#half my face is numb lads

[kirstlander]

Anxiety was through the roof today because I got two fillings but I was literally in and out in 20 minutes and then went thrift shopping. Someone tell future Kirsty to chill the fuck out, honestly.

[threepandas]

Sun Burnt: Part 3

When a legendary hitman Eye Threatens to break both your fucking legs?

They Are Not Joking.

FUCKING OW.

Still! Jokes on HIM! I'm in to that sh-! Wait, no, not the time for memes! Or is it jokes? Irrelevant! I can still fuckin RUN, is the thing. Sucks to SUCK, Sun boy! Us Lightnings are BUILT DIFFERENT!

And I BETTER not hear any snide "yeah I BET they are" from the peanut gallery!

My Flame type ROCKS! I am a TAZER who can put my fist through WALLS. Stand dead center of a road and just? Fuckin TANK a speeding car! Can YOU? Didn't THINK so! Lightning supremacy! One of you fuckers gimme a highfive! HELL YEAH!

But also? Like... I take back EVERYTHING I ever said about the Carcassa.

ALL OF IT.

They are the GEMS of the Mafia. The SHINING HEARTS of raw compassion! Skull-sama's willingness to PERSONALLY piss off The "I AM The Dread God Lesser Deity's Fear" Reborn? An inspiration to us all. I... I would steal for this man. Like? For FREE. Not DIE for him or anything, God no, but? I would steal really REALLY expensive shit for him!

The man's an absolute mad lad. A LEGEND.

I will NEVER forget this... assuming I survive.

Because somehow HE already has my name, face, and multiple alias plastered OUT FOR THE WORLD TO SEE. Ha ha... oh god. Thaaaaat is a bounty. BIG bounty. Lots of zeros. G...gonna die.

My phone chimes.

"You know exactly who this is. Pick up." The screen reads, right before it rings.

HA HA, NOPE!

I stand, well more like shoot to my feet, from my seat on the ground. Quuuuick steps too the blimp windows. Wrench those open. Sim card out! Crush the phone. AND YEET!!! BeGONE DEMOOOON!

We shall NOT be engaging with The Devil today! No Sir!

.....Skull's phone starts ringing.

I whine like a cornered animal. So... this is what a real life horror movie feels like. NEAT. I hate it! I watch, probably shaking, as Skull-sama casually drags out his phone. Glances down at it. Then over his shoulder at me. He doesn't even fully turn his head. Just one Cloud flame purple eye that seems to light up from within.

He's a happy go lucky guy. Cool dude. But like all Clouds? Fucking HATES cages. Being or SEEING other imprisoned. Trapped. Cornered and forced to do something against their will. And as the planet's STRONGEST Cloud?

He's always had exactly zero problems telling Reborn to fuck off to his face. Even when it gets him shot at. Everyone knew that.

"Sempai! Calling the GREAT Skull De Mort just to CHAT~♡? I KNEW you loved me BESTEST!" He PROJECTS into the phone, his speaking cadence shifting.

He'd been gregarious, bombastic even, the whole time I'd been on board. The sort of guy you can't help but want to buy street food with and check out some weird local sight you heard about. The guy that turns an event into a PARTY. A get together into a memory you TREASURE. Larger then life and unashamedly so.

But this? THIS was the SHOWMAN.

And this was the Showman being Obnoxious and MEAN.

Loud, intentionally grating voice. No break in the endless flood of mind numbing chatter that went no where. Bellowing cackling that even the best of speakers would be hard pressed to handle. Standing near machines and windows so the background noise garbled EVERYTHING.

Let no one say Clouds are not PETTY.

"Hmmmmm~? Your WHAT? Sempai! Don't be SILLY! You can't OWN people! That's SLAVERY! It's against~...!" He turned, leaning like a rock star of old against some navigation compartment. Casually examining his nails with a MEAN and wolfish smile on his face. "Waaaaa! Don't be maaad~ Don't be MAAAAAD~!! You know I'd NEVER lie to YOU, Sempai! I'd never DARE! I promise I'll keep a look out, m'kay? What? Don't hang up? Sorry! Can-KRRRRSHK! n't quite KKKKKRRRRRSK! Heeeeear yoooouuuuu~☆!"

Click.

He casually tossed his phone to one of his men. Ignored it even as it rang and rang. With an excited clap of his hand, he hopped up, out of his loose legged splay to stride over. According to him? We should eat! Have I had Burmese food? It's delicious! One of his guys just got "into" the whole cooking thing! So everyone is being supportive!

I can't help but laugh. Everyone politely ignores how wet it is, as Skull-sama throws an arm over my shoulders and drags me from the cockpit.

I know I'm not safe. But for now? Fuck it. Good enough. Maybe Skull-sama knows someplace Reborn might not IMMEDIATELY find me. And who knows? When this all blows over? Maybe I should join up with his crew. Reborn can't be THAT obsessed. Right? It was just the initial harmony high. With no Sky to actually bind us, he'll lose interest.

Behind me... the phone rings.

And rings.

And RINGS.

[nothingcherry]

CW: intoxicated(high) oral, cock warming, wierd amount of spit talking

Ghostsoap weed smoking thoughts!!

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ:⠀ ⋆.:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

soap always feels his high first, but Ghost feels it longer. soaps mouth always goes slightly numb, his body weighing nothing while Ghost instantly gets couch locked despite them smoking from the same strain.

soap uses his tingling mouth as a reason to get the ghost off. he begs and begs to put his mouth on ghost's soft cock and warms it until ghost's body finally reacts slowly but surely. Ghost's body is too heavy at first for Ghost to try and will his cock to raise.

soaps mouth works around it. spit pooling on ghosts sack and slowly dripping down his thighs. soaps actions aren’t urgent, just on the right side of eager. As soon as ghosts dick is half hard, the scot looks up ghosts crotch and sees ghosts face;

red blush standing out, his eyes heavy and lidded “johnny…” he gets out, accent thicker than ever “earn it lad” something starts in soap and he’s bobbing his head in earnest as the cock finishes filling out. his lewd noises fill the room, the amount of spit increasing

ghost never lasts long during this, his body never feels like his own, almost like he’s looking down at the scene. he wraps his hands around the sides of scots head, fingers lacing in the grown out warhawk and fucks upwards

he’s using soap like a flesh light, his legs quivering with every thrust. everytime he feels the back of soaps throat contract he lets out a low moan, the sound reverberating off the wall “Johnny i’m…”

he lets out a loud groan and spills rope after rope down soap’s throats still holding the scots head he gives them man a chance to swallow before pushing his head all the way down, nose flush with his pubes “my baby boy, sucks cock so beautiful, cleans up his messes…”

[roachsideblog]

WIP GAME

Tagged by @youredyingthatsallthereis

Tysm for the tag aaaaa 🫶🫶🫶 I am siccing my followers on you to read the soaproach WIP you posted!! Tagging some of my lovelies:

@randomwordsandstormydays @grechka-zhest @boxofthings and any other fic writers that follow me who wanna join in!!

Here's a little soaproach thing of my own under the cut. Older and only slightly 🤏 edited so I'm sorry if its bad XD

~~

Sanderson hunched on the stoop under a yellow sconce light. Hearing Soap approach, he glanced up from his phone, quickly slamming it in his pocket and removing his hand from the other one in hopes that Soap wouldn’t notice. Futile, but Soap was too exhausted to call him on it and decided to pick his battles.

“Morning, Captain!” Roach said with a salute. His rifle in its sling peaked over his shoulder while his helmet sat on the step, night vision goggles already attached.

“Sergeant,” he nodded. “Hope ye weren’t waitin’ long.”

“Better waiting in the cold than late,” Sanderson muttered. He didn’t seem to want to be there either.

“Smart lad.”

Soap unclipped the carabiner on his belt with the keyring and fumbled them, trying to find the correct one with numb fingers. The frozen brass stuck to them as it finally turned, only after he’d tried every key and circled around to the first. Apparently, the warmth of his curse-laden breath melted what ice stuck the lock. Now that the knob turned the door should have moved, but of course its old wood had swollen and jammed. Soap bodied it with his shoulder once, twice as it squeaked in protest, then a third finally dislodged it from the frame.

He was rewarded with a tumble into stale air only moderately warmer than that outside. Sanderson flicked on the lights while they set up, since the Captain b-lined for a flock of space heaters bunched in the corner and searched for one with unbent prongs and unexposed wiring.

The bay ran along the front of the building, only deep enough for a small walkway behind where soldiers lay prone to test their weapons. Past this, the range itself stretched a few hundred feet to the far wall where targets were hung--where Sanderson busied himself.

Luck graced Soap with two non-hazardous heaters. He plugged them in at the closest outlets framing Sanderson’s lane. Looking out at the Sergeant, Soap noticed he put out a target for his captain as well. Soap also noticed how quickly he grew frustrated as his cold, uncoordinated fingers stuck to the tape when he tried to fix it in place, and how he stormed back to the bay under the assumption he went unwatched.

Sanderson returned with a huff and straightened his shoulders. He had on a hat and scarf to stave off the cold, covering his brown buzz cut that was a little longer on top. Just long enough it tried to curl. Without goggles, his green eyes looked everywhere but at Soap’s own. He wore his typical combat gaiter, covering a strong jawline; pointed chin; and thin, chapped lips. Not the most expressive, resting face usually neutral at worst, more commonly with eyebrows raised in polite attention and a slight smile Soap know to look for. Now, even through the fabric, the Sergeant frowned so harshly it furrowed his brow.

“Don’t look so happy to see me,” Soap half-joked. The last thing he needed was an underling with an attitude. He hated doing it to Sanderson, but he’d chew him up and spit him out for it if need be. He just wanted their shitty morning over with so he could eat.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Captain. Just… cold.”

“Mhm. You asked for this, Sanderson. What did ye think was gonna fookin’ happen? We get here n’ the birds ’re chirpin’ and we have a lovely time?”

Soap didn’t think he sounded that pissed. Unfortunately, Sanderson only responded with a quiet, “No, sorry. Guess I—I guess I should’ve expected this.” Then, he skirted around Soap to the loading table and pulled ammo boxes from his pockets, retrieving the rifle from across his back afterward. His helmet sat next to him, and as he checked that his rifle was in working order nearly knocked it off. Soap saw anger bubble up inside him before he cracked his knuckles to release the tension.

Rifle loaded, he squatted beside the sandbags in his lane and replaced his hat with his helmet. “Hit the lights for me, Cap?”

Noticing the man hadn’t donned earmuffs yet, Soap grabbed a pair for each of them and sauntered over. Honestly, such a basic mistake warranted an ass-chewing; however, Soap didn’t have the energy for it, and something told him neither did Sanderson.

Instead, he teased with a sly smile, “Come oan. Don’t tell me yer goin’ unprotected. Yer smarter than that, lad.”

Sanderson stared straight ahead and took the earmuffs his captain dangled on a finger.

Soap crouched there in his personal space and waited for the grateful response a man of his title was due from an inferior. From an inferior he was going easy on. As the moments passed, Sanderson’s knuckles only turned white squeezing the headband of the muffs. Soap squinted and leaned in closer, trying to pressure any sort of thanks out of Sanderson before being forced to reprimand his attitude.

Nothing.

“Sergeant.”

“Captain?”

“Let’s nip this in the bud.” Soap leaned impossibly close and hissed in his ear, “Listen to me. I know yer tired, ‘cause I’m tired, too. It’s too early fer this, n’ it’s waaaay too cold. But, through hell n’ high water, I wrestled the range master n’ RSOs to get approval for this. I had to resubmit the same damn form three damn times after they gave me the wrong one. Had to submit it a fourth after they fooked up in the admin section and couldn’t just white it out for some shite reason. I set this all up, walked all the way out here in the dead of winter in the middle of the night ‘cause you asked fer it, and now I’m tryin’ to make the most of it while yer makin' rookie mistakes and bein’ a right cunt!”

Roach remained stupidly quiet.

Soap's nostrils flared as he scowled. He couldn’t contain it any longer. He pulled away and exploded, “Well, this is the last fookin’ time I’ll ever do somethin’ nice fer ye! I don’t even know why I bother goin' outta my way fer an ungrateful sergeant brat. I've had recruits act better than this. Yer not worth it, Sanderson. Yer not fookin’ worth my time.”

With shaking fingers Sanderson checked that the safety of his rifle was engaged and set it aside. Then he blinked rapidly, brought his knuckles to his eyes, and his face contorted like a child’s, and Soap realized he wasn't shaking from the cold. There Roach was, ripping at the seams like he'd never been yelled at before—which was unbelievably false. He was a soldier, for heaven’s sake. He’d been yelled at daily since the day he signed enlistment papers.

It made Soap's stomach sick, half fed up with the sorry excuse in front of him, half worried. “Hold it to-fucking-gether! The hell's wrong with ye‽” He asked.

[miitarashi]

I got a really dumb idea for a short story, I think its kinda cute though, like you know how people act all weird when under anasthetics? So like, what if Tintin just got surgery coz of an accident on a mission and he got put on anasthesia so the reader visits him at the hospital and he's acting all dumb and stuff, like bro, that would be the best mixture of stupid and wanting to hug him for eternity bc he's so adorable :D

AWWW 🥺 That's such criative idea! Very thank you for it! I'll do my best to write it perfectly (of course will have a one or two memes related to it lol)

[Name] = your name (neutral since it wasn't specified)

Warnings: probably none,just silly things :)

Prompt: Tintin affected by anesthesia

The adventure was going just fine.

Until Tintin get thrown through the window from a pretty dangerous and high place.

It was literally a down hill for him. But,just like any other death threaten situation,the luck goddess made him get in the right moment into the hospital to get treated from the injury he had,being bad enough to the doctors having to inject an quite generous amount of anesthesia for him not feel anything,but this end up working too well because he wasn't even thinking about anything.

After the surgery was successful,the doctors liberate Tintin to receive visitors so you and Haddock could finally see him. Walking into his room,his body was ok by what you could guess by a quick look just having some bandages that pass through his left shoulder,some on his neck and left arm.

"Lad? Are yeh awake? Please talk to 'us!" - Haddock said kinda desperate still,distrassed by the situation even after you tried to comfort him.

But,his shooting (since he basically screamed) made Tintin slowly wake up,his eyes opening with blury vision looking first at the captain while still feeling heavily the effects of the anesthesia on his body and mind,feeling light-headed and numb,probably being the first time his mind is empty but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was high.

"...Hello...please don't scream captain..." - he sounded a bit weak at first,still on the process of waking up.

"Lad! Thank Gods yeh fine! Yeh scare' the shit out of me back there!" - and readily,he dismissed Tintin's request speaking loud again.

"Captain,please control yourself" - you scold him who finally get it and nod,sitting on a nearby chair.

Hearing your voice seemed odd for Tintin,like he knew and didn't knew who was at the same time. With half open eyes,the jornalist looked at you,confused but intrigued,his empty mind starting to work again as he smiles a bit.

"...Hello...you...look nice..." - now,he sounded drunk almost. Lazy and drunk.

"...oh well,thank you" - you say with a light chuckle by his state.

Upon hearing your laugh,he felt his smile growing while still holding his gaze on you.

"...your laugh is sweet...i like it...it's good to hear..." - his honest along with a lazy tone only made things even better.

Haddock was holding back a chuckle when he saw your cheeks becoming a bit red by the compliment.

"...oh...you're blushing...you look cute...blushing..." - Haddock had to look away to control himself,feeling your elbow hitting his arm only making him laugh more at the situation.

"Ok ok,i guess you've talked enough,better get some rest so your wounds will heal faster" - you said while trying to keep a straight face even still being a bit red by his praises.

But the straight face soon tear apart when you watched his smile decrease into a sad one,his half open eyes turning into almost sad puppy dog eyes staring right back at you.

"....No...i don't want to sleep...i want to keep talking with you...and looking at you...please...?" - you never knew he could pull this move,you couldn't bring,not even dare yourself to say no anymore. He was even pouting! It shouldn't be fair.

"And why you want it so much..?" - you asked out of curiosity,since we are already here,the thing is to enjoy while it last.

He seemed confused again,looking away,trying to make his empty head work slowly getting something back from his memory but still not completely sure, shruging a little.

"I...don't really know...it's just feels good...to look at you...i feel...things...like warm and...fuzzy things...i feel...tingling sensations..." - his explanations was almost like a child trying to express his feelings in the best way his toddler language could.

"Maybe they put way too much anesthesia 'on him,but well,isn't he a little adorable lad?" - Haddock joke with the situation,finally feeling more at ease and without worries.

You couldn't have said it better,Tintin was goofy and silly making him adorable by how high he was. You laughed again,his smile growing by hearing it. You moved closer still with a smirk on your light red face,when you touched his chest his eyes even opened a bit more making him more aware of everything for a moment.

"...i think...someone that i know...would feel upset if they see you touching my chest like that..." - you frown,trying to get what he meant and when you understood,you just shook your head with a smile.

"Your partner?" - his eyes open wide and so does his smile when he nod.

"Yes...! You should stop then..."

"Tintin,i'm your partner"

He looked straight at your for a whole minute before looking back at Haddock who only nodded and then,his gaze fall back on yours. Since he was still attached to the machine that kept his cardiac beat in monitoring,letting beeps in the background,as soon you said it the beeps fastened for a moment with his face getting red.

"Oh...hi darling...!" - he spook in a happy tone making both you and the captain laugh at Tintin's antics.

"Finally you get it,i was worried for a second" - you joke with a quick giggle.

"I'm sorry...it's hard to think...when i'm feeling like a banana..." - he said with a quick chuckle resting his head back against the pillow.

"Yeah,they really didn't hold the hand on the anesthesia. Yeh look' wasted" - the old sea man get up,adjusting his hat before walking closer.

"...yeah...it's funny..."

"Your drunk-like state?" - you question. He shake his head.

"...i didn't reconize you...but...when i see you...i fell more hard than from the window..." - your blush spread across your face,Haddock even seem surprised before laughing and giving some pats on your back.

"Well played lad! Even in this state he couldn't resist you!" - he laugh again and you shush him away a bit embarrassed but with a tiny goofy smile because the captain was right.

"Ok ok,you're being too cute for my heart to take,now go rest" - and again,those damm puppy eyes staring at your soul.

"...but why...? I love you..." - you was almost crying by this point,being this adorable should be a crime.

"He's more clingy than anythin'. Well,take care of him for a bit,i'll go talk with the doctor about somethin'. Be right back" - he wink at you before walking out on purpose to let you alone with Tintin.

"[Name]...why dad just left the room...?"

"Captain would be over the moon if he heard this" - you giggle - "don't worry to much,you still hurted,focus on getting better ok?" - he nod slowly.

"[Name]...? Pat me..? It feels like home when you do it...like...it's like you're my home...please...?" - you had to take a deep breath,after this you could feel the tears. He already express himself normally but being this honest was something different you wasn't ready for.

With a nod,you move your chair to be right beside his bed and reach your hand to caress his cheek and hair,watching his eyes closing in contentment while moving against your hand to feel more of your touch,even kissing your hand when you get distracted enough for him to do so, chuckling at your blushing face.

"...sorry...i couldn't help it...your face is cute...when it's red...and...i'm feeling...silly..." - he admit still with a little smile,looking for the window on his left thoughtfully.

"....if i jump..." - he say after a long pause getting your attention - "i'm pretty sure i can fly" - and the intrusive thoughts begin.

"What? Jump? Like...through the window..?" - he nod.

"Yes...i mean...peter pan always said that we should just believe to get it right...? I believe in myself..." - he was speaking with a certain that made you sigh. He's going from adorable to goofy ass reckless.

"Tintin,you'll only fall and get hurted again" - he looked at you with a shocked expression.

"Don't you believe in me..?? I thought you loved me..........let me try and show you then-"

"Tintin no!"

You had to hold him on bed to prevent him from getting up and jumping through the window hearing some small protests but luck you,the anesthesia still was making his body limp so he give up when his body wasn't responding like he wanted. Tintin was even pouting again,sad because he couldn't jump through the window.

"I'm sorry,but you know you can't"

"...but i could try..."

"No,if you jump,i would feel really sad,you want to make me sad?" - he immediately shook his head with an apologetic expression.

"No...! Please don't be sad...it hurts when you're sad..." - you smiled,moving your hand back to his cheek.

"Ok then,i'll not. Ready to rest now?" - with your hand on his cheek,he quickly relax nodding with a content sigh.

"Will you and captain...captain...? Dad..? Will you and dad be here when i wake up?" - he corrected himself like the word wasn't sounding right and you nod with a giggle.

"Of course we'll"

He smiled softly,resting his face against your hand to enjoy your soothing caress while closing his eyes to finally sleep. After this,you'll be obviously teasing him about it later,it's way too good to not do so.

————————————————————————

N/A: heya! Two request in a short amount of time?? It's just because now i discovered the programation of the posts lol. So the blog will not be stopped for too long. This one was really fun to make,Tintin in a silly goofy state must be the most adorable thing and i had to make it. Hope you guys liked it,thanks for reading! 😘

[lukascout]

Guess I'm The New Scout!

Story 2: Dumpsterfire

Why did I take this job? Why didn't I just run? I'm gonna die all because I'm a fucking moron.

Luka never dreamed he'd be staring down the barrel of a revolver. A revolver that shouldn't be in the Medic’s hands. He kept his hands over his head as the cylinder slowly clicked, a sound that whispered death. What would even be the point of running away? As the disguise dissipated in smoke, Luka's gaze wandered to meet the Spy's as he saw the poor lad out.

“My apologies, but ze doctor is not available.” Was the last thing he heard before… blackout.

…? Numb…? Why am I suddenly numb?

He could have sworn he was dead. When's the last time you heard of a man surviving a point blank gunshot? Unless the Engineer was not kidding or this was limbo, this was Hell for all he cared. Bracing for the worst, Luka tried to force his eyes open.

…W-White light… hurts…

A muffled voice pierced the lad's senses. He tried to respond to the voice but to no avail as he couldn't seem to find his own voice. He almost wanted to scream but wasn't sure if he still had a mouth. 

A pair of blazing red hands meeting Luka’s eyes were enough to send them into panic as they finally found feeling in their legs, crashing back-first into the lockers. He grabbed his Scattergun but nearly lost his grip on it before aiming it at the figure in front of him.

“Whoa there, son! You're OK!” He heard the familiar, albeit still a little muffled, voice of the Engineer.

Luka blinked, not fully trusting his surroundings still. Slowly he turned his head in the direction he heard Engineer.

“D-Dell…? Is that you? Where am I?”

“You're back here in resupply! Safe and sound!”

Wait. Resupply. If I'm here, then who's-

As they scanned the room, it sank into Luka that they were aiming their Scattergun at the Medic, the real Medic, who leaned back as he held his hands up at face level. A hot wash of red burned across their face and down their shoulders as tears started to form in the corners of their glossy coldsteel eyes. As if dying to that sapphire snake wearing the doctor's face wasn't enough.

“You alright there, son?” Engineer asked.

Before Luka could even say a word, the roaring disturbance known as Soldier echoed through the room. Luka winced at the volume. The men watched him punching the air around him.

“Graaah! I had that son of a bitch right where I wanted him! If I ever see that Sniper out of his little nest, I'll snap his neck in half!” The Soldier ranted at basically nobody before rushing back into battle as if this was just another day for them. This struck a nerve in the already overstimulated lad.

“How can you guys die then walk around like nothing happened!? You're all insane!” Luka shouted as he slumped down into the floor sobbing and covering his ears. “Why didn't I just say no, why?”

The other men found themselves unsure of what to say to the crying mess before them. A shout directed at the Medic brought him quickly to his feet. With the doctor gone, the Engineer was left to deal with the still sobbing Luka. He grabbed a bottle of water and sat next to him.

“Didn't know what to expect, eh?”

Luka only responded with a glare.

“Heheh… I understand.” Engineer chuckled as he handed the water to Luka. He hesitantly took the water and took a few gulps to reclaim some lost moisture. God, Luka hated crying so much.

“...I'm sorry.” Luka said after a period of going non-verbal.

“For what?”

“For… Well, ya know. Being myself.”

“Hey now. You're alright, son…” Engineer reassured him, “Whenever you're ready…”

-----

It had been a little over a few hours since Luka's brush with death and resurrection. He died quite a few times since then but it was still a bitch every time. The worst part of it was the nausea that he could swear his whole body felt. You know, like when you skip breakfast. It took him all the willpower and copious amounts of water to not puke. This time around, he took probably the worst hit to the face since a childhood jungle gym incident. At least he got his teeth back. Did he like the fact he died once again? No. Hell no, even.

“Uuugh! I will never get over that!” Luka yelled as the numbness, nausea, and panic came and went.

The jovial laughter of the mad doctor brought Luka back to the present. He couldn't tell if Medic was laughing at him or not but he still wasn't happy about it.

“Oh bore off! I'm new to this!”

“Zat's ze exhilaration of ze cycle of life and painful deaths!” Medic said with a laugh. Luka looked at him like he had two heads.

“Excuse me?”

“Rush into ze battlefield knowing full vell zat you're going to die a painful death. But you'll get better in about five seconds, ja?”

Luka knew everyone on the team was their own brand of crazy based on what little he observed. But what he just heard made him question how and why this man became a field medic. Or why he even still had his medical license. (Spoiler alert; he does not.)

“...Doc?”

Medic tilted his head in questioning.

“Why do you give pep talks in the creepiest ways?”

“He's not wrong, Doktor…” Heavy commented.

“I beg your pardon!?” Medic reeled back and made a pearl clutching gesture. It was hard to tell if it was real or exaggerated, but they started arguing. It was a weird sight to behold but Luka was not gonna stick around to see how it was going to end. He awkwardly backed out while they continued to bicker.

I'm not bothering with all that mess.

Not even half an hour after his last death, Luka respawned back into resupply. But instead of looking panicked his face was dusted with a lovely shade of pink. And it wasn't because Heavy and Medic were still on about their weird, pointless argument. Although, that itself seemed to come to a weird head as he turned to see that Heavy was now sitting atop of Medic's back, pinning him to the floor.

“Get off of me, Schweinhund!” Medic shouted as he tried to crawl out from underneath the giant man.

Heavy simply ignored the shrieking doctor as he realized that Luka had come back. An enraged Soldier followed shortly after.

“Hartman!? This is the twentieth time you've died today! What do you have to say for yourself!?”

“Seventeen! He actually died seventeen times!” Medic corrected him.

It only occurred to Luka now that this was a pretty normal thing that happens around these parts with this group of mercs. How and why the hell any of them took any of this, he had no clue. But it was definitely going to be a new normal for him. Hey, who knows? Maybe Luka could finally get over some anxiety issues and shyness along this crazy road. The only thing that made it not perfect was the Fullmetal Jackass. Eh, I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

“...Well, I'm not afraid of death anymore, but now I'm terrified of dying embarrassing deaths.” Luka said after processing the whole ordeal.

Medic raised an eyebrow “Oh? What happened?”

“I uhhh… stumbled backwards off a cliff and head first into a dumpster.”

Heavy winced at the image in his head. Not only would it hurt like a knife to the face but it'd probably smell like slow death too. The sound of Soldier chuckling brought him out of his thoughts.

Luka groaned “What's so funny?”

“This isn't garbage day, Hartman!”

“Did you just call me trash!?”

[queers-gambit]

HELLO!! I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH I DO NOT REGRET READING ALL YOUR WORKS FOR THE PAST FEW HOURS HUEHEEUEHEUE

I also really love how you write Aemond and so with that in mind, how would he react if ever in a very unlucky world, he would lose both his child and wife at childbirth (not like viserys where he was given a choice) but bec it just didnt end well esp when pregnancies doesnt really guarantee a safe delivery all the time

oh, that's a lot of reading, poppet! take a break!! (but thank you so much, you're so cute, i love you)

oh, you want ANGST angst? let's get into this - where's my coffee?

[ When Pride Married Prejudice ]

[ following this post // this post // this post ]

this post contains potentially triggering content as we discuss the labors of childbirth, and a very small skimming of what can go wrong. i want everyone to proceed with maturity and caution.

this is NOT part of the WPMP storyline, just a hypothetical.

When he finds out sweet girl is pregnant, the lad is running around as if his head has been cut off - trying to read and learn as much as he could. He'll spend hours in the library and return to your chambers with a few particularly interesting tomes, asking her if you knew about this and that while being pregnant.

He learns about the good, he learns about the bad.

He prepares for what can go right, for what can go wrong.

Yet nothing can truly prepare him for the harsh, mind-numbing reality that he faces. It's so much easier to blame something; be it an inexperienced Maester, or even something tangible - like the baby being flipped the wrong way.

Not something as simple, yet unstoppable, as herniating a blood clot and bleeding out whilst the child wriggled in distress and eventually coiled the umbilical cord around its neck.

He's kept from the birthing chambers originally, and the Maesters only allow Alicent and your hand maiden, Amira, in the room for moral support. He listens to you scream and cry in pain for a solid day and a half, until, things go quiet.

Unusually quiet.

Eerily quiet.

Heart-pounding quiet.

Aemond remains in the hall with Aegon, who had come to check on his brother and offer company, only to be present when all sounds from the birthing chamber suddenly stop. Aegon foolishly claps his brother on the shoulder and congratulates him, assuring the cease in noise was a good sign and meant the baby must've been born.

They wait another hour or more with false hope.

When the door finally cracks open, Aemond takes on look at his mother and knows something terrible has happened. She'll keep the door cracked to prevent him sight, but all is lost when there comes a procession of midwives - all clutching heavily bloodied rags close to their chest. His eye fills with tears and meets the weary gaze of his mother, and all she can muster is, "Come inside, Aemond. You should say goodbye."

"What's happened?" He demands, but there's an unspoken understanding settling over them all.

"Come say goodbye," she whispers again and opens the door for him. There's three different Maesters, plus the Grand Maester, all waiting with bowed head - standing in a line as if to greet the Prince.

Their robes are all soiled in blood, and there, in the middle of the room, laid his wife - his sweet girl - in puddles of her own life's liquid. It soaks into the mattress, blooms into the sheets laying over your cool, stoic form; and there, at the bottom of the bed, laid a bundle.

He's quiet as he assess the room and quickly understands that more blood dripped off the mattress than laid in your body. He hears Alicent and Aegon at the door, but demands again, "What happened?"

One of the Maesters slowly steps up and explains that sometimes, during birth, the stress is too much on the body and there are certain circumstances that nobody can avoid - or help. One, being when the bleeding to too great - a tear located internally that cannot be seen. The baby then went into distress and eventually choked in the womb, being born with the cord around it's neck.

When Aemond carefully pulls the cloth bundle from his baby's face, he'll freeze when he notes the purplish hue coating the pale skin of the babe. In fact, the whole of it looks darkened with bruises and he feels his heart crack right down the middle.

As the Maester explains in depth what went wrong, the Prince slowly approaches your side and kneels. He'll tilt your head towards him and just wait, thinking this was all a bad dream and not truly real; mind reeling to bring forth the facts about births-gone-wrong.

Yet nothing in his mind will comfort him as he slowly takes up your hand. It's cool, not yet cold, but not warmed like your usual touch. Your fingers are stiff and rigid, making him frown as he tries to lace your fingers together for a final time.

His heart officially breaks.

"Why couldn't you save her?" He asks the room when it goes silent, staring at your face.

"Sometimes, there's nothing, even the most trained hand, can do," the Maester explained.

He nods slowly and leans down to press a parting kiss to your forehead. It's still not real, but his temper is flaring as he lets go of you to turn and stare menacingly at the Maester. His mother and brother are on high alert, understanding the dangerous glint in his eyes meant he was beyond words and rational thought.

"Are you?" Aemond grits.

"Am I what, my Prince?" The Maester trembles.

"The most trained hand?"

"W-Well, n-no, I would imagine there's a great deal more skilled than I," the Maester stuttered, glancing to the Queen for help.

"Then there is no use for you," Aemond sighed, blinking once, and brandishing his dagger to stab the Maester's chest. He holds the dying man for a moment before wrenching his knife free and lets the body drop to the floor. "And you?" He demands of the other Maesters. "Which of you will assume responsibility for this?"

"My Prince, sometimes, a woman's body only - "

"Do not try to blame this one her," Aemond seethed, turning to the Maester who dared speak. "This was not her doing - it was your job to protect her!" He yells as he drives his dagger into the second Maester, twisting it deeper.

Seemingly realizing their fate, the others shuffle back a few steps.

"It was your job t-to protect her in this," he pants, confusion warping his mind as guilt soon plunges his stomach. "I should've been here."

"No, Aemond, there was nothing you could have done," his mother tries to insist.

"I am her husband," his voice cracks with emotion, glaring at his mother, "and I could protect her from much more. I just should've been here for her..." His gaze turns back to the bed, choking, "She was alone... She died alone."

"She wasn't," Amira, who stood crying in the corner, finally spoke. Aemond silenced himself at the sight of her, looking shroud into the corner as she withdrew into herself at the loss of her Lady; at the loss of her friend. "She wasn't alone... I-I was here with her."

"The whole time," Alicent promised Aemond softly.

"A-And should it bring your comfort, my Prince," Amira whispered, but it was like her voice echoed across the room, "I reminded her of your love until the end... And selfishly, of my love, too."

Aemond felt the emotional dam in his chest give way. He'll hold his breath for a moment and let it out, shakily, as he nods at the older woman, "You were always like family to her... I'm glad if it wasn't me, it was you with her."

"Me too," Amira whispered before breaking down in a sob.

For some reason, Aemond's feet carried him towards the corner and lowered himself to where the maid had sank to the floor. When his arm came around her shoulder for comfort, Amira was turning to cling onto his neck and sob.

"I want her back," the woman grieved.

"Me too, Mira," Aemond assured, his own tears starting.

"Come," Aegon directed his mother and remaining Maesters, "let us give them privacy, time to say goodbye."

Aemond wanted to shout his thanks but it felt wrong. Why did he need to thank anyone for leaving him alone to say goodbye to his wife?

Amira sobbed without pause for the better part of an hour, and Aemond just silently held her. Offering nothing but his arms for comfort, the words lacking him. But then, like a switch, Amira was pulling away and apologizing. "For what?" Aemond muttered.

"You just lost your wife and child," she whispered, wiping her face, "and yet sit here, comforting me... No, it should be the other way around."

"In truth, Amira?" She nodded. "I do not think there is any comfort for me. Not anymore," his gaze turns back to the bed, "not without her. I do not know what to think other than this is not real."

"I wish is wasn't," Mira nodded. "But it is our reality."

Amira eventually collects herself and leaves the room, too. Aemond slowly, so very slowly, gets to his feet and nears the drying-bed. He'll once more kneel and take your hand, laying a kiss to the back of it. "C'mon," he'll quietly encourage, "you can't be gone, my love. You've gotta get up, okay? You've gotta get up, sweet girl, I can't do this alone. I need you. Hear me?" He squeezes your hand but there's no response. "This... Cannot be," he'll whisper in defeat, bowing his head at last, and sobs horrible sobs into the bedside.

His brother, who had ushered everyone else away, is the only one left in the hall to hear Aemond sob, beg his wife to come back, swear he loved her; promising to do better - as if she died because he wasn't husband enough. As if he wasn't man enough.

At the funeral, Aemond stands alone. There's something akin to guilt that plunges his stomach to his feet and he'll want to isolate himself. His family doesn't think it's a good idea but there's never a time to approach him; he's always alone, always lost in thought. He's angry and takes it out on anyone who tries to speak to him.

Kasta burns your body, and that of your child. Aemond sets her free after that.

He'll become reclusive to the library, ignoring all other responsibilities. You thought he read everything before the pregnancy? Well, now that his wife is gone, he'll read anything he can about the complications of birth.

Some blame the father's seed. Some blame the mother's womb. Some blame wine or ales ingested during pregnancy. And some cite the Gods for playing their hand.

Either way, Aemond began to slowly understand that these kinds of accidents can happen - and there's never any one person to blame because they are simply that: an accident. He'll read until he's cross-eyed, and Amira often finds him face-down in a book, asleep on the library's table top with a single candle burning.

She becomes his hand-maiden because Amira is the only one Aemond can bare talking to you about. He needs someone to understand how incredible you were and what your absence has done to him, and Amira's always there for him.

She feels the obligation after your passing.

She sees the way in which Aemond is falling apart at the seams.

So, she'll make it her personal mission to make sure he's cared for. She's a little harsher with him then others, but it gets him to eat most days and she's satisfied enough in that.

Yet, Aemond won't talk to anyone else really. Not his mother, not his sister; not Otto, not even Cole. Aegon was overly sympathetic to Aemond's pain and lightened up on the jokes and hardened demeanor he showed his brother. Yet, he did not hesitate to send Aemond into the chaos of war.

However, it proved useful, as Aemond was ruthless in the heat of battle. All his anger is channeled into this war and Vhagar feels it. She's noted the absence of her master's wife, and from the feelings of overwhelming sadness coming from him, she understands something's happened to you. He becomes a shell of himself, but that could be expected, since it was you, his sweet girl, his darling wife, who broke him out of his original shell all those years ago.

Now there's nothing left but Aemond's anger - and his love, which has no wife nor child to go towards. It morphs into self-loathing because despite understanding the complications, Aemond cannot shake the idea of saving you when you needed it most, and it eats away at his soul.

[strixludica]

A little christmas episode I wrote for my Lancer x Mass Effect fic

Farlight Blue - Spegeldal - Sparr​

In the streets of Spegeldal, the celebrations of Yuletide were in full swing: little children dressed as the Yule Lads went from door to door, threatening tricks and curses if they didn't get some eggnog; while their older siblings competed in teams to topple the others' snowman with snowballs. In every plaza scaled down statues of hunted Vast, in straw and timber, burned bright and warm against the cold gleam of the aurora. From a window in Clan Blåman's meadhall, Farlight watched their merriment with mixed yearning and exhaustion. It really did look like a lot of fun playing in the snow, but they'd needed to put on four layers of coats and socks just not to have their body go numb in the harsh sparri winter, and if it hadn't been for those weird nets called tennis rackets, their limbs would have sunk to the joints at every step. Despite the rigors of the weather, visiting Sigurd's home was a welcome relief after the tour to Cradle. Aside from everything else - and there had been a lot of else - this foray into human society had tested Farlight's proficiency in speech: they'd thought they were quite used to speaking with humans; they'd done it their whole lives. But once they'd had to do it with complete aliens for months, Farlight had truly realised how convoluted it could be, how exhausting it was to have to think in loops to figure out what conclusion someone expected you to take from their words, what assumptions they were based on, instead of simply exchanging information. Here on Sparr though, despite the many differences, Farlight almost felt as if they were witnessing again. When they'd first seen him wandering Hivehome, Farlight had thought Sigurd was especially extroverted and blunt; but it turned out that was just how his people were: they wore their feelings on their faces. The Union leaders and bureaucrats they'd spoken to had been courteous and polite, and many others even friendly; but always guardedly, afraid to cause offence and careful of what they were implying. The Blåman's excitement and warmth radiated off them like heat from a fire: it was clear without ever being said that being Sigurd's friend made Farlight everyone's friend. For hours, they and the people of the clan had exchanged stories: a saga of the harrowing march from the Yuga Pocket for one of the war against the Machine, a tale of a hunting expedition for one of recovering ancient artefacts, a recounting of the great caverns under the ice where the Vast dwelled for a canticle of doomed Hivehome and its vast undersea. Finally, however, they'd had to take a rest, and so the children were ushered out to play, their parents had taken to drinking and mingling among themselves, and Farlight had been left free to wander on their own. The hall was crowded with mementos, relics and trophies: on stones etched with Sagas, weapons sized for mech and human alike menaced and gleamed - Tallgrass and William would die of envy when Farlight returned to Mycol Fields - from the walls and ceiling were hung the heads of frightful beasts, some the size of a Warform, and one horned, three-eyed skull between whose fangs Endeavor themselves could have sat with room to spare. But just as Sigurd had declared almost three years ago, the place of honour was reserved for what the two of them had brought all the way from Hercynia: an assault hardsuit made with carapace Farlight themselves had gifted, and The Sword. Divested of the augmentations which Sigurd had installed on it so he could always take it into battle, the metre-and-a-half long scythe of gleaming, steely black bone sat upon an inscribed pillar, whose runes read:

BROOD-SIBLING'S MOLT GIFTED UNTO SIGURD FREYSON BY SUPREME COMMANDER TERROR OF HIVEHOME ON THE THIRD OF AUGUST 5014U SLAYER OF OVERLAND/KINGWATCHER AND ITS SPAWN IN THE LANGUAGE OF OF THE EGREGORIAN KIND IS ETCHED UPON ITS SIDES THE LIVING SAGA OF ITS GIFTING​

So that's what Sigurd and his Lance had been pestering Memory about the evening after they'd recovered the eggs. The sides of the sword were etched from tip to handle with osteomemetics - it was a complex memory indeed. On the left side, Farlight witnessed Sigurd's memory of [Surprise/Joy/Pride], his kneeling down in [Awe/Amazement], taking the blade with [Reverence/Love/Care]. The greatest warrior of the Egregorian people, who had so much reason to distrust him, had just entrusted him with a blade of their very flesh, an incomparable [Trophy/Relic]. There was only one way the [Memory/Legend] of his battles could go now. Sigurd would defend Terror and their kin with deeds [Worthy/Equal] of that blade, or die trying. On the right side, Farlight witnessed Terror's [Surprise/Doubt] at the sight of Sigurd swearing his loyalty unto his last breath, a moment of [Suspicion] that this was an attempt at [Flattery/Manipulation], and then the sight of that wide smile erupting across Sigurd's face, those eyes bright like a child's, and the [Realisation/Shift/Understanding] that the human in front of them meant every word he was saying. [Joy/Laugh/Relief/Hope] Maybe better times were coming. Farlight realised Sigurd had been standing next to them for some time. "Is the display adequate for the gift?", he asked, "I'd hate to think we weren't doing it justice" "It's perfect", Farlight replied. And they meant it.

[valkyrie1366669]

Trigger warning: mentions of abortion, cannibalism, miscarriages, product or rape, rape, childhood rape.

Snippet of chapter 6 A Bard's Tale of a White Bat, the Scarred Bear, and a Rabid Red Fox

"Conquer your endgame you mean?" Gale scoffs. Still sour about everything.

The redhead scoffs. She's had it with his smart mouth. Fine, he wants to comment about her sharp tongue. Let him have it. "It must be so easy from your perspective, Mr. Dekarious." She starts before glaring at the human wizard. "A hypocrite in the making about what's wrong and right. Blinded by the crown's potential power. Gale’s folly right? I respect you, as well as everyone else here. But I’ll not be watching my back for you to change your opinion of me. I'll simply take care of it personally like the rabid animal youse think I am- if you attempt anything. You saw what I did to Alfira, Gale. What do you think I can do to you? I had warned all of you that were present that morning."

"You didn't..." Shadowheart starts but she cuts her off. Her eyes flashed gold briefly as she was pissed. It was taking everything not to rip her tongue out.

"FECKIN' HELLS I DIDN'T! I told all of youse I was fighting a darkness in me and couldn't control myself! I WAS BEGGING FOR HELP AND GOT NOTHING!!!! It was all shrugged off. That was with me injured and tied up for the rest of the night. I lost count of how many hours I’ve spent listening to everyone's problems and want to help each of you. I nearly killed Astarion out of the simple choice of letting Isobel live. That’s how Bhaal works with his children.” She starts to speak more with her hands a bit and speech gets a little faster. Her anger was even causing some thorns to grow. Jahiera and Halsin use their magic to keep the foliage at bay.

Minthara’s head tilts a little. “Then speak, half-fairy. Whereas I find this side of you magnificent. Clarify for the childish minds.”

“We’re not acting childish.” Gale narrows his eyes at the Drow noble.

“Your tone says otherwise, wizard. You’re blindly pushing something out of your control. I met Orin. Trust me when I say Gwynnistri is more sane and trying not to kill you where you stand. I certainly would have ended you for your insubordination. So let her speak as you and the others put her on the stand.”

While Minthara spoke, the Bhaalspawn Druid had been trying to breathe. Tempting to cool her urges that were just along the edge. As they were getting closer to the edge of no control. “There is nae a day or night I worry I'll kill someone here. My head pounds and my body aches every time I resist it. Feels like hot pokers prodding my body all the time. Pain from my muscles ache from the first to last light, and I feel numb most days. I still occasionally throw up blood from that Myrkul cleric rearranging my organs and not eating properly. Kept awake from not just the parasite, but dreams of red- probably a sliver of what I've done." She chuckles at the end.

“Forgive me if I’m doubtful, but every Baldurian knows your kind. You are still Bhaal’s favorite. Even Gortash said that. Or perhaps how do we know you aren’t the shape changer.” Wyll comments.

‘The noble and blindly honorable ones are always the most annoying. He was still young.’ The Blood Druidess smirks. “Ye really want to go down this route lad? Because I’d advise you not to tempt it. Drop the attitude of seeing things black and white for the moment.” Her whole face darkened as she confessed a dark truth.

Gale scoffs. “We deserve the truth as you hid it. You are deflecting the situation.”

The urge to kill her two companions was getting difficult to control. Her dominant hand twitched to break Wyll’s horns and impale him with it. Cause Gale’s body to explode by making his blood explosive and lethal. “You’re his heir to his bloody throne.”

After the Blade of Frontiers remark, Gwynnistri palm strikes Wyll and Gale hard. Causing their noses to break as a warning to be quiet. “Me and twin brother were the result of rape. Bhaal had used my father’s form to make me ‘pedigree stock’ for his experiment. A Bhaalspawn raised outside his temple and raised outside of it. Fancy isn’t it?” She then uses her blood magic to heal Wyll as her anger gets the better of her.

Wyll still had a hand over his nose until he was healed. “Gwynn I..”

“Oh, now you’re sorry. Funny how I didn’t push any of you to mention your past. But I guess that was asking too much.” She laughs at it. Mostly from being emotionally drained and a little of her madness getting to her. Their bantering was edging her urges.

“But the worst of it wasn’t the gore, cannibalism, or murder, monster slayer. It was hearing those girls’ screams. It’s haunted me as I could hardly do anythin’ about it. I don’t remember all of it, but I remember a man cutting a lass up as he couldn’t fit. Even I had limits despite that picture of me you’re painting. For a brief time, I did try from a young age to please father dearest. It was a requirement among some he deemed worthy. All of my children were born dead or heavily deformed. One had skin like stone and another with half a brain. Not surprising as I poisoned myself often then to get rid of the parasite growing in me. I was no older than you were when you made the pact with Mizora when I had my first.”

Despite what the Druidess was confessing and the horrid looks on her companions' faces, she clearly accepted that a long time ago when she made sense of it. Hard to say how long she had known about it. Her partners didn’t know all of that either. Parts but not to that vivid detail as they didn’t want to pressure her into it. Though Jaheira has never personally met a female Bhaalspawn, the history was not foreign to her in that way.

“I killed and aborted so many of Bhaal’s children. Just so the mother would live. Or even a young lad tired of being used. I always got a whipping as I used my Druidic teachings to terminate the babes. Imagine seeing so many children and teenagers being parents. They asked for release as death was better than living. I still have those thoughts every once in awhile even when I’m happy. Incestial rape was more common than anything. I even ate my own babe’s corpses at times when they were no bigger than the pommel of your rapier. All to keep my rouse of keeping them safe as much as I could and when I was around. I was one of the few lucky ones as I killed anyone who tried or if I saw it. My job was to cull the weak, and those people are always my favorite prey.”

"Gwynn I..." Karlach tried to apologize, but instead got a cold glare. Unusual from the redhead as she was usually warm and soft-spoken with Karlach. "I'm sorry... I didn't know. I wish I realized it ahead of time." Her face seemed mournful for her friend as she knew the tales her parents would say about Bhaalspawn whenever she wasn't behaving well. How if she misbehaved enough, one would come after her. Funny how things worked out. Now apparently a Bhaalspawn is one of her closest friends.

The redhead sighs at her Tiefling friend. "As nice as that sounds; sorry doesn't change me fate, Karlach. If it’s not the Parasite that gets me, Bhaal will. You've chosen how youse want to go out on your terms. I have mine in case." She rubs her temple with her fingers to ease the mental spike in her head. “Enjoy your blueprints.” She was going to test everyone’s blood for a doppelganger. But she needed to have a moment or rest of the evening to herself.

[comfort-questing]

yes I SAID I'd be writing my own aftermath fic for those scenes if the show didn't give it...

-

When he was a kid Stark had tried not to cry. But by this time everyone already knew he was weak; crying wouldn't make any difference now. And - as Linie's form crumbled to dust along with the mana-spun axe in her hands - there was no one left to see, or to know, here in the moonlight magic-ruined glade below the city walls.

His eyes were hazy and half-blinded by his lightning slash and the wound above one of them, his mouth full of dirt and blood, right arm numb to the fingertips and useless at his side. High above him on the walltops, the two magics that met against the moon's bright disc - one black as old blood, one shining as pure as the stars - exploded into light as Stark blinked upwards, ever-expanding coronas of brilliance.

He coughed, the acid taste in the back of his mouth redoubling as the pain in his stomach made him gag desperately. Not as heavy as his master's blows had been - but enough to coat the dirt in crimson beneath him, draining the last of his strength away with it. The night and the woods and the walltops and the moon were all spinning and tilting around him, unsteady as his cold and trembling body.

Fern had to be all right. Fern, and Frieren, and Graff who they'd left in the churchman's care. If all of them were all right, that was enough... enough to save this town, one way or another. Enough so that they would have done well, despite everything...

Master... would you be proud of me now?

This time, when his knees hit the ground, he told himself he could rest, because he had won.

(This time, he knew there was no way he was standing up again.)

-

There was hair tickling his face, and skin brushing against his, a whiff of soap and sweat and lightning-flash of mana, for a fleeting moment before it moved away. Trembling fingers found the hollow beneath his jaw, ignited sensation and with it pain, tracing out his pulse.

"Mr. Stark. Stark!"

He managed to open one eyelid, the other clotted shut with dried blood; just enough to see Fern, corpse-pale in the moonlight, white blouse stained darkly all along one shoulder and arm.

"Fern. Are you - "

He could barely hear his own voice, though shaping the words tugged painfully at his face. He tried to smile at her, though, because surely things would be all right now, whether he got to see them or not. She had won her own battle, Lugner's blood magic had marked her but she'd won. And Frieren... Frieren would be there, too, soon...

Everything was going dark again, his eye slipping closed. Dimly Fern's shouts echoed in his ringing ears, and the sound of approaching voices behind her, footsteps in the darkness.

"He's over here! We need to get him to the priest now, he's lost too much blood - "

Arms gathering him up, guards' metal armor chilly and hard beneath him, voices bouncing back and forth above his head. Pressure on his stomach, and his shoulder, and pain pain pain filling him as he gagged again, struggling by reflex.

"Hush, lad." The guard's voice was gentle, firm as the arms around him. "Stay with us a few moments more, now. You've done well tonight."

-

Stark woke slowly, to the tremble of firelight through his eyelids, and to breaths that went all the way down through his lungs with only a little pain, the comforting tightness of bandages steadying his aching shoulder. He could feel both of his arms again, and as stupidly tired as he was, the thrum and after-warmth of healing magic had lent him enough strength that he could think properly again as well.

...Yes. This was better. He could sleep for a week, easily, but he didn't feel like he was on the brink of death anymore.

"...need to rest for a while yourself, miss." That was the priest's quiet voice, somewhere across the room, closer to the firelight. "The Goddess kept you safe for certain tonight - half an inch higher on your shoulder, and you'd have bled out in a few heartbeats. Not that having a nicked lung is much better in the long term, but - "

"But Stark and I got here, anyway." Fern's voice was stronger now, and without the ragged desperation of earlier. "Thank you."

"Of course. Of course. This - has been one of the more exciting nights of my term here."

Stark opened his eyes in time to see Fern's rare smile dart across her face, where she sat across from the priest, the fire burning bright behind them on the hearth. There was the thin gray light of early dawn through the window beyond, and Graff's sleeping form under blankets in the cot beneath.

"Miss Frieren would say that when you invite demons into your town you shouldn't be surprised when things get exciting," said Fern.

"Ah. Yes. The elf. Where..."

Fern did not answer for a moment, her eyes going to the window instead.

"Fighting Aura," she said. "I think so, anyway. We should... look for her, soon."

"And I'll pray for her," said the priest. "And keep an infirmary bed open if she needs it, too, the way things are going so far."

Stark coughed as he tried to speak, but managed it the second time. "Frieren - isn't - back yet?"

"Stark! Stay still, you were hurt badly." Fern's hand hovered over his chest, a clear threat as he tried to get his elbows under him; how she'd gotten across the room that quickly, he wasn't quite sure. "No, she's not back yet, but she's all right, I know. Miss Frieren always is."

Truly Stark couldn't imagine anything in the land getting the jump on their eccentric little leader. After all, hadn't she been part of the group that destroyed the Demon King himself? But he'd feel better once he had his eyes on her, and their party was complete again.

"Fine," he said, falling back on the pillows. "Give me - a couple - minutes and we'll go."

-

It was more than a couple of minutes, but they did go.

That morning was a strange hazy time in Stark's memory, full of golden light and chilly mist, the jolting of the carriage wheels stirring the pain in his healing wounds into fresh jagged agony. Graff's set face across from them had something of the same look to it, his hand pressed to his own bandages under his coat. Fern sat bolt-upright with her face to the small window, the dawn riming her hair in brilliance.

Then the clearing, and the battlefield, with steel spellbound soldiers limp and scattered beneath the early sky; and a figure in white kneeling before them, with the birds kiting upwards on the rising wind above her.

And suddenly, his eyes were full of tears again, but of a different kind altogether, and oddly unashamed as he stumbled out of the carriage towards his new master, Fern at his side.

Now - now - everything was truly all right.

[aphroditestummyrolls]

Kidnapping Whump 👀 (pretend to be surprised okay)

YEEHAWWWWWW 🎉🎉🎉

“Jes?” His voice was nothing but a rasp, more breath than sound, but Wylan didn’t care. He just needed Jesper to look at him. His head lolled toward his lap, and a cough rattled through his chest. The sound of it left him wincing. “Jesper!”

“M’okay.” It was hardly convincing.

And the blood he spat on the floor only confirmed his suspicions. There was a burn behind Wylan’s eyes, and the world swam for a moment, but he didn’t dare blink. Look up. Look at me, please.

“You won’t be, lad. Not if you don’t tell me what I wanna know.”

“Kaz doesn’t tell us anything— I told you.” Jesper wheezed, but still managed a roll of his eyes, giving Pekka as much attitude as he dared. “He doesn’t trust us, trust anyone.”

He doesn’t trust me, he didn’t say, but Wylan heard him. It was just like every other time he’d come whirling in from another fight in Kaz’s office, angry and hurt. Ever since Wylan met him he supposed he’d known how Kaz was—when they tried to hide Alby, only for Kaz to already know about the boy. He used the crows to confirm suspicions, not gain new intel.

Kaz always bet on Jesper’s loyalty. But, he bet everything on his ignorance.

“How did Kaz Brekker know about my son, Mr. Fahey?” Rollins was blotchy with purple rage, eyes sharp. His voice was deathly quiet, calm the way his father used to be calm.

That voice said I’ll give you one more try, so do it right this time. It promised swimming squiggles of words even more incomprehensible than before, blurry with tears as he tried. He tried so hard.

That voice promised pain.

There was something cold in Wylan’s gut, his shackled hands going numb in their restraints. He wasn’t sure if he could move if he tried. The big, booted feet of Pekka’s men boxed Wylan in on both sides, their looming shapes bearing down like gargoyles. But, as cowardly as he felt, that wasn’t what scared him.

What scared him were the heavy-looking, leaden knuckledusters that the one to his right kept fidgeting with. Up and down, he slid them into his meaty fist and then back down his fingers. The surface of them gleamed in the low light of the cellar— rigid and spiked. Like a tenderizer in a butcher shop.

If Jesper told them he didn’t know, they’d beat him again. Pekka was rolling up his sleeves, snapping his cuffs open and folding over the blood spatters on the crisp white fabric.

But, if he told them the truth— that it was him, them, at Appelbroek, and that they cased the place for Kaz, even if they didn’t know at the time— Pekka would kill him. He’d kill Jesper. He’d beat him, and he wouldn’t stop.

There was a metallic shing grazing past his ear, and Wylan chanced a glance to his left, only to see the wide, curved edge of a hunting knife pulled from a sheath. It was sharp. Must’ve been fabrikator-made.

“I knew.”

The words sounded a lot more confident than he felt. He didn’t even recognize his own voice until he was breaking into Jesper’s rush of panic. Pekka had grabbed him by the face— by his beautiful, bruised, frightened face— but when Wylan found his voice, everything stopped.

All eyes were on him.

“Kaz— Kaz told me to look into the house at Appelbroek, he…” he was looking right at Jes, who was finally looking back. And it was terrible, it was the worst thing, Ghezen. He just needed him to stay quiet, to let him take this— even with the protest already on his bloodied lips. His grey eyes gleamed with tears, half a no already breaking the air when Pekka gripped at his windpipe. “I pretended to be a piano re-repairman. Jesper doesn’t know anything, he can’t tell you,” he stared intently at Jesper, willing the words into his head as a command and a plea, “because he doesn’t know.”

Don’t say anything. They won’t kill me— Jes, please.

This was all his fault. And he couldn’t let Jesper die here.

Thanks for playing ❤️ this story is making me insane, I’m having so much fun right now!

[everythingcanadian]

Kangaroo Pouch

Pairing: Peter Parker/Stephen Strange

Rating: G

No Warnings.

Summary:

Stephen is cold. Peter soothes him. Day 24 of promptober: Soothe

AO3 Portal

The gloves he slipped on in the car are a bit cold and stiff now. They are leather after all. However, he can warm his achy hands by wrapping his arms around Peter from behind. Letting his hands stuff into the kangaroo pocket on the younger man’s university hoodie that was one size too big. That’s how his boyfriend liked them though.

The small giggle that Stephen hears and feels under his chin is wonderful. A little bounce in his hyper aware sweetie. A small and lovely aid to soothe his icy nerve endings in his hands and mind. It helps that Peter is warm under his leather-gloved fingers and palms and wrists. He knows that once he started to warm up against the smaller man that the numb nerves would start to burn and turn fiery up his arms. They may become unbearable. 

“Cold, Sir?” Peter says, voice even but body pressing back into the older man. A bit of a snuggle in the chilly New York Autumn air. The field had wind blowing in their favour, but it was still blowing.  

Stephen can practically see the smirk on Peter’s face even though the lad is facing away from him and looking at the Columbia vs Yale football game in front of them. The little cheeky honorific has Stephen rumbling in his chest. The low vibrating hum rattles around inside Peter’s mind and chest.

“Only a bit. My hands-” Stephen started.

Peter wiggles their hands around in the large and soft kangaroo pouch. Peter pressed Stephen’s hands to his lower belly, his own slim hands lightly resting and holding them down. His thumbs rub slow circles where thumb meets the back of the hand. He wriggles a little from under Stephen’s chin so he’s got a bit of room on Stephen’s shoulder. He turns his head to press his warm lips to a goatee lined jaw and chin. “Better?”

“Getting there, sweetheart. Christ you’re a mini furnace.” The deep baritone mumbled between them was its own warm balm to Peter’s soul. “Now that my hands are warming up- I think my lips are too cold now.”

Peter watched those sea-glass eyes flit to his and away. An open flirtation. That half smile coming out to play. “You have to come get it then. I’m not elastic… Sir. ”

Stephen’s grin was wide and his laugh easy. Both of them slowly soothe each other in different ways. He turned his face towards Peter so they could have a half-kiss with their odd angle.

[queenlucythevaliant]

Hymnmaker

Come, ye thankful people, come,

raise the song of harvest home;

all is safely gathered in,

ere the winter storms begin.

Frank grew up a farmer, far out in the country where the noise and smog of London never came. There were good years and bad years; good harvests and bad harvests.

Once, when he was ten, Frank’s older brother shook him awake in the wee hours of the night. Frank sat up, startled and bleary-eyed. His brother was in his dressing gown, but there was fresh dirt on his boots.

“There’s a frost comin’ Frankie,” he said. “It’s comin’ fast. Pa says put on your shoes and get out to the field. We’re goin’a salvage what we can.”

They ate lean that winter. They had to slaughter one of the dairy cows, which wasn’t easy on them come spring.

Yet still, after that long night of working their fingers numb harvesting as much crop as they could salvage and shoving it into the barns, Frank’s father had insisted they sing a hymn. When the barn doors were shut, he had turned and, in a low baritone, begun the opening bars of “Come, Ye Thankful People, Come.” The rest of the family had joined in.

Frank would always remember that moment, numb and defeated in the frost. They sang a hymn, and somehow defeat had turned to victory. Somehow, it was not a lie. All was safely gathered in. 

God our Maker doth provide

for our wants to be supplied;

come to God's own temple, come,

raise the song of harvest home.

Frank had known Nellie from the time he was a lad—could scarcely avoid knowing her in a community like theirs—but it was as a young man in church that he fell in love with her.

Nellie’s family sat in the pew in front of Frank’s. When hymns were called, she always sang the harmonies. He wasn’t sure if she could read music, if she made them up, or if she just knew them by heart, but Frank was enraptured. Week after week, he sang a little quieter, straining to hear the precise sound of her lovely alto running along the lines of the music. Her voice dipped low when everyone else’s went high. It sustained clashing notes that resolved into beautiful resonances.  

For years, Frank carried on listening before he finally got up the courage to speak to her. “’ow do you know all the harmonies so well?” he asked, a little red in the face.

“Practice,” she replied. “When I was young, my mamma taught me to sing a hymn whenever I was frightened. Only, I was frightened lots. So, I learned lots of hymns. And if I finished all the verses of a hymn and I still didn’t feel better, I’d go back through and sing the harmonies.”

Frank had always admired Nellie, but he would say later that this was the moment he loved her.

All the world is God's own field,

fruit as praise to God we yield;

wheat and tares together sown

are to joy or sorrow grown;

Frank was frightened, in the Nothing, or the Underground, or death, or wherever he had fallen into with these people. All of them were frightened; the lady was making proclamations of doom, the old man wanted spirits, Strawberry was nickering in panic, and only God knew what the two children must be thinking. So, Frank did what his Nellie would have done. He sang a hymn.

“Come, Ye Thankful People, Come,” was maybe not the right sort of song for a place like that, but it had not seemed like the right sort of song the night the frost had taken half the crop either. It was a song that Frank knew well, a song of triumph and provision, and Frank thought it was just right.

Wherever they were (or wherever they weren’t), they were still in God’s own field. They would offer up praise, and see what came of it. Frank raised his voice, and silently he prayed for joy.

First the blade and then the ear,

then the full corn shall appear;

Lord of harvest, grant that we

wholesome grain and pure may be.

King Frank I and Queen Helen I sang hymns most days. There was no church and no Sunday, but there was Aslan and God, who they knew and who knew them right back.

When the ground was first broken for what would become the royal castle, they sang “How Firm a Foundation;” When their second child was stillborn, “It Is Well With My Soul.” They sang “I Need Thee Every Hour” when they felt insufficient to a task before them, which happened quite often. Each year, on the date they chose for Christmas, Frank and Helen led a grand chorus of “The First Noel.”

Both King and Queen tried to explain what their songs meant. Some of the Narnians seemed to understand. Some, they hoped, would learn in time. Perhaps Aslan had not yet died for his people’s sins. After all, this world was newly made. Perhaps they were Abraham and Sarah, wandering far from the land of Ur with only the promises of God to guide them. Perhaps the church as they had known it was a long way off.

All the same, when Frank lay dying, old and weary and longing for Heaven, he looked out the window and thought to himself, what a wonderful harvest.

[maraudersbutmuggle]

To the moon & back

Pairing: Remus x Sirius.

Content Warning: Depression. Negative thoughts. Thoughts of death.

It started as a silly thing.

Remus said it because he thought "I love you" had become dull. They had said it many times that it sounded so common. Because what Remus felt for Sirius went beyond that.

It was after they had sex. In their flat. Widely and free. Without strains. Like they were free.

And Sirius had whispered "I love you" as he always did. And kissed Remus' neck.

And Remus responded:

"I love you to the moon and back..." he stroked Sirius' hair "Beyond the stars. Until my heart stops beating and even in the after life"

Remus didn't care if it sounded cheesy. He just smiled widely because he was an idiot. An idiot so much in love.

Sirius snorted. He looked into his eyes, and raised an eyebrow.

"That's beautiful, who said that?" he asked

"Me" Remus smiled "I just made that up on the spot"

Sirius smiled deliciously. That kind of smile he only had for Remus.

And he kissed Remus. Delicately.

"I love you more, my sweet poet"

After that, it became their thing. But Remus would only say it when the simple "I love you" wasn't enough. And Sirius always answered the same way.

While Sirius got into Art School, because oh damn, he was a talented bloke, Remus couldn't afford Uni. And he had spent a lot of money in his surgery. Even if The Marauders had helped a lot. So he got a job in a Library. He didn't quite know what he wanted to do with his life yet.

Sirius met a friend in Art School. Because who wouldn't want to be Sirius' friend? Benjy Fenwick. The lad was older, 28 years old, while Sirius was only 19. He was tall, with a beard and long hair. He was an sculptor. And he was bisexual.

And Sirius was fascinated by Benjy. He couldn't stop talking about his new friend. And chatting with him on the phone. "About homework and stuff" Sirius said. But it was so constant that even James got jealous.

"Yeah, I hate him too, Moony" James commented one time "Who does he think he is, ha? Bloody wanker. Sirius is ours"

Lily had laughed "James, baby, you're too adorable. But Sirius is allowed to have new friends"

"New friends? Yes. Best friends? Nah ah" James shook his head "Moony is Sirius' boyfriend. And I am his best friend. And no asshole will take that place from us. Right, Moony?"

For James there were all jokes. And Sirius wouldn't replace James. But with Remus, it was different.

"Hey Pads..." Remus whispered one time. Sirius was doing an sketch for school. And Remus was there useless and numb.

"Yeah?"

"My beautiful Padfoot" Remus smiled "Why are you so gorgeous?"

Sirius smiled "I'm busy Moons"

Remus began kissing Sirius' neck.

"Remus... I have a lot to do. Not in the mood now"

"Okay..." Sirius doesn't want me anymore. I'm too ugly compared to Benjy.

Sirius gave him a kiss on the cheek "I'll finish this and maybe we can do stuff later" he winked.

"Sirius..." Remus said "I would die right now, happy, with you in my arms"

He turned to look.

"Don't say stupid things, Remus"

"It's romantic"

"And morbid"

"Sorry..."

And lately, all that Remus said or did, bothered Sirius.

"I love you to the moon and back..." Remus sighed "Beyond the stars. Until my heart stops beating and even in the after life"

And Sirius kissed him. And Remus tasted those lips as if it would be the last time.

"I love you more, my sweet poet" Sirius said "We have a whole life ahead of us, okay?"

And in that moment, Benjy called.

"Hello Benjamin..." Sirius answered, smiling "No way, really?" he stood up and walked to the kitchen "You're an asshole... No that's not true..."

Remus felt like he had already lost Sirius.

Sirius was gorgeous and energetic, young and full of life. He was everyone's dream. Who wouldn't want him? Half of the population at Hogwarts had a crush on him. And now... Sirius' hair was longer. Sometimes he wore it on a bun. Sirius looked more mature, not with a boy's face like he used to. Leather jackets, black jeans, piercings, white shirts... Anyone would droll. He was perfect.

And Remus... Remus was Remus. He was grateful for his surgery. And the testosterone treatment. He was more himself than ever. But Sirius was ten times better than him. Remus still had feminine parts. Remus was awkwardly tall and too skinny. Remus was depressed. And he felt so stupid.

Maybe at Hogwarts it had been easy. Not many blokes were openly gay. And the girls were too immature. But this was the real life. Anyone. Literally anyone would be a better match for Sirius than Remus.

Even Benjy. Especially Benjy.

So Remus avoided meeting Benjy. Because he was sure that Sirius would be embarrassed of introducing him as his boyfriend.

"Are you sure, you don't want to come?" Sirius asked for the tenth time.

"You know I hate those things, babe"

"You haven't even been to one"

"Not my type of music"

Benjy had invited Sirius to a rave. With a bunch of friends from school. And Sirius said that Benjy told him to invite Remus.

"Benjy wants to meet you. And my other friends too" Sirius sighed "I wanted you there, love. Because you're special to me"

"Maybe another time, Pads" Remus faked a smile, even though he had a knot on his throat "Why don't you ask James, Lily and the others?"

"James and Lily are having a road trip this weekend" Sirius said "And the others are busy"

Sirius made a pout. The one that used to make Remus do anything. But not this time.

"I won't go then" Sirius added "I'll stay with you. And we can do something fun"

"No Sirius" Remus wanted Sirius to stay with him. But Remus was not selfish "You should go" he smiled "I'll be busy this weekend, anyway. Visiting dad and Sandra..." it was a lie. He had the weekend free.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, love" Remus stroked Sirius' hair "Go and have fun with your friends" And Benjy "I'll be okay"

"I'll miss you" No you won't.

"I'll miss you too" Remus kissed him.

So Remus spent his weekend crying, drinking, watching cartoons and repeating. He even regretted not going. And his mind filled with nasty thoughts of how Sirius and Benjy would snog or worse. He hadn't met Benjy in person. But he had seen pictures. And Remus saw Sirius and Benjy as a couple on his mind. They fitted. And he cried even more, because Remus didn't want to break up with Sirius. Remus would die without him. He would die.

It was until Sunday morning, that Sirius finally called.

"Hey..."

"Hey MoonyMoons" Sirius said excited "I am literally dead. I didn't sleep all night"

Of course, you didn't. You were with Benjy.

"Did you have fun, Pads?"

"Yeah it was amazing!" Sirius exclaimed "I wish you would've been there. Patrick threw up like five times. And Beny and I had to carry him to the van..." Benjy again "But I had a great time. And don't worry. I didn't drink... much..."

Remus made a weird hum so that Sirius would know he was listening.

"How was Lyall? And Sandra?"

"Oh they're fine" Remus said "Sandra is dealing with the pregnancy, but fine..."

It was a surprise to find out Remus was going to have a sibling.

"Yeah I imagine, love..."

"Oi, Black!" Remus heard another voice on Sirius' line "Breakfast is ready... Bring your ass here"

"Coming, Benjamin" Sirius teased.

So it was Benjy. He even had a masculine tough voice.

"Oh... Moony?" Benjy asked "Tell him hi for me"

"Benjy says hi" Sirius giggled.

Remus didn't know that Sirius had told Benjy everything. Even their nicknames for each other.

"Oh... tell him hi too" And that I hate him.

"Okay, Moons. I have to go. I'll be there by night, okay love?"

"Sirius..."

"Yeah?"

"I love you to the moon and back..." he said "Beyond the stars. Until my heart stops beating and even in the after life"

Sirius laughed on the phone.

"I love you more, my sweet poet"

And he hung up. Remus bursted out crying again. He was an idiot.

It was a matter of time. Before Sirius stopped loving him. And when that happened, Remus was going to die.

[damiano-mylove]

Come Home With Me

Pairing: Thomas Raggi x GN!reader

Wc: 1.6k

Cw(s): Lil bit of swearing, friends being dicks, drinking, smoking, nothing bad really (tell me if it sucks)

Summary: Thomas spots you at the bar one night, and its as if the two of you are soulmates *not a soulmate AU, just really fluffy*

Masterlist

"Come home with me."

What the fuck was wrong with this boy? This drunken stranger at the bar? He was beautiful, he was a grace to look at. But he was still young; young enough to not quite be able to hold his liquor well.

You smiled to him and leaned against the brick wall behind you, taking a deep drag from the fag between your fingers. "And who might you be?"

"The man who's gonna marry you!" He announced as he leaned beside you, against the wall. His eyes closed heavily but his smile had never weakened. Innocence came off of him in waves, with just a hint of allure. It was a strange mixture, but not unheard of. Just as the stranger relaxed, his friend came over; seemingly, he had been looking for your handsome stranger.

"Thomas! Jesus, Man, we've turned the joint upside down for you," he laughed, putting his hand on your stranger's shoulder. Thomas' friend smiled you, as he pushed his dark hair over his shoulder. "He saw you in the bar and had been wanting to talk to you for hours. I'm really sorry about his state."

Once again, your small chuckle filled the air along with your smoke. "He's quite sweet." Your eyes drifted from Thomas' friend to Thomas, himself. He was looking at you with a face red from bashfulness along with a boozy glow. You looked back to the friend. "Is he always like this? Even sober?"

"Not quite," Thomas' friend chuckled, looking at Thomas and shaking his head. He looked back to you as you threw the butt of your fag into a tray. "What're you doing out here? You can smoke in there."

"My group ditched me. I was waiting out here to see if anyone would come back for me, but alas I am on my own," you explained with a numbed smile.

Perhaps it was an overshare, but you couldn't control your words. Not entirely. It was your friends' faults for feeding you drinks, then abandoning you like a kid at Sunday school. Honestly, it was sort of rude, and now you had to walk about half an hour back to your flat in heels. You were allowed to be at least a little bitter.

Both boys frowned as you tucked your hands in your pockets. "I've got a hike ahead of me. Adieu, Lads."

Just as you began to step away, you were stopped by Thomas, "Woah, wait, you can't walk alone!" His peace had been broken by your statement. You turned your head as he came up beside you, being a bit taller than you. "Streets are dangerous at night, especially for such a vision as you." Thomas smiled at you, his eyes twinkling in the street light. "Let me walk you to the top of your street. I don't even need to know your address, I just need to know you're safe."

How could you refuse?

"You're a peach," you sighed contently. Thomas beamed at you and back to Ethan. He seemed a little surprised in Thomas' chivalry, but he smiled to both of you and waved as you both began to walk off into the distance.

"Did your friends really leave you?"

"One fuck of a topic to jump into, right off the bat."

Thomas seemed embarrassed. "I didn't-I didn't mean to-"

"I'm just being an asshole, Man," you laughed, walking into him and shoving him lightly. Thomas' worry faded into a very natural smile. As if he didn't know he was smiling, yet it seemed to occupy his features so kindly. You had to tear your eyes from his intoxicating smile, to focus on the road ahead. "Yeah, they really left me. Stranded me at a bar on a Saturday night, to be walked home by a total stranger."

"That's shitty."

"Fucking right." A chuckle was shared just before you dug your cigarettes out of your pocket. A tin of hand rolled cigarettes. You extended the tin to Thomas, "Care for a blem?"

God, that smile was sure to be the death of you, especially tonight. He scooped one out lazily, but with the most relaxed movement, as if he was meant to be doing exactly that, in that exact moment. "You're a peach."

Another laugh. You stopped to light your cigarette, as well as Thomas'. He leaned in so close that you could feel the heat come off of him, and you also picked up on his smell. Thomas was potentially the best smelling human you'd ever met. He smelt as if a pine forest went up in flames, a couple months ago, while the wood was perfectly dried out.

Your feet knew their way home better than you did, so you both followed them as you both partook in mindless conversation and countless fags. Footsteps matched footsteps, minds matched minds, laughter bounced off laughter.

That is, until you found yourself in front of your flat complex, but walking right by it as if it didn't exist at all. You were on a mission now. To take Thomas to your favourite hill, that overlooked a bit of Rome and a lot of trees. It was where you usually went to collect your thoughts, and it hadn't even occurred to you that Thomas would be the first person you'd ever taken there. The man who was apparently going to marry you - no better person, in your mind.

"You're homeless?" Thomas asked as you plopped down in your grassy spot. You laughed and pulled him to sit beside you, which he did without much effort.

"No, we passed my flat."

His beautiful eyebrows drew together under that immaculate hair of his, as confusion layered Thomas' face. "Why didn't we stop?"

"I didn't want the conversation to stop, and this is my favourite spot in the city," you said, looking from Thomas to the view ahead of you. Thomas looked as well, seemingly softening to your favourite spot. You admired his side profile for a second before adding, "But, if you'd like to go back to your place, I'm more than okay with that."

"Who said I wanted the conversation to stop?" As he spoke those words, Thomas turned his head back to you. His eyes held the light of the sun, and the kindness of some manner of deity. You found yourself smiling in the exact same way Thomas was smiling.

For a little while, you sat in silence, looking over your view, stealing glances at each other when the other wasn't looking. It was broken only for a second, to share the final cigarette in your tin. Even without words to fill the air, the air felt full. It was like a full pool of still water that you had no problem disturbing, but why ruin it? You'd never felt so comfortable, and you never wanted the moment to end.

All good things must come to an end, you knew this. And this good thing came to an end at the butt of your cigarette.

"C'mon, Man," you smiled, disturbing the water. You stood up, then looked down at Thomas. His eyes were heavy, but content. You offered him your hand to help him stand, which he took gratefully.

"Where are we going?"

"You're coming home with me." Thomas seemed a bit wary. You sighed as you began marching back in the direction you came. "I'm supposed to let you, still half in the bag, stumble home to God knows where, all alone?"

A deep chuckle came from Thomas as he rubbed the back of his neck. His strides were in perfect sync with yours, despite him having longer legs. "I suppose you're right."

"Thank you for your approval," you laughed as you looked to the horizon that you two had had your backs turned to all this time. The sun was beginning to break the clouds. "We've been out all night."

"We left the bar at 3."

You looked to Thomas as the walk switched from grass to pavement. "A 30 minute walk was turned into a 2 hour trek." Thomas' face heated up a tad as he looked to the ground beneath his feet. You looked forward. "No way I'd rather spend my morning."

The same comfortable silence filled the air while you approached your complex. You both walked in very casually, as if Thomas was an old friend who visited very often. But the second you both crossed the threshold, you began throwing your shoes and jackets off. Tiredness had finally settled in.

"Okay, my bedroom is yours, goodnight." You rubbed your eyes, starting to make your way to the couch. Thomas caught your forearm, making you look at him.

"I should be the one on the couch."

Your lips fell in a straight line and your brow dropped. "You're the guest, Man. You get the bed."

"Y/n, I have no problem with the couch," Thomas insisted. You sighed and turned you both around to the bedroom. Thomas' hand was still around your forearm, until you arrived at the bedroom door. "Goodnight."

"Oi, Asshole, come back here," you said just as Thomas began going to the couch. Now you grabbed his forearm. "The couch is shitty, and you don't deserve that, but you're relentless. We're both adults, we can share a bed."

Thomas smiled sleepily. "Okay."

His voice was almost giddy as you both flopped onto the bed. Thomas whispered a soft goodnight to you, but you were already in a land beyond this one. With a smile, Thomas laid on his back. Your room smelt just like you, and Thomas loved being surrounded by it. It was a strange feeling, but one he never wanted to lose. Soon enough, he followed suite and drifted off right beside you.

It was the best sleep either of you had had in months.

Part 2

[alicemitch09writes]

skinny love

pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x reader

summary: 6 months later. Was he too late?

author’s notes: This is a direct sequel to first love and part of a trilogy also aptly named ‘first love’ ugh, i am so unoriginal. Please go read that first before this, otherwise you’ll be confused.

also available on ao3.

disclaimer: i own NOTHING but the plot.

His feet feel like lead as he trudged to the vending machine, adamant on getting coffee. It was only Monday. The smallest sounds of coin drops and beeps were making his head hurt.

Taking his first sip of his coffee, he walked around the quiet halls.

He hated hospitals.

Actually, they weren't that bad, having everything it needed to cater to the patient's needs. But it was a façade to their impending doom. And he hated it. Hated the way doctors and nurses would say with practiced ease that everything will be alright – when it won't.

They mean well, they really do, but they were a painful reminder of how fragile life was – how easy it can be taken away.

Reaching Room #423, he turned the knob, finding (Name) in the same state she's been the past six months. The door shuts quietly behind him, back resting against it.

"Tetsu, have you been eating?"

He could almost hear her voice, filled with worry of how thin he is. She always did that, nagging him like a mom to eat if he wanted to win. Funny she thought that, thinking more of his (and the team's) welfare's than her own. (Name) was always that kind.

Instead, the image of that beautiful girl was replaced with one lying on the hospital bed – limp and lifeless.

(Name) didn't belong here, not in this hospital nor in that bed she was lying in. No.

She deserved to be home, in her room surrounded by her instruments, fussing herself with her studies, that new song she wanted to learn, or managing a pack of rowdy boys.

He didn’t know how long he just stood there before he heard a knock at the door. Lazily turning his body, he opened the door; his actions seemed robotic, staring at two familiar faces.

"Hey man," Bokuto greeted, balloons in different colors and shapes (there was one in the shape of an owl) in hand, worry in his eyes. "Wow, you look like shit."

"Thanks." He said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"That wasn't very nice, Bokuto-san." Akaashi scolded, appearing behind the salt-and-pepper-haired teen with flowers in his hands.

Too tired to argue, he stepped aside, letting them in. Closing the door behind him, he watched the two eyeing the unconscious girl, hearing Bokuto sighing while Akaashi dutifully went straight for the vase, intending to replace the flowers.

He plopped down on his seat, canned coffee still in hand.

"But seriously man," Bokuto called, tying the balloons next to the side table. "you look terrible."

Kuroo closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose.

"When was the last time you went out?"

"Bokuto-san." Akaashi called in warning, appearing from the toilet with a vase filled with clean water.

"I'm serious!" Kuroo draped an arm over his eyes as if to hide the bags underneath. "Dude, you barely left since. Day in, day out, you're here but never at home. Nowhere else but here. You even ditched your first year of college!"

"I won't want to leave her," Kuroo said, still not moving from his spot.

Bokuto frowned at his friend, arms crossed. "I'm not saying that you should, I'm saying (Name)-chan wouldn't like to see you this way."

(Name).

Sighing, Kuroo slumped forward, arms propped on his knees, staring at the sterile ground.

"We're just worried about you, Kuroo."

That must be the umpteenth time someone's told him that – his mom, his dad, his older sister, Kenma, Coach Nekomata, the team. But still, his resolve won't change.

Taking a long sip, he met both stares from Bokuto and Akaashi, who had just finished with the flowers.

"I'm not leaving her." he said in finality, turning to the sleeping girl. There were a lot of things he wanted to tell her, a lot. And he wanted to be the first person she sees when she wakes up, the first person to see her wake.

Sighing exasperatedly, hands on his hips, Bokuto resigned. His friend was stubborn, but he had an iron resolve. "I know you won't. Figured as much."

"Then why do you still bother?"

Smirking at the raven-haired teen, he says with a shrug. "Because bro, you matter to me."

Kuroo put a hand to his heart, touched. "Bro."

"Bokuto-san just wanted to act cool every once in a while," Akaashi coolly said, opening the drapes. That earned a loud, familiar call from his former captain. Kuroo smiled, some things never change.

"But seriously dude, you could use a bath because you smell like shit."

Akaashi didn't need to scold him then as Bokuto received a (friendly) punch to the gut from Kuroo.

Six months.

That's how long he was suffering, how long he had been tortured by the mere thought of never seeing her smile again, of never hearing her laugh again, of never having her around again – of never seeing her again.

The word cancer stuck to his head was like a punch to the gut, pummeling him inside out with every step he took. Never mind the burning pain of his muscles from a day's worth of match, never mind finally giving their coach the chance to witness the 'Battle at the Dumps' match even though they lost, never mind that his high school life had officially come to an end – they didn't matter at this point. He just wanted to see her.

And the first time he saw her – dressed in a hospital gown, with tubes sticking to her body connected to machines that kept her alive, he was crushed. As if he were a porcelain doll smashed into a million pieces, each fragment breaking into smaller pieces.

He nearly broke down at the sight of her. She was beautiful as ever, yet to see her in that situation broke his heart.

(Name) had been operated; the chances of her survival were slim. But the only thing Kuroo could think was how small (Name) looked in that big, white bed.

Picking her hands, he noted how small they were – how he could practically see and feel her bones. Threading his finger through hers, he brought them to his cheek, relishing in her warmth. These were the same fingers that cared for him each time he'd earn a bruise or a scratch, the same hands that brushed his hair when he was sleepy – gentle touches that made him think that she was an angel. Slim fingers that did magic with every instrument she held.

He always knew she was small – fragile, even – but it only clicked to him now as to why that was the case. Ironic that he was the perceptive guy, inside and outside the court, yet he failed to notice his best friend's wellbeing. How did he miss to notice how little she would eat, how easily tired she was, or how low her stamina was? He was supposed to be the smart guy, for crying out loud!

He wanted to hit himself, to numb himself of the pain.

The moment he found out, he wouldn't stop crying, hating himself every minute of every day.

(Name) wouldn't wake up.

(Name) wouldn't wake up.

(Name). Wouldn't. Wake. Up.

"Kuroo," a voice called, quiet and low, one he knew all too well. Weakly raising his head, he looked over his shoulder, meeting a familiar blonde teen.

Kenma looked at his best friend worriedly, a frown in his face. "You should go home." The raven-haired lad shook his head, Kenma sighed. "(Name) wouldn't like that."

"I'm not leaving her." he says, voice raspy.

Kenma stared, eyes narrowing. "Have you been eating at least?"

"I've been snacking on what Auntie gives me," he rubs his eyes tiredly, stretching his arms over his head. "I'll be fine."

His dark hair was greasy, sticking out to different directions – messier than usual; there were bags under his eyes. The clothes he's been wearing were days old now, but it's not like he leaves the hospital. How long has he had proper sleep or shower?

"You're not." Kenma pointed out, walking towards the bed, opposite to where his friend was. He arranges the plushies from various game characters beside her bed, dusting a few. When he was done, he stood next to the unconscious girl, eyes dancing with sorrow.

Kuroo watched his friend carefully, a question burning his head. "How long have you known?"

Kenma blinked. Deciding to sit down, he met Kuroo's gaze. "A while now." He answers as if anticipating the question. "(Name) was the most secretive amongst us three; I thought you'd have known first." Shrugging, he adjusted her blanket. "But you didn't." Kuroo wanted to laugh at that because it was half-true. They both knew he was far more observant than he let on.

Sighing, the blonde props his arm on a nearby desk, resting his head on his palm. "Knowing her secret was like carrying a heavy burden because it's her secret and your knowledge of her sickness."

Frowning, he asked. "She didn't know that you knew?"

The blonde shook his head without looking at him. "Like I said, it was a burden on my part as well. Plus, that'd be disrespecting (Name). And I can't do that to her."

Something likened to rage burned within him, he was standing before his best friend before he knew it. "And you didn't bother to tell me?"

"It's not my secret to tell." Kenma says easily, carefully setting her clamped hand aside.

"But we're best friends!" Kuroo's voice rose, earning a scoff from the blonde as he turned to meet his gaze, eyes almost challenging.

"Don't you think that'd be disrespecting (Name)'s decision?" Kuroo was practically shaking now, hands balled into a fist. "Besides, it's not like you cared to begin with-"

Kuroo had grabbed him by the collar, raising him to his level. "I dare you to say that again." He seethed hotly, eyes burning.

Kenma didn't falter, eyes glowering. "What's the matter, Kuroo? Upset that for once, you failed to gain information before me to break someone, to use it to your advantage? Or are you just mad that (Name) couldn't trust you enough?"

"Shut up!" his voice rose, grip tightening.

Steely gold hues met his, challenging and mocking. "Then are you guilty because it's practically your fault she's in this situation?"

That was the final straw.

Taking his hand back, Kuroo was just about to smack Kenma in the face when blaring sound rang through the room. The two automatically turned to her, panicked, Kuroo dropped Kenma, ran for the intercom while Kenma stared at (Name)'s body, not knowing what to do.

A little while later, a nurse came rushing in.

Kuro and Kenma stepped aside, watching the nurse attend to their best friend each holding their breath. Kuroo was wondering if he should've called for her doctor, but after a while, the nurse sedated her, (Name)'s body relaxed.

The gentle beep of the heart monitor demonstrated her calmness.

"She'll be alright, just a little stressed is all." The nurse says kindly, much to their relief.

They sighed in unison, rooted on the spot even as the nurse left the room.

(Name)'s breathing slowly through the calming silence that came, followed by the purring of the machines and quite chattering outside.

The two best friends stood there, watching the unconscious girl. Kuroo and Kenma slumped against the wall, the raven-haired teen slipping to the ground. The tension between the two was still there, something that was rare even for them. In the many years they knew each other, not once have they got into a fight this extreme. And even if a fight did ensue, there was only one person who could bring it to a stop, one person they'd bow to other than Yaku.

"She'd kill us by now," Kenma sighs, breaking the silence.

Kuroo snorted at that, hiding the smile on his face.

Eventually, he broke into fits of laughter. Kenma joined in.

"She'd give us a litany," Kuroo added, voice thick. "then she'd take us by the ear."

Kenma shuddered, rubbing at his ear. Kuroo did the same.

"You started it though," Kenma told him, bluntly.

Kuroo narrowed his eyes at him. "But you fanned the flames."

They burst into chuckles, tension dying down.

A little while later, the room was filled with members of the Nekoma team – bringing flowers, fruits, and toys. Each member, especially Yamamoto, Inuoka, and Lev, fawned over their unconscious manager while Fukunaga fussed over the snacks. Yaku had to keep everyone in line.

The best friends exchanged a look, knowing that if (Name) were awake, she couldn't be any happier.

Someone was waking him, gently shaking his shoulders. Raising his head from his folded arms, he was met with warm (eye color) eyes. "Tetsuroo-kun." The woman greeted kindly.

"Auntie," He stood up in greeting, pulling his wrinkled clothes down. "Good evening."

Her smile, it reminded him of hers, how he missed her smile. "Good evening." Walking across the room, she dropped her bag and sat on the chair next to her daughter, patting a hand over her cheek. "Any news?" she asked, looking up at him.

He shook his head, hands tightening. "Just the same."

The smile remained, eyes never losing its light. "Then she's still alright."

Just staring at the woman made him wonder how she could still be so optimistic about the situation. It must be hard on her, her only daughter was under coma after her operation, yet she never loses hope. She was just like (Name). And duh, she was her mom!

"Have you eaten?"

He nodded. "Yeah." He lied, tucking his hands on his pockets.

She stared, her smile waning a bit, worry in her eyes, then nods.

"Where is Uncle?" he asked, staring at freshly cut flowers next to her bed – carnations, care of the Fukorodani team.

"Oh, just parking the car. He'll be here in a while."

Kuroo nods, not knowing what else to say. So he sits by the couch, watching Auntie talked to her daughter, telling her how her classmates missed her (evidenced by the balloons and cards surrounding her bed), how their neighbors have as well, how quiet the house has been lately without her playing, the little things. But to her, they were all that mattered.

He hung his head, not wanting to watch any longer. He could hear the sadness in her voice, the longing, and yet, she still hopes. How could she?

"I'll be right back, Auntie." He announces, making his way out before she could reply, missing the worried look on her face.

Six months.

Six excruciating months.

He's endured and suffered that long.

But still, she wouldn't wake up.

Splashing water to his face, he then looked up, finding a miserable guy staring back at him.

Then are you guilty because it's practically your fault she's in this situation?

No matter what they say, it was his fault she was in this situation. It was his fault she's lying in that hospital bed, unconscious. It was his fault.

He wanted to punch his reflection so bad, but he was tired (physically and emotionally).

He didn't like hospitals, hated how clinically clean it was and how dreadful it was. Life came and go here.

Reaching for the door to her room, he paused.

What good would it be for him to be here?

He didn't deserve to be here keeping guard and watching her.

What was he even doing here?

"Aren't you going to go in?" a voice called behind him.

Turning, he was met with a kind gaze from a bespectacled (hair color) man. Their kind disposition ran in the family, he didn't deserve it.

At a loss for words, Kuroo mumbled unintelligent words, the man laughed heartily.

"Looks like you need a bite," although shorter than the teen, he wrapped his arm around his shoulders, steering them away. "come, you need to eat."

Kuroo gulped, staring down at the meal before him, then at the smiling man. There were a few people at the cafeteria – a few nurses and doctors on break, a kid with his mother, some teens, and them.

A comfortable silence forms between them despite having fidgeting in his presence.

The smell of strong spice was making his mouth water, aptly reminding him of the lie he told Auntie. Truth was, he snacked on some fruits given by his family earlier that day, that and coffee. A little while later, his stomach growled. The old man chuckled heartily. "Go on," he encourages.

Timidly, he nodded, saying his grace before digging in.

His eyes widened at the burst of flavors in his mouth, almost forgetting what an amazing cook the man was. He chewed carefully, distracting himself with the texture and taste.

He hadn't noticed the old man leaving until he came back with a can of orange juice for both of them. Kuroo muttered a 'thanks', chugging down the beverage.

"It's so good to see you eat," he tells him, eyes crinkling. "and no, you can't lie to me. I know you, Tetsuroo-kun." He laughed.

It was like he was eight again. It was always like that with this man, this amazing man, who held instruments like magic, the same man who was the father of the girl lying in this very hospital bed, comatose, because of him.

He chewed slowly, eyes dropping. Eventually, he swallowed but didn't reach for more even though the bento box was still full.

"Oh, are you done eating?" asked the confused man.

He almost wanted to laugh.

These past months weren't easy on all of them, especially for them. They could have blamed him for why their daughter was here, but they didn't. Instead, they pulled themselves together for her and for him.

"Thank you, uncle." He says instead, meaning it. Kuroo grinned at the confused man before digging in again.

He shook his head at the teen before him, chuckling heartily. He studies the young boy before him, remembering the look on his face when he saw her comatose state – it was the look of absolute heartbreak.

When he was done eating, they packed slowly, making slow talk (although it was more of him doing the talking). They were standing outside her room, but before they entered, he called him.

"She wouldn't like it you know," he tells him, sincerely. "seeing you like this, filled with guilt and hate. She would've wanted you to be happy, even if she's not the one causing it."

There was a sharp tug in his heart at the last line. "But she makes me happy." It was barely a whisper, tears starting anew. "But I didn't let her know that."

His eyes were stinging with tears, body trembling.

The older man patted his shoulder, squeezing in assurance.

While waiting for her to wake up, he often talked to her about their childhood, some dumb memories, and some good ones. He even told her of the events that transpired during nationals, not knowing that she was watching via live television.

"You should've been there," he said quietly, letting his fingers play with her growing (hair color) hair. "the team wouldn't be anything without our manager."

Some days, he'd read to her, having scavenged through her room from her yet to-read pile. He had to endure going through books that were not of his genre (especially romance), but in the end, found himself enjoying them.

With each passing day, the hope of her waking up was waning. He feared she might never wake up. The waiting was killing him, unnerving and destroying him. But he didn't give up hope, could never. He could wait years if he has to, just to see her (eyes color) eyes again, hear her laugh again, and be with her.

"Oh my, it's that boy again! He's become a familiar face around here."

"How long has he been visiting her?"

"About six months now, since that girl was brought in. He practically lives here."

"Poor thing, looks like he hasn't eaten or slept for days!"

"And he barely leaves her room. And when he does, it's only for a few hours or a day, and then he's back."

"Seriously?"

"The poor boy, the pain he's been through."

"And she might never wake up."

"I don't care what they say," he says against their intertwined fingers. "you are perfect to me. And I'm not leaving you."

It was barely midnight, but he couldn't help it. The conversation he heard earlier was getting to him. They didn't know anything about him or her. It was none of their business.

But to say that she was never going to wake up?

No.

He didn't like to think about it.

She was going to wake up.

He knew it.

But honestly? He wasn't so sure anymore.

Shifting in his seat, he threw his head back, massaging at his throbbing temples. When he opened his eyes, he noted something from the corner of his eye. Her ukulele was lying beside her; he stared at it long and hard before deciding to pick it up. Upon closer inspection, he noticed scratches and a Band-Aid on the crack of the soundboard. Something tugged inside him; he knew exactly where that crack came from.

His grip tightened.

Kenma was right, he was selfish.

He was so selfish.

Absentmindedly, he played with the strings, filling the silence. And then, he began adjusting the chords. It used to drive (Name) nuts, especially when she found how out of tune her ukulele was because of him. He smiled, he always loved seeing her cute face pinched into a frown – she was so cute like that.

Satisfied with the pitch, his calloused fingers began to play a few strings. The song was slow, gentle.

I wanna make you smile, whenever you're sad

Carry you around when your arthritis is bad

All I wanna do, is grow old with you

I'll get your medicine when your tummy aches

Build you a fire if the furnace breaks

Oh it could be so nice, growing old with you

  He loved her.

Cliché as it is, he did.

Truth of the matter is, he's always been in love with her.

From the first moment they met, the first time he saw her smile, the first time she scolded him and Kenma, the first time she fussed over them, the first time he saw her play an instrument, to the first time she made him realize how many years have passed that he was so, so, in love with her.

So hopelessly in love with (Name).

Except, he was scared to risk their friendship – scared that she might not feel the same way he did.

I'll miss you

Kiss you

Give you my coat when you are cold

Need you

Feed you

Even let ya hold the remote control

Six months without her was absolute torture.

She was part of every significant event in his life; he couldn't remember spending a day without her in it

Because life without her? He couldn't even imagine.

It was meaningless.

If he could, he'd turn back time and make it right.

So let me do the dishes in our kitchen sink

Put you to bed if you've had too much to drink

I could be the man who grows old with you

I wanna grow old with you

The last lines of the song came out barely a whisper.

Releasing a shaky breath, he hung his head, tears streamed freely. "I've waited so long to play that."

It was the cheesiest song from a lousy movie. But the song, he had to admit, was one of his low-key favorites. The lyrics to the song were so sincere and heartfelt. He finally understood why love songs were made – to say the words everyone failed to say or supplement their feelings.

If only she was awake, then she'd hear his feelings.

Putting her ukulele away, he takes her hand in his, holding it close as he cried. "Please, wake up."

He buried his face into her hand, kissing it as he repeatedly begs for her to wake up, tears still streaming. "There's so much I want to tell you, so much I want you to know."

Taking her hand, he places a quick kiss to her palm, pressing it against his chest. "Feel that? That's my heart and it's beating for you."

His heart was beating fast, as it always did when (Name) was around.

Every single thing she does wonders is magic to him, especially with the way he captivated her the moment their eyes met. He missed it all – her smile, her touch, her eyes, her laugh, in general, he missed her.

So much it hurt.

Because the possibility of her never waking up was a factor that scared him every single day for the past six months. He didn't want their last meeting to be of him being an ass to her.

His heart skipped a beat.

He looked up at her, then at the hand on his chest, he swore he felt her hand twitch.