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myouicieloz · 1 year

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Nightmares

Huh Yunjin x reader

Synopsis: your friend had told you to talk to someone whenever you had a nightmare, to keep it from coming true. But what happens when it’s the middle of the night and there’s only one specific person to listen to your thoughts?

Warnings: …nightmare description i guess? Nothing too deep though (at least I don’t think so). slight hint of smut maybe…?

Word count: 1.9k

Notes: this is not the first time I publish something, but it is the first time I’ve written something K-pop related, as I’m kind of new into this world and there are still many things I don’t quite know about (I’m working on it tho!). So please be kind and lmk if there are any mistakes or things you’d like me to alter or improve on. (also i didn’t check for any mistakes bc if i reread it I’ll just delete all of it so…)

Water.

It was the only thing you truly felt, lingering all over your skin as the molecules invaded your body without permission. They occupied every single inch of yourself, assaulting your nostrils until it got to your lungs and all you could feel was a sickening burn, slowing crippling through your organs, depriving you of any kind of relief. You tried breathing, but all you got was more water instead. Desperate, your hands found a cold, harsh wall that kept you from the outside world, and no matter how hard you tried pushing and beating onto it, it simply didn’t falter. It was only then you realized: you were trapped inside a frozen lake, without air or any shot of escaping. The glacial waters welcomed your soul as you closed your eyes, finally accepting the lost battle. With one last thought, you sighed, allowing the rest of the waters to finally rest in your lungs, so you could be in peace.

Suddenly, you woke up. The upper-half of your body rose from your bed as you took deep breaths, appreciating the simple act of inhaling and exhaling. It was a gift, you’ve come to the conclusion: sometimes we forget how lucky we are to be able to do the simplest things, such as breathing. Such as living.

Running your hands through your hair and your face, you noticed how drenched in sweat your body was —your pajamas were wet from it. However, you were too busy trying to calm yourself down to do anything about it. Your mind didn’t seem to know it was all a nightmare. Sure, it felt so real… but it wasn’t, so logically there was no reason for you to be so shaken, trembling hands, rapid heart-beating and all. A few minutes went by, and you were still in the same position, not getting any better, so you’ve decided to get some fresh water to cool your thoughts.

You sighed in defeat when you noticed you weren’t going back to sleep so soon, picking up your phone and pushing your covers aside. Careful as to not wake up your roommate, Kazuha, you’ve made your way through the dorm, jumping at the slightest noise.

Now, sitting on the kitchen isle with a glass of water in your hands, you suddenly remembered something your friend, Yeji, had told you long ago. With that in mind, you glanced at the fridge’s clock before sending her a message. 3:28 AM.

Yeji unnie <3

heyy

you up?

Ive j had a rlly awful dream

You sighed when the messages weren’t even delivered, even though it was to be expected; the girls were busy promoting their new song and probably had a busy schedule tomorrow. It was only natural for Yeji to be sleeping, as you should be too. You and the girls have performed on the first shows of the tour, and your schedule is also as busy as ever. However, here you were, sitting at the kitchen counter, hands still trembling and mind replaying the previous nightmare in your head.

“Hey. Is everything ok?” A voice coming from behind startled you, making you jump in your seat and almost fall to your side. Luckily, a pair of hands steadied you, lingering seconds longer to make sure you weren’t going to slip.

You knew who it was without even looking back; her touches were too unique, made you too hot to go unnoticed. Indeed, Yunjin presented herself to you, making her way into the kitchen as she stared in your eyes with worry etched in her face. You cleared your throat, adjusting your posture so you wouldn’t look as fragile as you felt in front of her, at least. You hated looking fragile in front of anyone, let alone… her.

Likewise, you and Yunjin were close, as you were with the rest of the girls. But with her, it was just the way she portrayed herself that got you completely enamored. You’ve lost count of the times the girls teased you for losing focus at rehearsals because of her dancing. The way she was constantly trying to be the kindest version of herself, her passion for music, her care for others... it was hard not to be completely captured by her, truly. Which is why you were always awkward around her, specially when it was just the two of you, alone.

Like now.

“Ahn, no, unnie.” You said automatically, making her raise her eyebrows at you. Clearing your throat, you corrected yourself. “Yes, I meant yes. Everything’s ok. Sorry.”

Obviously, she wasn’t convinced. You drank from your water, trying to calm yourself down, but stopped when her soft hands kept you from drinking all of it in one go.

“Calm down, Y/n. You’ll end up drowning this way.” Her words were meant to be playful, but they reminded you of your nightmare, and suddenly the kitchen felt cramped, and you were there again, with the water making pressure to invade your lungs and the ice barrier and-

“Hey,” Yunjin’s voice was soft as she got closer, reaching out for a hug. “All is good; just breathe with me.” You focused on her face, ever so delicate, following her commands. After a few minutes, you were feeling much calmer. “That’s a good girl.” She praised, as you face the ground in embarrassment.

Taking your hands off her, you muttered. “Thanks, unnie.”

The words got to you, much to your dismay, and you could feel your face growing hot by it. Yunjin noticed it too, chuckling slightly.

“Cute.”

You faced your hands, embarrassed by your turmoil, and the two of you stood in an awkward silence until the sighed, taking the seat beside you.

“So… does this have something to do with Yeji?” She asked, cutting the apple you didn’t see her getting for herself, a cautious tone leaving her lips.

You frowned at the question. Why would yunjin think about Yeji? Seeing your confusion, she tapped on your phone over the balcony, still unlocked at the conversation with your friend. “Sorry for lurking. It’s just… you seemed really frightened, and I couldn’t help but look.”

Your bandmate was embarrassed to be caught, too, and you couldn’t help but giggle. Still, you reached for your phone to lock it; you couldn’t have Yunjin reading the messages you had sent Yeji about her. “It’s okay, unnie. I know you didn’t mean any harm.”

She hummed in response, still eyeing you attentively.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She seems to ponder her words better, as she adds, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. It’s just that you’ve seemed really shaken. You still do, actually.”

Your hands flicker the empty glass nervously, unsure of what to do. You didn’t want Yunjin to think of you as something fragile or weak. Being only a few months older than Kazuha, you always tried your best to not be labeled as a maknae to any of the older girls, always trying to take care of them too, as you knew they needed it. But she was looking at you with such caring eyes, and the whole thing had just felt so real. You sighed in defeat, not quite looking at her face.

“It’s stupid, really. Just a stupid nightmare.” You toyed with your phone, doing anything to not stare at the older girl beside you. “About Yeji-unnie... she’d told me once we have to tell someone about your nightmares, to prevent them from coming true. That’s why I messaged her, but she’s sleeping, for sure.”

Now that the words left your mouth, you felt even sillier. And stupid.

“Well, want to tell me what the nightmare was about?” She asked just as quietly, a faint smile adorning her face. “We can’t have it come true, right?”

She wouldn’t judge you. Never judge you.

Your eyes finally met hers, and you got to look into the beauty that was her almond orbs. You took a deep breath, getting ready to live those moments again. Yunjin listened attentively as you talked, leaning on her hand to have her full attention on you. When you finished, you felt surprisingly lighter, no longer trembling or wanting to cry.

“It’s not stupid.” She said, after you were done talking. Her nose was adorably scrunched, and it made you want to kiss it. Yunjin touched your arms, offering you some comfort. “It sounded really traumatic, actually. I’m glad it was just a nightmare.”

You nodded, secretly relieved yourself, too.

A small breeze went through the room, making you shiver a little, even though you tried your best to suppress it. Yunjin noticed your reaction, and her gaze dropped to your pajamas. You cursed yourself for choosing such a small pair for the night. The fabric was still a little damp, and it partially clung to your chest. You weren’t even wearing any panties, because you’d never bothered to sleep with them on anyway, but you were suddenly hyper aware of it. As she scanned you whole and her eyes darkened, you couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever thought about it too. Of you.

You’ve certainly had thought about her. An embarrassingly amount of times.

“You’ll catch a cold this way, Y/n. It’s cold outside.” Her voice made you feel as as if your body was filled with tiny needles, along with the familiar butterflies in your stomach.

“It bothers me to sleep with too many clothes, unnie. You know it.” You said, not intending to suggest anything, but biting your lips when the words came out of your mouth. It was another habit the girls always teased you for: you’ve often said things with double sense without thinking. Yunjin merely arched her eyebrows, smirking like she knew something.

“I know.”

You got up, forcing yourself to smile at her despite the awkwardness.

“I, ahn, I should go to bed now, we need to sleep. You should too, unnie, we have a busy day tomorrow and I’d hate to see you tired.” Your words brought her attention back, and she returned your smile with her beautiful one, getting up herself.

“Sure, sure, you’re right. Sleep well, Y/n. I hope you have good dreams, this time.” She looked like she wanted to step in and say something else, but decided otherwise.

“I will, unnie.” You’d surely remember how she had comforted you, and there simply wasn’t a possibility to have any nightmares after that.

You two walked the short hallway side by side, and since your room was first, you stepped by the door to bid her goodnight again. She was too close, and it made you weary of how you could see her so clearly, and even kiss you if you wanted to. If only you had the courage. “Thanks again, by the way. For listening and... well, for helping me calm down.”

“It’s nothing, Y/n. Remember I’m just down the hall if you need me, okay?” She was the one who broke the invisible barrier between you, shuffling your hair. She was close, too close as she whispered to you. “Sweet dreams.”

And as she left, you hoped she couldn’t hear how loud your heart was beating.

You got back to bed, but no matter how much you tossed and turned, you couldn’t stop replaying the events of earlier in your had. It was so natural, how her presence made everything lighter. Your head was so cluttered with your thoughts you barely registered the weight on your mattress, only realizing you had an extra visitor when she whispered.

“...Y/n?”

#huh yunjin #yunjin x reader #le sserafim #lesserafim imagines #yunjin imagines #kpop #kpop x reader #yunjin x you #yunjin x yn #first post <3 #sol writes #sol’s works

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anonymityisfunwriter · 16 days

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Question...? Act IV - “Did you leave her house in the middle of the night?"

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Reader Summary - After years of back and forth, years of unknowns, a lifetime of questions, it's time for answers.

Question...? Mini Series List | Steve Rogers Masterlist

3 Years Earlier...

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Hmm…” Steve hums against your lips.

“Why the hell haven’t we done this before?” The words leave your lips in a breathy pant as Steve nips at your jaw. There was something so exhilarating about it all. There was nothing quite like having your childhood best friend, your childhood crush, your best friend, have his hands tangled in your hair.

Adrenaline thrums in your veins. You're not sure if it's from celebrating your college graduation or from this fever dream turn of events. You weren't sure how this happened, what brought you to this moment, but here he is. Steve Rogers is in your bed with his shirt off. Your shirt off. A fever dream indeed.

Steve chuckles against your skin, recalling that kiss from junior high. That sweet, slightly awkward kiss. His very first kiss. The kiss that would always belong to you.

“We have, remember?”

“Not like this.”

He looks down at you, a tender, playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No, it wasn’t quite like this.”

“Steve, I -” Your words are cut off by the shrill ring of Steve’s phone.

“Just ignore it,” he mutters against your skin. It rings again. And again. And again. He groans in frustration, hanging his head against your shoulder, “Seriously? Who the fuck-”

“Language!” you playfully scold.

“Very funny.”

"Just answer it, then they'll leave you alone."

"Fine," he groans, picking up his phone from your nightstand. And the moment he does, his face sinks.

“Steve…” The warmth building in your skin turns to ice in a flash. You sit up in your bed as his face drops with guilt. “Steve?”

His gaze snaps over to you, “Huh?”

Your eyebrows pull together. You already know who it is. And still, you ask, “Who is it?”

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallow the knot in his throat, “It’s - it’s Peggy.”

The sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach only intensifies. In your half dressed state, you suddenly feel so vulnerable, so exposed under Steve's pitiful look. “Peggy? Your ex-girlfriend, Peggy?”

You'd watched him date her on and off for almost two years. They'd called it off two months ago. You had no idea they were even still speaking.

He was your best friend. He told you everything. Everything except that.

“Sorry. Sorry. I should -” He grabs his shirt from your bed, “I should go.”

You softly exhale, “Go?”

“Peggy… she already thinks - she’ll be upset if she finds out I was here alone with you. Even more if I spent the night.”

Your heart sinks the moment her name leaves his lips. You never wanted to be that girl. The girl that made someone feel insecure in their relationship.

You never wanted to be the questionable best friend.

"Why would she be upset?" The words are bitter in your mouth as you feel bile creep up your esophagus. Because in spite of his many assurances, Steve doesn’t sound as done with Peggy Carter as you thought he was. “What does she have to do with us, Steve?”

He winces, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Your arms cross over your chest, shielding yourself from both him and any further heartbreak. “Then how did you mean it?”

“We aren’t together, if that's what you’re thinking. It’s just the timing of it all. We just broke up a few months ago. And she - she thinks that you…”

You've never heard words sound quite that cold before as you spit, “That I what?”

Steve’s mouth twists. “That you had feelings for me. That’s why you backed off when me and Peggy started dating.”

It was true. In their tumultuous relationship, you'd lost your best friend time and time again. You backed off every time he went back to her. You refused to be a source of insecurity, a point of contention. You were respectful, kind, friendly. You were everything a good best friend should be. And still, it wasn't enough.

You’ve never felt quite such a sharp pain emanating from your rib cage as you do the moment Steve says those words.

You’re not sure if it’s just the intimate moment you were having that makes you feel like an exposed nerve right now. You can’t help but feel vulnerable, betrayed, like the person you trusted most just used you. You stand up, tossing on your discarded shirt, “You’re right, Steve. You should go.”

“Doll…”

You whip open the door to your bedroom, storming out, “Is that what this was? You came here because you thought I had feelings for you, so I’d make a perfect rebound? An easy lay for you?”

He follows behind you, his gaze and words imploring you to hear him out, “That’s not fair. You know that’s not true.”

You knew it wasn’t true. You knew Steve. You knew he could never dream up something that cruel. You also knew you were laying it on thick. In this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care. Not as you fight so hopelessly to keep the tears from welling in your eyes.

“Do I?" you scoff, unlocking your front door so he can leave your house in the middle of the night. "Because this whole thing seems pretty fucked to me.”

Steve barely has the sense to tug his shirt back on as the front door opens.

There's a chilling sense that creeps down his spine. This isn't just a fight. This isn't just you kicking him out for the night. This is you kicking him out for good. This is him about to lose his best friend. His worse fears are about to be realized, he's ruined everything.

He turns to you, his eyes pleading, “You know I would never do that to you. You know me better than anyone.”

“I thought I did too.” You hold the door open for him, stepping to the side to forcefully usher him out. “Good night, Steve.”

As the door snapped shut behind him, he only wished he would've tried a little bit more, tried to explain, tried to apologize, anything to keep you from shutting him out.

He only wished he put up more of a fight...

Question...? Mini Series List Inspired By Taylor Swift Steve Rogers Masterlist

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams@shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes @beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a @weallhaveadestiny @mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064 @michealharrypotter @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @withyoutilltheendoftheline @the-photo-hoe @rae-nna @sarachabeans1@double-shot-of-tequila @spookyparadisesheep @lunaalovesyouu @daisy-loves-bucky@roseproseposts @theoraekenslover@king814318 @maybesomedaytho @carlie-babes99 @sunshinechikin @as-white-as-snow-love @melala1030 @badasswlthafatass @armystay89 @multiversefanfics @cherrysscinema @breathlesspieceofdeath @ravenn-darkholme @bxckybxrnes24 @guiltyasreid @bellabarnes1378 @blithecapricorn @mrsnikstan

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trentlife · 2 years

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☆christmas morning

summary: in which the reader is waking up on christmas morning with her boyfriend jude

warnings: fluff

you where woken up to a shining light hovering around the room, with also the faint sunlight creeping through the blinds. you rolled over with your eyes half closed still to see your boyfriend. jude. lying awake on his phone scrolling through his socials. you where still to tired to be fully waken up yet so you softly turned back over until you heard the brummie accent.

"merry christmas babe" he spoke. which you then smiled at which he couldn't see.

you then rolled back over to see his pretty face and wished him a happy christmas, "merry christmas baby" a smile on your face appeared.

his arm curled around your shoulders as he bought you closer to him to feel his touch. you placed your hand on his bear chest and drew patterns.

"our first christmas together jude oh my god!" a thought came to your head which you obviously had to share with him.

"ah it is yeh! if im being totally honest with you y/n, it actually feels like this is about our fifth christmas together, and ive never really had that feeling in my past relationships." you looked up at him and smiled and scrunched your nose.

"im so lucky i have you, i probably don't tell you this as much as i should, i love you jude. so so much." you preached.

"come here" jude pulled you up and placed you on top of him and cuddled into one another.

"i love you more, forever." he replied to you, leaning in and pressing both of your lips together.

his lips where like pillows. you loved his kisses and cuddles, you felt so comfortable in his arms always, and hoped you could experience this forever with him.

"shall we go and open our presents then?" jude asked and you both laughed.

"sounds like a plan!" you giggled and removed yourself off your boyfriend and got up out of bed and placed your hand in his while you both made your way down the staircase of his home.

"jude are you kidding me? this is to much!" you where in shock as you stepped into the living area and seen all of the gift bags from the different shops and a huge bouquet of flowers.

"it's not to much, not for you anyway." his words made you blush and you went over to him and gave him a kiss.

"open this one first, it's a special one." he handed over to you a cartier bag, and your face was in shock as soon as you started opening the gift. "ju- what the hell! who's the other one for?" you asked seeing two silver diamond bracelets.

"ones for me, ones for you, i thought they could almost be like promise bracelets for the both of us, you know for our relationship." he told you.

"aww i love it so so much, my dream bracelet to!" you pouted your lips at him and he bent down to connect your lips.

you both spent another half an hour ish opening the gifts you got for each other. you got up off the floor and made your way over to you boyfriend and sat on his knee.

"thank you for all my gifts, i love them so much." you told him.

"anything for you, and thank you for all of mine you didn't have to do it." he replied.

you smiled at him and wrapped your arms around his neck while his around your waist as he pressed kisses into your neck.

"now let's go get ready before all you family are here!" you stood up.

"oh my, i know right." jude spoke, as you both made your way upstairs to get ready for the rest of the day.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham fics #footballer fics #footballer imagines #jude bellingham imagines #footballers #judebellingham stories #jude bellingham x reader #explore #explorepage #explore more

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thenorthsource · 10 months

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AGOT, Arya IV

All that Syrio Forel had taught her went racing through her head. […] Quick as a snake. Calm as still water.

TWOW, Mercy

The smell of blood was heavy in her nostrils...or was that her nightmare, lingering? She had dreamed of wolves again, of running […] hard on the scent of prey.

Half-light filled the room, grey and gloomy. Shivering, she sat up in bed and ran a hand across her scalp. Stubble bristled against her palm. I need to shave before Izembaro sees. Mercy, I'm Mercy, and tonight I'll be raped and murdered. Her true name was Mercedene, but Mercy was all anyone ever called her...

Except in dreams. She took a breath to quiet the howling in her heart, trying to remember more of what she'd dreamt, but most of it had gone already. There had been blood in it, though, […] and a tree that watched her as she ran.

[…] Braavos was lost in fog. She could see the green water of the little canal below, the cobbled stone street that ran beneath her building, two arches of the mossy bridge...but the far end of the bridge vanished in greyness, and of the buildings across the canal only a few vague lights remained. She heard a soft splash as a serpent boat emerged beneath the bridge's central arch. "What hour?" Mercy called down to the man who stood by the snake's uplifted tail, pushing her onward with his pole.

The waterman gazed up, searching for the voice. "Four, by the Titan's roar." His words echoed hollowly off the swirling green waters and the walls of unseen buildings.

[…] She had filled her basin from the canal last night before she went to sleep, preferring the brackish water to the slimy green rainwater stewing in the cistern out back. Dipping a rough cloth, she washed herself head to heel, standing on one leg at a time to scrub her calloused feet. After that she found her razor. A bare scalp helped the wigs fit better, Izembaro claimed.

She shaved, […] and slipped a shapeless brown wool dress down over her head. One of her stockings needed mending, she saw as she pulled it up.

[…]

“Mercy, Mercy, Mercy," she sang sadly. […] She would miss her, and she would miss Daena and the Snapper and the rest, even Izembaro […]

She would think about that later, though. Just now, there was no time. I had best run. Mercy still had some lines to say, her first lines and her last, and Izembaro would have her pretty little empty head if she were late for her own rape.

#asoiafedit #valyrianscrolls #asoiafwomensource #valyriansource #aryastarkedit #thenorthedit #valyrianladies #direwolfdaily #arya stark #mercedene #mercy #braavos #asoiaf #*edits #ours #by jacoby #rape tw #nudity tw

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thedeerman · 4 months

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RadioApple Week Day 1: Early Morning

So I draw a little bit here and there but Ive been spending a LOT more time writing. I’m hoping it’s alright that I decided to post excerpts of my ongoing Radioapple fic instead of drawings!

An excerpt from DYWTK Chapter 23: Adore

Lucifer didn’t sleep for very long after their all-night chat, so he woke up some time before Alastor did. He liked to do so as often as possible, actually. It gave the king extra time to snuggle up to the oh so terrifying radio demon.

He’d hate to admit it, but Lucifer also loved watching Alastor sleep. Not in a creepy way, of course! No, it’s just that the guy wasn’t nearly as hostile when he was asleep, which made him straight up adorable. Also, it made Lucifer a lot less nervous to stare. There was no way he was going to admit any of that out loud, though.

Alastor, having deer features, had hooved feet just like Lucifer did. He also, amazingly, had a fluffy little tail. And just like his fuzzy ears, it would sometimes twitch while he was asleep. Unfortunately for the fallen angel, Alastor had made it very clear very soon after he started staying in Lucifer’s room that the tail was off limits. No touching allowed. Huge bummer, honestly.

So Lucifer would just lay there in bed, listening to Alastor quietly snore and watching his ears flick back and forth as he dreamed. That was when the demon actually slept, of course.

It was quite often that Alastor didn't sleep for long, sometimes he didn’t sleep at all. He would still get nightmares that caused him to make scared and angry little noises, and whether the demon himself was aware of that or not, Lucifer wasn’t sure. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask.

Most often when this happened, the king would sing a quiet tune until Alastor settled back into calm sleep. So far, he had a 100% success rate with that strategy. It wasn’t any bother to Lucifer; sleep wasn’t something he needed as regularly as mortals. But it always worried him when his partner couldn’t sleep.

Before, it was just one of those things he just silently went over in his head for hours, afraid to chase away the first person to tolerate him in decades. But now with their new deal, perhaps the next sleepless night Alastor had, Lucifer would ask what was keeping him awake.

For now though, the angel just watched the radio demon sleep. Sometimes Pudu would keep him company, but other times, like right now, it was just the two of them. Lucifer wished he could just keep them in this peaceful moment in time forever, but eventually Alastor opened his eyes and asked, “Have you been staring at me all morning?”

Lucifer laughed. “Not all morning, no. Just for a little while.”

Alastor hummed and rolled over, not willing to get out of bed just yet. Lucifer took the opportunity to scooch closer and- avoiding touching his tail too much- pulled Alastor close. The demon grumbled an unintelligible, half-asleep complaint, making Lucifer chuckle. Even half-conscious, he was so easy to annoy.

Thankfully Lucifer had learned by now that Alastor’s ‘vague annoyance’ was more accurately defined as ‘I'm going to act like I want to complain but don’t not do the thing because I secretly like it and don’t want to admit it out loud.’ When he truly didn’t like something, he made it very clear. So the king just gently kissed Alastor’s shoulder, earning him another low grumble.

(Not gonna lie, I love this scene. It's so simple and sweet.)

#hazbin hotel #radioapple #duckiedeer #radioapple week #do you want to know #hazbin fanfic #mine

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starker-raving-mads · 6 months

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For You: Part VIII

Rating: M for sexual situations

›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹

After incorporating Tony into the penthouse and the rest of the tower, Peter found himself in a very familiar yet strange routine. He was spending all his time at the tower, now, having officially moved in. Being 18 and a billionaire - which still boggled his mind - made the transition easier. Reporters had finally found out where May lived and it wasn't until they had released a press statement via Friday that he had moved to the tower that they started leaving her alone.

The whole thing was surreal.

But he spent his days with Tony, May came over for dinner a few nights a week and updated him on FEAST and the rest of her goings on, he had lunches out with friends in hole-in-the-wall places (the only ones the press couldn't spot him at, they realized, after photos of Peter at a Panera ended up online), he went on patrol, and his classes started.

So while it was strange, it was also exactly the same as before. May, his friends, classes, and time spent with Tony. It was just a little different now, and Peter wasn't mad at the change in pace. Especially all the extra time with Tony. Because if it was just them in the tower, Tony was always out and chatting with Peter, going over ideas, talking about plans, just…hanging out. It was kind of amazing. And while Peter missed the physical things - like Tony moving him with wide, warm hands on his hips, leaning over his shoulder to look at his projects, putting a firm hand on his arm telling him he was proud - having the older man back like this was more precious to him than he could possibly say.

It was just like that, though, that the familiarity turned to something a little…more.

It was the end of the night after a long day of tinkering with Tony in the lab, handling SI business through Friday, chatting with May, and wrapping up his first week of college courses online. Peter was more than a little exhausted to say the least. It was a good day, really; he and Tony had found a nice little mystery of a bug in one of the projects that the older man had left over as a working component for a new mobile phone, a competitor (and upgrade) to the iPhone.

They'd pondered over it all day, then through out each meal, and even between Peter's classes. Eventually they'd let it drop because Friday had reminded Peter that it was 2AM and he had to be at a FEAST event for May at 10AM the next morning. If he was going to get rest, it had to be now.

But as he wound down in his (Tony's) room, his mind wouldn't shut off despite his physical exhaustion. It had been a busy day and he hadn't given himself any time to just stop thinking for a minute and let all the details percolate.

Sighing to himself, stretched out on the bed, he closed his eyes, arms crooked one on his chest and the other on his stomach. He let his mind wander, float in the liminal space where thoughts came and went without trying to focus them on one topic or another. Yet, inevitably, they always came back to Tony.

Tony's smirk when he was feeling playful, his eyes when they were happy, the way his hands moved in the air free and careless. Peter groaned thinking about those hands. They were so strong and capable, nimble and dexterous - god, the amount of dreams he'd had about those hands -

Suddenly, Peter was aware of the firmness in his pajama pants, his cock half hard from the images in his head. He thought about ignoring it - how weird it would be, when Tony was ostensibly right downstairs in the lab, doing whatever he did when Peter wasn't there - but decided that if this is what his body needed to fall asleep, he'd give into it.

After all, it had been five years since the last time he jerked off thinking about his mentor. He had plenty of time to make up for.

So he slipped the hand from his stomach, down under the waistband of his shorts and gripped his cock in his hand, fondling himself as he thought more about Tony. His face after Peter made him laugh, the crow's feet around his eyes, the sincerity in his voice when he was talking about how much Peter meant to him. The predatory way he glared when arguing, how dark his eyes got, how fierce his voice became -

Peter was fully hard then, cock leaking precum in his palm. He pushed his pants down freeing his cock fully, the softness of the comforter against his hard flesh making him moan. He arched his back making the fabric drag against the head and he gripped himself hard, then, hand starting to move in the up-down motion, fingers pressing against the vein on the underside, palm twisting when he reached the head.

He spread his legs, bringing his heels to his ass and ground down into the bed, his favorite fantasy playing out behind his eyes. Tony, between his legs, hard cock riding the ridge of his ass, saying filthy things to him, teasing him, mocking him. You want my cock so badly don't you, baby? Need it in your slutty little hole? And Peter begged in his mind, yes, yes, yes.

He spread his legs further, grateful for his flexibility, imagining Tony's large, capable hands dragging them apart, callouses tickling the soft skin of his thighs. He flexed his hips, thrusting into his hand, pretending he could feel a stiff cock just glancing his sensitive hole. Come on, Tony would tease, work for it, baby, show daddy how desperate you are for his cock. You can do better than that can't you?

Peter whined, back arching, and he was so close - so, so close already, just these few moments thinking about Tony, thinking about -

"Hng," he groaned, low and needy. "Fuck, fuck, need it, daddy - "

"Peter! I - "

The teen's eyes flew open shock and adrenaline pushing him right over the precipice he'd been teetering on, his orgasm painful and powerful as he locked eyes with ones the glowed, blue and wide. Hot ropes of cum hit his chest, the blanket having been pulled off while he was moving so frantically, one calf still draped in gray-blue fabric but not enough to hide the evidence of his exploits.

He'd never come down from an orgasm so fast.

"Mr. Stark! Uh, Tony - I, fuck," he said, scrambling to sit up, dragging the cover over himself. His hands were fumbling, adrenaline and nerves getting to him as he pulled the entire blanket into a big pile over himself, like a mound of sand burying his body at the beach. Like layers could hide his sin.

Tony said nothing, standing there, staring at him, frozen. His mouth was slack, hands still, mid-gesture. His eyes tracked Peter's erratic movements until after several long moments Peter stilled and, slowly, very slowly, Tony went to a tense position. Mouth closed, hands fiddly at his sides, eyes darting from Peter's head, down to the blanket covering his body, and back again.

Peter decided to pretend like nothing happened.

"Um," he cleared his throat. "Did you - did you need something?" His voice nearly cracked at the end, the pitch sharper than it had been in years from nerves. He could feel the blush furious under his skin, warming his cheeks and the back of his neck and the tips of his ears. They locked eyes for a second and it seemed to bring Tony back online, eyes going impossibly wide before he blinked out of existence.

"Fuck."

#starker #ironspider #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #peter parker #tony stark #peter x tony #iron man #spiderman #for you fic

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paintedscales · 16 days

Text

FFXIV Write 2024 :: Day Ten

Prompt: Stable Characters: Esenaij Sagahl, Bayarmaa Sagahl, Teiamon, Nomin tal Kheeriin Word Count: 916 Notes + Warnings: Digimon AU; oops, it's about cancer again with personal experience projections. (did you know it's leukemia awareness month in addition to ffxiv write?)

Master List

A medicinal stench mixed with latex and the sickeningly chemical smell of cleaning supplies permeated the air as Esenaij and Baraymaa sat in the waiting room. Esenaij’s leg bounced with restless energy whereas Bayarmaa was staring down intently at her phone, trying to immerse herself in whatever media content she could find that would prove itself distracting enough. Teiamon, laid in the chair next to them, wings drooped at her sides as she silently fretted for her Digidestined partner. For them, the day was long, as Nomin had been taken into surgery following her stabilization from getting blood transfusions.

The process, they were told, was simple enough. As the surgeon explained prior, they were taking a catheter with a gel insertion point and running its tube all the way down into one of Nomin’s arteries that had a close and direct entrypoint to her heart for chemotherapy and other such medical necessities. Where the port would be tucked away under her skin just under her left side collarbone, doctors and nurses would use it so Nomin’s heart pumping would distribute the components more quickly through her body.

“Sagahl?”

At the sound of their name, both Esenaij and Bayarmaa looked up at the woman who called for them and stood. Teiamon roused and soon followed, flapping her wings half heartedly as she took to the air.

“They’re waking Nomin up right now. If you follow me, we can get you guys to see her and get her some familiar faces to look at.” The nurse offered a smile. It was practiced and made amicable to assuage the anxieties and fears that those related may have.

Once they followed the nurse, she led them through corridors and toward one of the patient care rooms. The sound of footsteps filled the hall alongside the distant beeping of whatever myriad of medical technologies they had that were doing their jobs. A stifling cacophony that reminded them that they were indeed within a hospital and that this was not a bad dream.

When they reached the room, Nomin seemed out of sorts, but fine for the most part. A nasal cannula was affixed to her face, as one had been prior. Seeing her siblings and partner Digimon, however, Nomin perked up and managed a small wave to greet them.

“Hey, Bluebell,” Bayarmaa said, weaving in past Esenaij and taking a seat next to the bed. She reached over, taking Nomin’s hand into hers, being careful of the IV that was attached and taped to Nomin’s wrist. It was cinched off, the new catheter being broken in for use with a saline drip, its bag hanging over the hospital bed on the IV stand.

“We’ll be back to take her to the oncology ward soon. She’ll have a bigger room, so more space for the two of you to also walk around in. In the meantime, her doctor will come in shortly and let you know of any new things to keep in mind and what her blood counts are looking like,” the nurse said. Esenaij gave her a nod in acknowledgement and a quiet word of thanks before she left them.

Once the door clicked shut, Esenaij walked over to the other side of the bed, taking the doctor’s stool to use as a seat as he looked over at Nomin. Guilt that he was trying so hard to hide lingered on his face. He, like Bayarmaa, reached over and placed a hand over her free one.

“... I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t take your signs of sickness more seriously before…all this…” Esenaij said, struggling with what words to use -- with what words would be appropriate. “I didn’t think…I didn’t know…”

“... It’s not your fault…” Nomin softly replied. She curled her fingers to grasp Bayarmaa’s hand. “None of us knew…none of us went through this before. I mean…”

Nomin gave a shallow sigh. “... Mum and dad passed away just a couple years after they adopted me when I was still in diapers. And…it’s not like any of us know about what my biological parents’ medical history is like… None of us knew this was possible.”

“But you’re my responsibility, Nomin. I should have paid more attention, should have--”

“You did what you could,” Bayarmaa spoke up, interrupting Esenaij. Her brow furrowed, and she looked at him with a serious expression on her face. “Esenaij, you can’t make this about you. You already have so much responsibility you took on for yourself after Mum and Dad died. Don’t blame yourself for something none of us could have seen coming.”

The room fell silent, only the heart monitor sounding off with its rhythmic beep…beep…beep.

“Th-The important thing is that Nomin got to a hospital!” Teiamon said, breaking the silence and fluttering over so that she was nestled atop Nomin’s lap. She gave Nomin an efforted smile. “And so long as Nomin gets the care she needs, we should cheer for her swift recovery!”

“Now that’s a sentiment I can get behind,” Nomin said, smiling back in kind. Though, her stomach decided that it was also going to cut the tension as it growled loudly. Obnoxiously, even.

“You got a Digimon in there, Nomin?” Teiamon asked. The interruption was enough to make her and even Bayarmaa start giggling. From there, Esenaij managed to give an amused scoff of his own, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

“With the anesthesia done, you actually must be starving, huh?” Esenaij commented.

“I’m absolutely ravenous right now,” Nomin laughed.

#ffxiv #ffxiv writing #my writing #ffxiv oc #oc: nomin tal kheeriin #oc: esenaij sagahl #oc: bayarmaa sagahl #oc: teiamon #digimon au #digimon writing #ffxivwrite2024

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gabriellerudessa · 1 month

Text

Compass (Norm Maclean x OC) - Part XXVII

The path eventually circled the mountain, a precarious wooden fence that should be pre-war the only protection. A look showed the expanse of land they had crossed, the distant Sunset-Sarsaparilla billboard, the group of ruins and trees they had passed, all so small from up there…

God. The world was enormous.

And at the same time so small.

PLAYLIST ON YOUTUBE

Word Count: 5.979

Warning: Jealousy, Non-consensual touching

XXVII

He saw the ranch in the distance and whistled, the question, and the safety whistle came one second later. In his next step he was by the gates, and they were open, and Marigold was there, leaning down and kissing all over his face, happiness all over her face, muttering “I love you” against his lips.

He knew he was dreaming because of that.

---------

Marigold woke him up with a light kiss, the “I love you” from the dream still echoing in his ears and he almost expected her to say it. But no. She had promised to wait him in the ranch, said for him not to die on her. No “L” word.

Not as if he knew if she did love him. Norm was only certain of his own feelings and for all the things and courage he had had managed to acquire and exercise, that was something he still chickened out at just the thought. Promising to go to the ranch, hoping to see if they had a chance, was how much courage he had for it all.

“I’ll go put some stew to heat for breakfast.” She said, already freeing herself from him and getting up.

“All right.” She switched on the lights and he blinked and squinted at them, sitting on the bed.

He watched her get dressed quickly, forgoing the shirt, and produced a small and different tin from her backpack and a clear makeshift teabag from it – the contraceptive tea. She winked and blew him a kiss before disappearing up the stairs.

He was still smiling at her antics as he got up and dressed, a little slower, keeping the top half of his Vault-Suit tied at his waist and Pip-Boy around his forearm. Norm remembered his plans of copying things for Goose and got the notes, paper and pencils before climbing up the stairs – at least now he had a table to do it.

---------

They ate the stew calmly, not talking much, Marigold’s contraceptive tea steeping inside a cup with chipped edges in the middle of the table, as he copied Esther’s recipes and notes, his calligraphy clear and legible. Steam wafted from the cup, a weird smell spreading around them – “it must steep at least for fifteen minutes, Goose is very adamant”.

It had taken him too long to get to the copying, but at least it was fast, mindless work. With the silence, broken only by Marigold’s humming – “’cause babe it’s just you” –, Norm gave himself some time to process his reaction the previous night, when he went to clean her. Sure, he had never seen that before, but even still, that was something that had never even crossed his fantasies, not even as a teenager. Vault-life always impressed a weight on constructing family, it all a chore, no matter how enjoyable sex could be.

Maybe it was the lack of that weight, added to his feelings, that made it all… Something that at least attracted his eye.

He needed to ponder more on that.

“How long?” her voice cut his thoughts, and he turned his forearm to see the hour in his Pip-Boy.

“Almost twenty minutes.”

Marigold winced, hand towards the cup.

“There I go.” She turned it, drinking it all in one go and grimacing as she slammed the cup back on the table. “Fuck, each time this thing just gets nastier!”

Norm just shook his head, not bothering to try and hide his small grin.

---------

Book open on one corner of his worktable, Norm read for her as they sorted out scraps and technological bits regarding their overall usability – metal and plastic without any tech, pieces with tech that could be used to fix something, actually working technology, wires, and so on –, his voice washing over them and making the process ten times more interesting and engaging and easier to go by and she constantly had to stop herself from just staring at him and hearing his voice. God, she would miss him reading for her… But he would go to the ranch. She didn’t know when, but he would. She focused on that.

It helped that he had a good eye for the technology that still worked and what could be used to fix things; it was only a question of giving him tips on how to trade and haggle it, but it could wait until they were on the way to the Observatory.

In the end, there were a lot of scraps that had no technological application, and too few of working technology and pieces for fixing things – no sign of the plasma weapon Catarina had been working on, no doubt taken with them.

There was no way they could take everything.

Book closed once again, they decided that, once on the Observatory, it would be best if they traded separately, so they could cover more ground and see what they could discover. For weight reasons, Norm would take the working technologies and pieces, while she carried wires and some of the heavier scraps without application beyond external parts and such – and the shotgun.

“It will be good for you to learn about trading in the surface and get the hang of Wastelanders beyond myself.”

“I hope I don’t mess it up.” He nodded with an exhale as they organized their bags.

“You did well with my Ma and Ma June and you had even less experience than now. You’ll do fine, Norm-boy.”

Norm smiled at that, small, color on his cheeks, and she kissed his temple.

Marigold hid the books in the bottom of the last wardrobe drawer, just so she had more space for scraps in her backpack. After, she separated some of the food she carried in the refrigerator, making plans of trading more, half of her brain already thinking on the possibility of having to follow another path. If it happened, she wanted to make sure he had as much dried and canned food as possible.

Norm left the boxes of poisoned Fancy Lads Snack Cakes and Sugar Bombs by the counter as he finished organizing sidebag and bag, and Marigold raised a curious eyebrow.

“Not taking those?”

He shook his head.

“Don’t want to risk missing it there or whatever and I need the space to store my Pip-Boy before we go into the Observatory.” He tore a piece of paper and wrote something, putting it inside the box. “There. It’s yours now.” He grinned at her. “If another Bear appear, they’ll keep away.”

Marigold laughed.

“At this point the only option is Ed and his wives, but they are still in the Mojave, maybe starting to travel back.”

“And the travel from there to here is long, I imagine.”

“Yep. Just crossing the Long 15 from there to here can take at least one month, because of the cargo and so on, and that if weather contributes.” She shrugged. “Still, it’s good to take the precaution.”

He nodded, leaving the boxes together in the counter and fitting Catarina’s letter behind the terminal, while Marigold used the water bottles in the refrigerator to fill their canteens.

They checked his leg, filled their canteens with water from the refrigerator, finished getting ready, and gave a last look around to make sure they weren’t forgetting anything. Satisfied that the answer was “no”, they threw their bags on their backs and shoulders, and left the house, Norm making sure to lock the door with the terminal.

---------

Norm made sure to mark the exact coordinates in his Pip-Boy then captured Marigold’s hand, kissing her knuckles. The sun was already relatively high up in the sky, around middle of the morning, the wind blowing fast and fresh against his skin. Marigold said that they would probably have more rain, but it could either be that day or in the following ones.

It was faster than the previous day, both relatively familiarized with the path, and Marigold used the walk to pass her tips about trading, and oh she had a lot to tell – “specially with tech things, you always ask 15 to 30 per cent more than what they offer. Usually the final haggle ends between 20 and 25 more from their initial offer”; “if they seem specially desperate and interested, ask 50 per cent more. Usually they accept without question”; “remember to be firm and give them your determined stare, avoid smirking”; “don’t hesitate about taking your things and walking away if they insist on the first price. A lot of times it makes them amenable to haggling” – and about how to get the information they needed from people they didn’t know – “usually asking about what happened in the last weeks as you trade is enough to get a good overview of what you need”; “careful with prodding too much, people can get really defensive and distrust you”; “information is a commodity too, if they notice you’re really interested they’ll try to charge for it, in caps or in favors”.

She had a lot more to say, including about haggling the price down if buying. It was clear she had learned a lot about it all growing up, and Norm summarized everything as “don’t rip them off, but also don’t let them rip you off” and “people love to talk about what happened around them”. Good to know that a penchant for gossip was a constant both in the Vault and in the Wasteland.

They eventually reached the trail and started climbing up the mountain, eating dried molerat as they walked, midday coming and going.

The ground, all rocks, sand and earth, was smooth from multiple feet along the years, bushes and thin trees at the sides, winding up the mountain. Sometimes steeper, then back to something almost flat, and the talk turned towards items that they should buy – Marigold had guaranteed she would take care of food, telling him to get ammo for his revolver and whatever else he was in need of; he agreed, immediately remembering his blood-stained socks.

God. The world was enormous.

And at the same time so small.

He was turning to look back at the path when a black moving shape in that expansion attracted his attention, smaller than the fingernail of his pinkie finger.

Norm blinked, hand tightening on Marigold’s, and the shape disappeared, as suddenly as it had appeared.

“Norm-boy?” Marigold stopped with him, squeezing his hand back.

His eyes moved along the land… Had he imagined it? There was nowhere the shape could have gone, it had been in the smack middle of nothing…

A finger turned his chin towards Marigold, her eyebrows frowned and mouth a line.

“What is it?”

“I… Think I saw something moving down there, but I’m not sure…”

Still frowning, her head moved to watch the space, and he did the same, seconds stretching into minutes, the land still empty of movement. Marigold started walking, slowly pulling him along.

“There’re things people use that can make them… Well, invisible, for lack of a better word.”

“There are?”

Marigold nodded, and Norm didn’t miss how she still frowned.

“Stealth-boys. They’re pre-war tech, Ma June once had one for sale.”

“I think I remember Lucy and my father mentioning it once. I think it was military.”

“Yeah. They’re quite expensive.” Her steps speed up some. “Hopefully this will not equal to trouble to us.”

Norm threw a last look towards the land down there before focusing back on the path up the mountain.

---------

It was almost the middle of the afternoon when the metal walls surrounding the Observatory slowly became visible, made of everything possible, from cars to sheets of metal, a great space of empty land around it. Norm let go of Marigold’s hand briefly, Pip-Boy disappearing inside the sidebag, and held it again, tightly.

“We trade separately, try to get information about what happened and so on, and meet again later.” He confirmed, voice trembling, and Marigold made them stop, cupping and stroking his cheek with her thumb.

“Yeah. And you’ll be fine. You’ll get even their pants in the deal.” She grinned and leaned down, kissing his lips firmly. Norm laughed into the kiss.

“There’s only one pair of pants I would like to get out of someone, Beautiful, and it’s not the ones from some random trader.” He grinned back at her as she retreated, color on his cheeks.

Marigold loved the fact that, while he was getting flirting, he still got all flustered and flushed from it. She hoped it would never change, because it made him all the more cute and endearing.

“Naughty, Norm-boy.” She winked, straightening.

“I try.” He chuckled and they started moving again.

The gates were open, flanked on the sides by golden-and-red flags. Two bored looking Brotherhood members were on the sides, apparently guarding it, just like in Filly, registering a couple of travelling merchants with their Brahmin. She was pretty sure the jumpsuits indicated they were Initiates. On the bridge above the gate, two Knights in Power-Armor stood: the actual guards.

She felt their miniguns pointing at them as they approached and the travelling merchants distanced from the Observatory. Marigold needed to force herself to breathe slowly and not crush Norm’s hand.

They passed the merchants, and she faintly recognized both, one even addressing her as “Bear” with a respectful nod she returned. They must’ve traded with her family, but not regulars enough for her to remember.

“That’s a what?” Norm muttered beside her after the distance increased.

“Brahmin.” He squeezed her hand in recognition.

“That’s close enough. Name and affiliation?” The Initiates called out, straightening.

“Marigold and Norm, Bear Family Ranch, close to Filly.” Norm spoke before she could, and she smiled at the calm he managed to transpire, even while feeling the cold sweat in his hand against her uncovered fingertips.

One of them relaxed, some recognition in his face. The other looked with a blank face.

“Hunter and accountant, right? The both of you were mentioned in the last batch of records’ Filly sent.”

“They were?”

“Yeah. You really should start paying attention to those.” The guard shook his head at his companion and looked at them again. “Business?”

“Trading.”

The guard nodded, serious, writing in his clipboard.

“The gates close at sundown. There’s a cantina open to civilians and non-Brotherhood members close to the southern wall. It also has a communal bedroom, 15 caps per person for one night. If you lose the gate’s closing, that’s the only place non-members can pass the night, sleeping in the streets results in a fine and temporary imprisonment. Prostitution also results in a fine and imprisonment. No stealing, killing, or aggression.”

“Thanks for all the warnings and information.” Marigold managed to nod, trying to not wonder who dared to forbid prostitution in the Wasteland or why those differences between Filly and the Observatory – maybe more a question of how long settled in it? Of how many natives with whom to deal?

“Then you’re both free to go in.” He pointed inside with his pen and stepped aside.

---------

The first thing Norm noticed was the Observatory itself, still somewhat standing after two hundred years, impressive despite the missing parts.

Then he noticed the stalks of corn amidst patches of charred ground flanking a central path, with people working in the field – some used Brotherhood’s jumpsuits, but others seemed just common people.

The short path ended in a broken and destroyed monument, ramshackle buildings and stalls made of metal sheets and wood around it like some type of plaza, marked with bullet holes by the dozens. Besides the Observatory, a bigger metal and wood building was being built, with a barn-like look.

Most of the stalls seemed to be manned by Brotherhood members; most of the people also seemed to be from the Brotherhood – he still couldn’t pinpoint which rank wore which clothes, the only clear ones where the Clerics and their robes, and the occasional Knights in Power-Armor. The few not dressed as Brotherhood were the only ones actually walking around and trading.

“All righty, Norm-boy. Remember what I told you. Meet you at the cantina at sundown?” Marigold squeezed his hand and he looked up at her.

“That seems like a plan.” He smiled.

“Take care.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek, smiling against him and stroking his hand with her thumb.

“You too.”

And then Marigold was steeping away, sure and determined. He missed her hand in his the moment it left.

Sighing, Norm turned and started wandering the place, paying attention to the stalls and few plaques hung to try and find someone that traded in tech, and keeping his ears open to any talk around.

---------

He found an older man, wearing a grease-stained Brotherhood jumpsuit and magnifying glasses with multiple lenses, whose stall had an assortment of tech and tech parts spread on the table. The man was mostly curved above a worktable full of tools to the side, working on what Norm recognized after some moments as a Pip-Boy, knobs and buttons stained by oil and rust; an old one. The man’s fingers changed lenses with a speed Norm admired as he approached.

The man turned to the stall, glasses on his forehead, and stopped whatever he was about to do as he put his eyes on Norm.

“Need something?”

“I have some tech to trade. Interested?”

The man looked at the Pip-Boy he was working, scratched at his chin with frowned eyebrows, and stared back at him.

“Sure. Let’s see what you have.”

Norm presented the pieces and tech carefully, making sure to make one or another remark so the man knew that he knew what he had, doing his best to apply Marigold’s tips in the negotiation. The man didn’t seem bothered by the haggling, eyes and fingers going appreciatively over some of the pieces. Someone that knew what he was buying.

“That’s a Pip-Boy you’re working on, right?” Norm carefully asked as the man passed him the caps, trying to keep his voice light and not overtly interested.

The man frowned lightly at him, lips a line behind his beard.

“It is. It’s also not for sale.”

Norm shrugged, letting the fabric purse full of caps drop in an internal pocket of the coat.

“I figured that. What’s its problem?”

The man opened his mouth, closed it again, and watched him closely.

“Scavenged a lot of Vaults, hm…” The man pointed at Norm’s chest and the exposed Vault-Suit with his chin. Norm just shrugged again – let him think what he wants – and the man nodded, face relaxing a little. “It seems to be in some sort of loop trying to access something and we can’t access anything else in it.”

“Well-”

“The Elder Cleric was clear.” The voice cut the conversation, the man’s eyes looking aside and behind Norm, and he couldn’t keep himself from looking too.

A tall pale person limping slightly and talking with a tall black man. Both wore different-colored jumpsuits and walked fast, hands holding the handles of the weapons at their belts. They seemed distressed, stormy expressions on their faces.

“You can’t go.” The pale person spoke, voice firm. The same voice that had first attracted his attention.

“We don’t know what he will do, Dane. The more we delay, the more he could… I don’t know, throw another bomb, this time at us.”

“He stole a Power-Armor and you just started actually training in yours. Let this to someone more experienced, Maximus.”

“If the Elder Cleric would actually send someone-”

The two moved away enough that Norm couldn’t hear them anymore, just the sigh from the man with whom he was trading.

He turned and the man was scratching at his eyes.

“Sorry you had to hear and see that.”

“I… Just arrived so… That Maximus just became a Knight, from what I understood?”

The man nodded, hand lowering.

“He killed Moldaver, it was just natural.” Moldaver: dead, indeed. Lucy and his father: God knew.

“Congratulations to him.” Norm managed, throwing a look at the path the two had disappeared, and back to the man. “Anyway, I hope you manage to discover the problem.”

Norm actually had a good idea of what it was. He always had it if he spent more than four hours gaming non-stop: the older the Pip-Boy, the more the holotape locking mechanism liked to get stuck after you took the holotape out, and thus the Pip-Boy eternally tried to access a holotape that wasn’t there.

“Wait.” The man called when he had given some steps, and Norm half-turned to look. “What’s your name?”

“Norm. Yours?”

“Julius, Senior Scribe.” Norm made sure to associate the jumpsuit to the rank as he slowly returned to the stall. “Messed with Pip-Boys when scavenging Vaults?”

“A bit.” A lot, actually, half of his job when working with the Vault’s computers was maintenance of everybody’s Pip-Boys.

“Most I worked weren’t as advanced as this one. What would it take for you to give a look and say your thoughts?”

Norm blinked and thought and tried to not seem too excited at it.

“Well… I got a bit curious about what those two were saying, if it’s not like… Something that can get you into trouble for sharing. I barely knew you all had occupied the Observatory, after all.” Norm made himself shrug, just a guy wanting to understand the recent news.

Julius scratched his chin, thoughtful, and shrugged.

“It’s nothing big, but if you’re interested…. I’ll talk as you look.”

“Fine by me.” Norm circled the stall to approach the worktable.

---------

Trading the shotgun for ammo and some caps had been easy, even if the muscled man dressed as a Scribe doing it had no interest in gossiping about recent events, which was a shame.

She had better luck when selling the scraps and wires she had brought, even if it had taken more time. The Initiate man manning the stall, equally muscled, had been fair in his trading and had been very excited for someone with whom to gossip.

Moldaver was dead-dead, thanks for the confirmation; she could look towards the ruins beyond the other side of the mountain and the Observatory and see them all light up – some extra caps guarantying looser lips and some crazy story about cold fusion –, and something about a Squire turned Knight for killing Moldaver. And the overall tension between said Knight and the Elder Cleric. The Initiate didn’t know why, but no one could deny it.

Marigold nodded at it all, appearing adequately interested, but not much, before asking where she could buy dried food and such; the Initiate stopped, grimaced and explained.

She was in the middle of the path, the first signs of sundown in the sky, when she finally understood that the Initiate’s behavior seemed a lot like disgust.

Her wits upon her, Marigold kept walking, almost all the way back to the wall, the stall closer to the corn fields and hidden by the high stalks – hidden from everything, actually. A small flag hang from the improvised roof, with a symbol she didn’t recognize, two pack Brahmins in an improvised pen, and boxes and bags all around in piles. Not Brotherhood, at least not military branch, but some caravaneer.

Cans and fabric packets and old plastic and metal containers were spread above the stall, a wooden bar above them with dozens of necklaces and chains hanging from it, some looking like charms and the likes. Marigold easily recognized the drawings taped to the containers as she approached, the variety attractive. Before she could call, a man appeared from behind the highest pile of boxes, carrying a bag.

“Hey. One second.”

Marigold analyzed him as he put the bag down and started unloading it – tall, well dressed in black leather shoes, nice pants, shirt and suspenders, no charm on himself – in her experience, 90% of chance that the charms were fake or pilfered from bodies and not done by him. She wondered where his guards were; the man lacked all the posture of someone that was used to fighting; even Nip-Nip had it. And really, with two Brahmins, well cared for, from what she saw… That man was a caravaneer of success. These types rarely fought themselves to protect their cargo.

“Very well, how can I help you?” the drawl in his voice was familiar… Ah, Mojave accent.

“Food for travel. I see you have a good variety.”

The man smiled, all teeth – the two superior canines were golden –, and started pointing the foods.

Marigold heard with only half a brain. The overall appearance plus those golden teeth… She knew who he was and was absolutely certain that he would try to rip her off and try to get into her pants – Ed, Andrea and Willow had enough stories about “Verda Two-Teeth” – unkind nickname –, caravaneer travelling the Mojave and the Long 15 under the Crimson Caravan’s flag. Usually.

Most of their stories told how the man was handsy sober and even worse when drunk. The Initiate’s disgust made a lot more sense. Probably Verda Two-Teeth was behaving just enough to not be kicked out, but was still annoying as all fuck.

She pointed some of the foods, asking their prices, throwing a last look to the flag – not Crimson Caravan. They had lost their foothold on the region with the bombing of Shady Sands. He wasn’t with them, and that was the closest region he could trade without being prosecuted by them. Just her luck.

The price he asked was absurd, as she expected, and she started haggling it down, determined to finish that fast. It wasn’t worth remaining longer than necessary to try and see if he had interesting information if it meant risking him getting handsy.

They reached an apparent agreement and she extended her hand to separate what she was interested to better calculate the total she had to pay.

He grabbed her hand, that same all-teeth smile.

Marigold raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“I managed to deal a private room here. We could have some fun during the night, dollface.”

Fucking hell. What was it with creepy men and “dollface”, at least where she was involved?

“Not interested. I’m here only for the food.” She answered plainly, pulling her hand harshly. He tried to keep his hold, but she was clearly and blessedly stronger.

“Oh, c’mon. I can show you a good time.”

“And I told you I’m not interested. Could we finish trading?”

---------

The Pip-Boy’s problem had been exactly what he had expected; after just a short three minute observation and explaining where the old man should push with a pincer, the Pip-Boy loaded perfectly. Norm couldn’t see the screen, and he figured it would be too big a risk to try and ask to take a look.

At least it didn’t look like Lucy’s, too marked by age to be hers. However, he did wondered if it wasn’t his mom’s, found in Moldaver’s hands… If it was, would just confirm what he already knew: somehow Rose’s Pip-Boy had ended in the surface. It was the “how” and “why” he still needed to discover.

Honoring the deal, the Senior Scribe told him about how Moldaver had had a prisoner in her hands that had stolen a Power-Armor and ran away as Maximus fought her – something they tried to keep under wraps but failed so Lucius admitting wasn’t a big deal. Maximus wanted to go for the prisoner, apparently Moldaver had told he was the responsible for the bombing of Shady Sands – Lucius said it chuckling, clearly talking about it only because neither he nor no one else beyond Maximus put much stock into it –, but Elder Cleric Quintus was adamant that Maximus should complete the basic training with his Power-Armor while someone else with more expertise went. However, with the recent activities and fights and deaths, the Elder Cleric hadn’t selected who to send yet – there was even some talk that he was expecting reinforcements from the Commonwealth.

Norm had absolutely no doubt that the prisoner was his father and he was so much more confused – Power-Armor? Bombing Shady Sands? What the actual fuck? And Lucy, had she arrived, at least?

The man had pointed him where he could buy some ammo, and Norm was glad for the minutes it gave him to think and process. If he hadn’t discovered about Vault 31, he would immediately say that the “bombing Shady Sands” was just Moldaver’s reasoning to kidnap his father, just gossip that would end up in nothing, but with the knowledge, knowing that Hank had never told them he was pre-war and an employee of Vault-Tec… Then it was hard to simply say “my dad would never”. Would he never? Really?

Before he would say “my dad would never lie”. He had discovered his father had lied. What more his father “would never” but had actually done?

Norm was more under control of himself when he found the stall selling ammo, one with clothes beside it, and he had managed to buy everything he needed in a short amount of time, hearing more snippets of information – cold fusion? He almost said “that’s sci-fi”. However, considering Vault 31’s cryogenic pods and all about a scientist that Lucy was supposed to escort to the Observatory… He really didn’t even know what to expect anymore. Sure, cold-fusion, whatever.

He noticed the first signs of twilight in the sky when he passed by a stall with a man in Brotherhood jumpsuit sorting through metal pieces and wires, and yeah, he and Marigold had agreed “cantina”, but… Damn it, he missed her and how her presence was grounding simply because she knew it all, no need to try and fake it.

“Hey. Did a tall woman-”

“She did. Went towards the wall, behind the corn stalks in the north.” The man was grimacing as he finished sorting a pile.

“… Thank you?”

Norm managed to say and the man shrugged, still grimacing. He shrugged too and started walking, fast steps, his hand already tingling with the memory of hers.

“And I told you I’m not interested. Could we finish trading?” He heard Marigold an instant before he saw her, standing in front of a stall, two Brahmins in a pen close by, boxes and bags all around.

Norm kept walking and didn’t attempt to hide, but the man clearly was too occupied with other things; the trader’s face distorted with barely contained anger, hand flying above the stall and grabbing Marigold’s wrist, pulling her.

“Don’t be like that, dollface.” Flashes of Nip-Nip’s face, hand touching Marigold’s chin, and Norm speeded up, swallowing, the sinking nausea inside him pooling rapidly. “These stupid Brotherhood guys don’t know how to please a woman, half barely know from where kids come.”

“And I doubt you do know either of those.” He stopped beside Marigold, arm around her lower back and hand gripping her waist, pulling her against him and pointedly looking at the hand still around her wrist. “You better let go of her.”

“The adults are having a conversation.”

Oh, classic. As if he hadn’t heard it enough in the Vault when growing up. And after too, occasionally, when people forgot his actual age just because of his height and he was freshly shaven.

Norm looked to the sides of to the man then around.

“Funny, I’m not seeing any with you. Are you lost?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice, and he felt Marigold shake with barely contained laughter.

The man finally looked at him, blinking.

“What, you think some wimp like you can handle a woman like her?”

“I know for a fact that I can, and you’re very small-brained if you think you can. You can’t even take her ‘no’ as an answer.” Norm raised an eyebrow and twisted his mouth in a grimace, while the man’s mouth dropped open.

“Exactly what he said, Verda Two-Teeth.” The man’s eyes became big. “Yeah, I know of you and how much of a handsy scumbag you are. Now you better let go of me before I make you bleed over all this food.”

Marigold spoke smoothly, and Norm grinned as he noticed that weird triangular knife of hers on the opposite hand, tip touching the man’s wrist.

“No killing or aggression.” The man didn’t let go, even as his voice was closer to a whimper. “You’ll go to Brotherhood jail.”

“I’m pretty sure they’ll let it slide if it was done because you’re trying to get sex in trade for food. Prostitution is forbidden too.” Norm spoke without hesitation.

“I-I didn’t-”

“Funny, my dearest, now that you said it, that’s exactly what it sounded like, him asking for sex just as I started to select what I wanted to buy.” Marigold leaned against Norm, knife still out.

The man let her go, muttering something Norm didn’t bother to decipher, and Marigold’s knife disappeared under the cape.

Norm remained beside her, her hands selecting what she wanted to buy with fast and practiced movements, and his eyes watched the assorted necklaces and charms hanging above it all.

One glimmered in the fading sunlight, golden chain, the pendant a golden ellipse with a small dried rose in the middle.

It was just like the one Lucy would describe as remembering their mom using.

The man said the amounted caps for the food and Marigold was counting them as Norm pointed towards the necklaces in a general direction.

“How much?”

“Anyone 15 caps, two for 25.” The trader said after throwing a cautious look towards Marigold, receiving only an extra trouble grin.

Norm counted his own caps and let them fall on the stall as he pulled the golden necklace, letting it drop inside one pocket, and started dumping the food into his bag.

“Have a good night, Verda Two-Teeth.” Marigold said, caps on the table, and they turned, ignoring the man’s muttering as they started walking, sky darkening as night fell.

Her hand landed on him, to the side of his neck, thumb stroking the naked skin of his jaw, and Norm sighed, relaxing into the touch as he did the same on her waist.

“Thanks for the support, Norm-boy.”

“You’re welcome, Marigold.” He blinked at the path and at the improvised post lights switching on. “You used ‘my dearest’.”

“Seeing you jealous and destroying someone with words is hot as fuck.” He could hear the chuckle in her voice, and his neck warmed.

“I wasn’t-”

“You definitely were.” She called him out, still chuckling.

“… I was mostly angry at his audacity after you said no.” He admitted, squeezing her waist and clearing his throat.

“You’re too sweet, Norm-boy.” Marigold kissed his hair, breathing deeply, and he smiled, a bit dumbfounded. “Anyway, didn’t know you believed in lucky charms.”

“I don’t, but… Lucy would talk about this necklace mom used… And it fits what I usually imagined.” He shrugged, warmth in his neck; the decision had been a bit spur of the moment, he admitted.

“Aw. Can I take a look?” Norm pulled it and Marigold carefully hold the piece, looking the pendant in multiple angles, soft pretty smile appearing. “It’s beautiful, Norm-boy. I totally get why you bought it.” She carefully returned it and he smiled, putting it into an internal pocket.

“It is… I think I just wanted something that reminds me of her, even if not the real one.” He shrugged, relaxing into their half-hug and hearing Marigold humming – “‘cause babe it’s just you…”

#norm maclean #norm maclean x oc #fallout prime #fallout #fallout series #I loved writing these two working together to destroy the trader lololol #Also yes both necklace and Pip-Boy from Rose

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thaliaisalesbian · 1 year

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i get myself twisted in threads

Chapter 8: who used to be me

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

Steve knows he went to bed with someone on either side of him, so waking up with no one there is a little concerning.

There’s a spike of panic before he recognizes Jonathan’s bedroom, with one of Nancy’s skirts hanging over a chair.

The kids—the kids are out.

They’re not in the Upside Down anymore.

He’s not in the Upside Down anymore.

“You awake, Steve?” Mrs. Byers sits next to him on the bed, feeling his forehead. “Oh, good, your fever’s much lower.”

“Good morning.” He tries to sit up, but it pulls something in his side and then he remembers the stitches.

“It’s almost two, sweetie. It’s not surprising, you were overwhelmed yesterday. You missed Irene’s visit, but she fixed up your stitches and changed your bandages. You won’t be off the IV for a few more days, though. And you'll have the catheter in until you can reliably stand on your own.” He winces despite himself when she mentions that. Steve really just wants to forget it's there.

He hardly remembers waking up yesterday. Hopper was there for a lot of it. El, too. She’d read to him, one of those kids’ chapter books. He thinks if he remembered more of it, he’d know what book it was.

And then the kids. He’d seen them all, they’d had a fort? And then Nancy and Jonathan had made him come back to bed.

“I just need to check those again, and when Jonathan gets home from school, he can help you take a shower. I could help you now, if you’d prefer, or you could wait for Hopper. Whatever you want to do.” A shower sounds fantastic, but he’d rather take one alone.

The main problem is that he won’t be able to stand for that long. Not on his own. It’ll hurt, and if they asked his nurse or whoever, they’d probably say no.

“I think I’ll wait for Jonathan.”

“That’s not a problem.” She props him up on different pillows—one smells a little like the shampoo Nancy uses, so he knows her lying down next to him wasn’t part of a dream or something—and hands him a glass of water.

“So, I’m thinking soup for lunch.” Mrs. Byers doesn’t need him to help keep up the conversation, which is good, because he doesn’t have much of anything to say right now. She talks about the kids’ fort and how they’d gotten to have a sleepover last night, how Hopper’s been talking to that Owens guy and he might have to go to the lab and have some tests run to make sure he’s okay.

She keeps talking the whole time it takes for him to drink the whole glass of water.

It’s half an hour, at least. It settles weirdly in his stomach, and he’s not sure if it’s from the remnants of the fever or if it’s everything else going in his head right now.

“Do you think you can move out to the living room? I can’t carry you, but you can lean on me.”

“Yeah, that’ll work.” It’s awkward, because he’s so much taller than she is, but it hurts less than walking alone does, and once he’s in the living room with evidence that the kids were there last night, safe and not dead, he’s able to relax a little more.

The fort is still set up, Will’s art supplies are out, and when he sits on the couch he can see El sleeping on a mattress on the floor.

“Is she…?”

“She’s just fine. You might not remember, but she tried drawing you out of your head yesterday. It tired her out a little, is all. She fell asleep not long before you woke up.”

“Okay.” Still, once Mrs. Byers has come back with the soup, El doesn’t sleep for long.

“You lied.” She looks at him.

“I didn’t lie, El.” On a technicality. “I never promised I would get out first, because I didn’t know what would happen.”

“You are not allowed to be alone now.”

“What?”

“Joyce and Hop said so.”

“El, we were talking about the next few weeks, until he heals up a little more.” Mrs. Byers interjects kindly. “Not ever again. I’m sure even Steve likes time to himself.”

Weeks? He’s not that bad off, he can even walk with help.

“I do, Mrs. Byers. It’d be kind of impossible for someone to be with me all the time anyway, kiddo. We all have school or work.” From the look on Mrs. Byers’ face, he’s going to be getting shit later for calling her ‘Mrs. Byers’, but she won’t say anything in front of El.

Hopefully.

El finally sits down, squishing against his non-bitten side. “You are not allowed to be alone. My rule.”

“El, you can’t go everywhere with me.”

“I will watch instead.”

“No. I love you, kid, but there are things I do that you don’t need to see and I know you can’t watch people for long.”

“It will be… practice.”

“Spying on me doesn’t count as practice.”

“Once a day?”

“No.”

“Every other day?”

“Still no.”

“Three times a week.”

“Nope.”

“Twice a week?” He shakes his head, tugging on her short hair a little. “Once a week?”

“Once a week will work, I guess. But only when I’m at school, and not after 2:30, okay?”

He usually has practice around then, and she doesn’t need to see the boys’ locker room.

If he’s allowed to practice again, that is. He wasn’t allowed to before all of this. His doctor had been very insistent upon it. And with all the new damage to his body… all the new scars… he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle being in a locker room again.

His mother would throw a fit if she could see him now. He's going to scar, that's for sure. And he's too skinny now for even her to think it looks pretty.

He wonders if she even knows that he was gone. He hasn’t asked Mrs. Byers yet; he’s a little scared of what the answer will be.

“Why?”

“I have practice that I have to change for, and after I have to change again. So nothing after 2:30, agreed?”

“Once a week, before two-three-oh.” She repeats, and he knows she’s just messing with him by the little grin on her face.

“You got it, Ellie.”

“No.” Her nose scrunches up and she shakes her head, like she can rid herself of the nickname that way.

“Mom? Can I see Steve now?” Will’s backpack is half unzipped. and if he couldn’t see Jonathan right behind him he might be more worried about him losing all of his schoolwork. For a kid who typically keeps his things organized (or more organized than Steve had at his age, anyway), it’s a strange sight. “Steve!”

“Hey, buddy.” Will’s the one kid he hasn’t really spoken with much—certainly not as much as El, Dustin, and Max. He has a lot more common ground with Lucas, and even Mike, as annoying as he is. Will, though, is quieter, and while they talk when he’s over, it's not the same. Mike is the only other kid who doesn’t call him on the walkies whenever they need something, even if it’s just to talk after a nightmare.

It's because Mike and Will have Nancy and Jonathan, he knows. But he hopes they know they can call him. If they need to.

“You’re awake!”

“Yep, and almost fever-free.”

“You’re not allowed to do that again.” Will looks almost as serious as El had when she’d told him he wasn’t allowed to be alone. He doesn’t quite manage it; his worried face is almost identical to Jonathan’s.

Steve feels like maybe he shouldn’t know that. Or at least, he shouldn’t admit to knowing it. He can’t really remember the first time he realized he was noticing Jonathan, but the fact that it’s been long enough that he’s got his facial expression memorized?

Steve doesn’t know what to do with that.

Will pokes his shoulder lightly when he doesn’t answer. “I can’t make that promise, Will.”

“So you won’t make it to me, either?” Jonathan asks, and if it weren’t for El, his nearly-empty soup bowl would have spilled all over the carpet. Since when does Jonathan care about him putting himself in danger?

He's probably just saying it for the kids' sake.

Jonathan can’t mean it any other way, right?

(He doesn’t let himself think about the way Nancy and Jonathan had clearly shared a bed with him last night.)

“You know why I can’t.” Steve’s not going to say he’ll stop putting himself in danger when it really means he’s giving the kids time to run, get help, whatever.

“Jonathan,” Mrs. Byers says, maybe sensing that this is probably going to derail into an argument of everyone against him trying to get him to make a promise he knows he won’t be able to keep, “would you mind picking out a new set of clothes for Steve? He’s not quite steady enough on his feet for him to shower alone, so it was best to wait.”

“Of course, Mom.” He stops by the couch to give her a kiss on the cheek and ruffle El’s hair.

Steve tries to ignore the way his stomach sours when Jonathan doesn’t touch him at all. He knows what Jonathan thinks of him, he can’t let himself forget that.

“Will, El, please start taking the fort down.”

El looks like she’s going to remain stubbornly pressed against Steve’s side for a minute, but she does pull away without prompting to help Will.

“And you,” Mrs. Byers turns to him, trying to pull off stern but not quite hitting it with the way her lips turn up at the corners. “Call me Joyce. I don’t know how many times I need to tell you that.”

“Maybe just once more, Mrs. Byers,” He says, just to be cheeky.

“Oh, you!” She laughs. “Jonathan, come get Steve! He thinks he’s funny.”

finish on ao3 or under the cut

Walking with Jonathan is easier than walking with Joyce, at least. They’re closer in height, and he’s not as worried he’s going to crush Jonathan.

Actually, he probably wouldn’t even crush El right now.

“I didn’t know if you’d want a t-shirt or a sweatshirt so I grabbed both.” Jonathan explains once they’re in the bathroom. “Do you just need me to stay in the room?”

He'd love to say no, but he doesn’t think he can.

Once he’s sat on the edge of the tub, Steve can feel his energy flagging. He’d been fine in the living room, and the walk wasn’t even as far as Jonathan’s bedroom, so he doesn’t know why he’s crashing.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“You can just go back to bed, man, you’ve gone grey.”

“No, we’re already in here.”

“You’re not taking a shower, then. Come on, arms up.” Jonathan somehow manages to strip him down to his boxers.

“Hang on.” Jonathan steps outside the bathroom for a minute, or maybe it’s five. He can’t really tell right now.

“Mom says your stitches can’t get wet, but your ankles will be okay. We’ll just have to rewrap them.” Jonathan covers the bandages on his torso in plastic wrap and takes the ones on his ankles off altogether.

“And Nancy called, she stopped by your house to get you a few things.”

“Okay.” Steve lets Jonathan worry about the water temperature and soap and everything else. Even sitting up without a backrest is taking so much thought, because he has to worry about not popping a stitch.

He hadn’t had time to be this worried about his ankles in the Upside Down, and it’s weird to be thinking about his wounds constantly now.

“Nancy will be here soon, do you just want to sit under the water until she gets here? She mentioned washing your hair for you.” He nods, and Jonathan half-lifts, half-dumps him into the bathtub. He barely fits, but that’s okay, because if he wasn’t forced into sitting up he’s not sure he’d be able to right now.

When Joyce said Steve was awake, Nancy wasn’t expecting to find him nearly passed out in the bathtub. Jonathan’s sitting on the edge, holding a wet washcloth like he’s never seen one before.

“Boys.” She mutters under her breath, not really thinking about it. “You know he wouldn’t have cared, right?” What Steve might care about, though, is the catheter bag on his leg. Joyce and Hopper take care of it, mostly, but Irene had wanted them to learn, too.

“No, he did some of it. I think he just likes sitting under the running water, honestly. It’s probably the first time he’s been clean in weeks.”

She sets down the bag she packed up at Steve’s house; some of his clothes (but not too many, because she thinks she likes seeing him in Jonathan’s and that’s a thought for later), a blanket she knows he finds it hard to sleep without, and his hair products. Not all of them, she doesn’t think he uses them all every day anyway, but enough.

“Nance?” It’s quiet, almost slurred.

“Hey, Steve.” He hardly reacts as she cups water in her hands and carefully pours it over his head.

She should have grabbed a cup from the kitchen. She washes his hair for him carefully.

Nancy’s glad he's not up to conversation, really. She'd probably tell him something she's not ready to… or something he’s not ready to hear.

Tommy had asked about him today. He’d pulled her aside between second and third period, the only ones she doesn’t have time to meet with Jonathan between, and asked her why he’s gone.

She’d had to tell him she didn’t know, and she hadn’t been all that upset about the lie.

He hadn’t pushed.

She’s not sure she wants to tell Steve about that. Tommy might be a safe enough topic, right now.

But she doesn’t want to, not when he’s like this, half-asleep and pliable.

Looking at them like they could leave him to drown in here and that’d be okay.

Instead, she talks about the kids’ latest campaign—he pays more attention to them than he lets on, she knows, because she’s seen him at the school library looking up different terms and rules. He relaxes into her hands when she works the shampoo into his hair.

He’d let her do anything she wanted to, right now.

She wants him to look at her like that in much better situations than this one.

Jonathan must have dug around in the cupboards, because he has a cup ready to rinse the shampoo out, and she could kiss him for it.

“Hi.” Steve looks up at them both, and with his hair wet like this, she can see the little scars from the plate on his head.

To avoid tracing over them with her fingers, she picks up the conditioner and squeezes it maybe a little too hard.

Jonathan doesn’t seem to have the same issue; when she looks at them again, he’s got one hand tilting Steve’s chin up, the fingertips of his other hand delicately finding the paths the scars take into his hairline and across his scalp.

If Steve were more with them, she might tell Jonathan to kiss him.

Nancy knows he wants to; they’ve talked about it. Before Steve heard exactly the wrong thing.

But not now.

Not when Steve’s eyes are so hazy she’s not sure he’ll remember this tomorrow.

Not when they haven’t talked to Steve yet, about any of this.

None of them speak as she rinses out the conditioner, when Jonathan pulls the stopper, when they get Steve changed into a pair of Jonathan’s pants and one of his own slightly-too-big sweatshirts, no t-shirt underneath.

(It’s one she knows fit him perfectly last year.)

They wait until they’ve got him back in bed to rewrap his ankles.

And if Steve grabs each of their wrists loosely—fingers trembling like even this is too much for him to handle—when they try to leave, they don’t have to tell anyone that’s the reason they stay.

They don’t have to tell anyone they weren’t really going to leave anyway.

<- 7 9 ->

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predoom · 2 months

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ohoneohone

Friday, November 11th, 2005 12:35 pm i won't tell a soul if you dont want me to. hearts between our knees sticking to summer sheets. Saturday, November 5th, 2005 4:59 pm keep me fast the way he runs his mouth its a wonder that i havent caught a flight home just for a second alone the way he runs my mouth makes me hate you just as much as him thank god i spend most of the daylight dreaming in wine colored beads the sun never caught me right when i was little i splash water on my face in sinks in green rooms like pinching yourself or trying to wash the miles off down a dark hotel hallway the finger prints in pink and blue like skin and veins i try to jump from the doorway to the bed so i dont leave footprints so i dont disturb the carpet like sand you want shyer eyes you want bigger "im sorry"s and regrets for things that i.Yo.u. did you want survivors in the wreckage you want flashlights in the cave you want second chances for second chances i loved everything about you that hurts your scars, your flaws, your not so subtle attempts at wit and irony that always fell a bit short and felt forced your insincerity, your imitation that you passed off as exploration your morning smile 3 year stand (off) her breathing is shallow she shakes whenever i get near- i guess its an occupational hazard its okay we dont have to talk. youre just a body. heaven sent and percoset. even though we're fading fast.... im sorry "pretty"- you were just a canary in a coal mine. Tuesday, November 1st, 2005 7:57 pm there are many things that i would like to say to you but i don't know how im not even too sure what goes on, especially in my own head. one second its one way and the next its another. i have a funny way of showing i care. but i do. i have to say it- halloween wasn't the same this year with out you. i i had the best time ever in southern california. but it wasn't really halloween with out you. and new years won't either. my calls go out today but they'renot picked up. i get what i get. i got some friends who are wearing their egos on their sleeves. its ok. i'll play dumb. you are a shadow of who you once were. "can we start agains" ive had my share. for the past month my mood has been however our phone calls ended. it felt like i was dying inside when i hung up the phone on you. but i have to make a point. you can only act like dirt for so long before you become it. but theres nobody like me and you. i feel like veins and ligatures when you aren't around. and breathing in isnt the same when you're not breathing out. percoset revolutionary. "look mom, no breathing". fucking fading. fucked up, but not cool fucked up. maybe we rip the map in half and someday we meet up in the middle. by accident or just because. everything and everyone ends up faced down on the floor in the end.

you are my wonderwall. Wednesday, October 26th, 2005 6:51 pm my mom said 'make sure you go to sleep smiling tonight baby cause you'll wake up feeling better" i just re-read everything you wrote over the past two months.

i miss my friends.

there is life after this. i promise myself. Tuesday, October 25th, 2005 10:51 pm everything they say about us is true im watching scary movies like every afternoon. i got some new slipper and pants. i look ridiculous. dreamboat. the inside of my head is always changing. even right this second. when i go back over all the details it makes me so glad im not in that town anymore. all of a sudden we're always in the crosshairs. it kinda feels normal now. we used to goof around about killing ourselves off. but sometimes it wasn't a joke. i can't sleep when the bus isn't moving. went to the fender offices today, they are gonna make me some basses. pretty exciting. the only thing ive ever learned is that its pretty easy to say "i love you" its alot harder to mean it. my friends are dropping like flies. everyone looks good when they are the one with their fingers on the keyboards. history is written by the conquerer. we're headlining an amphitheater tommorrow. thats retarded. fistfightking. makeoutqueen. past midnights. get amazed.

Current Music: 2sweet Sunday, October 23rd, 2005 9:42 am you see that kid... its not me, its you. blow out the candles on caring. encounters yesterday: went to paul walls jewelry shop. pretty insane. then when we played jared leto came over and watched. radio shows are wack. encounters today: the gold medal gymnast from the 2004 olympics is coming to hang out with me. pretty insane. why would you ever want to meet a boy like me. i am boring. you make it easier to make the decisions that i do. i turned off the switch that cares. i watch lots of movies and take lots of naps. cause i am a baby. i am gonna be in the academy video for black mamba. i can't tell you how excited that makes me. Wednesday, October 19th, 2005 11:48 pm ill be on time for that, i cant think of a line that rhymes with that blue looks better than jealousy. im awake but not up. you know what i mean. blew the speakers out like a candle. drowned out my sorrows in a wet dream. i miss you but only in flashing moments. new stuff over at buzznet. people been asking about the prices. honestly we charge what it costs us to make. alot of the stuff lately has been cut and sew or requires hand stitching which is expensive. so we try to keep the stuff really limited, so that it stays special. the bags sold out in a day. we won't be making anymore of that particular bag. but we will be making more limited bags and other items. Tuesday, October 18th, 2005 4:48 pm i, peter lewis kingston wentz, solemnly swear... im trying to figure it out. my head moves way faster than my mouth. i went to a party at chris from nsnyc's house for a party. it was about as good/bad as you would think. except dirty was there. so factor that one in. always up or down, never down and out.

the new nightmare of you record is fantastic. it makes me think of winters at home. love it or leave me. Sunday, October 16th, 2005 12:45 pm baby, im just bad news i don't know if it feels real been watching halloween movies lately to get me in the mood taking lots of naps its easier this way she wont ever love you the way she loves me youre not pretty enough and you dont make her heart beat been hiding messages in morse code and anagrams banging my wrist against the edge of the keyboard until it turns black and blue we're all settling all the time panic! at the disco makes me want to start this all over again coversations with you make me want it to never have begun at all nick plan and william beckett are on the list in one form or another always if you dont have your friends than you dont got shit and my friends are gold halloween is gonna be the best this year i think ive never been in california on halloween- it once was, but it hasnt been for a really long time spent most of the morning on the phone with my mommy cause she can always slow my breathing down you can get used to anything after a while even this, pete pretty boys for secret girls later skater Wednesday, October 12th, 2005 12:02 pm ill make you shake so hard you might not make it through the night new york city is fucking insane. get me. bruisa. fall makes me remember and want love.

okay okay cause i should:

1. you say crazy shit in your sleep, like about us living in old milwaukee. 2. right this second "wonderwall" sometimes star wars. 3. i dunno cherry coke flavored. 4. sugar tail, freckles in your eyes, basement windows, braces 5. new years on the windowsill. 6. uh kind of in a weird way the retriever head on the beagle body. just the nicest dog ever. 7. that one bane lyric, im pretty sure its a question. but mostly lately- what happened to my best friend?

nick york city. the clan party last night was rightious. im kinda going other places. feeling it. quit sleeping on it cause im the life. from the back of my legs to the back of my neck- im so glad there are people out there who won't let me fall off the face of the planet.

young.

panic at the disco at the knitting factory in new york tonight- 5pm. Tuesday, October 11th, 2005 12:57 am you remind me of this one movie. it makes me smile. but not with my mouth and way too many teeth. but with my eyes. trouble loves me. but you do way more. im dreaming on highway lines and phone hang-ups. just happy to be me. for one second.

i got a sweet vest and some teddy bear shoes. im good for cuddling. youre gonna have to trust me on that one.

#ohoneohone #itiswhatitwas #content and formatting unchanged from original #pw #blogs #archive

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imstillhere-butallislost · 3 months

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Hi! At the time of writing I got out of surgery 6 hours ago at grs Montreal. Double incision with nipple grafts. Here is my big post detailing eeeeverything about my actual surgery experience and the day leading up to it.

First of all, I just want to say for everyone considering grs Montreal that the clinic no longer does drainless top surgery. I was told in my consultation that they ONLY do drains now because they don't want to take any chances with healing.

It's worth stating that my support person was with me the whole time really, just not when I was dressing or when I was taken from the recovery room to actually go get surgery. You will not be alone!

I had to fly in to Montreal for surgery, and will be flying back home on Sunday.

It was pretty nerve wracking trying to set up and understand everything through email because I was in a different province, but it all worked out. The clinic payed for all of the car rides, and my province reimburses the plane tickets and covers the hotel stay. The clinic also covers 50 dollars of Uber eats credits per day.

The night before I had to take a shower and use hair removal cream and antibacterial soap. Let me tell u that Hair removal cream was ROUGH. It didn't take everything off and it also have me a lot of irritation under my arms. But I got it done and got a drive to the clinic the next morning after I showered again.

At the clinic, you are immediately given paperwork. You do this, and then you wait. I waited maybe about 2 hours or so before being called and told it's time for me to go out of the waiting room. I met with a nurse, went over more paperwork and had some vitals taken, then she took me to get dressed in a hospital gown and take a pregnancy test.

This starts a long hour and a half being unable to produce any liquid to be able to take a pregnancy test. I couldn't do it, so I just got to go upstairs for surgery with another person. It was pretty strange to have people all around you switching from French to English to speak to different people. I got out in a big room with room for maybe 6 beds, for people waiting to go in to surgery and people recovering from surgery. The other patient I came up with had a little stuffed octopus, was pretty cool. Once again I was asked to take the pregnancy test, but I wasn't allowed to drink since midnight the previous night so I just couldn't. They could NOT do the surgery without a pregnancy test due to anesthesia. I had to be hooked up to an IV before surgery in order to get fluid in me so I could take the test, but it was done and it was negative (yay!).

After the test, I was immediately taken away from the recovery room and moved into a very very small room directly outside the surgery room. This is where I had the surgery guidelines done on my chest immediately. Everything happened very quickly after the pregnancy test,because they had been waiting on me to be able to do it. The drawing of the guidelines was a little strange for me bc the surgeon (Dr laungani) had to remove most of my robe, but it was all fine.

I was taken into the surgery room and told to get up on the table, they had me lay down like I was Jesus on the cross, and then the mask was going over my face and the anesthesiologist told me to think happy thoughts and then I was out. No counting or anything, I was just out.

And then I woke up in a different room, vision blurry because i had anesthesia and also didn't have my glasses. I was asked how I was feeling and well, I was feeling completely fine. Maybe a little slight pain but nothing major. I remember thinking for a slight second that o was dreaming, but then I remembered everything that had happened earlier in my the day.

From that point I stayed awake the entire time and was wheeled to the recovery room. In the recovery room they knew again asked how I was and did vitals, and I said my pain was about a three out of 10 and was given Tylenol. All of the nurses were extremely nice, one apologized for all the pressure to make sure I took the pregnancy test earlier which was nice. I was allowed to lay down for like an hour, drank some water and ate because I was sooooo hungry, the clinic gave me one piece of cheese. I had big ice packs on me, and there was a huge stain on my body from stomach to neck and shoulders, which I was told was an anti septic. I was able to wipe that off, have a demo on how to empty drains and what my meds all do, and then I was able to leave after I used the bathroom and got dressed. I was able to do all of this on my own relatively easy, and then I was able to go back to where I was staying and that's where I've been!

Ive already emptied my drains on my own and am able to get up and walk around, i have pretty minimal pain right now and am only using Tylenol instead of the strong pain meds they prescribed. But yeah that's it, comment or DM me if you have any questions or anything!

#top surgery #grs Montreal #ftm #transmasc #top surgery Montreal #dan talks

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red-riding-wood · 2 years

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Verum Vindictae - III

Chpt. I, Masterlist, Chpt. IV

Pairing: Marcus x OC (Josephine "Jo" Carlisle)

Fandom: John Wick (2014)

Summary: Bound by a blood oath she made fourteen years ago, Jo is desperately trying to escape a world she used to dream of when she is tasked with killing the infamous "Baba Yaga" and must face the truth of her past as everything she has ever known unravels around her.

WARNINGS: violence, language, sexual references, eventual explicit sexual content

This story is part of my Willem Dafoe Challenge.

Taglist: @glitter-and-gasoline, @giona45-5, @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky, @emilynightshade89, @wretched-mischief

Notes: I may have been slightly inspired by a certain fight scene from NWH for a kind of spicy part in this chapter.

03:44, October 22nd

John hadn’t answered the door to his suite, nor the numerous voice messages I had left on his cell, nor those I had left on his room line. He’d been out ever since I’d booked into the hotel.

But around 3 AM, he’d appeared around his bedside with his shoulder in a blood-speckled sling; the window to his suite was left open, and I’d been keeping a watch over him, from the rooftops of the nearby buildings. I knew these rooftops like the back of my hand; I had constantly been sent to scout faces at the Continental during my time working for Cain, and I knew exactly where to go if I wanted to see into Suite 818.

I had curled up against the brick of one of the rooftops, having shrugged off my overcoat and laying it as a blanket over myself in an attempt to trap my heat against the cold stone. The dampness from the day’s prior onslaught of rain had settled deep in my bones.

Mainly, I was looking out over the other buildings, watching the streets, seeing if I could spot any shady characters, and I often glimpsed the figure of a resting John in his bed; I’d called once – waited long enough after he came home that he wouldn’t suspect I was watching, but only as long as a worried sister could wait – but he’d merely looked at the phone as it rang. I’d even went and knocked on his door again, called his name through the damn thing. I knew that he’d heard my voice. I couldn’t say it hadn’t stung a bit. But it concerned me more thinking that whatever was going on, that it was dire enough that it warranted dodging my calls, even in his state of injury. Five years ago, before he’d retired, John had always answered my calls. I’d found it suffocating, really, how he’d made it his duty above everything else to ensure my safety. And now he seemed to want nothing to do with me. Something wasn’t right.

Occasionally, I’d dip my head back to gaze at the black abyss of the starless, smog-shrouded sky, trying to catch a glimpse of something out there that lay beyond this city, this life. It was in one of these moments that I must’ve found myself lost, for when I brought my head back down in my listless state, my gaze registered a figure on the lower section of my rooftop.

My heart began to pump adrenaline, and I stiffened, eyes roving over the prone figure lit only by the most subtle tincture of rooftop light. Mostly, they were swathed in shadow, but not enough for me to miss the unmistakable streak of a barrel resting atop the edge of the roof, the wisps of shaggy hair nestled above the scope that was pointed directly at the window of Suite 818.

I stood, overcoat forgotten as it fell to the cold concrete, and I stepped forward, the cogs whirring in my mind as I attempted to come up with some form of strategy in the maybe half-second that I had.

I was too late.

The rifle kicked against the man’s shoulder, and the snap of a suppressed shot rang through the air. My heart dropped into my stomach, and in its place surged a shot of nitrous; my hand was wrapped around my Glock immediately, and I aimed for his chest, but the bullet glanced across the concrete somewhere.

A shadowed face turned to me, the sniper’s body becoming animated instantly as my shot rang out, and I followed suit with another as he dove behind one of the ventilation units, barrel to the sky and bipod folded deftly beneath the weapon.

I dropped, tucking my shoulder to catch my fall as I hit the lower part of the roof, and was immediately back on my feet, ebony strands of hair streaking my vision as I came up with my Glock held at attention. I pressed my side to the ventilation unit, hearing my opponent cock back the slide of a handgun opposite me. I took this opportunity to cast a glance towards John’s window, and nearly faltered; I furrowed my brow at what I saw. John was crouched on the floor beside his bed, but there was another figure in the room with him – a woman, it looked like, dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders and a handgun tucked to her chest. Was someone conducting business on Continental grounds? Was this sniper involved?

Rage worked itself into the mad beating of my heart. It was bad enough that every son-of-a-bitch was out for him, but to take advantage of a sanctuary?

My ears rang faintly from the gunfire that proceeded to rip through the air; the sniper and I were in a stand-off behind our concrete cover, taking shots along the sides. A bullet whizzed past my ear, and I flattened my back against the stone, wisps of my hair fluttering from my frenzied, panted breaths.

I cast another glance at Suite 818. John was now sparring with the strange woman I’d seen a few seconds earlier.

Fuck this, I thought, and fired one last distraction shot out from behind my cover before stepping back for a brief start in launching myself to the top of the ventilation unit.

I nearly lost my balance, nearly wasted precious seconds of time, but I managed to grip the grating of the domed vent, and press the straining soles of my boots against the edge of the concrete. The bottoms of my feet felt as if they were on fire, but the adrenaline masked the pain, and as soon as I found my footing, I kicked off and fell straight for my opponent.

His face snapped up in a blur of movement, his arm raising with gun in hand, but my leg disarmed him as it came to wrap around the back of his neck, the toes of my boots knocking together as I straddled his shoulders and brought the barrel of my Glock to the side of his face.

I’d expected him to topple; gravity seemed to tug at both our shapes, but he stumbled back against the wall, managing to support my weight, and it was against that wall that his features became bathed in a lurid fluorescent lamp.

And my finger froze on the trigger, my eyes surely widening as they stared down in recognition at the face of the sniper.

He squinted against the light, but his eyes were a unique, opalescent blue, and the shaggy hair that fell across a creased forehead was ever-so-slightly silvering now, but it was unmistakably the same coffee hue as it had been years ago. The sharp creases and accents of his face seemed to soften for a moment; his fingers, where they had dug into my thighs, seemed to loosen, and then his brow knit, confusion working its way across irises that gleamed in the fluorescent light.

“Marcus?” I breathed, the name cast from a ragged breath.

Hearty laughter – perhaps one of the rarest sounds that could be heard in this house – drew me down the hall from my room, and into the kitchen, where my brother typically sat alone to dress his wounds and throw back a glass of whiskey after every hit. I’d stopped trying to help after being told to go back to my room so many times, often had to blast music in my headphones to drown out the groans of agony that would often fill the house.

This time, there was no blood or bandages with his whiskey, and he was joined by an older man, who looked about forty years of age. This was nearly two decades ago – I was about fifteen, three years before Cain or before the venomous talons of an empty yet blood-soaked life would take hold of me.

I was intrigued by the visitor; we hadn’t had any before, and I’d never heard my brother laugh in anyone else’s company than mine. The man wore a charming smile, and his blue eyes were glittering with mirth as he set his glass of whiskey down.

“This must be Jo,” he said, the gravel of his tone a match for John’s.

John turned, casting a glance at me from beneath the streaks of his black hair, his laughter dying but a pleasant smile still gracing his features. “This is her,” he said, and then nodded to me. “Jo, I want you to meet my friend, Marcus.”

His friend? How long had he known him for?

My smile, as it tugged at my lips, was more sad than it was welcoming, and though I initially parted my lips to greet our visitor, I turned my attention to my brother instead, and asked, “Why have you never mentioned him?”

The mirth disappeared from Marcus’ eyes, and John’s smile fell. The silence between the three of us was so palpable that I was sure that the next word spoken would be a shockwave.

“He’s from the hotel,” John told me, and understanding sank bitterly into my stomach.

“I see,” I said, voice quiet, distant. The reason I’d never heard of Marcus was because he was a friend from the life that John kept me so far from.

“I guess you don’t want me intruding, then,” I added, a bite to my words.

A sigh rolled through John’s shoulders, and he said, “No, Jo, I’d like you to stay. Marcus is – “

“I’m sure he’s a great friend,” I said, a knot building in my throat as I turned to stalk back down the hall. “But I’m sure I’ll never see him again.”

Marcus’ eyes narrowed a fraction, and his brow knit with a greater intensity.

“Jo,” he stated, and despite his expression, his tone didn’t reciprocate any confusion.

I nearly yelped as I was spun, and my spine dug harshly against the cruel concrete of the wall. My knuckles scraped against the grain of the material as my arm was knocked back, and the Glock clattered to the ground.

“You motherfucker,” I hissed, and struck my other fist out to punch him, but his weight sent me careening towards the ground, my legs fastening around his neck in an attempt to take him with me.

His weight landed on top of me, and I gritted my teeth as my spine once again dug harshly into the concrete of the roof. A warm breath fanned across the thin fabric of my inner thigh, and slender fingers ran across the various attachments of my uniform, from the empty holster to the hilts of knives that sat nestled along the sides of my abdomen.

I withdrew my knee, and landed a vicious kick to his shoulder; I heard him hiss in pain, and I grinned devilishly.

“Normally I’d enjoy a man between my legs…” I huffed, and his grip caught my ankle as I went for another kick, blue eyes meeting mine. My smile fell, and I glared at him, my expression and tone souring as I jolted from the impact. “… but I’d enjoy it a lot more if you weren’t trying to kill my brother over a measly couple mil.”

The crystal of his eyes shattered, and his grip loosened, but I bared my teeth and kicked my leg from his grasp, scrambling to my feet. I practically dove for his Glock, which was closer to me, and my fingers had just brushed the handle when I was tugged back down to the ground. I cussed again under my breath.

Marcus dragged me back, just out of reach from the pistol, and said, that confusion I’d anticipated now woven into a strangely light tone, “You’re not here for the contract?”

I flipped myself onto my back to meet his gaze, my own confusion once again knitting my brow. I heaved out a breath, and said, “No. I’m here to protect him. Are you – are you not…” I cocked my head at him, and then my lips twisted into a smile, and I relaxed against the concrete, rolling my head back as I chuffed out a laugh. “Marcus, you sly bastard. Christ, I should’ve known. You never missed any of your shots.”

“I work better alone,” I’d told John. Of course he hadn’t listened.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t wanted Marcus to tag along. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him – on the contrary, I’d always been quite fond of him. If it weren’t for his undying loyalty to my brother, it would’ve been him that I’d gone to instead of Cain.

It was just that I knew why he was tagging along. Because my brother didn’t think that I was capable of a mission like this, because he still saw me as a little girl he needed to protect even after everything that had happened, after years of fulfilling contracts. I wasn’t a kid anymore; I was in my twenties, and I was in deeper in this life than he ever could’ve imagined.

“You work better alone, huh?” Marcus said, a playful glitter in his eye and the case for his Ruger held at his side, all packed and ready to leave.

I blew a lock of hair from my bloodied face, and propped myself up on a bruised elbow, trying not to wince in pain. I cast a glance down at the body that lay beside me, a bullet hole square between his eyes. His forehead was a gory mess – the mark of a .30-08 round.

Maybe I should’ve thanked him – would have, if he hadn’t been sent to babysit me.

“I would’ve had him,” I said. “If you’d just given me another second.”

Marcus arched an eyebrow at me. “Another second, I’d have to be ordering another dinner reservation.”

I scowled, and though he reached a hand out to help me up, I hobbled up on my own, holding back another wince as a fiery rope of pain shot along my arm.

“Risky shot to take, old man,” I told him. “You got lucky. Could’ve missed, shot me instead. May as well have ordered one for yourself, save John the trouble when he found out.”

A smirk tugged at his lip, and he said, “I may be old, but this eye is still sharp as it was in my prime. I never miss.”

Marcus let go of my leg, and audibly grumbled, “I’m getting too old for this shit.” He then started for his rifle – the same .30-08 he’d saved me with on that mission in Rochester. I turned, flipping myself onto my stomach now to see what was happening in Suite 818.

I approached the edge of the roof, my chest still heaving from the exertion of our little tussle, as Marcus snapped out his bipod and nestled his cheek back alongside the stock of his Ruger.

“I was alerting John to his uninvited guest when you shot at me,” Marcus said as he maneuvered the barrel back and forth, following the sparring assassins as they obliterated the suite. His tone held an unmistakable grouchiness, but I couldn’t exactly blame him. I’d have been pissed, too.

“And I’m trying to get a shot on this little bitch,” he breathed, the register of his voice dropping as he concentrated. I wondered briefly if this was anything like the shot he’d had to make in Rochester.

I crouched beside him, watching as John threw the woman through the glass headboard of his bed, shards raining across the white sheets.

The barrel of Marcus’ Ruger tipped back, and a breath hissed from his nose.

“He’s fine,” he said, and snapped his bipod back. Blue eyes cast me a side-ways glance, and he added, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“What do you mean I ‘shouldn’t be here’? I’m his sister.”

“And that’s exactly why he wants you to stay out of it.”

I sat brooding on the stoop outside the house, knees tucked up to my chest and my chin nestled in the criss-cross of my arms. I’d needed to clear my head after my confrontation with my brother.

“Hey.” Grated baritones broke the shrill chirp of the birds as they flitted through the apple tree. It was John’s friend, Marcus. He came to sit beside me. “You know, John doesn’t talk about you much, either.”

I gave him a side-ways glance. “So?”

“So, he cares about you. Doesn’t want you getting involved, getting hurt.”

My gaze flitted out to the line of the fence in the trees, and I sighed. “I know. I’ve heard the speech,” I said bitterly.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna get into it. It’s not my place,” he said, and let a brief silence fall between us that I wasn’t particularly eager to break. What was the point in making conversation? John probably hadn’t even wanted me to meet him. And he probably didn’t ever intend me to see him again. I’d never met anyone from his work. I knew this wouldn’t last.

But he continued to speak, and I found his voice to be almost soothing. “But I did want to say that I get it. I get wanting to do something more with your life. I get wanting to go where the action is.”

Something in my chest lifted, felt a little less crushed. I perked up only slightly, rolling my head to the side so that I could set my gaze on him. “Is it exciting?” I murmured.

He chuckled, his gaze set out on the fence-line now. His smile fell. “Sometimes. At first, I guess. Mainly, though?” Blue eyes darted to mine. “Mainly it’s just tiring.”

The hint of a smirk tugged at my lip, and I remarked, “Maybe for an old man like you.”

Another chuckle, and then, “Yeah, maybe so.” Another silence, his hands clasped in front of him as his gaze once again scoured the serenity of my little domestic prison. “Anyway, I gotta hit the road,” he finally said, the steps creaking as he stood. “Got work to do.”

Hope sparked in my chest, and I rose my head from my limbs as I watched him start towards his car. “Can I come?” I asked.

Marcus had just opened the door to the vehicle when I caught his attention, and he chuffed in amusement. “Not a chance, kid. I’d be a dead man,” he told me, and moved to get in, but hesitated. “Do me a favour. Try not to be too hard on John. He may not talk about you much, but you’re about the only person he has talked about.”

My mouth wove into a grim line, and I deflated; a sigh escaped my diaphragm, my chin dropping back into the cradle of my limbs. But not every part of me sank; somewhere deep inside, there was still a part of me that appreciated the chat, the validation that I wasn’t crazy for wanting a piece of the life I’d been shielded from. It was nice, knowing there was someone who understood.

Maybe that was why, now, Marcus’ words hurt so much. He’d always been empathetic to my desire to prove myself, always seemed to see me as an equal despite the many years of experience he had on me. But he was still wrapped tight around John’s finger, as stubborn in his loyalty as he’d always been with his ways.

“You’re not keeping me out of this one,” I hissed, and stood. After witnessing what I had, I was willing to kick John’s door down if I needed to.

“Now,” I said, “I’m going to help out my brother.” As I stalked away, I bent to pick up my Glock, and I hesitated as I began to slip it into my holster, cocking a brow at him. “You’re not gonna try and stop me, are you?”

Marcus gave me a scathing look as he packed away his Ruger, carefully yet deftly removing the suppressor before fitting it into the case.

“Good,” I said, and fit the handgun snug into the leather casing. I turned for the door to the stairs.

“Jo?”

I stopped in my tracks, because something had softened in his tone. Slowly, warily, I turned my head over my shoulder to regard him again.

“He hasn’t changed,” he told me. “He’s not going to listen to you…” he shook his head, and added, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this dead-set on a mission.”

I didn’t say anything. He had to be wrong. He had to be.

But I’d never known Marcus to be wrong about these things. And sometimes I felt as if he knew John better than I ever did.

#john wick #2014 #marcus #willem dafoe #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #my writing #oc: josephine #oc: cain #eventual smut #slow burn #mdni #verum vindictae

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