond that, Galen popped the lid and used it to skim the ice as he chugged down the soda. He withheld comment as to the rising temperature in his gut. He ate the straw to satisfy his spite, and roll-folded the lid into his mouth too. “Don’t get what y’want.”

Rather than answer verbally, the man produced his reader from his breast pocket, and pointed in demonstration to the tiny, brightly colored cubes visible in the clear tray door on the edge of it. Heavy-lidded and matter-of-fact, he opened a recording on one of the cubes, and it lit up a pale green when he began playback.

“--Y’think I’m slaggin’ y’all? Bring me Burger Block. Don’t say I d--”

The man played it back a few times, watching contentedly as the look on Galen’s face melted from physical displeasure to disoriented grief. Galen wasn’t used to hearing his own voice, and it didn’t even click at first that it was his. Why the hell did this guy have a recording of Galen? His head ran hot and cold at once, and sweat wrought him clammy all over. Then it registered for the stalker, that this guy likely had a recording of the entire conversation he’d had with the scientists earlier. A scientist jealous of hearing of his rivals’ new work in progress? A security guard seemed the more likely explanation, but it felt like too simple of one to explain potential motives for this behavior. The more his stomach churned, the less he could focus.

Eventually, the whole thing spilled out across the floor in a charred effervescent mess. The man moved a foot aside to avoid the splatter, and his skin crawled to observe that the stomach acid actively dissolved the varnish of the polished concrete. His lip curled at the display to bare a gold incisor. He stood and pushed over the limp stalker with a small nudge, then retrieved the paper garbage to leave.

“You’re to follow all instructions to the letter. Nod if you hear me.”

A small nod, as Galen tried very hard to ignore the near-garlicky rancid stench of his stomach contents digesting the flooring beside him. He clutched his stomach, still cramping despite how much better he felt without the offending stuff inside him. Half-consciously, he felt grateful that it had come out before it had hit his intestines.

“That’s how you show gratitude for people going out of their way to extend a little kindness to you? That’s filthy, you know. Absolutely filthy.”

Galen nearly blurted out well it’s your fault, I told you exactly what’d happen. When he glanced up, he understood he’d have said it to no one: the man had already left.

“...I know.”

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

The door opened and shut, and a pair of shoes approached Galen, who’d curled up into one corner, lost in doldrums over the conviction that his family would not want him back until he was stable.

“Good morning,” O’Donnell started. “I brought you the paint you requested.”

He looked up over his shoulder to see the chemist had come alone, and he rolled over to sit up. When O’Donnell sheepishly handed him the can, he readily took it, but tucked it into his lap.

“Thanks.” He shied from eye contact.

“...Oh! You must be upset because you didn’t just ask for paint. Fret not.” O’Donnell reached into the hip pocket of his lab coat, and produced a reader and held it out to him. “You asked for books. I wasn’t sure what you might like, so I just downloaded a mess of things. You’re free to download whatever you like. The reader’s registered with the Central server.”

Galen stared at the device, and didn’t know how to respond to being offered such a thing. When he’d asked for books, he’d thought asking for a book would produce the physical copy of something, not a reader. He’d never had a reader to himself--the whole family had shared one, and Vana used it more than anybody. The irony was not lost on Galen, either, that O’Donnell had outfitted the thing with an impact-resistant protective case. Maybe this had been the man in white’s idea: a test of whether Galen could keep himself from eating something, when overcoming the compulsion would reward him by providing mental stimulation and alleviating isolation.

He caught himself glaring at the dark glassy stain in the floor and took the reader from O’Donnell.

“Y’all are... too generous. Don’t deserve this kindness.”

The chemist frowned at the sentiment.

“It’s the least we can do for you. You’ve been through so much already, and we haven’t even gotten to your diagnostics screening.”

Galen tapped the power button on the side and flicked the screen on. The navigation keypad along the bottom edge befuddled him and he pecked at it.

“Can I... ask a stupid question?”

“I don’t imagine it’s very stupid.”

“Has this place got security guards?”

O’Donnell crouched to be closer to the boy’s eye level where he sat in the floor, and tried to determine how to answer based on what reason Galen could possibly have for asking such a thing.

“This building is very secure. We have several guards, and extensive surveillance.”

“An’ their uniform, it’s an all white suit? Grey edges?”

The chemist’s eyes narrowed, brow shifting from scrutiny to concern.

“Why? Did one of them come in here?”

Again, Galen glanced at the vitreous slurry-stain. Left unattended, the stomach enzymes had reduced the food to carbon, and the mess had dissipated into the melted glass before the enzymes lost their potency and let the whole thing set up like it had been there all along. A lump formed in his throat.

“Long, greyish hair? But not all that old, I guess? Gold tooth. He’s one of yours, yeah?”

The chemist’s features flattened in a squint for a moment, but he reached out to hold Galen’s shoulders to look him in the eye.

“That’s... Michael. What did he want?”

“...Dunno.”

“Galen, I meant it when I said you could speak to us without consequence. The guards aren’t permitted in here unless they’re accompanying Lyst or me. No one but James and I have clearance to get in here. Did he say anything to you?”

Follow all instructions to the letter.

Galen shook his head and opened the first book he could click on.

“Thought it was weird, is all, that he wasn’t with you guys.” He tried to look like he had gotten absorbed in the romance novel, uninterested in conversation. “Guess he wasn’t supposed to be.”

“No. No, he wasn’t. Will you be all right for another day or so? We had to rent out a lot of the machines we need to run your diagnostics, but they won’t be here until tomorrow.”

“I’m fine.”

The flat affect indicated otherwise, but O’Donnell didn’t press him further.

“Please tell Lyst or me if Michael, or anyone else, comes in here again. You don’t have to go into detail, if you don’t want. But I promise you that the two of us want to keep you safe. If Michael doesn’t make you feel safe, neither of us want that.”

Galen didn’t have a response.

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

Galen flinched when Lyst and O’Donnell next visited, and withdrew into the corner before either could even greet him. The paint, can and all, had vanished, as had the reader. Balled up inside his head, he upset himself all over again over his own lack of self-control.

“I, I, I, I, I-- couldn’t help it--” He swallowed hard, trembling. “There’s gotta be a way t’make it up t’ya somehow.”

“You... how did you...” Lyst uncrossed his arms, and was looking around the room for proof he was wrong. He didn’t find any. “How did you eat the reader? --And the can?”

“I--” He looked to O’Donnell for an affirmation that it was okay to speak. “Ss, sssuck on it ‘til it melts. Like candy, or s, somethin’, I guess...”

“Incredible.” Lyst dropped all incredulity, now again fascinated. “Really, though, Galen. If you’d known you were going to eat it, you could have simply asked for an old, broken reader. It would have been fine to ask for that.”

“I-- I thought y’was gonna bring me a paper book. Know it sounds real sorry of me t’say, but... I forgot readers could even have books.”

“I don’t know that our budget could allow for antiques like that.” As tactfully as possible, O’Donnell asked, “You mean to say you don’t think you would have any compulsion to eat paper?”

“Haven’t had one so far. Not that I noticed.” Galen sighed and stared at their shoes in dejection, trying not to remember how the security guard had removed all the paper from the room on his way out when he’d been there. “I... get y’all not entrustin’ me with antiques. It was dumb of me t’even ask. Knew better. I ate my own damn e-cig, an’ Walkman, and--”

“Hey, now.” Lyst wagged a gracious finger at him. “You needn’t beat yourself up. So you had an expensive meal. It’s quite all right. Part of this is learning how your appetite works, little Galen. Galenula. Hhn.” He grinned, scrunching his nose.

“You finished off that can of paint in no time,” O’Donnell began. “We expected it to tide you over for at least a day, but that’s clearly not the case. Do we need to bring you larger, ah, servings? It’s difficult to bring things more frequently, but if we need to figure out how to schedule that, we will.”

“Metal.” Galen got doe-eyed at having blurted out the craving, envisioning what a larger serving might resemble. “Lots a metal. Computer parts if y'can.”

O’Donnell smiled, able to get their subject on a thought which seemed to calm him.

“We’ll see what we can do. In the mean time, Galen, we did come today for more than to just see you... We can start one set of tests this afternoon, if you’re up for it.”

Galen shook his head in dismissal that he could tell them no, and stood compliant.

“Whatever you need of me.”

Lyst left the room long enough to wheel in a small cart with two trays on top. In one surgical tray lay a fistful of stoppered vials, while in the other lay a variety of tubing and sterile-packaged implements. O’Donnell retrieved a pair of folding chairs once his colleague had returned, as not to leave Galen unattended with the door unlocked, and set them out opposite one another next to the cart.

“A blood panel.” The pharmacist refrained from mentioning even anecdotally that it had been since college that he’d had any phlebotomy practice. “A rather extensive one, I’m afraid. I’ll be gentle.”

“Drawin’ blood? Don’t bother me any.” Galen sat in the chair Lyst did not, and already found himself eyeing the glass on the tray. “One of y’gonna hold me?”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’m right behind you,” O’Donnell reassured, both hands on the back of the folding chair.

“First, vitals.”

Lyst produced a sphygmomanometer from a drawer in the cart. He wrapped the cuff around Galen’s upper arm, then depressed the auto-inflate mechanism so that the gauge pressed against his antecubital fold could take the composite measure of the boy’s blood pressure. With a holographic chirp, it annotated the measurement, and Lyst let the pressure out of the instrument and put it away. He got the infrared thermometer from the drawer next, and waved it over Galen’s forehead twice, and annotated its measure as well. Then, from the bottom drawer, the pharmacist set out a scale between the two of them, and suggested Galen stand on it. The only measure Galen saw for himself, it registered 81.6kg. The stalker never really had dealt much with metric, and he sat back down.

“Hm.”

“Hmm?” Hoping for an understanding, Galen looked expectantly to Lyst, who kept tapping away at calculations and annotations, then up behind him to O’Donnell, who also watched Lyst.

“How tall are you?” Lyst asked.

“Five-five. ‘Bout 130, last I checked.”

“Closer... to 180 pounds, it seems. Bell gave us his patient chart data when we overtook your care. You weigh nearly 82 kilo today. That’s about twenty-five kilo over what you should reasonably weigh. But, clearly you’re not overweight. Just... over what you ought to weigh.”

“He means to say, that kind of weight would normally factor as fat,” O’Donnell translated, concealing how wild his mind went with speculation. “Something internal has to be denser. The chemical composition of your muscles, perhaps. Or your bone mass.”

“Diagnostics will better inform us than any speculation.” Lyst put on a pair of latex gloves with minor flourish. “Now, Galenula, offer up an arm. And ball up a fist for me.”

When Galen did as instructed, Lyst gingerly tourniqueted it with a length of yellow rubber. The bespectacled pharmacist then cradled the elbow and palpated for a good artery. He took an alcohol-soaked poly swab to sterilize the area, then tapped at the resultant blood vessels again to test them to satisfaction. He nodded to himself, and unwrapped the catheter needle. Then he looked over his glasses up at Galen, who watched attentively all the while, then proceeded to eyeball exactly where to stick.

“I’m going to count to three, and you’ll feel a pinch, all right?”

Galen nodded. He had to look away, but it didn’t hurt too badly. Bell had hurt worse, he recalled, the doctor seemingly more compelled by speed and efficiency than avoiding exacting pain in the process. The stalker only looked down again once Lyst had snapped the first vial into place over the open tip of the tubing. Something about it felt wrong, and Galen tried not to squirm.

“...Shouldn’t it... be... red...?”

Rather than blood, a bright orange substance filled the vial.

“It wasn’t this color when Dr. Bell drew it?”

“...No...”

Lyst soon switched out the first vial for the second, going down the line. Some vials already contained something with which the blood was to interact, and one of these popped within a minute of the pharmacist setting it down on the tray. The burst startled all three of them, and Galen cried out when Lyst pulled the needle out and pressed down with a fresh poly swab, rather than accidentally jam the catheter further in. They all stared at the tray, wary that the others might follow suit. Galen nudged the caster-wheeled cart with his toe, to push it further away from all of them.

“I... only got seven of the eight vials drawn, but I think it’s safe to say that one wouldn’t have been a viable test sample.” Still holding the boy’s arm to apply pressure, he chuckled at how Galen had done what all three of them had thought of doing. “It’s fine. We got almost all of them, and these will definitely give us much information to work with. I won’t terrorize you further right now.”

Eyes glazed in revulsion, Galen couldn’t stop staring at the vials, many of which had turned nearly neon.

“That... that ain’t blood. Ain’t my blood.”

“It came out of your veins, Galen,” O’Donnell soothed, putting his hands to Galen’s shoulders. “The tests will tell us whether it’s supposed to be there.”

“It’s going to be all right,” Lyst seconded. “Once I get the chance to send off this panel to the lab, we’ll be sure to come right back with something you’ll like.”

“--Hhmetal,” Galen reflexively repeated, transfixed upon the fluid in the glass.

“Yes, yes. We know. Hm! You liked paint. Would you like soap as well, perhaps?”

“Soap sounds nice,” he agreed, becalmed by the idea of eating.

Lyst applied a patch of paper tape over the poly swab, and let go finally.

“Soap. And something metal. Absolutely.”

The pharmacist collected up all the vials into a foam-lined medical-grade mailer carton. From what Galen could tell as he watched, it wasn’t at all unlike a test tube rack fitted inside there, and it seemed to have thermal insulation to keep it within a certain range, as well. He noticed the side of the carton read BF Meehl before it vanished safely into the cart drawer, and Lyst tucked all the remainder of nonsense into the sharps bin in another drawer. O’Donnell patted Galen on the shoulder reassuringly, to shake him out of his stupor enough that he’d notice them leave.

“I’ll come and check on you in about an hour, all right?”

Galen took the shoulder pat as urging to stand so the scientists could retrieve the chair, then he returned to his favored corner next to the bathroom.

“Yeah. ...Thanks, any rate.”

He watched them exit, and observed this time the door opened in a series of magnetic buzzing. Maybe the security guard was watching the whole time, and let them in and out.

Once they were gone, he stared down at the taped poly swab, and forcing himself to take a nap was the only thing that kept him from ripping it off to see if the catheter had gotten out all the orange stuff.