#hate when ive almost cleared the board only for it to be left to a 50/50

[orphetoon]

the sweet and humble sudoku: here’s some numbers to get you started :) please enjoy my puzzle <3

the nefarious minesweeper: why don’t you just Guess. fucking Guess.

[girlhorse]

shout out to my first dog daycare job, who for some braindead reason worked together with this wildly incompetent dog rescue to foster some of their dogs; one of which was extremely aggressive toward men and had prey drive so high she wanted to kill small dogs, and others with extreme dog aggression and bite histories. One ended up biting a coworker during a dog fight so bad he needed surgery on his hand and was unable to use it for months. the dog attacked two customer dogs. He also bit a photographer doing his adoption shoot lmao. and yet he was still allowed to board with the kennel.

(i must also mention that NONE of these high energy dogs were being exercised daily. they were in kennels pretty muchall day except for quick potty breaks. Several had reactivity issues and were making the environment ridiculously stressful for the dogs that were there for daycare/boarding )

my first terrible experience with these foster dogs was when the two rescue owners came to the lobby (i was front desk girl) and wanted me to fetch both of the dogs to walk them together. It was a newbie mistake move but neither of them thought to inform me that they had DA issues. I walked both of them together on leash, and before I got to the lobby they started attacking each other. I didn't know what to do because i was not at all trained in dog fights so i held their leashes as far apart from each other as possible (im smallish so my armspan was short enough for them to reach each other's faces) and to this day its the only dog fight ive witnessed that drew a fairly significant amount of blood. (dogs were somehow ok with just lacerations but it was bloody!) (it got broken up when I managed to grab my walkie and yell for help)

the events that led to me being fired were also related to one of the foster dogs. This dog was over 100 lbs (not overweight), had a history of aggression toward men, dog aggression, and extreme prey drive. we had to use our walkie to warn other employees when she was being walked down the hall.

one morning, I was the only person to arrive to do opening duties and feeding; as my coworker had an emergency at home (break in) and we had about 60 dogs to feed and let out to potty. it was my first ever opening shift and neither of my supervisors came to the daycare early to help me.

i did okay by myself but i was taking a long ass time because no one could help me for hours. eventually my coworker showed up to help.

Relevant to this story is that we would "walk" dogs by letting them loose in a fenced area, there were multiple fenced in areas so there was about 4-5 yards each dog could use. They were left outside to potty *without supervision* because we would be having to move so many dogs and do so many feedings etc.

anyway

the events leading up to this Mistake are a bit unclear, since we were both walking and in the confusion it was hard to remember who did what (exactly why i hated when coworkers would split up duties without communicating with me properly) and somehow we both forgot that the small dogs were still out in the yard before moving on to the bigger dogs.

my coworker ended up bringing the massive, high prey drive dog into the yard with this poor little cairn terrier, realized what she did once she saw the little dog, but this massive dog was so strong that it pulled her across the yard and managed to bite the little dog. miraculously this dog only suffered one (deep as hell) puncture wound, and was able to be treated at a pet hospital.

we were both called in to the office and fired that day (actually dont know if other girl was fired) despite the clear cascade of events leading up to the incident. they just wanted to cover their asses to make nice with the client who's dog they almost got killed. it was a bad mistake! but all management systems fail, and human error is very real. and no one should be punished for shit like that when it's clearly a fault with the system in place. im still salty about it btw.

oh yeah! i was also only paid 10 dollars an hour for this job!

moral of the story is I'm never trusting any dog kennel ever with any of my dogs lmao

[amoristt]

Grazing the Fire | IV

well hello. here i am, four years later, once again enamored with nathan enough to finally dust this baby off and pick up where i left it. im a little rusty so bear with me this chapter! much more to come <3

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)! it also helps motivate me!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

Warning: language, very vague s/a mentions

want to support me? heres my kofi!

__________________________

“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?” 

A few hands raise in the corners of your eye, but yours remains atop your desk. Eyes far away, mind in a murky haze and almost completely unaware. All you could focus on were the memories playing on repeat within the confines of your tired, tired brain. Hours ago, you were warm, you were comfortable. Safe.

Cheeks heated to a dusting blush when you remind yourself just how you had awoken that morning. At some point in the night, an angel had blessed you. Allowed you to wake up wrapped around none other than big, bad, Nathan Prescott. Your face nuzzled into his chest, broad but wiry hands pressed firmly over your shoulder and his arm slung over your waist to keep you against him. Thankfully you had been the first to wake up, blinking away the morning sun blazing through his blinds and painting the room stripes of gold. At that moment, before your headache came crashing down onto your skull, you were astounded by him. 

Eye lashes brushing the top of his cheeks, his lips parted ever so slightly, chest rising and falling rhythmically. In that moment, there was no anger, no bitterness. Just a soft and peaceful slumber. It was like being the sole viewer of a magnificent painting- each stroke and detail placed just there just for you to pick out, to remember the curves and sharp edges down to the very foundation. From his unkempt hair down to the way his hand flattened onto the mattress where your indent still lived. Nathan was so beautiful like this. 

For a long time you stayed there. It was as though you were afraid to move- you couldn’t bear to disturb him. You had wondered, if he was always like this, so at peace, what would he be like? Likely soft voiced, mild mannered. He’d do his school assignments without hassle and donate to the charity board. He would wander the town with his friends and listen to music in a beat up truck flying down the stretch of highway overlooking the bold, blue, and beautiful ocean. An entirely different version of himself- carefree, and a fair blue as opposed to a burning flame of red. 

But, if that were the case, you’d never have gotten here. You’d never been both the outsider, and the only seeing eye. A lucky, albeit firstly unwilling witness to the display of depth before you. 

It never hit you like it had quite in that moment how lucky you were.

But- just then- an alarm disturbed what serendipity existed. You nearly leapt out of your skin, clutched your hands to your chest at the sudden sound. A headache wove its way into your once untouched temples. Nathan groaned, mumbled, ‘god damn it’, under his breath, and thus his body was reanimated into life. He rubbed his eyes and he stretched, that familiar scowl coming over his eyes and lips as he took in the sunlight damn near blinding him. A polar opposite to the being you’d appreciated just moments earlier.

“Ugh, fuck, how the fuck is it seven already.” He groaned. “I feel like shit.”

“Well good morning to you too,” You started, welcoming Nathan into the world. “‘I’m feeling pretty shitty as well.” 

You said that, but really… You were more than alright. Your head had hurt, slight nausea crept into the wells of your stomach, but other than that you’re sure you were phenomenally better than you’d have been waking up whereverTate would have left your ass.

“You need to get outta here, before everyone gets up.” Nathan drawled, but he didn’t sound as urgent as you expected him to be. You’d expected him to be angry that you were still in his room, but instead he just… accepted it. 

You snickered, climbing out of his throne of a bed. “Wow, you’re giving me the morning after treatment?” 

“Sure am. Get outta here, whore.”

“Oh fuck you.” 

You located your heels from last night, resting upright near his dorm room door. Heels didn’t sound like the most  practical to sneak out of a dorm with, so you instead opted to grappling them by the straps and carrying them at your side. Hair a mess, outfit riddled with wrinkles and makeup smudged under your eyes, you stood before Nathan in all your glory. He stared at you for a long, odd moment- and you for some reason felt exposed, or even, shy. 

“What?” You ask expectantly, placing a hand on your hip. 

His eyes trail to your line of vision. He shakes his head. “Just thinking about how now you really do look like my morning after.”

“Yeah?” You hummed. “Find it hard to believe you get a lot of those.”

Nathan shoots you a suggestive glance. “You’d be surprised. Everyone wants a piece of Prescott.”

Surely, he was joking, or maybe he wasn’t, but you… Didn’t like hearing that. It made your stomach feel odd, uncomfortably heavy.  As he stood up, reminding you how many inches he had over your size, you swallowed and cleared your throat to flush out that crappy feeling. “Well,” you started, mood having dropped. “I’m gonna go, then.” 

“What got your panties in a twist all the sudden?” He asked, raising a brow and pulling some clothes from his closet, tossing them onto the bed.

The bed you two had shared.

You hated the idea of his morning afters- whoever they may be. 

“Not feeling great. Probably a side effect of the roofies.” You mumbled.

Nathan breathed a laugh. “Probably.”

He seemed so calm, right now. Perhaps due to it being so early, before the outside world had a chance to remind him just why he was so uptight all the tight. Before he needed to be so uptight all the time. He really did have so many versions of himself- all of whom you were slowly becoming familiar with. Compared to the person you’d believed him to be before your run ins, you’d never have assumed someone so dangerous could be so soft as last night, as this morning. In the beginning, you’d feared him. Avoided him like a plague, or a wild animal. Even when you were enraptured in the existence of him, you still wanted to keep away. You’d never have believed someone like you could wake up clutched to his chest, as though he were afraid if he released you, you’d be gone long before he woke. 

Then, a sudden thought struck your mind. 

He’d held you so tight. He’d welcomed you in the morning. No anger, no annoyance. His soft laugh at your banter and taunts. How your heels were standing upright instead of tossed haphazardly into some random corner, where he’d watch your struggle to find. 

How he’d stayed awake to ensure your sleep.

“So are you just gonna stand there?” Nathan called you back to reality, hands gripping the hems of his shirt. “I gotta get ready and you need to wash up so you don’t look like a five dollar stripper.” Cruel words, but with absolutely no bite. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah. But, hey,” You started. “Thank you for last night.” 

“Yeah, yeah. You gotta start learning to watch your own back.” He says. “There’s gonna be times I won’t be there to drag your ass out of the fire.”

If you’d been charged, if you’d been stricken with a strange defensiveness, you’d have retorted, ‘than stop helping me’, but… Instead you allowed yourself the comfort of protection. You allowed Nathan Prescott to watch you.  

“I know,” You reached for the door. “Thank you.”

With that, you bounded out of the dorm silent as a mouse. 

-----------

In hindsight, you should have left earlier. Class was merely 15 minutes away when you slipped out of Nathan's room and bounded towards the women's dorm. Albeit not exactly a long walk, by the time you discreetly snuck back into your own dorm, you had roughly twenty minutes to somehow pick an outfit from your countless unopened boxes and make yourself even slightly presentable. 

Wiping off whatever make-up you could get and reapplying it, brushing out the tangles of your hair and nearly tearing off your scalp in the process, scattering your nightclothes over your floor and managing to scrounge out a semi-decent outfit for the day… You still looked a mess. If the mirror could laugh, it would have. Black mascara smudges under your eyes and frizzy untreated hair. What a lovely look. 

You’d made it to class just five minutes late, but those five minutes were all it took for all eyes to be on you as you tried to slide into the classroom unnoticed. A couple classmates whispered to their table mates as you passed by, smelling of oversaturated cherry blossom perfume to hopefully cover the scent of alcohol. You sauntered to your seat and sank down with all your weight, suddenly exhausted. You’d made it with just five minutes tainting your record of attendance. The teacher greeted you with a disappointed sigh, and thus, the day began. 

But, it was so hard to focus. All you could think about was Nathan. 

“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?” 

You lowered your head. 

“Ah, how about, ___?”

You snaked back into reality, blinking up at the chalk board that was somehow already riddled with math equations. Since you hadn’t been paying attention even in the slightest, your mouth gaped wide open, eyes scanning for something you understood even slightly so you didn’t look like a total idiot. 

Sadly, you were out of luck. The teacher shook his head. “I’m shocked,” He said. “You're normally so on top of things. Oh well.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was on top of things,” A female voice sniggered behind you “Last night.”

Your face flushed a red, hot, ruby. What the hell was she talking about? How had they found out you were with Nathan? You were so sure of being sneaky, there was no way-

“Her and Tate totally got it on last night.”

You whipped around in your seat, facing girls who looked to be clones of some sort. Both with the same dark eyes, short brown hair, and freckles. “What?”

“Alright-” Your teacher blurted. “That's enough. April, May, enough. Let’s not discuss things outside of the classroom.”

The two girls batted their eyes. “Sorry sir.” One spoke, twirling a hand through her hair. Her sister's wide toothy grin never fumbled. 

“Back to it then. Kate, can you help out __ with number four?” 

The small, blonde girl nodded quickly, brushing a lock of hair behind her eyes and offering an empathic nod. 

As you turned around in your seat, her answer fell on deaf ears. Your heart was racing in your chest, hands balled into fists while you stared ahead blankly.  

They couldn’t seriously think that you chose to leave with Tate, could they? Surely someone must have seen the state you were in. Someone other than Nathan.

The clock ticks forward but time feels like it's passing almost unnaturally slow. With just 10 minutes left, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

‘Nathan: consider ur favor officially returned 

Your tongue poked from your lips, the tiniest of smiles taking over your once sullen features. Terrible thoughts and worries flew out the window while you type back, ‘damn. here i was gonna to ask you to do a backflip off the roof with me. there goes my plans.’

Nathan types for a moment. Typing, stopping, typing again. 

‘Nathan: soundz like a blast. where and when?’

A small blush heats your cheeks. ‘very funny. thanks to last night i have an entire 24 hour session of studying to catch up with.’

His response is almost instant. ‘Nathan: boringgg. txt me when ur fun.’

Rolling your eyes, you shove your phone back into your pocket. It seems you’ve been able to secure enough of a friendship with him for some mindless banter even outside your little visits. You smile. He’s… Fun to talk to. Surprisingly. 

Class comes to an end and you start to pack up the books and papers you’d hardly even glanced at the whole period. Whatever had been upsetting you before is lost in your mind while you think of the morning, the night before. All the things in-between. But, your happiness doesn’t last long. As you get up, you’re almost forced right back into your seat as a weight shoves into your shoulder. Your books scatter to the floor. April, the one who’d remarked about you earlier, glares at you in what looks to be disgust. 

“Careful April,” Her sister hums as she saunters past you, keeping distance and raising her already shrill tone of voice. “Might wanna watch where you’re walking- I’d hate for you to catch something from this slut.”

You absolutely gawk at her. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

April scoffs. “Oh come on, like everyone doesn’t know what you were up to last night.”

“Sleeping around isn’t a good color on you.” May hikes her bag over her shoulder and snickers at you. They both leave the class together, sickeningly in sync. You’re left stunned where you stand, unsure how the hell your life came to this so quickly. How you’ve stooped so low that the daughters of the world's most uncreative parents are able to bully you based on something that didn’t even happen.

Next class goes no better. The person to your right, a jockey looking brunette guy, asks, ‘have you ever heard of a Tate?’. You say no, that that’s the dumbest name you’ve ever heard. The idiot grins and goes back to marking down likely wrong answers on his test sheet and you debate kicking the leg of his chair out- but you don’t to avoid even more eyes on you. It makes you sick to your stomach- even more than recovering from the roofies does. How can everyone believe it? You barely even knew the guy and you were clearly uncomfortable with his advances. No one saw that? 

After everything you’d worked for to build a reputation, trying so hard to not call out peoples shit for the sake of seeming friendly, tainted over something that didn’t even happen? And the kicker was that it hadn’t even been your fault! He’d drugged you, he’d have taken advantage of you! Yet you were the bad person? 

Class came and went in the blink of an eye this time. Your mind wrapped up in the situation, your stomach churning. You wanted the day to be over with but you still had 4 more classes to suffer through. Why was this happening to you? Was Tate being treated just as horribly, or was he getting pats on the backs of his unaware friends?

Wandering down the halls to your locker, you noticed Lance and Kaz hanging around one of the drinking fountains. Your nerves quelled- your friends would surely make you feel much better. Especially since they had witnessed how awful you were feeling as you left. You approach with a relieved smile, ready to say your truth and finally have someone on your side.

“Hey guys.” You smile, but Lance looks down at his feet while Kaz places her hands to his hips. Your smile fades.

“You could have told us you were gonna spend the night with Tate,” Kaz snaps. “You didn’t need to lie like that just to leave. We were all worried about you and it was for nothing.”

“What?” You feel like you could cry. “No, Kaz, I really did try to leave. Tate tried to drug me and take me home, and-”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Lance interrupts, with a frown. He looks back down at the floor with knitted brows. “I’ve known Tate since before time. He wouldn't do something like that, especially not to one of my best friends. Plus he told me he was really into you. Why would he even try?”

“Are you serious?” You sputter. “You think I’d lie about something like that?”

“You’ve been lying about all sorts of things!” Kaz huffs. “What’s going on with you lately? You’ve been so distant, and secretive. What are you hiding that’s making you lie like this? We’re supposed to be your friends and then you lie to our faces just to go and fuck the first guy that shows you attention.”

“What…?” It was like acid. It was like the rug had been pulled from your feet sending you spiraling down the unending cliff. Kaz, your best friend, all that venom. How could they turn against you like this? What the hell is going on? You felt your throat tighten. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been distant, but I’m not lying to you, I-”

“We gotta go.” Lance isn’t in the mood to hear it. “We’ll catch up to you.. Some other time.”

Kaz says nothing as she pushes past you. Lance, at least, spares a short glance over his shoulder. You stood there alone in the hallway, your bag falling off your shoulder and clattering onto the floor with a thud echoing off the walls. Everything you had, all gone at once. 

No one believed you.

---------

With nowhere to go where you felt like you could truly allow yourself to process the day's events, you went to the only place you knew. 

Just outside of campus, where rocks lined the edge of the boundary, overlooking the outskirts of the town and the ocean stretching as far as the eye could see. You settled yourself there, staring at the vast waters and wondering how this had all happened. Unlucky didn’t even begin to cover how it felt. Not only did you feel violated with Tate attempting to do unthinkable things with your unconscious body, but you also felt alone, and walked on. Your best friends hadn’t believed you. While Lance seemed saddened, Kaz was so… Angry. Her words cut like knives into your skin. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve this.

You want to talk to Nathan, but knowing him, he’d see your state and bounce instantly. After all, this isn’t exactly very fun of you.

As the sun began to fall, splaying orange and blues over the wide open sky, behind you, you could hear voices. A group of them, some male, some female. Memories of when your notebook had gotten snatched by those two horsed face assholes came flooding back and with all your alertness, you stood up, and decided that this sitting place was no longer safe. Nothing was.

Before you even made it ten feet away, the group had found their way to your spot and gotten comfortable, one of the girls cheering, ‘this’ll be our hangout! look at how pretty the view is!’

You took a short drive down the stretches of road and decided that if you were going to lament in your own sadness, you were at least going to do so in a place that had something to cover the sound of your tears. Plus a nice view.

The beach, littered with its picnic tables and the sounds of crashing waves would suffice just fine. So, you pulled in the desolate parking lot and wandered down the sandy shores until you stumbled upon a picnic table shaded by a large willow cascading lushious branches to block out the sun- a perfect canopy for you to wallow under. 

You had nothing at that moment. No friends, no reputation, no one to believe your tragic tale. And now, you’d just lost the one spot that made you feel comfortable when stress was building into your body like concrete. Tears pricked into the corners of your eyes and you bit your lip, dreading that feeling of a lump in your throat. Why you? Everything had been going so well. How could not even a single person believe that Tate had tried to hurt you?

Well, actually, there was one person.

Of course Nathan believed you. He’d been the one to rescue you, after all. Time and time again it seemed.  How was it that even the ones closest to you would turn their back so fast, yet Nathan seemed to be there even when you didn’t want him to be? Even when you yelled at him, and he yelled right back, fire and sparks falling into embers around the two of you. 

In that moment, you almost felt like you could finally relate to him. A reputation based on lies and things out of your control, paired with a hardheaded attitude to try and combat all the assumptions. 

No wonder he was so angry. 

“Hey bitch,” A voice suddenly called, and you had a split second moment where you were terrified of once again being the victim of a cruel prank or some classmates boredom. “How about next time you have a pity party you don’t fucking call me in the middle of it.”

You blinked away your tears and through the blurriness saw a figure coming towards you. All that sass, the tone...

“Nathan?” You breathed. It only takes moments before he’s in front of you, holding his phone in view, seeing that the call that had been running for nearly ten minute. You flush in embarrassment, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “How did that happen?”

“Well, can your ass dial numbers?” He taunts, ending the call. 

“Damn it, dumb phone must have butt-dialed you. I knew I should’ve gotten a different one.” You mentally kick yourself. “It must have unlocked in my pocket.”

“You don’t have a password on your phone?” He taunts. When you shake your head, he whistles. “You are just begging for a robbery. I’ll keep that in mind when I’m in the mood to send random messages to all your buddies.” 

“Fuck off.” You scowl, and he grins, hopping up on the picnic table next to you. The sun flatters his skin. He’s almost glowing. 

“Speaking of buddies, how the hell did it pick my number out of your sea of friends?”

You shrug. “Probably cuz’ it’s a priority contact.” 

“Oh lala, I’ve been upgraded to priority huh? Does it display a superman logo whenever you give it a ring?”

“Nope. When I press call it rings the nearest asshole in my vicinity. The fact that it’s you is your own problem.”

“Haha, fucking ha.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He stares out at the water, watching waves pull and crash onto the beach. It’s almost beautiful, until he ruins it. “Yknow, you’re a really ugly crier.”

“Wow, thanks.” You shake your head. “That's exactly what I needed to hear right now. Why did you even stay on the line?.” Wiping your eyes, you start to forget your tears. “Couldn’t have been that wild of a conversation.”

Nathan shrugs. “Between the crying and the sound of the waves it was pretty nice.” He grins. “Very educational.” 

“Awesome. Glad I was able to make your day.” It doesn’t feel like your usual bitey remarks. You’re tired, you’re still a little hurt and you can’t stop thinking about how such an amazing morning had turned into such a horrible day.

“So what’s got you all fucked up? Never seen you act like this big of a baby before.”

“Nothing. You already paid off your debt to me per this morning, so feel free to resume our regularly scheduled mutual hatred.” You say, lying through your teeth. You know you’re both past the point of hatred, but you’re feeling jaded, you can’t help it. 

“Oh shut the fuck up,” He groans. “I didn’t drag my ass all the fucking way out to this shit hole of a beach just for you to give me that bullshit. What, did you fail a test? No one matched you on tinder?”

“Everyone thinks me and Tate slept together last night.” You blurt. “I think he’s telling people me and him had sex.”

Nathan tenses his shoulders and grimaces. “Fucking werido.”

“I told my best friends that he tried to take advantage of me and they don’t believe me. One of em’ even said he wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Fuck em’. Who needs best friends.”

“And to make everything so much better, these two bitches that I share four of my classes with harassed me all goddamn day. I mean, fucks sake, how the hell are girls named April and May of all things able to get to me. It’s bullshit. And to make matters worse, Tate is just… Getting away with it.”

“Yeah well, something tells me that Tate’s gonna get a real nice fucking taste of medicine eventually. I just gotta find him first. He’s got a lot of nerve spreading shit around given I knocked his ass onto the pavement.” Nathan brows knit at the memory.

You test the waters. “Why would you do that for me?”

He seems caught off guard, or maybe, surprised that you’d ask. Maybe he thinks you’re both beyond that point. He grumbles, “Why does it matter.”

“I’m just curious. We don’t owe each other anything, remember?”

“Yeah, well,” He huffs. “Don’t ask me questions to shit I don’t know the answer to.”

“You say that an awful lot.” You tease.

“Yeah well you ask dumbass questions an awful lot. Not everything I do has to have some weird ass motives behind it, ___. Maybe I’ve got beef with Tate that’s outside of you.”

“Uhuh. Sure.” You’re about to say something else, when your phone lights up with a text. The display makes your heart fall all over again. 

Unknown Number: you should just pack up and go somewhere else. no one wants std’s from breathing your air xoxo

You don’t even know who that is. Now absolute strangers are on your case. You want to throw your phone into the ocean and leave.

Nathan scoffs. “Don’t even bat a fucking eye for that bitch, whoever the hell they are. Half the hoes you’ve mentioned have slept with half the football team,” he pinches his jacket, “and I would know.”

“Ew, Nathan,” You grimace, that same feeling from the morning returning. It feels, oddly, like jealousy.  He nudges your arm with his elbow and grins playfully. It’s cute.

“Chill, I’m just fucking with you. You gotta know even I wouldn’t fuck girls that desperate. I’m a man of class.”

That last comment actually forces a laugh from you. It’s soft, but it’s real. The first laugh you’ve genuinely had all day. “That’s horrible.” You remark, giggling again.

It's almost like the slight restoration of your mood puts him at ease as well. He leans back on his hands and stares off into the ocean, those sparkling waters under the setting, orange sun. “I’m for real though. Those hoes aren’t worth your time. One day when we blow this shithole of a town they’re not even gonna matter.”

Your brows knit, eyes blinking up at him. Had you heard that right? 

“We?” You ask, perplexed, albeit a little… Hopeful.

Nathan sputters. “Well- Like, when everyone’s older and-”

“You know what, it's fine.” You interrupt. “Fuck it. You’re right. We’re gonna blow this town and they’re just gonna be some shitty memories.”

He sucks in a shaky breath. You’ve never heard him scramble like that, like he’s been unmasked. The look he casts you when you agree, when you don’t tease or patronize and finally hop on the idea that yeah, what if the two of you really didn’t have to deal with it anymore.

What if the two of you could just exist, without the anger. 

You look up at him. “Would you actually do that though?” You start. “With me, of all people?”

He swallows. His expression is tense, but he’s not upset. He appears nervous, caught off guard. Nathan tries, “I-”

Your phone rings. Shrill, piercing. Mood destroying. 

“Jesus Christ, it’s my mom.” You grab your phone and Nathan looks forward, stone faced and silent as you hop off the table and answer. It’s your mother, who all but shouts into the phone that her and your father are taking a surprising visit to Arcadia Bay while they’re traveling by on their vacation. She insists that you be ready in about an hour for dinner, and likely there will be family photos. 

Which means if you still look as wrecked as you did this morning, you’re gonna have a lot of washing up to do. With a quick goodbye, a short and sweet, ‘love you’, you hang up and sigh. 

“You still tell your mom you love her?” He teases. “What are you, five?”

You frown. “You don’t tell your parents you love them?”

Nathan side eyes you, and just shrugs. It is all the answer you need, really, and for his sake you decide it wouldn’t be best to press the issue. Not now. But- it still makes your heart hurt just a little. You wished that he’d had it better growing up. 

“Right… Do you want a ride home?”

“Fuck no, what am I,” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “a fucking girl scout?” 

“I was just offering, weirdo.” When he doesn't get up, you feel like you’re missing out. Like if you stayed, maybe, just maybe, you’d get to know him a little better. “Hey, if you want, I can stay for a bit longer.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re needed elsewhere. But,” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Fuckin’... Text me or something. Or not, I don’t care either way.”

There’s a small warmth in your chest that rises to your cheeks. He wants you to text him. “Yeah,” You say. “If I’m feeling fun.”

And with that, you bid him farewell, beginning your descent to the parking lot. 

“Hey,” He calls, and you turn just in time to catch a small item he’s tossed right at you. A tiny key resides in the palm of your hand. “Spare. If shit hits the fan again-...” He shrugs, and actually looks away. “Just don’t be too fucking loud of I’ll kick your ass out myself. No Madison needed.”

The widest grin plays over your lips. “I’m gonna re-decorate your room while you’re gone.”

“Ah, you fucking better not.” He shouts. “Actually- you know what, give it back.” 

“No, no! I’m sorry.” You play with the key between your fingers. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t lose it and remember- emergencies only. I don’t need you watching me sleep like fucking freak. We’re past that stage.” 

“How many times will I have to say I was never watching you. Christ… But, alright. See ya, then.” The key is heavy in your palm. 

You place it into your pocket and give him one last glance before you take off, leaving him to enjoy the sound of waves, birds, and the absence of your tears.

[harryhandstan]

gotta get better

gif credit

This concept has been in my head for a while now and it took me like a month to write and edit and just get it all out! I had surgery two years ago today and it was one of the most emotional, stressful experiences of my life simply bc I’m just a big baby lol. This is just something to celebrate that day and the fact that I’m still so happy it’s all over! Fluffy af as usual cause that’s all I know how to write. :)

Thankful to @bfharry​ and @bopbopstyles​ for not only inspiring me with their amazing writing but pushing me towards finishing this and reaching (even going over) my personal 5k goal! I appreciate you both so much!!

I recently saw a post about tagging triggers properly so I’m gonna do it that way but if I do it wrong or it doesn’t work PLEASE let me know and I will fix it immediately (just want to be sure all my bases are covered)

// needles tw, pills tw (prescription), anxiety tw // (if I missed anything I should’ve tagged please please let me know!!) and I’m sure there are some medical inaccuracies bc that whole day is kind of a blur for me haha 

as always likes/rbs/comments are welcome but absolutely not necessary :) 

final word count: 7.1k

//

"Y'nervous, angel?"

"Hmm?"

"Bout to chew your finger off. I know there can't be much of a nail left."

Your hand drops back to your lap. You hadn't even realized you were doing it. A bad habit of the nervous child you thought you'd long forgotten. He offers his left hand and you accept it, thumb swiping over the cross painted across his skin. He knows it's one of your favorites and you're thankful for the comfort. You don't know how many times he'd teased you about how you would eventually rub it off one day and he'd have to get it redone.

"S'a routine surgery, I bet they do them all day. You're gonna be fine."

You'd been over all this a thousand times before. Harry had to ban you from looking up the procedure online at one point. You became obsessive with worry. What if you're still awake when they cut into you and you can't talk? What if you feel everything and can't tell anyone? What if you don't wake up? He had shot down every one of your horrifying theories.

"How much longer before they take me back?"

"Nurse said it would be about 10 minutes when we checked in. Shouldn't be too much longer. Want me to check the board again?"

Checking in had only consisted of a nurse taking your name and giving you your bracelet for the day with an ID number. The number would help Harry stay updated on where you were throughout the whole process. The "board" was simply a tv mounted to the wall that frequently cycled through each patient's last name and ID number.

"No, no," You cling to his sleeve like a desperate child, "Don't leave again. She said they wouldn't update anything until I went back anyway."

Harry had left you only briefly when you first arrived. Hands in his pockets, wandering around like a lost child around the big, open expanse of the waiting room. He stayed where you could see him and the whole time you had anxiously chewed your bottom lip until he returned. You hated it, but you knew he was just as nervous as you. So you let him have that moment. To check his surroundings and release some of the nerves so he could come back to you, calm and cool as always.

When the nurse does call your name, you almost jump out of your skin. You freeze, unable to move. Harry stands and flashes the nurse a quick smile before turning back to you and offering his hand.

You shake your head, "I can't do this, H. I feel like I'm gonna throw up if I move."

"You're not, promise. Remember those breathing exercises we practiced? Do those. C'mon..deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out. Do it while we walk."

Slow deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out.

You remember how silly you felt the first time you did it. How it made you giggle at first. This is never going to work. But eventually it did. Anytime you got upset or started to overthink about this day, Harry made you stop whatever you were doing and sit down. Breathe.

It was a little difficult to do while walking. Your body wanted to pause your steps when your breath paused, but Harry tugged you along, you almost hiding behind him until you made it through a set of heavy wooden doors to a small space with a hospital bed and a curtain drawn in front of it.

//

The IV had had been your biggest dread, the fear overriding any logic that it was something you needed, instead of something the nurses decided to do simply to torture you.

Your face twists into a wince of pain when the needle goes into your vein, Harry standing over you, his face a mirror of your own as you squeeze his hand. When the nurse pulls away with a triumphant "all done!" you flash a look of surprise between your arm and Harry.

"Not that bad, eh? Think ya overreacted a bit about how bad that was gonna be?" He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to shoot him a nasty look for teasing you.

"Maybe a little." You pinch your index finger and thumb together, indicating a minimal amount.

"Tiny bit more, babe," Another nurse appears from around the curtain and he laughs before speaking to her, "it's all she's worried about all morning."

"Honestly that's everyone's least favorite part. The rest of the day should be aces if you can handle that!"

Harry settles himself into a chair while the nurse goes through a myriad of questions. Any other surgeries? Allergies to medications you know of? Do you smoke? Drink?

Harry snorts when you say no to drinking, but quickly clasps his hand over his mouth when the nurse's head snaps to look between you and him.

"The occasional drink is fine, no worries. Nothing this morning though, right?"

"No, ma'am."

Your eyes meet his, a mischievous grin still plastered across his face. He mumbles a quick "sorry" while you try to pull your concentration back towards the nurse and the remainder of her questions.

"Alright, time for the good stuff," she passes you a small clear cup with two white pills, "First one is just something to keep you calm and relaxed, second one is to prevent any pain after the procedure. They'll give you something to make you sleepy when you get to the OR, but this might make you a bit loopy for now."

"This should be fun." Harry claps his hand in front of him, rubbing them together quickly. He leans forward in his chair, as if ready for a show.

"Yeah? Is she a happy drunk?"

Harry had only ever experienced you high on any sort of prescription medication once, almost a year ago when you went on a girl's trip with your best friend and twisted your ankle in an attempt to make it back to her car after dinner out one night. You calling him from an unknown ER in the middle of the night had terrified him enough to start packing a bag to fly to you before your best friend could grab your phone and assure him you were fine and she would put you on a plane home to him in two days as planned. He had teased you endlessly when he picked you up from the airport and for the next few days afterwards as you limped around on a bruised, ACE bandage wrapped foot.

But after too many wine drunk nights to count, he had enough stories to humiliate you with and the thought of any one of them being told now had you sinking further into the hospital bed.

"You could say that. Last time she.." His voice trails off at the sight of your eyes, wide as saucers, begging him to stop.

The nurse grins, her face kind and sympathetic to your silent cry for help.

"We're a little behind schedule this morning so it may be about 20 minutes before they come transport you, okay?" You nod, the effects of the sedative already working its way through your system, "Keep an eye on her? Make sure she behaves?"

"Yeah, I got her. We'll be fine, thank you so much." He's closer now, standing next to you again, a hand sliding up your arm to settle on your shoulder. You manage a thumbs up and a sleepy "thank you" as an affirmation that you appreciate all she's done for you.

"You're more than welcome. You'll have a different set of nurses in recovery but if you need anything until they come get you, just let me know, alright?"

"We will, thanks." His thumb ghosts across the front of your collarbone, the lightest of touches to soothe you, his eyes still focused on the nurse.

"Good luck! You're gonna do just fine, I promise."

The second she's around the curtain, Harry nudges you lightly, "Scoot."

"Huh? What do you mean..Harry, there's not enough room for you in this bed." Your head feels too light to deal with his nonsense now.

"Yeah there is if you scoot. C'mon. Hurry before we get caught. M’supposed to be keeping an eye on you, remember? Gotta make sure you don't fall outta the bed."

He's already wedged himself next to you, trying to make his tall frame fit into the limited space.

You move over as much as you can, the rail of the bed poking into your hip.

He tucks one arm behind your head, the other one thrown behind his own as a cushion.

"You feel more relaxed now, lovie?"

You scrunch down in the bed, just enough that you can tuck your head under his other arm, "A little. I don't feel sleepy enough though," Your eyes dart up, seeking the comfort of his face, "I'm scared, H."

"I know you are, baby," the hand behind your head shifts to cup around your arm, pulling you closer, "Just pretend you're home with me and we're taking a nice little nap together, yeah?"

"But you won't be there with me, not really."

"I'll be there when you wake up though. First thing you'll see when you open your eyes, promise." He runs a finger along the curve of your nose, "Close your eyes. Try to sleep, hmm?"

You shake your head, turning towards him to hide your face in his side, inhaling his scent.

"Want me to turn the light off? Would that help?"

"No," You toss the arm that isn't trapped between you two over him, holding tightly to his shirt, "Stay."

"Alright, then. We'll just wait," He tilts his head to rest closer to yours, "Have you thought about what you want to eat after?"

"Not really. M'too nervous to think about food."

"We'll think of something good. Whatever you want."

"You're gonna get us in trouble, better scoot back to your corner like a good boy." Your words come out unintentionally slurred and you weakly push yourself up and away from him as he slides off. He doesn't sit though, just stands near you, an anxious look flashing across his features.

"Hey, c'mere. Gonna be fine, routine surgery, remember?" You stretch your arms out to him, a plea to be near his warmth again.

He sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. You tug lightly at the sleeve of his cardigan, a feeble attempt to pull him closer. He indulges you, his brow still creased with distress.

"Know ya gonna be fine, just hate you have to go through it at all. Wish I could take it from you without all this." He gestures to the IV he knows you despise so much.  

"You have helped take it from me. All the sleepless nights you spent up with me, holding my hair back when I got sick. All the days after when I was too drained to get out of bed. You were there for as much of it as you could be. And you pushed me to go see the surgeon in the first place. You've helped me more than you give yourself credit for."

His fingers intertwine in yours, the pad of his thumb soothing over the front of your hand.

"Make sure you keep my phone with you, my mom will probably call you every 30 minutes for updates." A yawn stretches across your face, "She has your number too, bullied me into giving it to her last week when I called to tell her about the surgery."

He nods, patting his pocket to make sure both phones are still nestled there together.

Another yawn threatens to escape and you muffle it this time, more content to fight sleep to stare at Harry; his hair a perfect mess of curls under the harsh brightness of the hospital lighting. His face is more relaxed now, his eyes still focused on your fingers tangled together. He catches you, your eyes glazed over, too heavy and threatening to close.

"Darling, please close your eyes. I can see how tired you are," His fingertips sweep delicately over your nose again, as if he was lulling a baby to sleep, "You don't have to stay awake for me."

"Closing my eyes for just a second, alright? Not because you told me to though. I want to. Wake me up in 2 hours, don't wanna sleep too long."

Your eyes are already drifting closed, the last thing you hear is a chuckle; effortless, light as air, "I will, promise."

Soft kisses pressed across your face, "Sweet dreams, love."

//

His voice is the first you hear as you wake up in the dimly lit recovery room. Well, really it was more like a big cubicle, another space with a curtain drawn in front of it. Even with the floaty, dreamy feeling flowing through your system, you can still detect the worry in his voice.

"Harry?" It takes your mind a minute to catch up and process where you are and what had happened.

Oh yeah. Surgery day. No more annoying gallbladder. No more sleepless nights. Freedom to eat what you want and not be haunted by nausea and sickness from what you ate.

"How are you feeling? Any pain?" Suddenly a nurse in bright blue scrubs is there, way too animated and loud at the moment, "Pain scale 1-10?"

"I don't have any pain. Zero." You're aware of how high you sound and a giggle escapes through the haze. That earns you a smile from Harry, one that lights up his whole face and makes his dimples shine through.

"Awesome! Well then as soon as you're good and awake we're gonna get this IV out and go over some paperwork for both of you to sign. I want you to drink something for me too, so what would you like?"

You request a ginger ale and as soon as the nurse leaves to retrieve it for you, Harry scoots the chair he's sitting in as close to the bed as possible.

"How long was I out?"

"Couple of hours," He absentmindedly fixes your hair, looping various curls back around to their respective places, "Took a little longer than expected, you had a small infection so they had to make sure it hadn't spread."

"How much longer?"

"Long enough you had us all slightly worried." His hand trails down your cheek to cup your chin gently, urging you to look at him, "You sure you're not in pain? Now's not the time to do that stubbornly brave thing you do where you pretend nothing's wrong."

"I feel fine, really. Just a little tired, ready to go home."

He studies your face, trying to find any trace of dishonesty. When he's satisfied you're being truthful, he stands and extracts your phone from his pocket.

"Already talked to ya mum, but your co-workers were all texting you, asking how you were. Figured you'd want to handle that yourself, didn't know how much detail you would want to give them."

"Did you give my mother all the details? Infection and everything?"

"Um, no. I knew better than to do that. Promised her you would call when I got you settled at home."

"You promised or she demanded?"

"Okay..she politely asked that you call her when we get home."

"That sounds more like her." You roll your eyes, pushing yourself so you're sitting more upright in the bed.

"She just worries about you." He adjusts the pillow behind you, fluffing and tucking it where you direct it, against your lower back.

"I know. I'll FaceTime her when we get home to prove I'm alive."

"It's been a while since we've seen them, maybe we should plan a visit?" He plops himself back in the chair, leaning back as far as he can go; hands behind his head, eyes closed. You'd both gotten very little sleep the night before, you were too anxious and he was too gracious to let you suffer alone.

"Oh please, I'm lucky I even got time off to do this. My boss would never allow another break so soon."

"Maybe for the holidays?"

"Maybe..but only if you can go with me, you know they love you more than me by now anyway."

"They do not," He peeks one eye open at you, "They love us both equally."

You shoot a quick text to your co-workers, using the group chat between the few of you to make it easier.

I'm out! Feeling okay for now but that might change later lol

The nurse is back, apologizing for taking so long, "We've been so behind all day, it's crazy busy. I had to wait for your doctor to sign off on your release." She hands you a can of ginger ale, white bendy straw already poised and ready for you.

"Just need you to sign here," She holds a clipboard and a pen out to you and you balance the can dangerously in one hand while you scribble something that resembles your signature. Close enough. She gestures for you to pass the clipboard to Harry, "His signature goes under yours, just says he's responsible for you for the next few hours until everything wears off."

"This means I'm the boss, right?" He leans over to grab the board, a wink thrown in your direction. He's enjoying himself way too much at the thought of being in control of you for the next few hours. Smug son of a bitch.

She takes the clipboard back and pulls off a yellow sheet of paper, "This is just your copy of what you signed, and also has post op instructions for your bandages. Your prescription's been sent to the pharmacy, and there's a brief summary of pain management information on the bottom there just in case you need it."

"Thank you." You transfer it right to Harry's waiting hand, knowing he'll be the one surveying every word, making sure you follow everything to the letter.

"I know you mentioned earlier having a little bit of a drive home, so probably once you get her some food and pick up her prescriptions, it'll be time for another round of meds. Okay?" She turns to you again, "I know it sounds silly, but one of the most important things after this particular surgery is lots of walking. Otherwise you'll be miserable. Rest for a while when you get home, then get up every 10 minutes or so until bedtime. Don't let her skip that part, alright? Very important."

"I heard you weren't a big fan of this thing," She nods towards the IV in your right forearm, "So this'll probably be the best part of this whole process for you. We'll get this out and then you can get changed and we'll get someone to wheel you down and out of here, alright? Don't look and you won't even know when it's gone."

"Hey, think about what you want to eat, huh? Your first freedom meal. Yay!" He slips his hand into your left, raising your connected hands victoriously. You didn't think it was possible for you to love him anymore until this moment. The way he could so easily erase your fear was one of his many gifts you adored him for, "What are we having, babe?"

You don't even hesitate before answering, "Pizza, from Milano's. It's my favorite, other than that one place in Italy you took me to. Please? Oh and one of their salads, with the little bread knots on the side!"

He glances at the nurse, awaiting a reprimand for your meal choice.

"As your nurse, I feel I should remind you that while you can have anything you feel like eating, we usually recommend something small and light at first. Broth or soup with some toast, maybe. The salad may be fine, but the pizza might be a little heavy. Taking it slow would be best. But everyone is different."

"So..just cheese then? Maybe some mushrooms?"

You let your head fall back against the pillow, a foggy haze settling over you, "Plain cheese, no mushrooms."

"Alright, sounds good. Why don't I go call it in and pull the car around? Meet you out front?" He leans closer, a quick peck to your cheek before pulling his hand loose from yours and turning to leave.

"Hey, wait," You attempt to tug at his wrist, but fail, your brain still set to slow-motion. He takes pity on you and returns to your side, "Let's eat there. It's in the mall so we can window shop after we eat."

"You sure? You still seem a bit tipsy, honey."

You don't feel tipsy. Just tired, and hungry. Very hungry. As if on cue, your stomach makes a remarkably loud noise; an objection at not being fed for the past 12 hours.

"Alright, alright, calm down. " You let out an embarrassed groan when you realize he's talking to your stomach, "We'll eat there."

He kisses you again, closer to your mouth, "Missed."

"I did, huh?" He chuckles, close enough to your face now your noses are almost touching, "Let's try again."

This time his lips meet yours and you know he missed on purpose the first time by how amused he looks when he pulls away.

"One more for luck?" You can't resist letting the back of your hand wander over his face, before resting the palm of your hand against his cheek.

"I think I can handle that," He smiles before landing another quick peck to your lips, "Be good for the nurse while I'm gone. I'll have the getaway car ready in 10, yeah?"

//

You're certain Harry would have fed you if you would have let him, right here in the mall food court in front of everyone. But you refuse, insisting even, on carrying your own tray to the table. He chuckles when you pull your phone out of your sweater pocket to take a picture of your food, quickly uploading it to Facebook.

He watches you closely as you take the first bite, even pulling his own phone out to sneak a photo of you when you temporarily close your eyes to appreciate the indulgence of being able to eat one of your favorite foods again; free from that anxious feeling of whether or not it would settle right with your body later. You open your eyes the very moment after he captured the image.

"Harry!"

"You just looked so happy! I couldn't help it. You know I'll never post it anyway. Snagged a few of you earlier in your little blue cap they made you wear too." He flips back through to show you. You try to snatch the phone away, but he's too quick to pull his hand back and stash his phone in his pocket.

"When??"

"After you fell asleep, right before they came to take you back."

He takes a bite from his own generous slice of pizza in front of him before gesturing to your tray, "How is it?"

"Amazing. Even better than before, if possible."

His smile is bright, loving the satisfaction of seeing you actually enjoy food again.

Your plan to walk around the mall was cut short, you could barely make it through one store without yawning. You cling to Harry most of the way back to the car, his arm securely wrapped around you to keep you steady.

You doze off on the drive home, and when your eyes flutter open you find him opening the passenger door, offering a hand to help lift you out of the car and up the stairs into the house. Your foot stumbles on the first step, failing to make contact and you almost fall back.

"Easy," He giggles, an arm thrown behind your back to catch you before encouraging softly, "Try again."

When he's confident you're stable enough on your feet, he lets go to unlock the door.

You're greeted by a bouquet of flowers, a colorful arrangement of roses and lilies from Harry's band mates. You immediately recognize Sarah's handwriting on the card and make a mental note to shoot everyone a thank you text later. You don't know if it's the medication still in your system, the exhaustion of the day, or the overwhelming amount of love that makes you teary eyed.

Harry stands behind you as you admire the flowers and the card, arms curving around to hug you, careful of the large bandage on your upper abdomen and the two smaller steri-strips on your right side.

"How did they know pink roses were my favorite?"

"They love you, peach." He rests his chin on your shoulder, "Besides, you've only mentioned growing up with a pink rose bush in your Nanna's garden about a hundred times."

"I always loved it. Still do."

Your mind travels back to your earliest memories spent there; summers when you practically lived at the small house on the hill. Helping pick tomatoes and peppers from the garden, too warm afternoons spent with a book in your lap under the shade of a peach tree, your grandfather's corny jokes and loving smile. Your Nanna's too generous portions of food contributing to the few extra curves you still carried with you to this day.

You don't even notice the tears at first. They slip down your cheeks and land on his arm. Once you realize, you try to quickly wipe them away, but Harry sees.

"Hey..c'mon, I think your high's wearing off a bit, bub. Pajamas, meds, nap. Sound good?" He turns you to face him, using the sleeve of his shirt to brush away any tears that still linger at the corner of your eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 3..why?"

"No nap. I'll never sleep tonight, and you know how grumpy I get when my sleep schedule is thrown off." Even with your declaration of not wanting a nap, you can't help but rub your eyes, a weak attempt to keep yourself awake. Any resolve Harry had to try to convince you to nap melts away. A smirk on his face, he knows you'll eventually crash later, most likely on his chest or in his arms. He's content to let you be stubborn for now.

"Okay, then. New plan. Pajamas, meds, movie. Better?"

"Better. You get everything ready and pick the movie while I change?"

"You don't wanna pick the movie?"

You wave him off, already shuffling towards the bedroom, "You're the boss today, remember?"

You take your time gathering what you need to get cozy for the rest of the day, selecting an oversized, well-worn tie dye t-shirt and leggings from your dresser. You even take a moment to dip into Harry's extensive sweatshirt collection, grabbing your favorite one. It's amazingly soft and still smells of him, a faint scent of his cologne and well..just Harry. You couldn't imagine anything more comforting.

In your pursuit to feel more lucid, you venture into the bathroom, taking a moment to wash your face. The cool water instantly refreshes you and pushes you closer to feeling like yourself again. Wanting your hair out of your face, you pluck a scrunchy from your shared collection of hair accessories. You quickly recognize that your arms still have that too heavy feeling of unconsciousness and after a few attempts to gather your curls into some sort of up-do, you give up and loop the accessory around your wrist to try again later.

Harry senses your frustration when you find him in the kitchen, two small green pill bottles sitting on the counter in front of him. He's already filled your favorite cup with ice water, and you gratefully take it and drink from it.

"What's wrong?" His brow creases with concern and you feel guilty for making him worry over something so silly.

"Nothing..just wanted my hair up out of my face but my arms wouldn't cooperate." You try to laugh it off to put him more at ease, "It's not a big deal."

You know it's only the weariness of the day still making you feel so emotional, clear-headed you would not be upset over something so small.

"Here. Let me try." He slides the scrunchy from your wrist and pulls you closer to him, moving behind you to gently work long fingers through your hair, gathering it all in a loose ponytail on top of your head before securing it around a few times with the scrunchy.

You let your shoulders drop with a deep sigh when he's done, it was such a simple thing, but it made you feel so much lighter. He spins you around to face him, a charming gleam of pride at his handiwork adorning his face, "Too tight?"

"No. Much better. Thank you, Harry. You take such good care of me always, but today..I don't know what I would've done without you. I made such a big fuss and probably made you miserable with all of my worrying." You're suddenly very aware that you are rambling, but when you catch a glimpse of his face, his smile is wide. So bright that the skin around his eyes is crinkling.

He leans towards you, lips stopping whatever words may have come next, arms wrapping around you to pull you closer in a soft, warm embrace. When he pulls away, his eyes bore right into yours, and your heart swells with more love than you could ever imagine having for one person. But he wasn't just any person. He was your person, your whole word staring back at you.

"I'm SO proud of you. You've been so strong today, always knew you had that strength in you, but seeing you take that leap of faith..doing something you knew you should despite your fear, that's all you, love. I can't take any credit for that. You've made me anything but miserable, trust me."

His face is still close enough to yours that you nudge forward, pressing your forehead to his, a silent appreciation of his affection.

"Any pain yet?" He pulls back, a thumb across your cheek, eyes still locked on yours.

"My head kind of hurts? And I still just feel kind of..drunk."

"You have always been a bit of a lightweight, babe. And a thief too, I see. S'that my sweatshirt?"

"Have not!" You swat playfully at his arm, "Maybe. Is that my hair clip in your hair?"

"Possibly." His eyes dart up to the swoop of curls on top of his head, a black plastic clip twisting it back and away from his face.

"Guess we're even then."

"S'pose we are." He tries to keep his eyes narrowed in a mock attempt of annoyance, but it quickly fades into laughter.

You decide against FaceTiming your family, hoping that hearing your voice will be enough. It seems to satisfy them at least for the rest of the day. You assure them that Harry is taking very good care of you and that everything went as smooth as could be expected.

He raises one eyebrow at you as you hang up, "As smooth as expected, huh? You aren't going to tell them the truth?"

"What's to tell? I had an infection and now it's gone. I'm fine, there's no sense in worrying them. We can give them the full story later."

He shrugs, fingers working to open one of the green pill bottles before passing one of the white pills to you, "For your headache, lovie. There's something here for nausea too if you need it. M'worried the pizza might've been too much. Maybe you should take one of these..just in case?"

"Harry, I promise I will tell you if I feel anything other than fine." Your hand runs from his shoulder down his bicep, squeezing gently, "Besides, I cannot take a whole one of those. If you think I'm a lightweight now..I'll sleep for the whole week if I take that."

He slips the bottle in his pocket, pulling you in to press a kiss to the top of your head, "We'll keep it close just in case, okay?"

"Sounds good," Your hand trails back up to his neck to work fingers through his hair, "Hey, thought we were watching a movie? What'd you pick?"

"Thought we could decide together. C'mon, let's get you comfy in bed."

"Ever the gentleman, always trying to get me in your bed."

"Hey! I am a perfect gentleman, thank you very much," He chuckles, a hand coming to rest on the small of your back, "Just thought you'd be more comfortable, you can prop up and stretch your feet out."

You let him tug you along for the second time today, thankful it's the luxury of your shared bed you get to settle into this time. He tucks you in softly, propping pillows behind your back and head.

"Comfy? Need anything else?"

"No, just need you to quit babying me so much and relax with me for a bit."

"Since when am I not allowed to baby you?"

You roll your eyes, "Never said you weren't allowed. Just want you to stop worrying so much, that's all."

"Good. Cause y'are my baby," No matter how many times you'd heard him say it before, it never failed to make you blush, "Do anything for you, y'know that, right?"

"I know," You look down at your hands, trying to slow your racing heart, "You never let me forget."

"Hey," He pokes your cheek, pulling your gaze back up to him, "I love you."

"I love you more, H."

He kisses your forehead, "Impossible. I love you most."

The reference to one of your favorite movies has you smiling at him, that dreamy feeling falling over you again, "Can we watch Tangled?"

"Sure, princess."

He sinks next to you, head propped up on your shoulder, navigating easily through Disney+ to find your requested movie.

Your eyes drift closed right about the time the lanterns are being released in the sky, a moment that normally leaves your face wet with tears, the soft vibrations of Harry humming along the perfect lullaby to push you further into your dream.

//

He wakes you later in the evening.

"Dinner's on the table if you want to join me."

"Time's it?" Your voice is still heavy with sleep.

"7. You were sleeping so deeply I didn't want to wake you, thought your body could use the extra sleep today."

"Yeah. It was nice, thank you." You stretch your arms forward, reaching for his hands to help pull you up.

"How do you feel?"

"A little sore. More sober, for sure."

Dinner is simple; a bowl of plain broth, salad, and toast. Exactly what the nurse suggested earlier. There's even a warm mug of tea waiting for you.

"With honey for my honey," He's so proud of his cheesy expression of love you cannot help but smile.

You look at him curiously when he sits next to you, the same boring meal set out for himself.

"Harry..you can eat what you want, babe. Seriously you've done enough today, more than enough to be supportive. It wouldn't hurt my feelings if you made yourself something different."

"Nah. S'fine. We're in this together, yeah?"

You raise your eyebrows at him playfully, "Did you have an organ snatched from your body today?"

"No, I didn't." He laughs, "I just meant food wise, love. It's vegetable broth, by the way, hope that's alright."

"It's perfect."

You nudge him lightly, an elbow to his side, shifting closer to ask for a kiss. He meets you the rest of the way, lips planted firmly on yours. When you don't pull away, he quickly adds another.

After dinner is done and you have another round of meds, the two of you end up in an awkward ball of cuddles on the couch. Harry flips through the channels on the tv before finding a show you both agree on.

But you're too restless, unable to find a position comfortable enough for you. You shift a few times, finally giving up and letting out a frustrated groan before tossing the blanket off the both of you and springing up and off the couch.

Harry doesn't panic, just grabs your hand before you can get too far away or lose your balance, keeping his voice low when he asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing hurts. I just can't get comfortable, and I don't feel right."

"What doesn't feel right, angel? Explain."

"I don't feel like myself. I don't know how to explain it. Just feel off."

He sees you're on the verge of tears and ascends from his spot on the couch, arms quickly enveloping you before placing a finger under your chin to pull your face up to look at him.

"It's probably gonna take a day or so to adjust, baby. Yes it was a minor surgery but it was a major change to your body." He's bending now to look right into your eyes, searching them,  "How can we fix it tonight, hmm? What do you need?"

Tears are free flowing, falling on the front of your t-shirt and down to the floor.

"Take your time. Breathe." A large hand smoothing warm circles firmly across your back; a balm for your restless spirit.

You pause, deep breath in before slowly letting it out, "I think I just need to move around for a bit."

"Let's go for a walk, eh? A quick one and then back to bed. Your mind needs more rest. How's that sound?" He taps your forehead softly.

"Okay, yeah." You nod your head, an approval of his plan.

"Don't worry about it, okay? Everything's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine."

You nod again, scared your voice will break if you try to speak. He knew that those words held a lot of weight for you, he'd repeated them often throughout this whole process and to hear them now was a reminder of how safe you were. That with him, you would always be safe and loved.

Being dark outside meant you gracelessly padding through the house, up and down the hallway a few times and back to the living room. Harry stays close, encouraging you along with little claps and kisses to motivate you. When your stomach starts to feel uneasy, he urges you once again to take something for nausea. You agree to take a half a pill, knowing it'll help you sleep.

Despite the nap you had earlier and only being awake for a couple of hours, it doesn't take much convincing for you to settle back into bed.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

He's already reclined next to you, book in hand, the soft light from the lamp illuminating one side of his face. You're smushed against him, drifting between that sweet space of almost asleep and wanting to stay awake to enjoy any spare moment you get with him. His hand working through your hair helps push you towards the former of the two.

"I'm sorry to be such a burden today," Your words are slurring together but you continue on, just needing to get your thoughts out before he can stop you, "I don't deserve you and I shouldn't have overreacted so much about something so simple."

"Hey, none of that now," He lays the book on the nightstand, careful to save his place for later before pulling you closer to him, "You were not, nor have you ever been a burden to me. Just because you needed a little extra help today does not mean you aren't deserving of me or my love. You will never have to earn that. It's yours, always has been, will be as long as you decide to keep me around."

"Thank you. For all of it. I'll always want you."

"Always? Y'might change your mind someday, angel."

"I won't. Promise."

"Yeah? Me either."

A kiss laid delicately to the top of your head has your eyes dangerously close to falling shut again before another thought navigates its way through your mind and out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"H..what am I gonna do with a full week off from work?"

"Let me take care of you?"

//

And that's exactly what he does.

Mornings spent sleeping in, late breakfasts made together and afternoon walks. Evenings consisting of the two of you preparing dinner together or ordering takeout from some of the forbidden places you couldn't eat from before. Mugs of herbal tea before early bedtimes, you sweetly falling asleep to the sound of his voice reading to you most nights.

But his favorite part was that the scent of lavender was no longer cursed for you. Some nights before your surgery, when you simply could not fall asleep the pain was so unbearable, you would fill the tub with hot water and lavender scented bubbles to try to calm yourself enough to be able to drift off afterwards. It never worked, the heat always doing more harm than good. Harry would always be waiting for you, open arms and a soft towel to wrap you in.

So the smell became one you hated, memories of sleepless nights and nausea. But now you were free to use it again for what you always loved it for before it was cursed. In your body wash, lotion, even your laundry detergent; spreading the scent all over your shared space in as many ways as you could.

He even mentions it one night after dinner, when the two of you are pressed impossibly close together on the couch. His nose buried into your neck, inhaling deeply, pulling away to announce, "You smell like you again, love. Missed it so much." He burrows back in, placing kisses from your neck to your shoulder, ignoring your giggles and protests of how much it tickles.

A week later, the alarm wakes you sooner than you've become accustomed to, reminding you of your return to work. Harry's arm thrown over your waist pulls you closer as you try to leave the bed, a sleepy "Don't go." mumbled in your ear.

You do your best to peel yourself away from him, admitting silently to yourself how much harder it is for you to leave the warmth of your bed as it is for him to let you go.

//

2 years later, you have a scar you swear didn't heal right, and a man who loves you even more because of it.

[eldritch-araneae]

Sparkpulse IV: Sleeping Beast Within.

Summery:

Bumblebee and Cheetor are chilling together on a nice quiet evening :3

It’s a nice and calm evening today. No Decepticons activities. Bumblebee and Cheetor are relaxing on a random ledge above the cafeteria, watching everyone chilling with their energon. Cheetor is currently in their spotted ray-cheetah alt form, laying with their limbs tucked underneath the body. A position which everyone lovingly calls a “loaf form”. Bumblebee is beside his feline friend, pressing onto their side and mimicking the same position.

Both Special Operations agents were talking about random stuff, from patrol and mission discussions to random shenanigans that happened to other Autobots. Life is never boring in their department, even during the night, considering a lot of agents are nocturnal cybertronians, including Bumblebee himself.

Bumblebee slightly nudges Cheetor to make them look at him. Cheetor is hard-of-hearing, and their hearing can vary from moderate to severe. They have hearing aids, but sometimes they are not much help. So everyone quickly learned that they must make sure that Cheetor sees them before talking to make lip-reading and signing easier.

“How was your patrol, by the way?” Bumblebee asks his diurnal friend.“Did you find any interesting stuff among the ruins?”

“Nope, whatever was in that building eroded long ago.” Cheetor sighs, but then grins a second later. “I still can’t believe you found that super old board game intact!” they exclaimed, lightly bumping the minibot with their nose.

Bumblebee giggles at the display of affection. He loves little things like this. He bumps Cheetor back with his forehead. “I know right! It was in such good condition that even acid rain and stuff didn’t eat it.”

At that moment, Jazz enters the room and as he sees the pair of “cats” on the ledge above, he bursts into laughter.

“I must admit, Cheetor, I never expected you to teach our youngest member the way of the cat!” the head of Special Operations Department chortles, “Bumblebee, please be honest! Can you purr already?”

Cheetor wheezes at Jazz’s question, while Bumblebee grins widely.

“Well, I tried, but apparently I can only growl.” the minibot answers with all his honesty. “It doesn’t feel like I am supposed to be a feline.”

“Well, it doesn’t stop you from being a cat anyway!” Jazz grins, gesturing at Bumblebee’s current “loaf” position. Cheetor wheezes, making a sound like a kettle from Wheeljack’s lab. That caused all three to burst into laughter. After that, they exchanged a few words before Jazz went to grab his energon cube. The minibot and the beastformer keep chilling on the ledge, observing everyone below them.

Imitation is an interesting thing indeed. It’s a natural process that allows a living being to fit better in their social environment.

It’s not like Cheetor was teaching Bumblebee feline behavior on purpose. It just happened because the minibot spent a lot of time with them and other Autobot felines after he made amends with Steeljaw.

Bumblebee adopted some cat mannerisms. This is when his beast protocols surfaced. Both Perceptor and Botanica are absolutely sure the minibot was bound to be a beastformer, but lack of resources forced him to take a vehicle-type alt form. This leaves a lot of questions, but it’s not possible to answer them for now.

Still, this explains a lot of things: his quadrupedal mode could be an attempt of his body to compensate for the lack of beast-type alt form. Or how he feels like he’s missing some parts, like additional limbs.

Bumblebee is sure he’s supposed to have wings! Every time he swings with his cables, the overwhelming nostalgia makes his spark ache and his back feels abnormally light. After a while, this feeling grew into an itch, and just swinging around the stronghold wouldn’t satisfy it anymore.

Windblade could see the pained look on his face, so she indulged him and took him skydiving. Just flying up with her already feels so much better. And the moment Windblade turns off her engines and they start falling is pure joy, making him tear up every time.

The wind rushing past him, the feeling of flying, the stimulant rush. Bumblebee forgets about all his insecurities and worries, feeling that he belongs in the sky.

This is the closest to flying he ever got, or will ever get, as sad as it sounds.

Bumblebee shakes his head. There is no reason to wallow about things he can’t have, he has to work with what he’s given. That’s why he can’t wait for Windblade to come back from her mission, so they can go skydiving again.

The anticipation quickly fades as the door opens to the cafeteria, revealing Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker going in. The minibot tenses upon seeing them. Those two are not buddies, not at all.

“Bee, are you okay? Your optics have slits.” Cheetor’s voice pulls Bumblebee’s attention to themself. Pupils turning into slits, another feature of a beastformer, that happens when one is angry, exposed to light, or in alt mode.

“I’m okay, it’s just... well him.” He hisses at Sunstreaker below, who seems like he didn’t realize that Bumblebee is in the room too. “I still don’t know what I did to him to receive such treatment.”

“He’s always been such a slaghead as long as I remember.” Cheetor sighs. “But it’s undeniable that he’s really out there to get you for no reason. Don’t worry, I will eat his shins if he tries to do anything to you!”

Bumblebee smiles at support. He really appreciates it. Though this smile fades quickly because the problem is still there and he does not know what to do with this.

Sunstreaker hates the minibot for unknown reasons and will grab any chance to harass him. Thankfully, his friends, especially Windblade, made it crystal clear that if he hurt Bumblebee, Sunstreaker won’t come out in one piece.

Still, Bumblebee feels that animosity directed at him from the yellow gladiator’s spark.

That’s just so unfair that it hurts!

Thankfully, before Bumblebee could start fully seething about this, Blaster, with his cassettes, entered the cafeteria. Cheetor greets the fellow Special Ops members, which pulls the minibot out of the spiral of negative emotions.

Suddenly, the optics of Bumblebee, Cheetor, Steeljaw and Nightstalker are locked onto each other. For a few seconds, they stared. Everyone who noticed this stopped doing what they were doing because they knew what would happen next.

Who will run first?

Who will start the game?

The next second, Nightstalker bolts from the spot they were standing into the stronghold corridors. Steeljaw jumps after them, followed by Bumblebee and Cheetor jumping from the ledge.

The chase has begun, leaving laughing bots in the cafeteria behind!

The stomping is so intense that someone might think it’s Dinobots, not three cats and Bumblebee running through corridors. He never said it out loud, but those games helped him to be more confident with his quadrupedal mode, making him even more agile.

After a few more turns of running, Steeljaw catches Nightstalker. Now it’s their turn to be chased. He turns around and runs in the opposite direction, into the medical wing.

A medbay door opens, and Ratchet almost got thrown on the floor if he didn’t see Steeljaw coming. With a yelp, he quickly jumps back into the room, and the rest of the group runs by him. He can only shake his head as he foresees someone getting hurt. But he cannot deny that cats need to get their zoomies out... though he still can’t believe they dragged Bumblebee into their games.

The three beastformers and the minibot keep running until Bumblebee finally catches Steeljaw.

“You’ll never catch me!” the minibot proclaims, as he takes an instant sharp turn and starts running at full speed.

“Hey!” Cheetor yelps, not expecting such a fast reaction from the minibot. Being the fastest quadrupedal out of Autobots, they quickly catch up with the minibot, almost being within their reach.

Bumblebee feels ‌Cheetor is getting close to him and takes another unexpected turn to avoid being caught. But surprises won’t end here.

Just ahead of him, the door opens and Optimus Prime steps into the corridor. Bumblebee sees it too late and slams into his leg at full speed. Optimus loses balance and falls onto his back. Cheetor, who was right behind Bumblebee, couldn’t stop in time and stepped all over their leader, including his face, before sliding into the wall. Steeljaw and Nightstalker, who were much farther behind, heard the commotion and slowed down, only slightly bumping into Optimus.

“What happened?! Are you okay, Optimus?” Prowl rushed from the same room to help his friend sit up.

“I am alright.” Optimus reassures the second in command and looks at the yellow culprit, who is laughing on the floor right.

“I’m sorry, Prime! I didn’t see you!” Bumblebee somehow utters the apology between laughs. He was so focused on getting away from Cheetor on his tail that he didn’t even pay attention to what was in front of him.

“I’m sorry too, for stepping on you!” Cheetor, who is giggling, apologizes next. “Looks like we got carried away.”

This earned a fit of giggles from everyone. Bumblebee’s laugh is simply contagious. No one can resist, not even serious bots like Prowl.

“This was bound to happen, I feel. Though, I wouldn’t expect Bumblebee to be the one throwing me off my feet.” Optimus chuckles. He turns to Bumblebee, who, despite the laughing fit, is cradling his left arm. “Are you alright?”

“I’m okay!” Bumblebee exclaims, trying to throw his arms up, but his left arm quickly responds with pain from sharp movement. “Ow, ow, ow!” he grimaces. “Okay, maybe I’m not. Looks like I dislocated my shoulder or something.” he corrected with a giggle. Sure, it hurts, but this entire situation is too amusing to him to focus on the pain.

“Oh no!” Cheetor feels bad for their friend. “I will make sure he’ll make it to medbay!”

“Good. So what did we learn today?” Prowl asks the youngest member of Autobots.

“I learned that if I slam into Prime’s leg hard enough --” he didn’t even finish as everyone erupted into laughs again.

After everyone calmed down, Cheetor with the cassettes helped Bumblebee to get to the medbay.

When they entered Ratchet’s domain, the medic already could guess what happened. But he would never guess who fell victim to their shenanigans this time.

“Let me get this straight.” Ratchet slightly pinches the bridge of his nose.” You, Bumblebee, tripped Optimus Prime? And damaged your left arm in the process?”

The only answer he received was another row of laughter from beastformers, which served as confirmation.

“Aright. Bumblebee, you get into the berth, and your three are out.” Ratchet said. The minibot nodded to his playmates, and they went back to their game, chasing after Cheetor.

Then he walks over to the berth. Ratchet helps him to get on it with his magnetokinesis, before proceeding to inspect the injury. The medic carefully popped Bumblebee’s shoulder into the socket. The pain is lifted.

“Thanks, Ratchet.” Bumblebee says sheepishly.

“You should be more careful with their games. You are not as durable as they are, Bumblebee, and they tend to play rough.” Ratchet grumbles.

“C’mon, they never hurt me, and it’s fun!” Bumblebee protests. He doesn’t like to be reminded of his condition, though he knows this comes out of concern. “Alright, alright I will.”

Ratchet nods, satisfied with the answer. “Hold still, I will check if your arm sustained any more injuries.”

Bumblebee decided to check radio channels as he waited. Maybe he can hear if Windblade is coming back soon. After swapping multiple channels, Bumblebee stumbled upon a strange signal.

The signal is transmitted through a channel that he never saw before. As if it was turned off until someone began using it recently. And the signal itself is something he never heard Autobots or Decepticons using. It sounded like a series of beeps, short and long.

“Is something wrong?” Ratchet asks, noticing the minibot’s confused expression. Bumblebee opens the radio channel with the medic, letting him listen to that signal.

“Did you hear something like this before?” he asks the medic. He’s one of the eldest Autobots. Surely he heard something like this, right?

But Ratchet is confused as much as Bumblebee, “I do not know. We should notify the High Command about this. Who knows if Decepticreeps invented another way of secret communication… after I finish with your arm.”

The minibot nods and continues listening to the signal. He can’t help but feel it seems oddly familiar to him. After multiple passes, Bumblebee notices it has a specific pattern that looks like this:

... .... .- -.. --- .-- .-.. ..- .-. -.- . .-. --..-- / .-- . / -. . . -.. / - --- / - .- .-.. -.- .-.-.-

After he got the pattern, much to Bumblebee’s surprise, his system recognized it and began deciphering. When he saw the meaning of the message, his spark almost jumped out of his chest.

“WHAT?!”

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Smoke & Mirrors - part 2

Neil x Reader

Chapter 2: What kind of man

(see chapter 1)

summary: the matchmaking trio changes their strategy, and you end up on a sparring mat with Neil

warnings: language and other explicit things, 18+ and I MEAN IT

author’s note:  ...you know what? I don’t want to take any responsibility for where this chapter ended up going. Those characters have mind of their own and at this point I can just write it down and try not to die on the way. (I know it’s far from what we’ve discussed A, but it’s best I could do with what these two had given me, promise to do better next time)

The song for this chapter is Florence + The Machine - “What kind of man”  (changed from “Undisclosed desires”, don’t ask me, I don’t know either)

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think, please?

___

“...and you really think this is a good idea?” 

“It sure beats yours,” said Ives and took a sip from his cup.

TP huffed and smacked his arm. “Hey, I thought it was our idea!”

“What matters is,” - Wheeler chimed in, fighting a losing battle to hide the annoyance in her voice - “it was a terrible one, and we have to do better if you want them to not get each other killed on the field.”

Ives pondered for a while. When he looked at Wheeler, his eyes were full of concern. “Honestly? This sounds like a recipe for someone getting hurt.”

She kept forgetting how protective he could be over his friend. Although this time, she thought, the one at risk was definitely Neil. 

Wheeler smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, it’s gonna work.”

_________________

There was a certain peace in the emptiness of the HQ’s shooting range in the early morning. It always helped you clear your head - there was no place for emotions while you were holding a gun. And you always knew when to come there to be alone. 

At least up until today.

Just as you finished your routine and grabbed your bag, the door opened and you were greeted by the smirk from under the messy blonde mane. 

Bloody perfect.

A week had passed since the bar encounter, seven long days filled with Neil’s tiresome presence during your work time. If it wasn’t a merged mission of your squads, there were training sessions. The shooting range was your last place free from the walking reminder of your recent failure. 

Not anymore, apparently. 

“Going out already? Too bad, I was hoping to get some tips from you.”

“Aim and pull the trigger. Repeat. It’s really that simple,” you said, shrugging.

The blue eyes narrowed behind yellow-tinted lenses of the safety glasses as Neil sent a forced smile your way. “Never would have guessed,” he deadpanned.

You passed by him, not willing to allow him to get under your skin. But then, just as you were about to exit the room, you stopped and cursed internally at yourself. Closing the door and turning around, you placed your bag quietly on the ground and leaned back against the wall. With your arms crossed, you watched Neil as he prepared his pistol and started the practice. 

You studied his posture, the way he held the gun in his gloved hands, trying to find any weak points in his technical side. There wasn’t too much to improve, his problem with shooting during the missions must have been elsewhere. You briefly glanced over the rolled sleeves of his navy blue shirt and the way his jaw tightened when he checked the target to grade his accuracy. 

“Look at that, you actually can hit a target,” you said and the corner of your lips twitched. “An easy one and not quite lethally but still, I’d call that a progress.”

Neil scoffed and glared at you over the shoulder. “I thought you were done for today.”

The subtle hints of frustration rang in his voice, catching you by surprise. You didn’t know why, but all of the sudden, the satisfaction you felt had a bitter aftertaste. 

You eyed him carefully before speaking again, this time easing up on the mocking tone. Just a bit. “Maybe you just need to train in a more stressful environment.”

A sardonic smile tainted Neil’s lips as he focused on the target again. 

“Keep talking then.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you left the shooting range. 

Fucking hell, he was just infuriating.

_________________

You stared at the bulletin board in disbelief. The new training lineup added one-on-one sparring sessions, and your name was all the way at the bottom of the list, which only meant more late evenings at the headquarters. And as for the choice of your sparring partner-...

With the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar figure, trying to sneak by you unnoticed. You turned around quickly. “Ives, why do you guys hate me so much?”

He sighed slowly and patted you on the arm. “It’s nothing personal,” he said, his voice almost sincere. But you knew better, and after the crap they’d pulled on you last time, you had every right to be suspicious. 

“You could have picked anyone else for him,” you complained, quite desperate to try anything to avoid spending more time with that blonde pain in the ass.

“I didn’t pick shit,” Ives scoffed. “Besides, it’s just the combat practice, the usual training rotation stays the same.”

“And it’s a coincidence-”

“It’s not,” TP’s voice rang from behind you. “It’s the result of your recent evaluation.”

You stifled a curse. 

_________________

Neil’s brows furrowed in fake concern while he looked you up and down as you kicked off your shoes and stepped on the mat. The fact that you accidentally matched your black tank top and shorts to his black t-shirt and sweatpants didn’t get lost on him.

“What’s with the frown, sweetheart?” he teased. “I thought you might enjoy it, I saw the way you look at me.”

You smacked your lips as you began to stretch your arms and sneered, “Good, so you know how much I want to punch your stupid face.”

Neil kept his features casual, but the taunting sparks in his eyes were saying plenty. 

“I can’t wait to see you try.”

You started circling each other slowly. After seeing him in combat, you knew that you were in his domain. You tapped into all your bottled anger to cover the lack of confidence you suddenly felt in his calm presence. 

��Ground rules?” you asked, putting your guard up.

Neil’s shoulders raised in a slight shrug as he mirrored your pose nonchalantly. 

“Just show me what you got.”

And that’s what you did. 

You always considered your close combat skills adequate. Good enough to let you get out of most of the situations you’d found yourselves into during missions. But after yet another blocked hit, you weren’t so sure about that anymore. 

Meanwhile, Neil was clearly having fun watching you struggle to break through his defense. “You don’t like hand-to-hand combat,” he rather stated the fact than asked as he dodged under swing aimed for his head and lunged forward, tapping your right side to mark the exposed area. 

“If you’re that close, it means I’ve failed to shoot you,” huffing in frustration, you spun around and kicked, missing him just barely. Neil didn’t give you too much time to regain your balance, making you jump out of the way of his flying knee. He flitted around you and grabbed your wrist, twisting it quickly and pressing it to your back, quickly adding your other one there before you could do anything about it. 

“You never let anyone near you, huh?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine as you tried to wriggle your way out. Neil was definitely too close for comfort, both literally and figuratively. “You’re not my therapist, blondie,” you uttered through gritted teeth, taking a sudden step back right into his arms, a change of direction finally allowing you to escape his grasp.

“Thank god, because I feel sorry for them already,” Neil laughed dryly. His eyes narrowed as he watched your mouth open in disbelief at his remark and a shit-eating grin crept on his face. 

You don’t know what pissed you off more - the fact that he was bent on driving you mad, or the sudden realization that the fucker was clearly holding back. It didn’t matter that you were struggling enough with the moderate effort from his side; to you, it was an insult worse than the comment. 

You brushed a sweaty strand of hair from your forehead. “Aren’t you tired?” you snarled, shifting your balance back and forth. The question was vague enough, but from the way his expression changed, you knew he got the hint. The predatory flare in his eyes made the heart race in your chest. 

Neil sprung at you, faking a misstep on the way to throw you off balance. Your senses sharpened enough to predict his next move and you were there to deflect a lightning-quick hit to your abdomen. You returned with a strike at his side but to no luck. Neil ducked under your elbow and closed in on you, giving himself enough momentum to knock you down and pin you to the mat.

The self-satisfied stare just a few inches from your face was making the blood boil in your veins. Cursing internally at both his reach and flexibility, you squirmed under Neil and that only made him press his forearm to your chest even harder, a roguish smile tainting his lips. “See, there’s one thing you need to learn. You need to work smarter, not harder.”

An outraged cry built in your throat as you clenched your hands on his arms, trying to gain any leverage in your position. You glared into the blue eyes, the nauseating hate burning in every cell of your body.

Neil raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Oh no, did I hit a nerve?”

You let out a frustrated groan. Of course, that son of a bitch hit a fucking bullseye. And to make matters worse - he had a point, too. 

Neil spotted a change in your expression a second too late. You swiftly moved your hands and sneaked them under his t-shirt, sliding them up his stomach. His eyes widened as he gasped, reducing the pressure on your chest. That gave you enough room to maneuver, rolling him off you and pinning him with his wrists above his head. 

With your faces again just inches away from each other, both of you panted heavily; a part of you enjoyed Neil’s amused gaze, his mouth slightly open as he tried to level his breath. And then - 

“Good girl. Just like that.”

...fuck.

You didn’t know what exactly made your brain short-circuit. Was it the hoarse voice combined with the praise? The way the blue eyes suddenly got darker? Or both together?

And you didn’t even know how you found yourself underneath Neil again, flipped on your stomach, your hands behind your back. With one cheek pressed against the cold mat, you shivered at the sudden warmth of his uneven breath on your neck. 

A throaty chuckle made your heart skip a bit. “Two can play the game, darling,” he purred as his lips brushed against your ear. 

Your mind went blank again. 

Somehow, you made your way back to the shared locker room.

You leaned your back against the wall, crossing your arms. The tension between the two of you was almost volatile, elevating your heartbeat with every second passed and every step Neil made your way. 

“You’re insufferable.”

You grinned slyly as your eyes flared up. 

“The feeling is mutual, blondie.”

The way his gaze got even darker made your breath hitch. The burning sensation inside of you was something more than hatred now, not caring if you were ready to admit it or not.

He smacked his tongue, a vicious smile dangled in the corner of his lips. 

“You really should stop calling me that.”

The hidden threat in his tone made your mouth dry. You raised a brow and held your breath. 

“Or?”

He closed in on you and grabbed your chin harshly.

“Or I’ll make you.” 

You flashed your teeth and taunted him again. 

“Can’t wait to see you try.”

Neil hummed and moved a pad of his thumb against your lips, making you gasp breathlessly and lose all the resolve you had left. A dry chuckle in response to your expression was enough to haze your mind. You tilted your head as Neil leaned in, drawing his attention just where you wanted him. It took all your willpower not to sigh when he sucked at the skin just below your ear and your fingers raked through blonde hair, pulling Neil even closer. 

His hands roamed your body hungrily while his mouth moved down your neck. When you felt his fingers going up your thigh, you tugged at his t-shirt, and as they moved even higher, your hips bucked involuntarily, so eager to feel him where you needed him the most.

A sharp chuckle against your collarbone as he palmed over the almost completely soaked-through fabric of your shorts sent a bolt of pleasure through your every nerve. You could feel your core pulsing even harder as his long fingers rubbed you just right.

Your hand flew back up and yanked at his hair, making him look at you just before you trailed his jawline with your mouth. Neil groaned and a laugh rattled in your chest. 

You reached for his waistband, but he was faster. Next thing you knew, your shorts and panties were gone and Neil lifted you and pinned you to the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he slid his arm around your lower back. You nearly cried out when he thrust into you mercilessly; instead, you dug your nails into his back and sank your teeth in your bottom lip. As Neil picked up the pace, you clung to him for dear life. The heat radiating from his body carried the musky smell mixed with the almost fade-out scent of his cologne, the combination so intoxicating it made you lightheaded. You felt yourself tighten around him as he ground into you relentlessly, and pathetic whine escaped your mouth. Hearing that, Neil slowed down, almost stopping and you groaned in frustration when you realized what he was doing. 

“I hate you,” you uttered through gritted teeth, panting heavily, rolling your hips, longing for the friction that son of a bitch was purposely denying you.

Neil pulled back enough so you could see the roguish sparks in his eyes accompanied by a mischievous grin. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he teased, his voice low and raspy.

You huffed, outraged by the audacity and he laughed, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he picked up where he’d left off. The fire he’d just fueled blazed in your veins, your heart raced in your chest and you felt yourself climbing the peak again. Wrapping your arms around him and pulling yourself closer, you frantically gasped for air and squeezed your eyes shut as you came undone with a loud moan, the pleasure hitting every fiber of your body in violent shockwaves. That was enough to send Neil over the edge, a deep groan escaping his mouth as he came into you, tightening his grasp on you almost painfully. 

At that moment, you were nothing but a trembling mess in his arms. Coming down, you pressed your forehead to his, enjoying the way your breaths intertwined. 

When both of you regained your senses, you pushed him away and picked up your clothes. As you were both decent enough, you glared at Neil.

“This changes nothing,” you said. 

The self-satisfied look in his eyes made you realize your mistake. 

No nickname. 

You cursed internally, but it was already too late. He’d had it his way, in the end. 

Neil’s lips curled in a half-smile.

“How tragic.”

(next chapter ->)

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 29 (NSFW-lite)

Read on AO3 | Read on Wattpad

Read chapter twenty-eight (NSFW)

Title: ASSISTANCE REQUIRED

Words: 5.6k

Summary: I am very uncomfortable with the vibe we have created in the studio Infirmary today...

Warnings: mentions of abuse, suicide

ST Rambles: So... I graduated nursing school. And will be taking my licensure exam next month and start working as well...

In my time away, other than the above mentioned accomplishments, I've been reading a lot of books and even went to see an internet friend just last weekend. Life got insane and I needed to focus on school, and I do appreciate the patience and enthusiasm.

I hope this was worth the wait. I hope the next part will be even more so ;)

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER // @elmidol

Fucking, fuck!

“I know in academy you were told to pierce the skin at a forty-five-degree angle, but it works a lot better if you-,”

“Go in at a fifteen-degree-angle, go parallel to the skin. I know,” you huffed, embarrassment burning your skin. “That’s not the issue. I do that. The issue is-,”

“That is the issue,” Silver corrected, interrupted. Your preceptor-for-all-intents-and-purposes crossed her arms and stared at you with hard, unyielding eyes. “You won’t listen to me,” she spat. “You are the issue.”

Calliope Silvren, or “Silver”, as she’d informed you upon meeting, was everything you were supposed to be. And you hated her for that fact, hated her for that and so much more.

She was intelligent and concise and respected, she knew everything and made sure you were aware that you didn’t. During the past eleven hours, not with so many words, Silver had made it clear that you were never supposed to be here to begin with, that hers was the name in the original provider candidate pool and you were nothing but a fluke, a nobody, nothing.

Compared to Silver, compared to Calliope fucking Silvren, who’d graduated valedictorian, who had star-white hair and golden skin, whose eyes were a harsh sea of frozen cerulean, whose legs were long and lips were full and head was high and posture was perfect – compared to the program’s prototype? What were you other than a fluke? A whim? Compared to her, how were you anything more than the fascination you’d been labeled as from the very start?

As you stared up at her, her height almost that of Kylo’s, and felt the wrath of that frozen sea that resided behind her glare, you couldn’t speak. Every word of defense left you, and your mouth dried and your chest hollowed. Because her words not only rippled through your head but echoed through the unit’s halls so every nurse and physician and maintenance worker had heard them. Heard her and how superior she was, heard how incompetent you were.

Silver knew what she’d done, could feel the eyes of her coworkers gawking at her scolding; you knew by the smallest quirk to her lip, the slightest tick in her platinum brow. She had you trapped and on display, and all you could do was stand here and take it. The Board was watching, and so was Hux – CB-7070 always shadowing ten paces behind – you had no choice but to remain neutral-faced and silent.

She spoke your name and it was beautiful, a voice like sugar even when it slithered and bit like venom, “We’ll pick up tomorrow. If you absolutely need me, I’ll be organizing my report sheets for the oncoming shift.” When no one was looking anymore, her eyes narrowed and she leaned in. “Busy yourself for the next hour.” A sneer slipped past the benevolent mask she wore. “Don’t need me.”

With a steel spine, she whipped past you, stalking off toward her task, the white of her hair streaking from your periphery. And there you were, clutching an IV starter kit – missing the needle, much like you’d missed the vein – trying your hardest to keep from showing any emotion whatsoever. Less people were gawking now that Silver had left, but you still felt eyes on you. Whatever lay in those lingering stares, pity or humor or apathy, it all burned you, reminded you how temporary you were. Not only in this place – the “Infirmary” as the staff referred to it – but in your life, as well.

Smoothing the skirt of your uniform, you cleared your throat and turned to do as you were instructed, catching CB-7070’s visor for a second before peering around the unit. She faced you, and even though you couldn’t see her face, you knew she may be the only one around who was on your side. The white of her helmet glinted as she gave a small nod in your periphery. Yeah, she wasn’t so bad, no matter who she’d report to the second you got back to the Consulate.

The Infirmary was a large unit, and, unlike any place you’d practiced in since graduation, it was efficiently staffed and stocked. Safe nurse-to-patient ratios, sufficient supplies, and an allocated provider available for any emergent orders or treatments. It was a surreal representation of the “hospital utopia” you’d heard of all throughout school.

But, aside from its apparent perfection, some characteristics of the unit confused you, but you didn’t ask about it because no one else seemed to think it was weird, and Silver didn’t exactly foster a great learning environment.

What struck you first was the Infirmary’s construction and layout. It was all glass, floor to ceiling windows that offered full views of each patient in their respective rooms. You’d watched the sun dance across the sky as the day went on, nothing hindering you from the beautiful view of the sea beyond the fanned-out city below. The only thing that offered a semblance of privacy for each patient was the wall-spanning mirror positioned in front of their beds. None of them saw each other, but it was still odd that there seemed to be no concern towards the errant lapse in privacy policy the design created.

At the center was the nurses’ station, large and circular, a skylight fixed right above. The staff used the lack of patient privacy to their advantage, peering above the counter to make sure their assignments were doing alright. Their assignments who were all under the age of twenty. Some much younger, just grasping at adolescence, others kissing young adulthood – those seemed much worse off, something darker rimmed their eyes, ghosted behind the lifeless face all of them wore.

It was a strange environment to be in, even more so due to how vague the progress notes were, history and physicals extremely short and never too in depth, especially when it concerned anything related to the patients’ family history or living situations. Something seemed off, something that tugged at you and made you yearn to break past the flat affect each patient met you with.

So many were here for a few hours and then gone the next, a constant influx of admissions and discharges. But, so strangely, there was never any patient education given, never any parents or guardians for the younger ones to go home to. They were always escorted from the unit by two “official personnel”. And watching their faces as Silver told them they were done with treatment and could leave, it killed you to see the faintest slash of fear quiver their bottom lips.

Beyond that, beyond seeing these younglings so fearful and defenseless, what clawed at your gut the most was that none of them had a name. They had no birthdate information, no address listed, no family contacts entered or even offered. They were all in the system only by the letters “FL” followed by a code of eight numbers. The nurses would refer to them by their room numbers to make it simpler, but none of them shared your concern for the lack of identity these patients were plagued with.

Yes, something seemed off, seemed wrong here. Something waswrong here, but you feared you would be gone before you ever knew what that was.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a tray left on an isolation cart next to a door. Heeding Silver’s command, you approached it, discarding the IV kit and feeling CB-7070’s focus catch your every step. You’d passed this door frequently, never seeing anyone approach it for longer than a few seconds at a time, assuming it was a closet for extra supplies or scanning machines. But the meal card on the tray indicated differently.

This was a patient’s room. The room number matched, there were no other doors labeled with it that you could see. No staff paid you any attention as you peered around. The only one watching was your white-armored shadow standing against a pane of glass.

Shrugging to yourself, feeling you couldn’t possibly get in trouble for delivering a patient’s food, you said over your shoulder to CB-7070, “I’m taking this in. I shouldn’t be long. Don’t follow me in here.” More to yourself, you sighed, “Even if I am the only one here concerned about privacy, I’d prefer not to violate anyone’s rights on my first day.”

CB-7070 nodded. “Affirmative,” her modulator croaked.

A swipe of your new badge gained you access past the door, a whoosh of air whipping through your skirt as it closed behind you. It was pitch dark, the only light coming from a holo-chart programmed into the wall. It appeared you were in an antechamber, those that often came with isolation patients, but there was nothing indicating this patient had any infection or ailment that necessitated a gown or mask.

The air was stale, like nothing and no one had stirred it in a few days, and the only glass visible was that of a window peering into the room beyond – or, it would be peering, were there not closed blinds on the other side of it.

You saw yourself in that darkened pane, clutching the tray to yourself, the first glimpse you caught of your face since the start of shift. Truthfully, you looked awful. Hair frizzed at your temples, a sheen of oil had gathered on your forehead, and exhaustion was evident in the puffy bags beneath your eyes.

But it was an earned appearance, no matter what Silver wanted you and everyone else to believe. Today you did your best and you interpreted and communicated abnormal findings, you assessed every patient without bias and documented everything you did. There were things you were unsure of, not having performed many skills while being assigned to Kylo, but you always asked for help, even though you realized it would be met with disgruntled aggravation after the first few times.

You had done everything right, understanding the consequences if you didn’t. As far as you were concerned, and even as much doubt as she’s caused you in the singular day you’ve known her, Silver was the problem. Not you.

And, not for nothing, the IV you missed earlier… not entirely your fault.

Kylo Ren picked the wrong day to Force-edge you. Or maybe it was you who really initiated the torture, but he’d been the one to follow through with his threat. Every hour had been memorable.

The first three had luckily occurred when you were away from patients but did earn you a few wary glances from the unit staff, your jaw set firm as you gave them a reassuring nod, hoping they couldn’t see how badly you were shaking as your cunt spasmed toward orgasm, but never got there.

There was something vicious in the rate at which he was forcing you toward the edge. Even though you couldn’t see or hear him, you felt like he was tormenting you with spite in mind rather than pleasure, like something you’d said or thought had angered him.

You didn’t have much time to consider that, though, as the hours went on and you’d begged the stars that the slick slipping from your center wouldn’t go past the hem of your dress. A few times you’d cursed the damned uniform, but quickly turned to cursing Kylo Ren for the ever-so-slightly too high hem. It’d surprised you that he never acted on those silent curses aimed at him, that it hadn’t earn you another hour riding the edge of pleasure while choking down the gasps and moans he’d surely intended to draw from you.

During lunch, you’d found a corner and ate alone, speaking to the wall and scorning Kylo under your breath, spitting empty threats, telling him to stop, to slow down. When that hadn’t worked and the Force picked up in pattern and pressure, nudging your clit just right, your hands had clamped around a plastic fork as you held on for dear life. He was nowhere near you and you’d almost cum four times over the course of your twenty-five-minute break. At that point, you’d considered begging him to let you cum, but part of you knew that would only lengthen his schemes.

Other times during shift, when Silver was rolling her eyes when you’d asked for her help, you’d felt the light, teasing lance of the Force trail along your neck. When you were priming tubing for a new admission, you’d felt the strange, unseen presence caress your ear like Kylo’s tongue might. And one hour, right after the previous had left you wondering if you’d be able to stand the next time you needed to – that hour where you’d traded your curses for pleading, traded the harshness you were spitting for the simple, hushed breaths you needed to outlast the never-ending torrent of pleasure he kept surging through you – the Force was kinder, something sentimental in the way it’d weighted your body like Kylo would, draped itself along your shoulders as sweat dried on your brow and the shaking of your legs settled.

A delicate, “Thank you,” had breathed over your lips when the Force – when Kylo’s teasing – seemed it would let up for the remainder of your shift.

But, of course, that peace had been temporary, a strategy to lapse your guard, to make you vulnerable when you’d most needed a clear mind and a steady hand. It had started with the gentle lulls you’d been left with, a stroking tendril swift over the column of your neck, the tourniquet tight to the patient’s arm as you poked their forearm in search of a vein. And when you informed Silver you’d found one, the Force deftly switched its attention to your pussy.

Silver had been scrutinizing you before, but when your shaking hand and short, shallow breaths appeared as fear instead of the pleasure they were born from, her brow had narrowed that much more. When you’d anchored the vein and aligned the needle – at her all-important fifteen-degree angle – your hand had shifted, jumped as your thighs tightened and you fought to trap a moan in your throat. It was an accident that the needle pierced the patient – and, worse, through the vein – at a greater angle, and it wrought you with emotion. Guilt for hurting the patient, shame for screwing up under Silver’s icy appraisal, and unyielding anger for Kylo Ren for causing your fuck up and not being able to explain that.

So here you were, taking the brunt of criticism and punishment for a mistake you wouldn’t have made had it not been for Kylo Ren, and studying your reflection in the scant light offered from the holo-chart of a patient you hadn’t known existed up until three minutes ago.

“Kylo,” you breathed, reaching for the second badge-scanner, “I can’t look bad here. The Board is watching. Hux is watching.” You glimpsed the radar fastened to your wrist, directing your tired eyes at Kylo’s indicator like he could feel your attention on him. “Give me this last hour and let me be good. Let me do well. Let me prove that I can to everyone who believes otherwise.”

A few seconds passed by as you waited for a reaction. Nothing came. The Force remained absent from you, and your shoulders dropped in relief. With a final glance at the chart, noting the patient’s identifier and checking it against the meal ticket, you swiped your badge and the entrance rushed open.

Darkness met you once more, but this darkness was heavier somehow. Not in the way untouched rooms are usually heavy – not with dust or grime – but a heaviness that clutched at your heart. It pressed into you, taunted you even as you remained a step outside the threshold. It was only shadows, unmoving and unremarkable darkness, but it clawed at you. It writhed at your feet and stirred your heart.

This was the darkness that lived behind each of those younglings’ eyes, but here it was concentrated, like this was the very source of it. Like this was its home.

“Hello?” you croaked, still not daring to pass into the shadow-thick room.

No answer, not even a stir. Nothing but that unyielding darkness.

You cleared your throat. “I, um, I have your dinner.” You took a small step forward. “Sorry for the wait… if there was one.”

More of the same. More of nothing.

A light switch entered your periphery with your next step, and you reached for it, but before you could flip it—

“If I wanted it on, do you think I’d be sitting in here like this?”

The voice was weak, small, but not that of a child. Not even that of an ill person, or an elderly one. It was male, though. Boyish, but not a boy’s. Somehow, the voice was young and old at the same time, as if the boy had lived long years already, and those years had worn him down.

The voice was a singular stream against the dark’s thick, silent wrath, and it was hollow, empty like the shadows before you should be. As the question ended, you found that it wasn’t bitterness or pain that lived in its tone, but rather a broken apathy, like whoever this was had cared and fought for so long but had ultimately lost in the end.

“Not that anyone here is really concerned about what I want,” came the voice again, an edge weighting its words.

Finally, you stepped completely into the room. You had to swallow a gasp when the entrance at your back locked shut. The tray jostled in your arms, but you succeeded at remaining upright.

With a sugary tone, you asked, “How will you eat if you can’t see your food?”

A huffed laugh, tired and bitter. “You should work on that nurse voice. Not very convincing.” A long, deep breath filled a few otherwise silent moments. “Send that tray back. Give it to someone who wants it.”

Without your “nurse voice”, you said, “Why did you order it—”

“—I didn’t. I never do. I’m being kept here, why would I want to sustain myself to make my stay that much longer?”

“Kept?” you whispered.

The longer you stood in place, the more your eyes adjusted. The room was still suffocated by the swamp of darkness, but there was some light after all. Scant, but there, a beam of the setting sun speared the room, and from what you had begun to make out of the body in front of you – a small form curled in the center of a bed – you found he was staring out of the broken blinds from which it came, like he was looking at something. Looking forsomething.

“Kept. Held prisoner. Restrained but not restrained because thatwould make this whole operation illegal, right? Whatever way you want to put it, I’ve made it obvious I don’t want to be here.” A long pause and a sad sigh. “Starvation is a better fate than most here, anyway.”

The more he spoke, the clearer it became that his voice wasn’t hollow, but burning with quiet fury. For what, you weren’t sure, but you realized this was the first patient who had spoken all day. And his tone, his words, only solidified the fact that there was something very, very wrong going on.

You walked closer to him, past the foot of his bed until you saw where the small slant of light was focused, what he continued to brokenly fawn over.

“What are you looking at?” you asked, leaning down so you could match your view with his.

He turned his head from the mostly covered window, the creak of light only possible through a bend in the blinds, and he looked at you, a flash of realization spreading through his features before he reined his expression into a void of dull emotion.

He stared at you as you stared at him, appraising you just the same. He was young, but it appeared as though his youth had been leeched from him. Long dark brunette curls framed his face and teased his shoulders, heavy with oil inherent of unkemptness. An immense sadness lived in the downturned state of his mouth, a contrasting anger set in the crease of his brow. And when you finally found his eyes, you restrained a shiver, as the deep hazel burned with that cleave of sun and struck you with the anvil of pain and desperation that lived in them.

He wasn’t alarmed at your proximity but confused. With a shaky voice, and something of a weak sneer biting at his mouth, he said, “You’re a sick, brutal cunt, you know that?”

“What? What do you—”

“What am I looking at? Do not patronize me!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Are you stupid or just cruel?”

“I’m not either, I—”

“You’re both!”

“I’m temporary! I don’t work here! I’ve been here for one shift! I’ve been on this planet for one day!”

Without missing a beat, but less heated and more restrained, the boy said, “Just stupid then.”

He continued to glare at you, but your eyes wandered back to the break in the blinds, and with narrowed eyes you found something that resembled a racing track. It was far out in the distance, but you knew that was what he had been focused on, sure of it by the way his demeanor shifted when you looked back down at him.

“Help me understand, then, if I am so stupid,” you whispered.

“You aren’t any different from the others, no matter if you’re temporary or not. Whatever that means, anyway.” The boy’s jaw set so firm you swore you heard it crack. “You don’t want to understand. If you did, if anyone cared so much, the Infirmary wouldn’t exist.”

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Help me?” the boy barked. He considered you for a moment, sun and shadow warring across the hollows of his cheeks as he did. Those pained eyes narrowed a fraction. “Who are you? What does temporary mean?”

You leaned away from him, straightening your posture and setting his tray on a counter off to the side. You offered your name, just the first, and dragged an absent-minded finger over the embroidery of your uniform. “Temporary means…”

Perhaps it was his already non-existent trust in you, but you did not think that informing him of the real reason you were here – telling him that your license and life were on the line and you were here so the Board of Physicians would have ease in their decision to end your life or not – would do much to foster his confidence in you, you took a second to frame it in a way that would appeal to him.

Clearing your throat, you kept his stare and said, “Temporary means that I’m here for less than two weeks, and I have no loyalties to any staff here. Temporary means that I do care so much, and I do want to help because temporary also means that I’ve seen some weird shit today, and I don’t understand it.” The boy’s brows raised for a fragmented second, but you knew you’d gained at least a small portion of his respect, so you continued.

With a lowered voice and an unbreakable stare, you said, “Temporary means that I am on your side, and if you let me, if you help me to understand what is going on, I will help you as best as I can.”

The boy shifted, ringing a hand around his opposite wrist, toying with the identification band secured there. He never stopped looking into your eyes, and you knew he was searching for deceit, but the longer he stared, the more he came up short.

You offered him your hand, observing how he flinched away from it, but keeping it extended as he considered it for another few moments.

“I told you who I am. Will you tell me who you are?”

It seemed like the darkness that surrounded you was watching with bated breath, watching in awe as the boy’s gaze remained on your extended hand.

He swallowed, and ever so slowly, with a hesitation that struck through your heart, he lifted his hand and clasped it around yours. The light from the broken blinds coiled around your matched hands, and for the first time today, you felt hopeful. And no matter how dim and breathless it was, a flicker of that same hopefulness played through his eyes.

“I…” the boy hesitated, so you squeezed his hand and offered a reassuring nod. His shoulders relaxed with his next breath. “I am Quynnland. With a ‘Y’.”

“Quynnland,” you parroted, trying it out and letting his hand go. “Do you have any nicknames? Like Quynn? Quynnie?”

“No one calls me Quynnie!” he roared. “Nobody calls me that except…” Quynnland shifted in bed, away from you, turning his face back toward that racing track. His bottom lip quivered, and he appeared as if you’d just lashed him with molten plasma.

“Quynnland,” you soothed, “nobody calls you that except who?”

He remained quiet, but he shuddered, and you saw the light glint off a stream that found its way down the slate of his cheek.

“I want to understand. I want to help you.” You swallowed against your throat, which had become markedly thicker since you last spoke. “Please, help me help you.”

Quynnland’s chin rose, his eyes fell shut, and he balled his hands into tight fists. He wasn’t angry, but in pain, and you knew from the sight of how broken he was that he’d been in pain for a long time now. Perhaps, it seemed, he had never known a day without it.

Just when you were about to speak, Quynnland coughed against a sob and whispered, “They won’t let me see him. He’s there on his own. He’s never been alone for this long.” A tight breath whipped into his chest. “They’re keeping me here so I age out. They’re keeping me away from him.”

“Who is he? What are you aging out of?” The more he offered, the more questions you thought of.

“I almost got us out this time,” he whispered. “I almost saved us both, but they caught me and dragged me away from him. He’s young, but that never stopped them before.” A wheeze of pain slipped from Quynnland’s lips. “They probably broke him just enough so he could still work.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you kept quiet.

After what seemed like an eternity, Quynnland spoke again. “My brother. That’s who gets to call me ‘Quynnie’. That’s who I tried to save, and that’s who is suffering because I failed.” He pushed an aggravated sound from his lungs. “The only way you can help me, is if you help him.”

“How do I do that?” you asked, watching as his fists relaxed at his sides.

Quynnland opened his eyes and bore the full weight of their pain into yours. He took a long breath and squared his jaw. “You get him away from the wardens, and then you get him out.”

“Where is he?” you asked, needing to know what that racing track he kept glancing toward was.

He went to answer, but a rush of motion sounded beyond his door, and just as quickly, the entrance to his room shot open. Quynnland ducked his head and balled his fists, and you turned to see that it was Silver who stood in his doorway. She wore an unfamiliar face, one of shock and terror, and you went to speak, but her hand whipped out and signaled that you would notbe saying a word until you left this room.

She stared at Quynnland a moment longer, surveying him like she’d never seen him before. “Eat your dinner. I won’t have you starving to death under my license, not now that this will be your last stay here.” Silver more so talked at him rather than directly to him, and her tone was hard and full of disgust.

It gave you another reason to hate her.

You wanted to reach out and take Quynnland’s hand, but Silver snapped at you before you could. “You,” she sneered. “Out. Now.”

The ice behind her eyes had seeped to her tongue, and her words froze the very blood in your veins. She watched you as you stepped around her and into the antechamber, and you glanced the final withering, aghast glare she shot at Quynnland as you did.

When you reached toward the door that opened to the hall, Silver caught your wrist just before your badge met it. She was eerily silent for a moment, and you swore she was practically shaking with rage, but then she settled herself and stared down at you with such concentrated antagonization that it knocked the breath right from your lungs.

“What made you think you could go into this room? I never went near this room with you today. Why would you be allowed to enter it alone?” She was seething, but she hid it behind something of a gnarled smile.

“There was a tray just sitting outside, unattended to. I figured I would find something to do and deliver it to the patient. No harm done.”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes on you. “Are you aware what this patient is here for?” she asked sweetly, but it came off as clear condescension.

Silver waited for you to answer, but you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction she wanted from humiliating you again. So you remained silent, and she sneered at you. “Exactly what I thought. So why would you interact with a patient you know nothing about? And did the double security not tip you off that you were somewhere you shouldn’t be?”

“Look, Silver,” you huffed, enjoying the disgust that smeared across her features as you said her name, “I saw a tray. I had nothing better to do. My badge had access to the room. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

She cast you an undying glare, and her eye twitched when she gave you a once-over. “This patient willfully tried to kill himself and his brother last week. Did he tell you that?”

Your heart blackened, and your ears rang with silence as she let her words sink in.

Silver was pleased with your shocked silence. She went on. “Oh, and did he tell you just how many times he’s tried to do this exact thing in the past?” You remained wordless, feeling betrayed for reasons you couldn’t understand. “No? Not even a guess? Well, he’s a unit regular, if that gives any indication.”

She waited again and was once more elated to be met with silence. “It’s the same story every time. The wardens say he takes his kid brother to the shore and plans on swimming out to the Falls and either drowning to death or dying from impact.”

You swallowed in vain, mouth drier than sand. A part of your knew you didn’t want the answer, but you still asked, “How old… how old is his brother?”

A sick, deathly smile creaked across her perfect face. “Of course, we don’t know exactly, but previous scans estimate that he’s no older than seven.”

Seven. A child. Quynnland had tried to kill his brother… had tried to kill himself and his kid brother…

“Next time, don’t poke around business you don’t understand,” Silver cut your panic short, her frigid tone icing your skin with gooseflesh. “Your shift is up.”

She shoved your shoulder on her way past, but before she could activate the door the room filled with bright red light, and a shrill alarm screamed through the ruby darkness.

It was your watch.

Endless, screeching notes sounded from your wrist. Your stomach dropped, and you couldn’t think for a moment, completely thrown back to that last hour on Starkiller Base.

Kylo was in trouble. Kylo was hurt. Kylo needed you and you weren’t there.

When you lifted your arm as your heart sank through the floor and you read the continuous scrawling message, your feet pounded the ground and carried you away from the unit to wherever he was, wherever your radar was guiding you.

All you could think of was him lying under you, his blood slipping along your skin, and his still, comatose body. And as you made your way to him, not seeing the world around you, hardly aware of CB-7070’s footfalls booming behind you, you kept rereading the message that raced along your watch’s screen, and as you turned corner after corner and fled down hundreds of steps and staircases, the simple, abbreviated message taunted you with the past.

ASSISTANCE REQUIRED ASSISTANCE REQUIRED ASSISTANCE REQUIRED

As it scrawled endlessly across the small screen, all you could think of was how this felt too familiar to the day Starkiller exploded. And the only thought that remained, the only one out of the thousand that flooded back from that day, was that you would fight for the future you’d realized you wanted then.

Only now did you admit the full truth of that thought: the only future you wanted was one where you could be with Kylo. The only future worth having, you realized, was the one where you would spend it with him.

So you ran toward your future. Just as you had run that day not so long ago, you ran toward Kylo Ren.

[spell-cleaver]

Astrophilia

This is my project for @star-wars-wlweek! 

Leia and Qi'ra can fight others and each other with words and weapons easily enough, but trust in themselves is harder to come by, and may be what keeps them apart.

Or: five universes in which they almost, but not quite, find each other, and one universe where they do.

Read it on AO3 or FFN instead.

*

Day 1: Gay Awakening | Pirate AU

The gay awakening in this isn’t quite as clear as I wanted it to be, nor is the gay super clear; I’m not great at writing romance. I hope you enjoy it anyway :D

In one universe of many, Qi’ra boarded a covert attack ship named the Striker.

Bring me the little rich rat, Lady Proxima had told Qi’ra, her decadent jewellery glinting in the dim, murky light of her pool. If there were any rich rats around here, Qi’ra couldn’t help but think, it was her. She and her senator father want to ‘clean us up,’ drive out the gangs. She needs taking care of.

Not necessarily murder, she knew, though Qi’ra had certainly done worse in her years of servitude. Han, the big softie, never liked the dirtier jobs, but Qi’ra still had her eyes on the role of enforcer and she wouldn’t get that if she played nice. Whatever Proxima wanted done to this Princess of Alderaan, she would do it.

Better her than Qi’ra.

And the job came with some perks, as well. She’d been allowed into a ship off-planet for the first time ever. Corellia was putrid on the ground level, but seeing it from above was a different matter: seas of grey-green waste, textured tumbles of built-up civilisation that had been run down three centuries ago, the white-capped poles blemished with black and grey.

Everyone around her was oohing and aahing at the skies and the million stars that Corellia’s piss-coloured lights washed away. But Qi’ra kept her eyes on the planet below.

She had never seen another world but she knew her own was a shit hole. There was no point forgetting that—especially when she had a job to do.

Corellia’s junkyard that passed for rings was an ideal place to hide a scrappy pirate ship, bartered from the Hutts and fixed up with spit and miracles. Qi’ra fingered the small blaster she’d been trusted with for this mission, gripping the accompanying stun baton tightly.

Han shot her a grin from the co-pilot’s seat but she ignored it. The Worms’ primary pilot grunted at him to focus.

Qi’ra focused too. The Tantive IV, the diplomatic ship captained by Raymus Antilles, owned by Senator Bail Organa, used by Princess Leia Organa on her numerous sanctimonious relief missions. Corellia, as one of Alderaan’s nearest neighbours, was getting the brunt of some of her efforts first, and if she managed to get enough relief and policing there, she might even shut down the White Worms.

They couldn’t do that. Qi’ra had fought so hard, all these years, to be where she was now. She wouldn’t lose it.

The Tantive IV winked into realspace on the edge of Corellian airspace and Han hacked their comms with barely a thought.

“—Princess Leia Organa, here for the scheduled relief mission—”

Even her voice was pretentious and fake. She’d be easy to kidnap, then hopefully easy for Proxima to intimidate. Actually, killing a Core world princess might be problematic politically, but it was amazing what the Empire would turn a blind eye to if they didn’t like the politician.

Tank, the Aqualan leader of the mission, grunted his instructions. “Attack. Now.”

Han jammed the Tantive’s comms. Qi’ra finally replied to his grin with a grim smile as he patted her on the shoulder, then stood with the boarding team as the Striker careened towards the Tantive and opened fire.

The next few minutes were a blur. The ships jerked as they connected, the Striker seizing the Tantive’s airlock like a snake seized a rat between its jaws. Qi’ra rocked with the motion and was one of the first fighters on the ground when the doors hissed open.

They met fierce resistance from the bodyguards. Bolts flew, blew molten plasma across the metal walls, but there were more intruders than defenders and soon they were retreating back down the corridor, shooting haphazardly over their shoulders.

“Secure the escape pods!” came Tank’s shout. “Locate the target!”

Qi’ra sprinted down the corridor and took the first left where everyone else fanned out across the ship. A few men Qi’ra didn’t know followed her. She kept an eye on them as she went: one blue-skinned Twi’lek and one gruff human. She trusted neither of them not to try to steal glory for themselves, but she could take them if they did.

They came upon the first escape pod and shot the controls, disabling it. Then the next. Then the next. The engine room and other guts of the ship expanded on their right, and it took everything in her not to jump at shadows.

She did jump when the bolt came.

It struck the human man in the chest; he went down instantaneously. Qi’ra whipped her head around and returned fire, forcing the attacker to retreat to where their aim was less deadly.

The Twi’lek wasn’t so wise. He grunted and barged forwards, punching out shots in a rapid staccato, but in a few moments he was nailed in the lek, then the forehead. Qi’ra grimaced at the splatter of blood and brains.

That was a mistake. Her moment of distraction saw her attacker dive with range again; they shot right through her ponytail and left her hair a sticky mess. She did the only thing she could do: she brawled.

They weren’t expecting her to leap. Qi’ra’s fist landed right in a chest—where she’d thought the abdomen would be, but her attacker was smaller than expected. She used that: yanked them towards her, under the glaring lights, before they could shoot again.

She stared.

Her assailant—a young woman with intricate braids and a stony expression—pulled herself up to her full, diminutive height and glared.

She was, Qi’ra hated to admit, highly attractive.

She brought up her blaster. Qi’ra kicked it out of her grip and was backhanded for her troubles. Small hands gripped her own blaster fiercely and she twisted away, snarled—tossed the blaster aside rather than give it up. It scattered into the next escape pod.

The woman—Princess Organa, it had to be—dived for it. Qi’ra tackled her. They rolled across the floor, faces inches apart, and Qi’ra tried to fight the paralysis when they locked eyes.

She lifted her hands to punch again, but Organa gripped her wrists.

“Who are you people,” she hissed. “Why are you attacking!?”

“I just need another mission under my belt, Princess,” Qi’ra grunted, trying to free herself. Organa’s grip was strong. “’Else I’m back out on the streets.”

“That’s why we’re here, I’m here to help—”

“I can’t trust help from a stranger.”

“Then get out of my way.”

Organa struck Qi’ra across the face and she fell to the side, cursing. She scrambled for the escape pod.

“Oh no you don’t,” she hissed, but Organa already had the blaster. Qi’ra leapt in after her and rolled to duck the bolt that soared past her ear.

It struck the button to detach instead.

No.

No.

Organa smiled grimly and pulled a lever. The airlock disengaged. They were floating in space, untethered.

“I have no interest in being captured by whoever you work for,” Organa spat.

“Captured? Pah. Lady Proxima just wants you and your relief efforts out of the way.” Qi’ra eyed the blaster but didn’t dive for it again. She glanced at the controls, the ship—the shots from the Striker just missing their pod. “We had orders to fire on any escape pods that were released.”

Organa went white. “You’re saying we’re going to die.”

“You’ve killed us both, yeah.”

Organa swore in a language Qi’ra didn’t know. “I hate you.”

“It’s mutual, trust me.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Likewise.”

“But sit your sorry backside down there.” Organa grabbed her arm and frogmarched her to the only seat in the escape pod. “And steer.”

“Steer?”

“I’m going to escaped this. I want to live.” Organa eyed the Tantive and the Striker getting smaller with every spiralling moment. Bright shots shattered out from them and puckered their hull. “My question is: do you?”

When Qi’ra laid hands on the controls, they were hot and shaking under her touch.

[brywrites]

Flight Risk IV

Summary: An answer to the age old CM question, “who’s flying the plane?” And the story of a pilot and a profiler. Part IV: In which airplane food is disappointing and the context of a case is heavy.

( Series Masterlist ) ( Previous  |  Next )

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Arthur stands waiting for her outside the jet stairs. “So you’re on speaking terms again?”

She freezes, hands still lifted in the middle of adjusting her cap. “What do you mean?”

Arthur gives half a shrug and begins climbing up into the plane. He’s not one to pry into the lives of other people, but she’s discovered he does make occasional exceptions to this rule. “Simply that you seem much happier to be around Dr. Reid today. Your scowl is gone.”

Her face flushes and she’s grateful he can’t see it as they file into the cockpit. “We talked, yes. I think we’ve reached an understanding.”

Arthur gives a noncommittal, mmmm, and gets to work adjusting Geff’s controls. She does the same, going through routine checks, only to be interrupted by a quiet, “Just be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Y/N blinks, then looks down quickly. She doesn’t ask him to elaborate; Captain Dobson isn’t one for sentimental attachments or expressions. The fact that he’s saying this at all speaks volumes. It makes her happy, to know he considers her someone close. The BAU is obviously close-knit, she’s heard them refer to themselves more than once as a “family.” But the two of them, bound by similar schedules and shared challenges, they’re something of that sort too. Perhaps that makes them distant cousins of the FBI.

The team boards the plane, they’re cleared for takeoff, and it’s all smooth flying and blue skies for a solid three hours. They’re both tired, and the thought of being able to go home and sleep in her own comfortable bed lifts her spirits – until the cockpit door slides open and Agent Rossi steps in.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he says. “We just got word of a case in Houston. Two previous victims and now there’s a kid missing.”

A kid. Oh, god. Rossi looks genuinely apologetic, but Arthur nods.

“We’ll change course immediately.” Rossi murmurs a thank you, then slides the door closed once more, muffling the voices of the other agents, already discussing the case behind them.

Y/N follows all orders, gets in touch with the air traffic controller, telling Indianapolis Center that they’ll be changing directions and heading for Houston. Other than exchanges with ATC and instructions to shift speeds and change controls, they fly in silence. It’s a heavy quiet, weighed both by an acknowledgement that somewhere, something horrible has happened, as well as the fact that they won’t be going home tonight.

It’s harder for Arthur, he has a boyfriend to go home to, people who need him. She has less attachments, but has no desire to spend more time in a small motel once again. Still, things could be worse. It’s important work.

“I think we’ve still got lunches prepared that I could heat up,” she offers. “What do you want – the chicken or the pasta?”

“Pasta,” he replies, without missing a beat.

“You always take the pasta.”

“I’m the captain. When your epaulets have four stripes, you can claim it first.”

“I don’t know why we even bother with the chicken,” she grumbles. “We both hate airplane meat.”

“You know the rules. We can’t have the same meal.”

Y/N carefully clambers to the sliding door. “I know. But honestly, how many planes have gone down as a result of the food?”

“There have been some close calls. Japan Air, 1975, omelets. Overseas National, 1982, tapioca. British Airways, 1984, hors d’oeuvres.” She rolls her eyes, but begrudgingly goes to fetch the saran-wrapped meals. Slipping out of the cockpit, she catches bits and pieces of conversation as the team begins to work. The previous victims were a little older, most in their early and mid-twenties. All women with blonde hair.

“But Caroline Chapman is only twelve,” Morgan adds. “Though she fits the physical type.” Twelve years old. Her stomach turns, and it has nothing to do with the plane. She swallows hard and grabs the meals from the warm tray, hurrying back to the cockpit before she can hear anything else.

Their world is so different from hers. Their work is so heavy. Sometimes, in the silence of the flight, she pretends she’s a commercial pilot, bringing passengers somewhere cheerful. Maybe part of the crew on one of those Make-A-Wish flights.

The pilots eat in silence, then Arthur, sensing she needs a distraction, begins one of their infamous verbal games.

“Fortunately,” begins Arthur, thinking it over, “I’m taking a vacation in Seattle.”

“Unfortunately,” she counters, “climate change has turned Seattle to a frozen wasteland.”

“Fortunately, I’m an Iditarod champion and getting around won’t be an issue.”

“Unfortunately, the number of confused squirrels on the snow is distracting the sled dogs.”

Back and forth they continue, trying to create the most complicated situation until one of them has no counterpoint, or says something so absolutely outlandish they must concede. Sometimes their games can carry on for almost an hour; depending on which one they’re playing. This one finally ends when Arthur claims he’s saved up enough vacation time, and she rebuttals that the BAU has called in an emergency and he has to come fly the plane.

“Ah,” says Arthur, “fortunately Seattle is a frozen wasteland and no planes can take off.”

Y/N admits defeat. They sit in silence, cloud rushing past them. Then she says, “They’re only twelve.”

“I heard,” he says, starting straight ahead at the sky. She shifts in her seat, searching for the words to explain how she’s feeling. Arthur adds, “You can’t think about it too much. That’s their job.”

That’s all he has to say. A few hours later, they touch down just outside of Houston, and the agents file off to SUVs. She and Arthur prepare Geff for his overnight stay at the little airport they’ve landed at, before going off to the hotel. It’s been a long day, and they end up staying at the same one as the team. After a nap, she takes a long hot shower, and they order takeout, exhausted from the long flight.

Dinner arrives at nearly 8 pm; Arthur takes his to his room, and she makes herself comfortable in the lobby. Wet hair thrown up in a bun, a sweatshirt and leggings. That’s the nice thing about traveling. Nobody knows her. She can be anyone in a new city, only to disappear a few days later and leave only faint traces of herself. The sun has nearly disappeared outside the lobby window, when half of the team comes in, looking entirely drained. They head off in different directions, and she’s pleasantly surprised when Reid goes not to his room, but to join her on the hotel lobby couch. Y/N tries not to look too excited.

“You look tired,” she remarks. Holds out the container of pad thai and chopsticks. “Have you eaten yet?”

He politely refuses. “I have, thanks. Besides, I don’t know how to use chopsticks.”

“What? We’re going to have to fix this.” Her joking smile shrinks to one of hesitancy when she asks, “How are you doing?”

Reid shrugs, runs his hand through his long hair. It seems the more stressed he is, the messier it gets, and something makes her want to sit him down and brush her fingers through it until he looks calm.

“We’ve got enough for a partial profile, but that’s it. We still don’t have – I mean, we still can’t find the girl.”

Arthur explicitly warned her not to get involved, not to think about it. And yet, she asks, “So… what does that mean?” She knows enough to realize it’s not good.

Reid purses his lips. “The first hour is the most important. When a stranger abducts a child, it doesn’t always mean they’ll be killed. But of the children who are, almost half die within the first hour. Nearly all of them are killed within the first twenty-four, and we just passed that mark. Hotch, JJ, and Rossi are still out looking, with the CARD team. In five hours, they’ll come back and I’ll go out with Morgan and Kate.”

Kate Callahan is the newest member of their team, a short woman with dark hair and no time for anyone’s crap. She likes the way they look out for each other, making sure they have a chance to rest. But twenty-four hours, it’s such a short timespan. Gone too soon already. What does that mean for Caroline Chapman?

“Are you okay?” Reid asks, tilting his head. His voice is gentle, making it easy to admit to him what she hates to admit to herself.

“This job – it’s different for us, you know? As pilots,” she says. “You’re trained for this. It’s what you know you’ll be doing, going off to fight evil and save lives. I never thought I’d be involved with that. I mean, I like this job, don’t get me wrong. But I love flying. And lately, every time I get a call from work, my heart breaks because I know the only reason I’m going up in the air is because something terrible has happened to someone, and I just don’t know how to reconcile that. Every time I get into that plane, every time we get Geff off the ground, we’re taking you all to danger, and I only get to do what I love because someone else has suffered a tragedy.”

It’s so complicated, to have her great love for the sky tangled up in this mess she feels when the phone rings. It’s fear and it’s anxiety and it’s sorrow – grief for people she will never even meet. And flying back can be just as difficult. A case closing may mean a happy ending, but it also might mean that a victim is dead, or that an unsub – she’s picked up their lingo – is dead. Either way, there has almost always been some sort of loss. Perhaps in the form of innocence or hope or comfort. She can see it when they board before heading home. This job takes things from them. Will a day come when they have nothing left?

“I know it might sound selfish, but it’s just hard for me to understand. And you,” she adds. “I’m always so happy to see you and talk to you, but that only happens when there’s a case. I feel like I shouldn’t feel that way, not when someone’s life is on the line.”

Does it make sense to him? She hopes it does, because otherwise it’s going to sound so self-centered. Of course his job is more emotionally taxing. Of course she’d rather be a pilot than a profiler. But it hurts her heart each time she hears there’s a case. She grieves for them too. And she worries for the team, her team, their team.

He must understand though, because he places one hand over hers, just long enough for her to understand it’s meant as a comforting gesture, and not purely accidental. Reid doesn’t touch many people, she never sees him shake hands with anyone he doesn’t know. Crossing that barrier is a big deal, and that’s what leaves her all the more surprised.

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “It’s okay to feel whatever you feel – about this job, or a case. You don’t have to disconnect from things or stop being affected by them. But you also don’t have to feel guilty about liking your work. You shouldn’t – you’re a great pilot, and a really good person.”

“Thanks, Doctor.”

Reid gives her half a smile, then looks nervously down at the floor. His pulls at his fingers. “You know, maybe we could meet sometime outside of work. That way we can actually talk for a normal amount of time, and we don’t have to worry about anything else.”

“That would be really, really nice.” At that, his smile widens, and she can feel her own mouth mirroring his expression. “Maybe after all this, when we’ve both had enough sleep, we could go get coffee or something? Go to a library?”

Reid’s grin makes his eyes seem less tired, and for a moment it’s so easy to forget the circumstances. “I’d like that.”

[bloodys44]

Silence and Cigarette Smoke

Original story and bonus content found here! ↓↓↓↓

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13289933/1/Silence-and-Cigarette-Smoke

Ive almost finished writing chapter 10!! You can read ahead to chapter 9 on FF.net if your interested :) 

Chapter 7: The Dragons Return

790

Natsu hated trains. He'd hated them for as long as he could remember and would probably continue his vendetta until he was dead and cold. The particular train he was on counted as no exception. The constant sway and jostle of the cars made a mockery of his intestines and the over-crowded compartments felt smothering, clouding his senses and leaving him feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable. Not to mention the absolute fiasco he'd gone through to board the damn thing in the first place. Royal security had practically quadrupled over the past year, leaving public vicinities like train stations (Or even the streets for that matter.) ground zero for mage hunting. As of late, there had been a generally adopted travelling protocol for the enchanted, one that Erza had not to kindly drilled into his head. Usually, it involved studying shift changes and positioning of officers, and most almost always included a heavily inflated bill for "proper identification" that his extremely shallow pockets couldn't even fathom. The current time allowance for this trip was nerve-wrackingly unclear, but he knew for certain he didn't have time to waste tracking foot paces of soldier dogs. He also knew he didn't have time for the slight delay the train was currently experiencing, and if that wasn't enough to irritate his already foul mood, the announcement of a passenger registration check certainly was. Of course, the one time he went against the spit-fire warrior's regulations it would come back to bit him in the ass. Typical.

The man seated across the compartment from him was clearly under the same stressors, as he'd transformed from a rather shady looking character to an absolute manic fiend at the simple announcement chime. Stark grey irises darting around in a desperate search for escape. There wasn't any, that, Natsu had already assessed. Unless you wanted to fling yourself off a moving train, your options were to wait until the train staff asked for your non-existent identification or pray to all things holy that today was your luckiest day on earth. Neither of which Natsu was keen on, but he was banking on the latter. The man (Who Natsu assumed went by Dan Straight, as identified by the printed tag hanging from his luggage handle. A complete rookie mistake for an un-registered that he probably would have judged if not for being trapped in the same situation.) began to shake violently as the initial shock dulled, raising his twitching fingers to kneed at his face in a disturbing manner. When he noticed the fire mage staring the whites of his eyes stretched to his brows and Natsu could practically see the connection through Dan's gaze as he realized they were one and the same.

"You have to help me." He whispered pleadingly from across the aisle, leaning to wrap his bruised fingers around the upholstered armrest. His hood had fallen back slightly to reveal matted brown locks and a forehead creased with worry. Black lines were smeared down the outer corner of his eyes as if he had attempted to expand the shape or had previously spent multiple hours crying while wearing black liner. Dan seemed strange enough for both.

Natsu shook his head slowly and gestured for the man to shut the fuck up. The last thing he needed was for a scene to be caused before meeting the seemingly inevitable guillotine. "Please," Dan tried again, ignoring the warning and raising his volume steadily. "They'll really kill me this time!" He lunged forward, grasping onto the dragon slayer's arm and flailed dramatically. "You can't just leave me to die!" People were starting to look now, passengers straining their necks for a view of the wild man spouting a tale of murder.

"Get off of me." Natsu hissed, ripping his forearm away. Dan's nails were unkept and jagged, leaving clear stripes of red across his tan skin. This, he considered to be very minuscule when compared to the train staff whose outlines were becoming visible through the small compartment-door window. "You're going to get us both killed." He sprang forward again, folding himself around Natsu's leg like a toddler in full tantrum. A mantra spilling from his chapped lips that he had money to pay and valuable rewards to gift if his life was saved. Though, based strictly on his appearance, he didn't look to have a penny to his name. Not that it mattered anyway. The compartment door rattled unmistakably as it slid open, revealing two tired-looking service staff followed by the fantastic addition of not one, but four armed (Not that he'd ever seen one without.) royal guards. They were quick to notice the commotion, hightailing it to the back of the cabin, which Natsu could only assess as not great.

Dan screeched like a frightened cat, flinging himself backwards until he was pressed against the wall, hands spread and knees shaking. "This crazy mage attacked me!" He stammered through his chattering teeth, his words fuelling the blind panic Natsu was currently running on. Honestly, this couldn't be a worse morning, and it wasn't even dawn yet. His excuses continued pooling around his feet, his voice cracking with pressure and flipping tones. The expression cemented on the officer's faces only confirming they were less than impressed.

A proper-looking woman with hair that reminded him of tangerines stood wearily from a few seats away, her eye's delicate as she scanned the dragon-slayer fondly before teetering over to one of the steel-plated officers. With a swift finger, she tapped his silver breastplate and confessed what she had really seen happen in a brief manner. The officer, a stout-looking man that seemed like he'd rather be anywhere else, thanked the woman curtly before moving forward to front Natsu. The royal dog's beady eyes tore over him, pausing momentarily on his bloody arm that was beginning to stain his overcoat and Natsu prayed to everything he didn't believe in that his body wouldn't flinch under the scrutiny. He prepared for the worst, attempting to clear his mind in case he had to fly into action with a second's notice. Instead, he was awarded a subtle nod in which he could barely return as he stood there in utter confusion. The guard completely disregarded him, turning in favour of a squirming Dan who whined on def ears about his innocence. The enforcement swarmed him, blocking him into a corner and demanding proof of ticket and identification. The wild mage spurred in fear, his body taking on a morbid glow as he lurched for the underside of his seat where a dented shield had been notably stored away. However, uncharacteristically the stout man moved faster, drawing his blade at the first sign of Dan's unnatural glow and thrust it forward in a well-timed step, completely shredding the terrified man's throat and leaving him to drop lifelessly to the panelled floor with nothing but a suffocated whimper. The guards seemed unfazed, moving without hesitation to clear the body, and the unnaturally calm statement the stout officer provided the rest of the passengers did little if anything to soothe their alarmed demeanour. Though, one after the other, they regained their composure, seating themselves to whisper of bravery and justice. Words that turned Natsu's stomach worse than any train had ever achieved, hoping to never understand how people could so easily overlook needless death.

"You alright son?" The same officer questioned, refocusing his attention back on the fire mage. "You got a little roughed up there."

"S'fine." Natsu forced out, disregarding that he most certainly did not feel fine. He was presented with a pitied look and clearly rehearsed monologue about protecting the people of Fiore, explaining further that a medic office would be just to the left of the terminal once they reached the station, and that he'd be happy to accompany if need be. Attempting to come across thankful, Natsu declined, throwing in a strong smirk to sweeten the deal. With a polite smile, the man left him be, exiting the front of the cabin in which he'd arrived. It took a fair moment for the dragon-slayer to re-compose himself enough to reclaim his seat, and another before he realized they hadn't even asked him for identification. He wanted to feel relieved, but the atmosphere in the compartment felt far too "normal" as if everyone was ignorant of the body being flung from the back of the train in complete disregard. Blind to the blood splattered across the floorboards, the walls, luggage... everything. Including Natsu's face, as he finally came to notice while streaking a hand across it, smearing it. For the remainder of the trip, he sat silently, swaying with slight nausea, drenched in the sent of Dan's blood. A slightly mocking tone repeating "Welcome home." against his skull.

Obviously, Natsu decided against his suggested medical advice, his movements swift and ignored as he swept through the exiting crowd with intentions on the station's exit. Magnolia was just as he'd left it, the air thick with morning baking, encased in a freshness only the area could provide. Cobblestone streets laid as they were in his mind, every corner memorized, every structure noted. And Nostalgia? She was a bitch, to say the very least; Slamming into his chest with no regard for his current mental state. To say he missed this place would be a rather gross understatement, the pull to return stiched to his every skin fibre. He shouldn't have left, but he'd known that from the start. Although, back then, he hadn't known how to stay. He'd forgotten how to look people in the eye. He'd forgotten how to look at her... And only the stars knew how franticly he was trying to remember. He wasn't ready to go back, and as he approached the most familiar clearing in his life, he wished profusely that he had more time.

Apparently, he'd also forgot about the cat hidden away in his bag, which was rather startling in itself considering he was bright blue and talked. Happy's questioning mew of his name propelling him a good foot into the air with freight. He was again thankful that he hadn't been forced to fight for his life back on the train, as he seemed well out of it today.

"Is it safe for me?" His animal friend tested, poking his ears from under the leather bag flap. "It sounded scary earlier."

"Ya, it was," Natsu mumbled, exhaling a heavy breath and removing his pack to unhinge the cover. "But it's okay now, you can come out. Nobody will see you here." Happy practically pounced on him, scurrying up his arm to perch on his shoulder. His little cat eyes growing twice their usual size as he took in the environment.

"This place still smells like Lucy." Happy announced giddily, taking a prolonged sniff of the air. "Do you think she still reads out here?"

The dragon slayer grunted, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him at the sound of her name. "I dunno, maybe." Her scent was old, stale by a few days at least, but still prominent enough to notice. A gentle musk sweeter than honey embedded into tree bark and dusted over every rocky surface. He'd done his best to avoid thinking about her during his journey home, but now, surrounded by her hazed scent he stood no chance. She was plastered to the forefront of his mind like gel adhesive, mutilating his already dishevelled brain. She alone wasn't his only anxiety regarding coming home, but yes, she was undoubtedly most of it. The night he'd left had been awful. He'd fucked up, after a series of fuck ups, and she let him know just that. She screamed at him like she'd never done, cheeks flushed and every hurtful thought she'd ever had spilling from her quaking lip. He hadn't gone to her room with the intention of kissing her and had honestly been just as surprised as her. God, she'd just looked so... Etherial? Golden hair tossed with sleep, but her lux eyes wired. Her exterior, porcelain skin draped casually in one of his old button-downs, moonlight banking off the plane of her exposed chest betrayed her grit and leaving her appearance vulnerable, fragile. Natsu wasn't dumb, he knew she was beautiful. Lucy was always beautiful, even a blind man could see that. But to describe what he witnessed then, with beautiful? It would be an insult. At that moment, even after months of ungracefully avoiding her, he'd never felt closer to her. Of course, she'd reacted negatively, because what sane person wouldn't after the way he'd been treating her. He saw how much it bothered her when he disappeared for hours or left on missions without her. And then, he'd gone and left her for a little over a year. To be fair, he had meant to tell her about this absence, but clearly, he'd gotten distracted. Not that he'd ever known himself to think clearly about anything regarding the blonde. She was his only thought pre-departure, which troubled him greatly for his childhood best friend had just passed and his sole focus had shifted from grief to a crush he didn't know how to approach.

"Natsu? I think this is for you..." Happy whispered from the edge of the clearing, completely jolting his thought process. He hadn't noticed the cat surrender his shoulder in favour of exploring and began to get rather irritated over how spaced out he was acting. Happy sat curled in on himself, eye's wired to a newly placed stone. Edges sanded by hand and base painted with intricate flames. Red melting with gold in thick layers over the smoothed surface.

I miss you.

And god, if he thought he'd been experiencing guilt before, it couldn't compare to the emptiness that was devouring him. The ground had been turned more recently in front of the headstone, showing she'd actually dug a metaphorical resting place for him just as he'd done for Lissana. "I thought you told her we were leaving for a bit, Natsu?"

"I meant too..." He mumbled sheepishly. "I kinda mixed thing's up the night we left."

His blue friend turned, ears drawn forward in sorrow, "Did we make her sad?"

Natsu stepped back slightly, eyeing the gravestone for everything it was worth before scooping his cat to nestle in his arms. "I hope not." He offered, knowing his words held no power. Did she really think he was dead? It was true he hadn't made any effort to contact her, or anyone from the guild for that matter, but to label him deceased felt so final. Had everyone collectively agreed he wasn't worth waiting around for? His hands shook and he cursed himself for how anxious he'd become over a situation he alone had created. Would she be relieved he was alive? Shaking his head and stepping forward with a heavy exhale, he continued towards the castle base. Attempting to put Makarov at the forefront of his priority list.

The hour was still young, the morning rays scarcely coasting over the hilled landscape as he entered FairyTail's grand hall, and almost immediately regretted his choice in entrance. He'd become accustomed to Sabertooth's relaxed mornings over the year, a certain fair-haired woman that liked an early start on breakfast slipping his mind. But the morning hues leaking from the stained glass illuminated her too brightly to ignore. Mira stood just past the swaying kitchen doors, a crate of fruit wedged between her delicate arms and an expression of pure disbelief painted over her rosy face. Breath caught in her throat like she'd just been thrown to the ground and fingers twitching under the weight of her supplies. Though a year had barely passed, she looked older, eye's more slated and dull than when he had last seen her. Natsu tried to summon up a greeting but his voice cracked with anxious pressure, startling Mira and causing her to drop the wooden box in favour of rubbing her rapidly blinking eyes.

"You alright Mira?" Laxus's strong tone carried from the kitchen, voice thick with concern over the box clattering against the stone floor. The fire-mage begrudgingly tore his eyes away from the woman at his front to focus on the doors behind her, which opened right on cue. The burly lightning manipulator barreling through to assess the situation before coming to a halt beside his wife. "Oh shit," Was all he offered but it seemed to be enough confirmation for Mira to realize that she wasn't hallucinating. Tears began streaming over her flushed cheeks, lip caught between her teeth, shivering under the ferocity of her sob. A whole new level of panic overtook Natsu, as he'd never been directly exposed to her crying, and when she sprang towards him he couldn't help but take a step back. He expected a smothering hug of one form or another but instead was greeted by the shocking sting of her palm connecting with his jaw. The slap echoing off the aged walls like a church sonnet to mock him further. She'd never been violent towards him, and it took him completely off guard. When she began to wind up for another swing he did nothing, merely closing his eyes to wait out her justified anger. The hit never came, her soft fingers only tracing over the smear of Dan's blood across his cheek.

"It's not mine." He attempted to justify, brushing her hand away. But the pain dancing with her irises darkened, another sob controlling her frame until she curled in on herself. Slender fingers toying with the hem of her burgundy gown.

"Where have you been... Natsu?" Her soft voice wavered. "No reports, no lacrima calls, not even a letter. Where did you go?"

He ran a hand through his roused hair, guilt overtaking his movements. "I was with Sabertooth," He started, choosing his words carefully. "Spying on the Royal court with Erza." He felt it important not to give too much away, not to spook her more than needed.

"Are you back to stay?" She pressed rather coldly, taking a step back. Her eyes, soppy and blurred remained trained on him, scouting his movements like she was unsure of his intentions. Her pale hand was begging to redden, bruising after such a long hiatus from fieldwork. She placed it delicately over the swell of her stomach. The gesture baffled him further as he'd yet to notice the very obvious child growing within her. His composure relaxed noticeably, Mira's stern gaze growing softer.

"Ya, I think so Mira." He huffed through rushed breaths. Attention focused closely on the woman's stomach. He gave her a moment to smile before asking how far along she was, shuddering at Laxus's proud reply of 6 months. Natsu tried not to dwell over the moments he'd missed, instead, congratulating the couple on their new addition. He attempted to keep his face as plain as he could while explaining he needed to find the Master quickly. Mira looked rather disappointed but with the promise he would return to 'catch up', she directed him towards Mocorav's tower.

Natsu needed a cigarette; This he decided while trying to steady his trembling fingers, pressing them into the hem of his black cargo pants. The guild, still quiet with sleep swallowing his confidence with every step. Happy had disappeared some time ago in favour of finding Wendy and Carla, preferring his other feline friend overpacking. His mind was still reeling, all new information for the day seemed accompanied with a grain of salt. Mira would make a good mother, that he knew for sure, but it made him feel all the more uneasy with the news he had come to deliver. The Royal Calvary was coming, marching as he did now. They knew Fairy Tails location, or so one of Jellal's many informants had claimed. The rumour could be false, but the chance was far too great with so many lives on the line. He had no idea how far along the military group had travelled, Jellal estimating they had a few days at most.

Master Makarov was awake, much to Natsu's surprise; The man tending to sleep longer as he aged. His disciplined face never faulting as he listened to the dragon slayers grim tones.

"Who all knows about this?" He replied simply.

Natsu eyed the man slowly, leaning against the stone-framed fireplace with crossed arms. "Erza," he stated, "Sting and Rouge too, maybe a few trusted others from Sabertooth. They've gone to set up a camp near their hall. Erza said you would know the spot." Just as he'd done with Mira, he chose his words carefully. Jellal's name purposely dropped from the tale as affiliation with him typically was for the worse. Natsu wouldn't go as far as saying he trusted the guy, but Erza did, and that was enough for him.

"Alright, I want to do this quickly and quietly, the less panic that occurs the better," Makarov grumbled, lifting himself from his desk chair. "I'll speak with Laxus, we'll spread the word that we're changing locations over breakfast. We can depart tomorrow's sunrise."

Natsu nodded, rolling out his shoulders and releasing a shaky breath. "Do you know where Lucy is?" He mumbled, "I can't smell her, I want to let her know what's going on."

Makarov looked towards him with a face of discomfort, before turning to favour his hanging overcoat. "She's away with work, due back two days ago I believe."

Natsu shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to calm the shake he had just accomplished in steadying a few minutes prior. Eyes involuntarily darting in search of exit points as his anxiety grew. The stress level for today had been climbing steadily since he'd first opened his eyes, and stressing about Lucy, in particular, had always done awful things to him. "Maybe you could go pack her things for her since you used to be so close and all." The older man finished, placing his coat over himself. Natsu nodded again, spinning on his heel abruptly in the direction of the dorms.

At least five minutes passed while Natsu stood outside her door. The golden door plate embedded with scrolled characters stopping him in his tracks. Lucy. He hadn't seen her in so long yet he could worry about her like it was yesterday. Was she hurt? Had she run into the royal guard while travelling home? Maybe a similar train situation had occurred like this morning. He knew he had no place to worry about her, not after leaving her for so long. But he couldn't help himself, her scent wafting through the oak door propelling images of her in his mind. Lucy was a strong woman, she could typically handle herself, but the thought of the last time he'd seen her in action left a bad taste in his mouth.

He tried to distract himself, fumbling around to light a cigarette in the dim hue of the hall. The exhale felt exquisite, the craving burns finally satisfied. Nicotine supplementing enough confidence for him to open her door. Though he immediately regretted entering, nostalgia once again stealing his breath. Her room was kept tidy, windows sealed and curtains drawn. All her books and personal items stashed away from eyesight. No pictures or tapestry's hung from her wall as they did in Mira's room, and her bed wasn't over-occupied with plush toys as Lissanas had once been. Lucy claimed she didn't like clutter, that it made her feel disorganized. Natsu however, suspected the blonde had trouble claiming a space for her own after so many years on the run. This had never bothered him as he always assumed she would out-grow the habit the more comfortable with the guild she became. But looking upon her empty walls he felt just as such. It turned out, her fear of never settling was still very real. All Natsu had ever given her was another home to run from.

With a deep exhale, Natsu tried to focus on his task, least he continue staring at the bed Lucy very obviously hadn't been sleeping in pre-departure. Her sheets folded neatly at the head of her exposed mattress, pillow's lacking their cases, tucked just off to the side. Her scent on the fabric nearly faded compared to some of her more recently worn clothing. He didn't want to think about who's bed she'd been spending her nights in, nor who she deemed worthy of her days. With a hearty grown he faced the closet, grabbing what he figured to be essential attire. Skipping over some of her more scandalous sets in the hope she wouldn't be too sour considering the circumstances. Except for the little red skirt he used to love, for no reason in particular, of course. He tried his best to pack her leather-bound trunk the way she would, mimicking her structure for their many travels. With her room and ensuite cleared, Natsu departed in favour of his own dwelling. The thought of Lucy's old feather-downs tracing his mind. She used to store them at the back of his closet, at least, before he left. And with the lurking uncertainty of when their guild would find a new base, he didn't want her to freeze through the colder months.

Spinning the metal nob of his door, Natsu wasn't sure what he'd been expecting come his return home, but the state of his room took him completely aback. Drawers he'd left in ruin sat repositioned on their sliders, abandoned clothes hung clean and pressed in his wardrobe and his forgotten cigarettes lay positioned neatly on his desk. But what shook him the most, was the smell. Lucy's scent, stronger than her own room; Cascading over his walls to lather his belongings, invading his every pore. His old sheets recently washed, made up his bed. The bed that too clearly showed where his missing blonde had been sleeping. Curled up in his blankets, wearing his button-downs below the covers. He could do nothing but collapse atop the same frame, chest heavy and heaving. Eye's casting to the back of his wardrobe where Lucy's garments no longer hung. He really had been gone too long.

Natsu remained motionless until Mira knocked on his door to announce breakfast with the expectation of a yes and a prompt follow. She requested he help serve the food, noting that everyone would be excited to see his face. Begrudgingly he agreed, stopping only to let Mira scrub the remnants of Dan from his cheek. He hadn't known the man, but watching his porcelain basin cast crimson as she rang her cloth turned his insides in a way they hadn't spun since leaving.

He tried his best to sport a cheerful grin towards his guildmate's calls of greeting and question, faltering only twice while serving everyone. The first had been on account of Levy's expression, a mix of sadness and relief painted over her features. The only words from her lips questioning if Lucy had heard from him yet. She didn't hide her disappointment when he shook his head, but chose not to question him further which he was grateful for. The second was when Juvia entered the hall looking nothing of herself. Sunken cheeks and bruised eyelids, a mangled frame stepping where her body used to reside. He tried to collect himself before she noticed his quizzical stare but stood blank when she threw him a week smile. She sauntered towards him, wooden cane pressed tightly in her grip. She asked him about his trip, stumbling over her words like her mind couldn't focus on a single sentence. He answered the best her could without giving too much away, knowing everyone would be updated shortly.

The morning wasted away rapidly, Natsu finding himself absorbed in the rain woman's story's of times he had missed. Apparently, she had been poisoned while out working with Gray, a virus that riddled away at her body and mind for months. He knew the situation didn't involve him, but he couldn't help the guilt soak through his pores, a feeling he was gathering was here to linger for a while to come. He should have been there for his friends, especially Gray who he'd known long enough to guess he was coping poorly. He tried to express his sympathy but Juvia practically snorted, claiming she didn't need his pity and that she was recovering fine. She didn't recoil tho, jumping straight into another story about helping Mira plan her nursery.

It was calming to hear her speak, a conversation that didn't revolve around planning for survival. It felt normal, to sit in the dining hall talking of paint colours and stuffed animals. Watching Juvia smile with ignorance of how her skin stretched over her sunken features. Listening to the dull clatter of dishware mixing with hearty laughter; his guildmates enjoying their morning coffee and bread. He longed to fall into the warmth of familiar scenery, curl up atop a wooden table with the voices of his friends streaming through his ears. Life, however, was unfair as he'd grown to learn. A lesson that had prepared him not to panic when these moments slipped away quickly. Thus, he tried to remain stoic when the hall's grand doors were thrown open, startling gasps replacing the casual chimes of the interior.

There Gray stood, alive and breathing; face awash with pure anxiety and pain. He looked rugged, blood matted through his hair like he'd been crawling through trenches. Shirt tossed aside leaving his chest exposed, a clean blade stripe painted over his torso. "We've been found!" He screeched, waving his bruised arms above his head. "Everybody, please! We need to leave!" Nobody moved, for a moment, the tone of begging so foreign on the Ice mage's tongue stunning the crowd.

Natsu's brain fell into full flight mode, straightening his spine and propelling him forward. He was about to call out, urging everyone to head Grays words and fucking move, but he too remained frozen; a woman peering over his dear friend's shoulder catching his full attention.

She looked worried, a wrinkle creasing her smooth forehead as she scrunched her brows. Her hair was longer, golden tresses framing her waist with soft curls. Brown eyes glazed with honey soaking up her surroundings before stopping over him, drinking him in for all he was worth. Her expression dissolved, masking her delicate features with a look of horror. Plump lips coiling to pronounce his name. Her voice was all he could make out over the commotion. Lucy was back, commanding his full attention like the world wasn't about to crumble around them.

Original story and bonus content found here! ↓↓↓↓

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13289933/1/Silence-and-Cigarette-Smoke

[padawanlost]

Hey love your content.

Just wanted to ask you something. There's a claim I've seen coming up in fandom a few times now that Obi Wan knew Luke would bring his father back to the light and redeem him. That he even planned as much and this is supposedly evidenced by his not killing Vader in A New Hope and telling Luke to face Vader but not kill him in Return of the Jedi

I'm not convinced, but can you offer a more conclusive answer rebuttal or whatever.

I’ll be honest with you, this is the first time I’ve ever heard such theory so I’ve no idea where it came from or what arguments are being used to support it. All I can show you is the OT itself. The movies make pretty clear that Obi-wan and Yoda were preparing Luke to kill Darth Vader, and that Anakin’s return was something considered impossible until that point.

Because I don’t keep track of DisneySW, all the evidence I provided is strictly based on the original canon, as developed by George Lucas. So if Disney retconned something, I won’t be able to help :)

That being said, that theory doesn’t make much sense to me, sorry. For Anakin’s redemption to be part of some Obi-wan’s master plan, the character would have to have an impossible foresight into everyone’s involved past and future. For Obi-wan to be able to manipulate people and events to push Anakin’s into going back to light, he would first have to understand why Anakin fell in the first place. And if there’s one thing Episode III makes painfully obvious is that Obi-wan was nowhere near Coruscant when Anakin made his fatal decision, nor was he aware of the circumstances that led him to it. Everyone who knew what truly went down were either dead or his new worst enemies.

With that in mind, let’s take a look at Obi-wan’s (alleged) ‘master plan’:

In Episode IV, we have Obi-wan openly lying to Luke about where he came from and dueling Vader (literary to the death). Not exactly the actions of a man who wants the son to save the father’s life.

In Episode V Obi-wan tells Luke not even Yoda had the power or skill required to see into the future of Han and Leia. Considering they were captured by one of the most even being in the galaxy, it wouldn’t be that hard to guess their future did not look pretty.

Luke: But, Han and Leia will die if I don't. Obi-Wan: You don't know that. Even Yoda cannot see their fate.

The idea here is tied to an important concept in SW: free will. The characters are fundamentally free to make their own choices. Anakin, despite being manipulated by Palpatine, ultimately made his own bed. This is true to all of them. Palpatine’s ‘master plan’ wasn’t about controlling people into doing what he wanted, it was using their own nature against them. He nudged them into the making poor decisions, he never stripped them of their agency.

Obi-Wan: It is you and your abilities the Emperor wants. That is why your friends are made to suffer. Luke: That's why I have to go. Obi-Wan: Luke. I don't want to lose you to the Emperor, the way I lost Vader. Luke: You won't. Yoda: Stopped, they must be. On this, all depends. Only a fully trained Jedi Knight, with the Force as his ally, will conquer Vader and his Emperor. If you end your training now, if you choose the quick and easy path as Vader did, you will become an agent of evil. Obi-Wan: Patience. [...] Obi-Wan: If you choose to face Vader, you will do it alone. I cannot interfere.

Unless you see Obi-wan as a manipulative, cruel person who wants an untrained Luke to face two of the most powerful beings in the galaxy alone for his own personal, secret plan, I’d say the movie is pretty clear in showing us that neither Yoda nor Obi-wan want Luke to face Vader at that point. If the plan was to get Luke to going, wouldn’t have been easier to just let him go instead of creating an huge argument about it? Hell, they are willing throw Han and Leia under the bus to keep Luke from leaving. If that wasn’t shady enough now we are supposed to believe that was part of an even worst scheme involving pretty much everyone?

Yoda: Told you I did. Reckless, is he. Now... matters are worse. Obi-Wan: That boy is our last hope. Yoda: No. There is another.

Yeah, it doesn’t sound like using Luke to redeem Vader was their ultimate goal here.

There are some pretty big holes in that theory in terms of character development and narrative structure. I know everyone loves the idea of Vader and Obi-wan having some badass duel in ANH but the truth is Vader had spent the last 20 years training and killing pretty much all kinds of enemies imagine while Obi-wan mediated on Tatooine as grew shockingly old for his age.

As proven on Mustafar, raw power only takes you so far. Anakin has always been much, much more powerful than Obi-wan but in the end Obi-wan won because of skill, training and discipline. Unfortunately, for Obi-wan, he didn’t get much training in his isolation. He couldn’t have because he was in hiding! If that wasn’t enough, the EU confirms that Obi-wan sacrificed himself to allow Luke to scape. There was no secret plan.

Obi-Wan risked a glance through the hangar’s open doorway and saw four stormtroopers guarding the Falcon. He also sensed that Luke was nearby. Hoping to cause a distraction that would allow Luke to board the Falcon, he attacked Vader more vigorously. The noise of clashing lightsabers echoed into the hangar, attracting the stormtroopers’ attention. With his peripheral vision, Obi-Wan saw the stormtroopers leave their stations beside the Falcon and run toward him and Vader. He continued his attack on Vader, and several exchanges later, he sensed Luke’s movement and knew his plan had worked. He risked another glance into the hangar to see several figures racing for the Falcon’s landing ramp: the droids, Chewbacca, Han Solo, Luke, and — Leia! Obi-Wan hadn’t known that Princess Leia was on the battle station, but he recognized the girl in the white dress from the hologram that R2-D2 had displayed. Obi-Wan did not believe in luck or coincidences, and seeing Luke unwittingly reunited with his twin sister, he knew that it was not a tractor beam that had brought him to the battle station, but the will of the Force. His fleeting glance also registered that Luke had paused behind his friends. Luke stood a short distance from the landing ramp and was staring straight at him, gaping. Obi-Wan realized there was only one way Luke, Leia, and the others would escape the battle station alive. He smiled as he looked away from Luke, then closed his eyes and raised his lightsaber up before him. Darth Vader did not hesitate to strike. [Ryder Windham. The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Imo, this theory ruins the character of Obi-wan by making him pretty much omniscient and way more powerful and manipulative than he was in canon. Obi-wan wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t palpatine level of manipulative either. He had no ‘grand plan’ beyond using Luke to kill vader and save the galaxy in a desperate attempt to save the galaxy.

On top of that, let’s remember that Obi-wan had no hope left for Anakin. He did not believe Anakin could be redeemed after Mustafar. If you do not believe md, believe George Lucas.

After the first complete take, Lucas and McGregor discuss when he should say each line: “As you watch Anakin slide down, how about if you take one step forward,” Lucas Suggests. “For a moment, you think about it. Your first impulse is to save him – but then you realize you can’t”. As the takes multiply and the actors find their rhythm and emotions, the scene becomes more and more powerful. Christensen yells “I hate you!”. McGregor says, “I love you. But I will not help you”. Lucas explains that what Obi-wan’s really saying to Anakin is: “Your were our only hope and you blew it. Now we don’t have any hope”. Take. After Anakin implores Obi-wan to save him, George asks Ewan to say “I will not…” softer, almost to himself. Take. “After he burst into flames,” Lucas directs, “it’s as if you’re talking to a dead person. To a piece of toast”. He suggests, to drive home this point, that McGregor change the words in the script to the past tense, “I loved you.” The actor acquiesces, but points out that his subsequent line would have to change to “But I could not help you.” Lucas agrees, and Tenggren alters the script accordingly.[ The Making of ROTS]

Another thing that George is very clear about is that Luke is the one who redeems Anakin.

It really has to do with learning. Children teach you compassion. They teach you to love unconditionally. Anakin can’t be redeemed for all the pain and suffering he’s caused. He doesn’t right the wrongs, but he stops the horror. The end of the saga is simply Anakin saying, I care about this person [Luke], regardless of what it means to me. I will throw away everything that I have, everything that I’ve grown to love - primarily the Emperor - and throw away my life, to save this person. And I’m doing it because he has faith in me; he loves me despite all the horrible things I’ve done. I broke his mother’s heart, but he still cares about me, and I can’t let that die. Anakin is very different in the end. The thing of it is: the prophecy was right. Anakin was the chosen one, and he does bring balance to the Force. He takes the ounce of good still left in him and destroys the Emperor out of compassion for his son. [ GEORGE LUCAS - THE MAKING OF REVENGE OF THE SITH; PAGE 221.]

This brings us back about what I said earlier about narrative structure. This is Luke’s story. Obi-wan is the mentor, that’s it. It’s Luke’s actions, Luke’s choices. To suddenly reveal that everything happened was the result of Obi-wan’s plan would be narrative equivalent of a slap in the face. We watched Luke’s hero journey only to find out his journey was a lie and his choices weren’t really his own. How disappointing!

Not only that but redemption comes from within. Even if Obi-wan had planned for everything, Anakin would need to WANT to change. and knowing it was Luke’s selfless actions that drove Anakin into killing Palpatine, suddenly finding out an ulterior motive behind Luke’s actions (beyond the character’s own goodness) would diminish the weight of Anakin own choices.

But, again, Obi-wan couldn’t have planned for Anakin to return to the light because he didn’t even believe one could be redeemed after such evils.

Obi-Wan’s spirit was invisible but present when Luke arrived in the Endor system, where the Empire had constructed a new Death Star battle station. When Luke surrendered to Darth Vader on the Endor forest moon, he listened as Luke maintained his belief that a remnant of Anakin Skywalker remained within Vader and had not been entirely consumed by evil. Luke urged his father to let go of his hate. Vader said, “It is too late for me, son.” Then he signaled to two stormtroopers to escort Luke to a waiting shuttle that would carry them to the Death Star. As the stormtroopers moved up behind Luke, Vader added, “The Emperor will show you the true nature of the Force. He is your Master now.” Luke stared at Vader for a moment before he said, “Then my father is truly dead.” Obi-Wan’s spirit wished he had convinced Luke of this fact earlier. [Ryder Windham. The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Even as they fought, Obi-wan didn’t believe Luke could save Anakin. It was only after witnessing Palpatine’s demise he started to realize what it meant.

Obi-Wan knew that Vader would never help, and he felt almost overwhelmed by a sense of dread. Luke would soon be dead, and Vader would remain the Emperor’s puppet. In fact, Obi-Wan was so convinced of Vader’s nature that he was stunned by what happened next. Vader grabbed the Emperor and lifted him off his feet.  [Ryder Windham. The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Had Obi-Wan’s spirit not witnessed Vader’s action, he never would have believed it. Vader, the same monster that Obi-Wan had left to die on Mustafar, had sacrificed himself to save his son. And suddenly Obi-Wan realized where he had failed. For unlike Luke, Obi-Wan had not only believed that Anakin was completely consumed by the dark side, but had actually refused to believe that any goodness could have remained within Vader.  [Ryder Windham. The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Btw, in ROTJ, Obi-wan doesn’t try to talk Luke out of killing Vader. In fact, the oppositve of that happens:

Luke Skywalker: There is still good in him. Obi-Wan: He's more machine now than man. Twisted and evil. Luke Skywalker: I can't do it, Ben. Obi-Wan: You cannot escape your destiny. You must face Darth Vader again. Luke Skywalker: I can't kill my own father. Obi-Wan: Then the Emperor has already won. You were our only hope.

Star Wars, at its core, has a very simple message about love and the power it has over people. in the end, the good guys won because they were good, not because they were being guided there by some powerful guy. In the end, it was love that won the war and saved the day. Everyone’s love. Luke’s love for Anakin, Anakin’s love for Luke, Han’s love for Leia, etc. Selfless love makes better people and good people do good things. It’s not about manipulating actions, people or even knowing everything. In fact, I’d say it’s the appositive.

Luke didn’t know he could save Vader, but he tried anyway and that’s what makes him a hero. It’s the not knowing but having faith in someone out of love, faith they can be better than they are. That’s what saves the world. It’s not knowing everything and still acting out love and compassion.

Anyway, I honestly don’t know where this idea of Obi-wan knowing Anakin’s future and planning for it came from. But I do know it’s not supported by the movies, the EU or George himself.  

[digitalstowaway]

Wright! Don't jinx this case any worse than it already is! It's bad for my heart...

Edgeworth didn’t remember ever going to bed. He had a fairly strict ritual he usually followed every night while in the middle of trials. Trudging through the front door, changing out of his suit and folding it on his dresser, plugging in his phone, brushing his teeth with his eyes half-closed, and finally falling into bed for a nice six hours of sleep. 

He was quite confused when he woke up and felt a mattress and pillow under him and blankets tucking him in without any memory of getting there. 

But then he felt a familiar tight ache in his chest and a familiar beeping, and he realized that no, he hadn’t put himself to bed the night before. He had, however, chased a suspect with Wright in the dead of night until he collapsed. He had crashed hard onto his right side. The blossoming pain in his shoulder had done nothing to distract him from the pulsing, squeezing pressure in his chest. 

He opened his eyes. The room spun just a little. Not like the sky had hours before. On his right was an IV drip and a clamp on his finger attached to a machine, letting the world know that his heart rate was higher than it should have been. On his left was Phoenix Wright glaring at him. 

Glaring at him and holding a bag of grapes in his lap. 

“Why do you have grapes?” Edgeworth asked. Talking, he found, left him a bit breathless. 

“I had Maya bring them for you,” Wright said. “I hoped you might choke on the seeds.” 

He threw them on the bed, on top of the sterile-blue blanket. Edgeworth looked at the packaging. There was a painting of a sunny vineyard that stretched for miles and above it, in bold font— 

“Those are seedless.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Why,” Edgeworth coughed and tried disguising it as him clearing his throat, “are you angry?” 

“Because I was just told that you have heart arrhythmia and that you’ve had it for years. And for some reason, despite us being friends, you never thought to tell me until I thought you were dying last night!” 

“It’s not a big deal.” 

“It’s not a big deal? You literally almost had a heart attack. I almost had a heart attack.” 

“And we’re both fine.” 

Wright crossed his arms over his chest. He pointed his glare to a white board across the room which declared Edgeworth as being a fall risk and having last been examined at 5:30 am. Nursing staff really made him feel old. A fall risk. It was just a heart condition. He was an otherwise healthy, young man. 

Who just so happened to collapse every so often when said heart condition took its toll on him after long trials and stressful cases. Or high-speed runs outside abandoned warehouses at night. 

“I don’t think you’re fine, Edgeworth,” Wright said, still giving the white board a look it certainly didn’t deserve. “You look like shit right now.” 

He didn’t exactly want to know what he looked like. He imagined it wouldn’t be surprising. It would be like every time he found himself waking up in a hospital or on the floor of his office or an evidence room. The same pale complexion. The same dark smudges under his eyes. He always looked like a corpse as Gumshoe said. 

“I’m fine.” 

Wright still didn’t look pleased, but at least his eyes had softened. He looked Edgeworth up and down. Probably in search of a tell or some evidence to prove that it was a lie. But he seemed to give up after only a few seconds. Obviously, Edgeworth wasn’t well. But it would be impossible (and pointless) to get him to admit to it. 

“So what do you need to do?” he asked, and it almost sounded like, What do I need to make sure you do? 

“What do you mean?” 

“To, you know, manage it. Do you take medication or something?” 

“I do, but it’s not very effective.” Edgeworth flexed his right hand. He hated the IV catheters. He knew that they would never rip or tear out of his arm, but they were still uncomfortable. With the tape used to keep them in place, he could never forget that the drip was there. “It’s not effective enough, I should say.” 

“Not enough to keep you from keeling over at a crime scene.” Wright rubbed his eyes. “Is there anything else they can do?” 

He looked tired. There was a faint shadow of stubble across his jaw. He was still in his suit, though the tie and collar was loose and his jacket was tossed over the chair he was slumped in. He must have been there the entire night. Probably begging nurses and doctors to let him stay past visiting hours. 

No. Persuading them. Wright was a lawyer. He probably had a neat list of reasons why he should have been allowed to stay that the staff couldn’t argue with. 

But Wright was also Wright. Those lists of reasons definitely came out in a begging tone. 

“There’s an option for surgery,” Edgeworth said. 

“Oh.” 

Edgeworth threw the blankets off of him, disrupting the grapes. Wright jumped up to help him and then to grab his hand when he tried pulling his IV line himself. 

“Let’s call someone to do that.” 

So, Edgeworth waited as patiently as he could while the call button blinked. Wright ran his fingers through his hair. It didn’t have the usual sharpness to it, the gel or pomade or whatever he used worn out by then. 

“What’s the surgery?” 

“It would be to implant a defibrillator.” 

“They can stick that in you?” 

“They can. But it’s not exactly the most practical thing to have done. Not right now.” 

Wright nodded, satisfied with the answer for the moment. Edgeworth wouldn’t tell him that practical timing wasn’t due to risks of the surgery or the severity of the condition but instead his own stubbornness. There wasn’t much time to carve out for recovery. It would mean weeks of light work. His own definition of light work—no long nights at his office, no on-scene investigations. It was too much to give up for the time being. He had told his doctors so for two years. 

Edgeworth scanned the room. He saw his suit, folded somewhat neatly, on a chair against the wall. His jabot sat on top. Mud was caked on the frills. He remembered desperately trying to pull it off after falling to the ground. 

Wright had finally untied it for him. His phone had been wedged between his shoulder and ear. His fingers were slick, Edgeworth could tell, as he fumbled at the knot. 

The rest of his suit was probably covered in mud as well. Wright’s knees had a faint dusting on them. They looked as if they had been haphazardly scrubbed. Probably in the hospital’s bathroom. 

“What time is it?” he asked. 

Wright checked his watch. “Seven.” 

“We still have three hours until court, then. Did you manage to save the evidence we found?” 

“What?” 

“We have trial at 10—”

“I know. But you’re not really planning on going, are you?”

“Of course.” 

“You can’t!” 

“Why not?” 

“We just had this conversation. You almost had a heart attack.” 

“And I’ve told you I’m fine. Besides, there’s no one else that can handle this case. You and I have already worked on it for two days now. No one else in the prosecutor’s office will be able to catch up on what we’ve been doing—not to mention, what we have been doing isn’t exactly looked graciously on by the office.” 

Wright grabbed his jacket. 

A nurse walked in. When she saw Edgeworth sitting up with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed, she frowned and put her hands on her hips. She was an older woman—used to difficult patients, then. Wright passed her on his way to the door. 

“Wright—”

“I’m tired, Edgeworth. I’m going to try to sleep as much as I can before the trial.” The nurse began pushing Edgeworth back down into bed. “By the way, I did ask Maya and Gumshoe to grab the evidence. They’ll be happy to know you’re fine.” 

The nurse pushed on Edgeworth’s shoulder. He leaned back against the pillows. His breathing came a little hard. His chest ached more than it did minutes ago. 

Wright walked out. 

After all, Edgeworth was fine.

[xpedropascal]

To Be So Lonely [Maxwell Lord x Reader] Part Two

Summary: After being struck by a family tragedy, Maxwell Lord finds his legacy in taking over his father’s business, Black Gold Cooperative. Cold and shut-off from the world around him, he decides he does not have time for anything other than his work and cares only about pushing his company to success – but how difficult does that become for him when you enter his life as a ghost from the past?

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

WARNINGS: stalker-ish behaviour, mild sex reference

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR [coming soon!]

MASTERLIST

KO-FI

AUTHOR’S NOTE: yay! chapter two! :) flashbacks can be identified through use of italics. To Be So Lonely will have themes of hurt/comfort, angst, fluff etc. i plan on it being a whole exciting ride. there will be connections to the DCEU and certain characters will making an appearance... however, for story-telling purposes, this will be in an alternate universe to Wonder Woman 1984 just because the movie has yet to be released. the main bulk of the story will be set in the 80s, with the occasional childhood flashbacks. please let me know if you want to be added onto a tag list!

♡♡♡ TWO ♡♡♡

Gotham was a bustling city, and practically lead by none other than Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises and on-going rival to Maxwell Lord. Wayne Enterprises, as an international conglomerate, was taking the world by storm under Bruce’s reign. He had shares in railway, aerospace, technology, food, and more recently; oil. Much like any other successful CEO, Bruce Wayne would do anything to see his business thrive, but at the moment, he had his eye on something very particular. He was a man with a plan. Bruce Wayne was fearless, but he knew when to be concerned, as across the country, Maxwell Lord led the biggest oil extraction company, Black Gold Cooperative.

“Mr Wayne,” his assistant, Gemma, dropped a file on his desk. A file with your name on. “Everything is here, as requested.”

Bruce Wayne flicked through your file momentarily, taking in the glossy images of you that he’d had someone take on your route to work. The file contained everything about you. From your date of birth and address, to your national security number. “Excellent,” Bruce smiled. “I will have Jeeves drive me to…” he pulled out a map that highlighted the route you took from home to work. “…Cocoa Coffee.”

“I believe she finishes at eighteen hundred hours, sir.” Gemma piped in. Bruce checked the time on his wrist watch and cursed under his breath before standing up and grabbing his coat.

“I best be on my way then.”

A lot had happened since the days you spent living in the Lord family guest house. You were now, a lot older – a young adult with ambition, but stuck working as a part-time barista in one of Gotham’s favourite coffee shops, Cocoa Coffee. You and your mother had returned to Gotham four years after moving to DC; and looking back, your time spent with the Lord family had been tainted by the day you were forced to leave.

♡

Every day was the same. You would come home from school and throw your bag on the sofa before changing into your play shoes and heading out to the gardens to see Maxwell. For him, it was similar. At 4PM sharp, he would drop whatever he was doing to come see you. His mother hated you, that much was obvious. Naomi Lord constantly scolded her son for playing with you. “The Lord family do not associate with people like that,” she would tell Maxwell. But he didn’t care. He was your best friend and you were his only friend. He went from wanting to be a successful businessman like his father, to wanting to be as free-spirited and happy as you. You inspired him and made him feel like a better person.

On the evening of Maxwell’s sixteenth birthday, you had something special planned. You wanted to lay with him in the gardens and show him the beauty of star gazing while you stuffed your faces with cake and told each other the craziest imaginative stories. At 4PM sharp, no different to usual, you slung your bag down on the sofa and slid your feet into your play shoes, and just as you were about to leave the guest house, your mother extended her arm across the front door, stopping you in your tracks.

“Sweetheart,” your mother said sadly. “Maxwell can’t play with you today.” You looked up at your mother, doe-eyed and confused. Your mother had never stopped you from playing with Maxwell. Before you could question her, she opened her mouth again. “I’ve lost my job.”

Your jaw dropped. “You- what- mom… what happened?”

Your mom shook her head, avoiding eye contact. “I’ve packed all your things. We need to leave right now.”

If you’re mother wasn’t prepared to tell you why she had been fired, the least she could do was allow you to see your best friend once more on his sixteenth birthday. “At least let me say goodbye to Max-“

“No you can’t.” Your mother’s voice grew stern. You knew, in that moment, something serious happened. “We are leaving, now.”

“But Max-“

Your mother raised her voice, barking your name angrily, and making you flinch. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. “Something awful has happened, and Maxwell… I just know the poor boy will have a lot on his plate right now. More than anyone could ever imagine. You and I… we might not have much, but we’re lucky.” Your mother’s tone of voice softened. She was clearly sad. But you became increasingly frustrated at her secrecy and not allowing you to say a final farewell to your best friend.

The sky fell dark fast, and as you left the guest house with your bags and walked down the drive way, Lord Manor was busier than you had ever seen before. An ambulance, police cars, vans from not only local news stations, but national news stations too. Flashing lights blinding you from the paparazzi cameras. Your mother dragged you into the shadows, ensuring the press didn’t see you both leave. You couldn’t help but stare, and walked on your tip-toes, trying to look over the heads and see what was going on.

There, standing outside the front door of Lord Manor was Naomi Lord and her sixteen year old son, Maxwell. Naomi was sobbing into a silk handkerchief, her hair no longer in perfect curls and her makeup smudged with tears. Standing forward slightly, all suited up, was Maxwell Lord IV. On his sixteenth birthday.

You knew this would be the last time you saw your best friend; but you wished you hadn’t seen him at all. All colour was drained out of his skin and he stood there, frozen. You whispered his name to yourself as your mother dragged you to the gates, and you felt tears brim your eyes. You didn’t want to leave him. Not without a goodbye. Maxwell looked sick. Despite dressed in one of his best designer suits, hair perfectly styled – he looked ghostly. The closer you got to the gate, the more you heard paparazzi endeavour him with questions. But it was so loud and overwhelming you could barely make out what they were saying. Gone, was the happy smiley boy you played with in the gardens. It may have been Maxwell’s sixteenth birthday, but that day marked the end of his youth. No more time for games.

♡

“Life is good, but it can be better… I’m Maxwell Lord and for a low monthly fee…” Hearing his name snapped you out of your daydreams. You looked over at the small television in the corner of the staff room, your co-worker, Theresa, smacking it with her hands in frustration.

“Remote not working again?” You sighed, putting a hand on your hip and watching her struggle to change the channel. You couldn’t help but smile as she let out an exasperated groan.

“Welcome to Black Gold Cooperative! The world’s first oil company run for the people, by the people. You can own a piece of the most lucrative industry in the world. And every time we strike gold, you strike gold.” You felt your lips twist in disgust at how artificial your childhood friend was sounding. You couldn’t even bare to look at him. His face was everywhere.

“Every time we strike gold, you strike gold,” you badly mimicked his iconic line. It was the company slogan. Rolling your eyes, you walked out of the staff room and to the front-of-house. You heard Theresa throw the remote in frustration and suddenly, Maxwell Lord shut up. You smiled as Theresa followed you behind the bar. At least she had managed to turn the television off.

“You really don’t like him, do you?” Theresa asked almost rhetorically. It was true, you didn’t like Maxwell Lord. Simply because he wasn’t the little boy you played with in the gardens of Lord Manor. You knew you shouldn’t have held resentment. Everyone changes as they get older – but Maxwell Lord was just so easy to hate. Max’s carefree spirit died the day you left, and the smarmy salesman Maxwell Lord IV was not someone you cared for. For months after you moved back to Gotham, you waited for some kind of communication from Max. But nothing. And it became clear that Maxwell was happy enough to throw away the four year friendship you had shared together. Your silence prompted Theresa to continue. “He’s handsome though, in a way.” You spluttered at her sudden confession and Theresa just laughed. “Rich…powerful…” she went on.

“He’s an asshole.” You stated, as blunt as ever.

“You know him?” Theresa quizzed. “Hmm?”

“No but-“ You stopped yourself. “I know enough about him.”

“His fiancée is a lucky gal,” Theresa sighed, and you found yourself completely taken aback.

“Wait. Fiancée?” There was no way.

“Do you even read People Magazine?” Theresa scoffed, shaking her head as if this was common knowledge. You spent every living day trying to avoid Maxwell Lord after the way he and his family had hurt you and your mother. But of course, his presence followed you everywhere. Whether it be his enormous head hanging over the highway on bulletin boards or his infomercials that were broadcasted on every channel, at the same time, every evening.

“You got this information from a tabloid?” You rolled your eyes.

“Why do you find it so hard to believe that Maxwell Lord has a fiancée?” Theresa made a point. Sure, Maxwell Lord was charming… but in a cold, sick and twisted kind of way.

You took a deep breath. “I don’t it’s just-“

“Oh shoot, look at the time! I gotta pick the kids up from school. They’re at an arts club, you see. Would you mind tidying and closing the shop tonight?” Theresa gasped, although it wasn’t as much a question as it was a statement. She thrusted a sweeping brush into your arms and in a frenzy, was out of the coffee shop within a minute.

It was the hottest summer you could ever remember. Golden rays of sunlight beamed through the large windows, the heat making your hair stick to your forehead as you puffed your cheeks out. Tiredly, you loosened the ribbon that was holding together your apron and continued to sweep the floor and wipe down the tables. It had been a long day, but the end of the month meant you were getting your pay check. Just as you were about to close-up Cocoa Coffee, you heard the bell jingle as the front door opened.

“Oh I’m sorry we’re clo-“ you said before stopping and taking in the sight that was Bruce Wayne. If Theresa was still here, she would’ve lost her mind. Not quite Maxwell Lord, but another rich businessman; seemingly, just her type. The CEO of Wayne Enterprises. He was a black silhouette, standing in front of the setting sun, but despite being hidden by a casted shadow, you could recognise him anywhere. During your time at Lord Manor, you had grown up hearing a lot about the Wayne family. You froze, staring at him with anti-bacterial spray in one hand and a cloth in the other. Bruce took a step forward, grinning at you. “Mr- Mr Wayne…” you found yourself stumbling over your words. “How may I help you?”

“I’ve been watching you for some time now,” Bruce said darkly, breaking any distance between you both. You looked up at the businessman feeling somewhat intimidated. “You’re the girl who has been making my lattes every day for two years.” Like the flick of a light switch, his tone of voice changed to be more cheery, but you were still taken off-guard.

“I- I have? I’ve never seen you before.” You replied, bewilderment dripping from your tongue. Sure, you had seen Bruce Wayne make headlines but you had never seen him in real life before. “I mean. I’ve seen you. On uh, Forbes right? Front page?”

“Not this year,” Bruce sighed, and removed his sunglasses. “Some other scam artist took my place.” Immediately you felt a sense of dread, and you hoped you hadn’t done anything to piss him off. Bruce turned around and pointed to a black car with tinted windows, parked outside of the coffee shop.

“I’m sorry.” You bit your lip awkwardly. Bruce just shook his head, a light chuckle escaping his lips as he went to continue on his opening statement.

“I sit in the front seat while my assistant grabs my coffee,” Bruce explained, still pointing at the car outside, and you breathed out a little ‘ah’ whilst nodding somewhat understandably. You did not want to get on Bruce Wayne’s bad side, that’s for sure. “And I must admit, not a day has gone by where I haven’t been mesmerised by your beauty.” You felt your cheeks flush with heat at his compliment. You couldn’t help but remain silent, thus prompting Bruce to continue. “See, I’m actually a shy guy,” Bruce said, but his charm and fluency made you feel as though he wasn’t entirely being truthful. There was no way you could question the multi-billionaire. “And after a lot of persuasion from my assistant… well, I’m here to ask you out.”

You blinked, completely taken aback. You were just about to end your shift playing barista for the day when the Bruce Wayne had come into Cocoa Coffee saying all these nice things. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t make sense of it all. Had he gotten the right person? He recognised you, so he really must be wanting you. So many thoughts raced through your head. Something felt off immediately, but you knew you could never deny Bruce Wayne a date. “I- uhm-“ you stumbled on your words and found Bruce looking nervous, awaiting your response. “Okay.” you accepted his proposal, and his worried frown turned into a beaming smile.

“Great!” He cheered. “I will have someone pick you up on Sunday afternoon. Don’t worry, I know where you live.”

Brushing past his comment about knowing your address, you raised a finger. “Uhm, where will we be going?”

“DC.” Those two letters made your heart sink into your chest. It had been years since you had last step foot in DC and you didn’t exactly associate the capital city with the fondest of memories. “I have business there. That’s not an issue, is it?”

Was it?

“No, of course not Mr Way- I mean Bruce.”

“Great, I will see you Sunday. Dress formal. I know the most amazing restaurant we can go to. They do the best martinis.”

♡

Maxwell Lord IV zipped up his pants and sunk into his office chair, regaining his breath. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and fixed his hair the best he could, before looking down at his secretary who was still on her hands and knees under his desk, looking up at him, waiting for his next instruction. Maxwell simply opened his desk drawer and threw her a silk cloth to wipe away the mess he had painted her face with. “Same time tomorrow.” He said, not even bothering to make eye contact with her. “Wear that same lipstick too.”

“Yes sir.” She replied, shakily standing up.

“You are free to leave now,” Maxwell told his secretary. “What do you say?”

“Th-thank you sir.”

His secretary scurried out of his office and once more, Maxwell was alone. He spun around in his chair and looked at the framed magazine cover, hanging on the wall behind him. There he was. He had made it to the front page of Forbes. Richest man in the world. He was loved. He was feared. He was Maxwell Lord IV.

♡♡♡ TAGLIST ♡♡♡

@mrschiltoncat​

[belovedrival]

“It’s Jonas.”

It’s been almost six months but I did say I would talk about my experience, so here goes...

(It’s really long, I started this draft when Jonas was three months old)

I was told that I would be induced on March 10, a Wednesday. My due date was the 17th but baby had been measuring large for months so my doctor just wanted to go ahead with it. I agreed. We’d made it to 39 weeks and that was good. Plus, I felt huge and just...done with being pregnant. 

I worked (from home) on the 10th. It felt sort of surreal, knowing that we’d be at the hospital at 5 pm that evening, but I knew I needed to work to keep my mind off what was coming. For a while, at least. 

We’d started packing the hospital bags for weeks before. I’d left my suitcase open next to the bed and I’d throw things in there whenever I’d do laundry or think of something else I wanted to take. I sort of knew then that I was majorly overpacking (and in hindsight it’s laughable how much stuff I never wore/used) but at least we were prepared, right?

Yeah, about that...

Mister drove to the hospital. Since I was being induced, it wasn’t any frenetic, movie scene type, panicked dad experience. We just put our things in the car and drove there. On the way we talked about how strange it was, knowing that when we came home (God willing), there would be a baby in the car seat. Of course at that time we still didn’t know if our baby was a girl or boy.

(Mister told me later that he was almost certain baby was a boy. He said he’d heard too many nurses/medical personnel ‘slip’ while we were having ultrasounds and whatnot.)

People can choose to find out or not, but it puts a whole other dimension on the experience when you don’t know in advance. Just my two cents.

As we turned into the hospital parking lot, Mister told me to open the glove box. “There’s something for you in there,” he said. I opened it, trying to swallow the bowling ball that had lodged itself in my throat.

“Oh!” I said. “What I always wanted - an owner’s manual!”

When I’m nervous, I often joke.

There was a small white box next to the owner’s manual. In it was a necklace with an aquamarine pendant; one of the birthstones for March. Of course I cried.

We took an obligatory selfie before going inside the hospital. After getting checked in, we went to our room. I remember thinking that we’d only be in that room probably a day, and that 24 hours later, we’d be upstairs post delivery.

Ha. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!

I was given a drug to start labor (not pitocin). I’ve always hated needles and so getting an IV was not part of my top 100,000 Things I Love to Do List. Thankfully, the nurse who put it in was really good, so I barely felt anything. 

The one major memory of this whole experience (other than Jonas, of course) was how good the nurses were. I am forever grateful to them. 

Other than the IV and monitors, Mister having to sleep on the sofa, and me laying on a hospital bed, we could almost trick ourselves into imagining we were staying at some sort of hotel. Almost. For a few hours, anyway.

Wednesday night into Thursday morning was okay. I was feeling persistent pain. It wasn’t terrible, just uncomfortable, and I knew that it was part of the process. I didn’t sleep great but I was able to get some rest.

Around six o’clock there was a shift change, and my nurse for the day came in. Liz had a kind of cheerleader vibe about her, very positive, and in some other circumstances I might’ve found her annoying. But I liked her.

My doctor came in a little after seven and broke my water. That experience was...weird. I mean, it was a new experience for me, so it’s hard to describe. Uh, water is wet, so it was wet? Honestly, the thing I remember the most is that there was some meconium after Doc broke my water, which worried me a little. Baby was doing fine and no one seemed super worried, so I set it aside. I DID think it meant I was guaranteed to have the baby that day. How wrong I was, and not for the first time...

They gave me pitocin after my water was broken. So my contractions increased. It felt more like strong period cramps to me. I should say at this point that I have a high pain tolerance. I don’t know what the same level of contractions would feel like to someone else. Sometimes I was only mildly aware that I was having them. 

Probably one of the most annoying things about my entire experience Wednesday/Thursday/into Friday was not being allowed to eat anything. I had ice chips, and water, and Liz managed to get me some Jello. This was actually something of an issue, because I had gestational diabetes, so at first nobody wanted to give me anything except for sugar-free Jello. I did have some of that, but as the day wore on and there wasn’t much progress, Liz talked to somebody and got me some regular Jello. I would’ve preferred something else, but Jello was what I was allowed, so Jello I got.

I...don’t really like Jello. Seriously, like if it’s the only thing, I’ll eat it, but...yeah.

The hours ticked by. Progress was slow. At first I looked forward to Liz and the other nurses coming in and checking me, but by late afternoon, it was clear that things were slooooooow. The best part of Thursday was sometime in the afternoon Liz suggested bouncing on the ball. I was really happy to get out of bed and bounce for a while. After doing that, I decided it was time for the epidural.

I’d decided beforehand I wanted an epidural. As I said, I absolutely hate needles, but I also didn’t want my body to be so stressed that labor couldn’t progress. In the back of my mind, I also thought that if the situation changed, and a c-section became necessary, the epidural would already be in place. 

After the epidural was put in, I started shaking on the edge of the bed, tears rolling down my face. Liz was still holding on to me, and Mister was there, and they both asked what was wrong. I couldn’t speak for a minute. It felt a little like I was five years old, still terrified of that darn needle, and all the tension I’d suppressed had to get out somehow.

“It’s okay,” Liz said, giving me a hug. Sometimes that’s all that’s needed. I was sorry to see her go when her shift ended. She said she was working again on Saturday and that she’d stop by to see us after the baby was born, to see what we were having. (She did stop by.)

This was a constant refrain from most of the nurses: upon first coming into the room, and looking at the white board that had my information and seeing next to “Baby” was written “Surprise!!” we inevitably got the question, “You don’t know what you’re having? That’s awesome!” 

Getting the epidural made the pain diminish, but it also made things more complicated for me because I couldn’t move. Overnight, a tag team of nurses turned me one way and the other, and checked me. 

(I should also mention that all of the staff at the hospital had already been vaccinated, and they all wore masks into the rooms. We did not have to wear masks in the room, but if we went outside it, they were required.)

By Thursday night, both Mister and I were feeling rather discouraged. All day Thursday we’d been told that baby would come “by the afternoon”, then “by the evening”, and then late Thursday, “by Friday morning”. Bear in mind that I’d been on an IV/ induced since roughly six pm on Wednesday. 

Maybe this sounds laughable to people who’ve had 72 hour long labors, but I’d been mentally prepared for around 24 hours of labor. My twin sister had been induced with her first, and her labor had gone about that long. Around midnight on Thursday I was feeling pretty discouraged. Mister wasn’t angry but he said (when we were alone) that he felt like the staff had been overly optimistic. I just don’t think either of us had thought about the implications of me being induced without any sign of active labor. In hindsight, I was glad it was done then, but...yeah. Not being mentally prepared for that long of a labor was hard. I felt bad for everyone who was waiting on updates; it felt like literally nothing happened for about thirty hours. Like I think was dilated to five by Friday morning. And effaced? Practically nothing. My cervix wasn’t getting thinner at all.

Early Friday morning, a new nurse started her shift. My first impressions of Diana were...well, I thought, “she’s definitely not as friendly as Liz.” She was more brusque. As I hadn’t slept much Thursday night, and having been in the same situation for over a day, I didn’t care nearly as much about making friends. By that point I was tired - physically, mentally, emotionally.

But Diana was awesome. She got me turned onto my hands and knees, and had me start doing some vigorous exercises, to really move labor along. I was fine with doing whatever she said because I was REALLY ready to be done. So it felt a little like my cross country days in high school, at the finish of a difficult race. I was tired, I wasn’t sure how much I could do physically, but we had a GOAL and dammit, we were going to do everything to get there!

By late morning, even after the exercises, I was still dilated at a five. Hardly effaced at all. After checking me again, Diana left the room. The option of a c-section had been discussed, especially since it was over 24 hours since my water had been broken.

“I think I’m done,” I said to Mister. Even though I’d never really been 100% ‘I want a natural birth experience’, it felt a little like giving up. I started crying again. “I just don’t think this [natural labor] is going to work. I’m done.”

“If you’re done, that’s it,” Mister said. “Tell Diana you want a c-section.”

I have to say something here about Mister. Even though he kept saying he didn’t know what he was doing or how he should support me, he was AWESOME. He supported every decision, and listened to me talk about the different options. For as hard as labor was for me, I think he had a different hard time. All he could do was literally sit there and watch me go through pain and doubt and fear, and comfort me as best he could. He was a great comfort.

(This is why even if thoughtful partners don’t think they’re doing a good job at supporting laboring moms, they most likely are. Their presence is invaluable. For anyone who doesn’t have a supportive partner with them, or an absent one, my profound condolences.)

When Diana came back in, I told her I wanted a c-section. This was around 11 o’clock Friday morning, March 12th. “I agree,” she said right away, patting me on the shoulder. “You’ve done everything you possibly can to get this baby delivered naturally. I trust mom’s instincts on this.”

Her support meant so much. Really, when a veteran nurse says they trust your instinct, how can you not feel better about your decision?

She left to contact my doctor and several other people, and Mister let people know what was going on. At that point I was more relieved that soon it would be over. I wanted to see our baby.

Mister said later that he learned that hospitals have two speeds: 1) we’re in no rush; and 2) something is going to happen NOW. While my c-section wasn’t an emergency, once the decision was made, things did happen fast. Diana brought the anesthesiologist into the room so he could numb me up. As I already had the epidural, this didn’t take very long. After a few minutes of letting the medication work, Bryce asked if I could feel my toes.

“No,” I said. It was weird. I knew I shouldn’t feel them, but I couldn’t help saying, “I’m trying to wiggle them!”

“No, no, it’s good you can’t feel them,” both Bryce and Mister said. I was wheeled out of the labor room a few minutes after that (I was not sorry to leave it) and taken to the OR. Mister went with someone else to take our stuff to the recovery room.

I’ve been in operating rooms before. They aren’t places that make me want to stay there. Bright lights, metal everywhere, many thoughts of what could go wrong...although I will say that all the staff in the OR made me feel confident. I was glad to see my doctor. 

I felt better once I was in the OR (the only time in my life I’ve ever felt that way) but it felt like a long time until Mister arrived in there. He’d gone with a member of staff as they took all our stuff to a recovery room, then been taken to the OR. Once he was in place, everything started.

Doctor M had asked me before Mister arrived if he wanted to ‘announce’ was the baby was. I told her that he most likely would, but to ask him. She did, and he said yes, he’d love to do that.

There was a blue sheet in front of me so I really couldn’t see anything that went on - which was PERFECTLY FINE with me.

Obviously, I was flat on my back, and everything below my chest was numb. The doctor and others asked me at various times if I felt anything, and I didn’t (other than tugging and pulling). At one point, I suddenly smelled the unmistakable scent of something burning. “What is that? That burning smell?” I asked, glancing above me (really, behind me) at Bryce, who stood there.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said.

Which immediately told me I didn’t want to know what it was. 

Yeah, it was me burning, while the medical staff cauterized me, keeping me from bleeding to death.

(The fact that cesarean sections are major surgery, and regularly happen every day in the United States, is, frankly, a miracle. Everyone hears about the horror stories when something goes wrong, but considering the number of women who go through them without incident, we as a society completely take them for granted.)

As the tugging and pulling continued, and Doctor M said things like, “there’s the head”, the sense of anticipation increased. I’ve never felt anything like it before. Both Mister and I knew any moment we would meet our baby, and after waiting 39 weeks (and eight years before that), it was almost unbearable.

Doctor M said, “Here’s the baby!”

I heard a slight cry, and I looked up at Mister, who sat on my right, holding my hand. He looked down at me and said, “It’s Jonas.”

Even thinking about that moment now brings tears to my eyes. In knowing Mister almost eleven years, I’ve only seen him cry maybe five times. Including this year, on March 12th. We both were bawling, and laughing at the same time, as Jonas VERY loudly screamed his disapproval at being evicted from his warm, cozy space. At one point, Mister, laughing as he cried said, “One of the ---s (our last name) needs to stop crying in here!”

He has a rather husky cry, Jonas does. I loved his cry from the moment I first heard it (though I don’t actually like to hear him cry, if that makes any sense).

As I was sewn up, Mister moved his chair over to where our baby was, under a heat lamp. Then he brought Jonas over to me. My first thought was, he’s HUGE. My second thought was, he was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen.

He weighed nine pounds, five ounces at birth, and had a fifteen inch head circumference. After I heard that, I knew a natural birth was never going to happen. He was born on Friday the 12th of March, at 1:14 pm. The digital clock on the wall said 13:14, which I thought was cool. And it made it a bit easier to remember the time :)

He had lots of dark hair, which I loved. My sister’s had bald babies, so it was nice to have a different-looking kid. Over the last few months, his hair almost entirely disappeared due to cradle cap, and is coming back in...blond. Genetics!

I can say now that it’s past, that I was more afraid during pregnancy than I could admit to anyone, even Mister. I have always been a worrier, and finally being pregnant after so many years, and being high risk due to my age (and my shunt, and the gestational diabetes...) I was in almost constant worry of something going wrong. First of miscarriage (no one needed to tell me of the statistics regarding older mothers), then of stillbirth, like the cord getting wrapped around baby’s neck, and death happening before delivery could happen. I have heard of at least two different stories of that happening to pregnant women in the ninth month - friends of friends of mine - and the fear of that, or something else equally catastrophic happening was, at times, almost crippling. I would’ve preferred to have never been pregnant at all rather than suffer a miscarriage or stillbirth. 

Perhaps it sounds childish, but mentally I didn’t think I was strong enough to have the dream of motherhood dashed, when every day of pregnancy brought that dream closer. I was (and still am) too much of a realist to ignore the statistics; I couldn’t pretend I was 22 and have a blissfully ignorant uneventful pregnancy. To this day, even after giving birth to a healthy baby, one of the biggest things that will set me off is the assumption that way too many people have. “We’re planning on getting pregnant soon.” “Just have kids, you’ll understand.” “I can take you out and make one just like you.” [a redneck phrase I’ve heard being said to a misbehaving child]

Not many of us can “plan” on getting pregnant exactly when we want to - or even within a year’s time. Not all of us can “just have kids” - they’re not like going to the store and getting a gallon of milk. (I recognize the privilege of living in a society where going to the store and expecting fresh milk can also sound arrogant to those who don’t live in one.) ‘Take out’ a kid (even said in jest), and ‘make another one’? I MIGHT have another child in the next couple years. More likely, I won’t. Not all of us can just get pregnant at the drop of a hat. (That’s assuming the one wanting to get pregnant even has a male partner or sperm donor at the ready...some never find that person to have a child with. And adoption can be a great thing, but not everyone is cut out for it. Shaming infertile and childless people for not wanting to adopt is disgusting.)

I was open with my OB-GYN about my fears during pregnancy and she referred me to several resources, and monitored me for PPD. My best friend’s son died in March 2020, a year before Jonas was born (though Billy had severe disabilities which made his death a certain thing), and my sister had had a stillborn son in August 2019 (my nephew Christian). So Jonas being born healthy was a huge relief for me. I can’t really describe the relief, except to say that as much physical weight I gained during pregnancy, letting go of the weight of the worry was felt even more deeply than losing the pounds since his birth (and I’ve haven’t lost all of that).

I will probably always worry about *something*, when it comes to Jonas. He gave me a scare earlier this week, rolling off the couch before I could catch him. He’s fine...and the incident scared me more than it scared him. But every day since he was born is a reminder of the gift he is, and I hope I never lose sight of that, even on the frustrating days (and there have been those over the last almost six months, and there will be more to come).

If you ever wanted children, and are fortunate enough to have them, cherish them. Be grateful for them, even when they drive you up the wall. Even when you only want three minutes’ peace, and they won’t give it to you. Love them anyway. I try to.  

[maraudererasmut]

Black and White (Part XXXVI)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX | Part XX | Part XXI | Part XXII | Part XXIII | Part XXIV | Part XXV | Part XXVI | Part XXVII | Part XXVIII | Part XXIX | Part XXX | Part XXXI | Part XXXII | Part XXXIII | Part XXXIV | Part XXXV* | Part XXXVI | Part XXXVII | Part XXXVIII

((Hey all! I might have to take a bit of an unexpected hiatus for a few days. Don’t worry, I will try to continue to write while I am gone and post as soon as I can. I apologize for the inconvenience!))

TW: mentions of sex (no actual sex, just vague discussions about it!)

It had been over a week since Remus and Sirius had fooled around in Black and White, and their late night shenanigans had yet to be mentioned by either party. Remus had avoided bringing anything up at the risk of making Sirius feel uncomfortable, and he could only assume that his boyfriend had done the same.

When Remus was out with Lily on their weekly coffee date, he absentmindedly nodded along to whatever his friend was saying; his mind was focused on other, more pressing matters.

"You okay, Remus?" Lily asked, nudging her friend with her foot. "You look a little out of it…"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, trying to bring his attention back to Lily. "Just lost in thought…"

"Wanna share with the class?"

Remus shrugged, taking a sip of his tea. He wasn't sure how much to disclose, or how much Sirius had already said to her. Seeing as Lily wasn't begging for additional details, Remus had assumed that Sirius hadn't mentioned anything about their evening in the gallery.

"Is Sirius a virgin?" Remus asked, surprising even himself with his straightforward question.

Lily stared blankly for a moment before bursting out in laughter. Remus furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what was so funny.

"What kind of a question is that, Remus? Where did that come from?"

"Iunno…" Remus looked down at his hands, trying not to let himself feel embarrassed. "I... was just wondering…"

Lily blinked. She scrunched her nose and tilted her head to the side.

"You're not kidding, are you..."

"Nope."

"Uh… no. No, Sirius isn't a virgin. Remus, he's almost thirty!"

"So?" Remus scowled at Lily, crossing his arms in dismay. "Age has nothing to do with that."

"You're right, you're right… I'm sorry. I just… A— are you?" 

"What? No! I'm— no, I'm not. This isn't about me." Remus knew he was sounding a bit too defensive, but he hadn’t been expecting Lily to ask him that. Remus never had any particular qualms discussing his sex life in general, so he didn’t mind answering candidly— he was just taken by surprise by Lily asking him the same question in return. "I...well, things were a bit odd the other night and I was just… wondering…"

"Odd?" Lily quirked an eyebrow as she rested her chin in her palm. "In what way?"

Remus narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"How much do you know?"

"Nothing." Lily must have noticed the look on Remus' face, because she put her hands up and let out a giggle. "Honestly! Nothing! He hasn't told me anything! Last I heard, you two made up and you've been on a few dates and that's it!"

Remus nodded— they had made up and been on a few dates, that much was true. It seemed that Sirius neglected to tell Lily that after each date since their night in the gallery, he gave Remus a chaste kiss and a jovial goodbye before driving away. 

"Sirius and I… we uh… we haven't…" Remus ran a hand through his curls, trying to think of a way to discuss this delicately. "I mean, we've only been dating for a week, but I was kind of expecting to… you know… and we haven't…"

"Hmm…" Lily crossed her fingers and chewed her lip in contemplation. "Maybe he's… trying not to push you? Like… maybe he's trying to respect your boundaries?"

"I've… made my intentions pretty clear," Remus admitted with a chuckle. He had not been subtle about his desire to sleep with Sirius this past week, but Sirius acted as if he was none the wiser. 

"Have you tried asking him?"

Remus shrugged. 

"I figured I'd ask you first… I didn't really want to… make things awkward, you know? We haven't been together that long. I was starting to get the feeling that something else was up..." Remus took another sip from his mug, trying to give himself a moment to think. "Is this… his first time dating a guy?"

Lily shook her head.

"No, he's been with men before. He's… never been averse to sleeping with anyone, to put it lightly."

"Just me, then..." Remus didn’t mean to sound so dejected when he spoke, but he couldn’t keep it out of his voice. 

Lily's expression changed to the dreaded look of pity that Remus hated. She reached a hand out to his, giving it a squeeze.

"I'm sure that's not it, Remus. You should talk to him! I'm sure he has a good reason for why you two haven't done anything…"

Remus' mind wandered briefly to a fleeting image of Sirius on his knees and he quickly distracted himself with his tea. 

"We… I mean… it's not like we haven't done anything…" He murmured, barely concealing his blush.

"Oh my god, Remus! Why haven't you told me?! Tell me everything!" Lily had a grin so wide, Remus couldn't stifle his laugh. 

"No. I'm not telling you everything. We just… we did some stuff… he didn't seem as interested in doing other things…"

"Ugh, you're being so vague. This isn't helpful, you know!" Lily tried to give Remus a serious look, but she couldn't keep the smile off her face. 

"He… didn't seem too keen on having sex. I didn't want to push it, so I just… left it at that. I was confused, is all. So I figured I'd ask you if he...had ever done it before..."

Lily's smile wilted as she considered Remus carefully, trying to read him.

"As far as I know, Sirius has always been fine with sex… I'm not really sure what's going on… Do you… want me to talk to James?"

"No no, leave James out of it. I'll talk to Sirius myself. I just…" Remus rolled his eyes as he thought about this whole situation. "I figured I should do some recon in case there was something delicate that I needed to know before I breached the subject. God… this is all so high school…"

Lily smirked at her friend over her coffee cup. 

"You two are adorable," she cooed before taking a sip.

"Yeah yeah… shut up."

——-

"Hey Remus!"

Sirius sounded so enthusiastic on the phone, Remus could picture the gallery owner's smile perfectly in his head. The artist grinned up at his ceiling as he held his cell to his ear.

"Hey…"

"Ready for tonight? I was thinking we could catch a play. I've got a friend who can get us great seats—"

"That sounds lovely, Sirius," Remus interrupted, trying not to sound like he wasn't grateful. 

"I feel there's a but coming…"

"I thought maybe… we could stay in tonight? I mean, don't get me wrong, this past week has been amazing, and it's so sweet of you to take me out to all of these things…"

"But?"

Remus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself.

"But I hate that it always has to be you treating me. I'd… I'd love to be able to treat you to something for a change. I just… you know I can't really aff—"

"Exactly!" Sirius sounded like he was sure Remus had just proved his point. "I don't mind treating you to stuff! You're my boyfriend, afterall. Let me spoil you. You know that I can afford it, I don't really see the problem!"

Remus held back his groan. Of course Sirius didn't see the problem.

"I know, I just…" Remus picked up a paintbrush that had been lying on his bedside table and he began to twiddle it between his fingers. "I like that you want to spoil me, I just… I'm not really a fan of being spoiled…"

There was a pause on the other end, and for a moment, Remus was sure that Sirius was about to break up with him.

"So… you don't want me to take you out places?"

"No, no, I just… how 'bout a happy medium? It doesn't have to be going out every time we see each other. We don't have to go to fancy restaurants every evening. We can… stay in sometimes. Watch some TV… play a board game… you know?"

Something about Sirius' silence told Remus that he didn't know.

"So… you want to spend tonight in?"

"Yeah! You can… uh…" Remus turned to look at his tiny flat, knowing that it was nothing compared to what Sirius was used to. "You can come to my place if you want. I can… cook you dinner…"

Remus silently prayed that Sirius would say no and invite Remus over to his place instead. That would be the ideal compromise: a night at Sirius' place.

"You know what? I'd like that. Dinner at your place sounds lovely."

Remus blinked, his hand stopped moving and the brush fell onto his chest.

"I… what?"

"We can have dinner at your place tonight. I didn't realize you could cook!"

Neither did I…

Remus closed his eyes tightly, silently cursing himself for trying to be polite and inviting Sirius over.

"Yeah, okay," he choked out, trying to sound casual. "I'll cook you dinner at mine. See you tonight…"

"See you tonight, Remus. I can't wait to see what you're gonna make!"

"Yeah… same…" Remus groaned, more to himself than to Sirius. He had accidentally dug himself a hole that he wasn't entirely sure he could climb out of. 

[softest-cinnamon-roll]

“I was trying to propose!” + reddie please? :’)

I found this in my inbox and got the perfect idea to go with it! 

read on AO3

* * * * * 

Eddie Kaspbrak was sick. No, not the kind of sick where he could easily take a few pills and get on with his day, oh no, this time he was really sick. From the moment he woke up that morning, Eddie knew something was wrong, and yet he still went about the day as though nothing was wrong.

He was heavily regretting that decision as he boarded the subway home, sweat trickling down his pale face and an excruciating pain in his right side. A few people gave him an odd look as he made his way to an empty seat, and some even pulled their kids away from him as though they would contract some deadly disease from him.

There was no way he looked that bad was there?

Carefully, Eddie slipped his earpods in, picking some soft music to listen to until he reached his stop. As he shifted however, the pain in his side seemed to intensify and he let out a choked gasp, reaching for it. The action earned him a few more stares but he ignored them, too focused on the fact that he felt as though he was going to die with how bad his side hurt.

Luckily, the subway was approaching his stop, and he forced himself up off the seat and he stumbled towards the door. The people waiting to disembark the train at the same stop let him off first, and Eddie slowly made his way to the exit. Thankfully, he thought, his apartment was only a few minutes away from the station and Eddie couldn’t wait to curl up in bed with a hot water bottle and hope it all passed.

Eddie reached the apartment, weaker than he had been all day, tears of pain in his eyes and he tried the door. He frowned when he realised it was locked, which meant that Richie was still at the radio station, probably working late. Great, looks like he was going to have to make himself something to eat.

He never even made it to the kitchen, as he reached the couch, exhaustion took over him and he collapsed, his vision blacking out.

Eddie wasn’t even sure how long he was sleeping for, but when he woke up, the pain was almost too much to bare, and he felt as though he was going to be sick. He never registered the blanket around his body as he lurched from his position in a scramble to get to the bathroom, only to vomit all over the cream rug that was under the coffee table.

“Eds are you- holy shit!” He could hear Richie’s voice, followed by the bang of something being dropped before he was at his side. “Hey- hey woah, easy baby.” Richie’s voice was in his ear, but he felt like he was floating away. “Baby, what’s wrong, talk to me?”

He managed to open his eyes, almost sealed shut with sweat and sleep and he managed to croak out a single word, “H-Hurts.” He barely got the word out before he was sick again, coughing as Richie rubbed his back soothingly.

Richie jumped into action, grabbing his phone and calling 911. Through his pain induced haze, Eddie could make out Richie describing his visible symptoms to the operator on the other side. “Just- send an ambulance. He’s really sick and he needs immediate medical attention!” Another pause. “No- no I can’t ask him because every time he so much as moves, he’s sick everywhere!”

Eddie honestly thought he was going to die, completely in pain, in his boyfriend’s arms. He could barely even talk without bringing up more vomit, which was soon turning to bile at this point as there was nothing left in his stomach. He faintly could hear the ambulance pull up outside and soon enough, multiple people were surrounding him and strapping an oxygen mask around his head.

That was the last thing he remembered before he passed out.

* * * * *

For some reason, Eddie thought that when he regained consciousness, he would no longer be in pain, but unfortunately that was not the case. He was laying down on a bed, hooked up to an IV line and nurses were bustling around them.

“Eds, fuck, hey,” Eddie’s attention drifted to Richie, who looked as though he’d been to hell and back. “Hey, easy…you’re going to be fine.”

“What- what’s wrong with me?” He asked, his voice raw with how many times he had thrown up. He relaxed a little as Richie ran his fingers through his hair. “Why am I in so much pain?”

Richie brought his hand to his lips, kissing the skin of his knuckles. “It’s your appendix,” he explained and Eddie almost let out a breath of relief, but Richie continued. “You’re booked in to surgery, they need to get them out as fast as possible…before they burst.”

Surgery. Fuck. Eddie hates surgery. He had only ever been under the knife once before, when he was little and he broke his arm, and he hated it. “Richie-”

“Don’t worry baby, I’m going to be right here okay? Right here. I’m going to leave you. I promise,” Richie’s voice was soft and it was clear he had been crying. The doctor came in just a few seconds later, clipboard in hand.

“Eddie, your awake. That’s good. We’re about to take you in for surgery now.” The doctor smiled and quickly ran through a few questions he had. “Shouldn’t take longer than a few hours, and we’ll keep you in for a few days to make sure you’re recovering.”

Eddie nodded his head, knowing that he had no other choice but to go along with whatever the doctor was doing with him. As the nurses came in to wheel him into the surgery room, he gave Richie one last kiss, keeping his gaze until they were separated by the swinging doors.

The surgeon talked through everything he was doing as the anesthetist prepared the injection. Eddie felt a sharp prick in his hand and the doctor looked down over him, “Count back from ten, and you’ll be out, okay?”

“Ten…nine…eigh-”

Blackness.

* * * * *

This time, when Eddie opened his eyes, the intense pain was gone, and replaced with a little discomfort. By the look of the room, he was in recovery and the operation was over. Thank fuck. He felt a little giddy, thanks to the anesthetic. He really wanted to see Richie. To kiss Richie. God he loved Richie so much.

“We’re going to take you to the ward now Eddie, okay?” The nurse smiled down at him and he nodded his head, giggling.

The nurse wheeled him out of recovery and up to the ward where he would be staying for the next few days whilst he recovered properly. Richie was there waiting for him, and Eddie let out a squeal the second he laid his eyes on him. “Richie! Baby! You’re here!”

A few of the nurses on the ward laughed at how happy he sounded and Richie walked over to them, taking his hand as he was wheeled into his room, “Of course I’m here. I wasn’t going to leave you.”

“Were you worried about me?” Eddie asked, biting his lip, staring at Richie as though he hung the moon. “I almost died.”

Richie blinked, shaking his head, “You did not almost die, but you certainly did scare the living daylights out of me.” He ran his hand through Richie’s hair, kissing his head softly. “But you’re okay, and I’ll be here to take care of you, okay?”

Eddie hummed and settled back into the bed, grinning up at Richie. He couldn’t help it, he was just so in love with him. “Richie-” he started, his words coming out like word vomit. “You wanna know a secret, Richie?” He asked and Richie nodded his head, leaning in closer. “I really don’t like my last name.”

“What?” Richie blinked, tilting his head to the side. “You- why? I love your last name.”

Eddie shook his head again, “Nah, I wanna change it,” he mumbled. “Don’t you wanna know what I wanna change it to?”

Richie chuckled and nodded his head, “Okay, humour me Eddie Spaghetti. What do you wanna change your name to?”

“Tozier.”

Richie blinked, tilting his head to the side, “Eds- what?” he laughed, shaking his head. “You’re doped up baby, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“What-?’ Eddie shook his head. “No- no I do know what I’m saying,” he whispered. “I’m trying to propose to you!”

With another blink, Richie smiled softly, his eyes filling with tears, “If I say yes, will you lay down and rest for me?” He asked. Eddie paused for a moment before nodding his head, realising he was really really tired. “Then yes, I’ll marry you, Eds, but I fully expect a real proposal when you’re feeling up to par. Okay?”

Eddie just grinned, nodding his head. “You got yourself a deal.”

* * * * * 

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