#the breaks have been Shot for a while. steadily getting worse

[orcelito]

My beautiful bike is Sick so I am at the shop to get her break pads replaced. Bc Lol

[luveline]

is there any way we could get badass!reader x spencer? except he’s injured this time? how does she react?

tysm ♡ cw hospital / gunshot wounds. 1.1k

"You have to let me see him." 

"It's family only," the nurse says, shrugging sympathetically. 

You grit your teeth. "That's what I'm telling you, I am his family. We've been together for four months." 

"Sorry. Unless you're blood related or his next of kin, I can't let you." 

"Spencer's next of kin is in a sanitarium in Las Vegas. I don't understand why you can't let me see him." You're trying not to shout at her, rage trembling in your aching fingers. "I understand that it's night time, and that he was admitted alone, but he was shot, he's not sick, and I can't make him worse. Please. You have to let me see him." 

When begging doesn't work, you get mean. You'd be ashamed to admit you flashed your badge if it weren't for the fact that you have no shame when it comes to Spencer. Face flushed with heat from a good twenty minutes yelling, a different nurse escorts you to Spencer's room. 

"I expect my colleagues will be arriving soon," you say. "And I expect they'll be met with less resistance." 

The nurse smiles at you, as fake as they come, but you don't deserve a real one. You don't care. Breaking rules and bending policies means nothing to you while Spencer's laying alone in a hospital bed. 

His heart monitor beeps steadily. He's sleeping, waxy face crushed sideways into a limp pillow, his stomach a lump under the sheets where he's been wrapped. He was alone when it happened —no one, BAU or otherwise, knows who did it or why. The hospital didn't know who Spencer was until he woke up after surgery and told them himself. 

And you'd been sitting at home feeling sorry for yourself (and vaguely irritated) because he didn't answer your text that morning. 

It's not hard being vulnerable with Spencer. He's your widely known soft spot, and you're unashamed. But it felt like a mistake, constantly checking to see if he'd answered your text. Good morning, I know we're supposed to see each other tomorrow but do you want to come over and watch movies tonight? Let me know had felt like I'm pathetic and in love with you and my day revolves around when you're free.

None of that matters now. In fact, it's all embarrassingly small. 

You creep up beside his bed and reach out tentatively. His hair falls out of his face with the barest of touches. He's had blood wiped poorly from his cheek, orangey streaks lining his jaw. His undereyes are dark like he hasn't eaten for days, his veins spider legs stark against his eyelids. 

You put your hand on his cheek, rubbing it lightly. "I'm sorry it took me so long," you say, leaning down to kiss his forehead.  

Spencer stirs, a groan rumbling from the centre of his chest. 

"I thought that was you," he mumbles, his fingers brushing your elbow. 

"When?" you ask. 

"You were yelling." 

Yeah, well. You need to be disruptive sometimes. "They wouldn't let me in." You're not a big crier, just seeing him like this, knowing he was alone and probably scared, it has tears pricking. "Spencer, I'm so sorry." 

"Hey." He clears his throat, your emotion starting him into wakefulness. "Hey, don't get upset. It's okay. It bounced off of me–" You groan and he laughs, though he grabs your elbow quickly after. "Ouch. Don't make me laugh." 

"I didn't say anything." You pet his face. He looks pretty even when he's in a bad way. Your chest is a pit. 

"It barely touched me. They said my feminine hips saved my life." 

"Stop trying to make me laugh," you say pleadingly. 

Spencer holds your gaze. "Stop looking so sad and I'll stop."

"Are you hurting?" you ask. You know you sound awful, a scared tone that he's never heard from you before, and you try to tamp it down as a lone tear breaks free, streaking down your cheek. "How's your pain? I can make them give you more–" 

"I know you can. I'm fine now you're here." 

You lean down to kiss the tip of his pert nose. Careful, you kiss his lips, enthused when he kisses up. "I'll take care of everything," you promise. 

The door opens behind you. You give Spencer a last squeeze and find Emily in the entrance with a bag pressed to her chest, her hair windblown, shocked with worry. 

"Spencer," she says, rushing forward to hug him. 

He's in a hospital bed and still insists on comforting her as he'd done you, arms threaded over her shoulders. "Hey. I'm fine." 

"Morgan and Garcia want to be here," she assures him, standing straight. "They're trying to keep the site clean. Spencer, what the hell happened?" 

You drag a chair to his bed and sit on his right. You don't take his hand, he doesn't offer it, but the longer his story goes, the closer you find yourself. "I didn't even realise they were following me," he's saying. Emily nods with Hotch on the phone, listening intently, repeating anything Hotch misses. 

You know you should be strong. Brave. You should be paying attention to his every word, ready to take the rains and solve the case, serve retribution against whoever it is that thought they could hurt him, but Spencer looks so tired. You can't imagine being anywhere that isn't his side right now. A blood bag fills at his side, a catheter runs under the bed, an IV line feeding pain medication and fluids into him mottled the skin on the inside of his wrist with bruise. Sometimes you have to stay put.  

Emily hugs you before she leaves. You hug back. 

"If I knew getting hurt would make you accept love from your friends, I would've done it sooner," Spencer says. 

"If you ever get hurt like this again, I'll never speak to you," you say, bringing his arm to your lips and pressing a kiss to the crook of his elbow. 

"Sorry for scaring you." 

You lay your cheek on his arm, looking up at him through your eyelashes. "That's okay. That's fine. Wasn't your fault." 

Spencer drops his chin to his chest. "Do I look bad from this angle?" 

"No. You look just as nice as you always do." Your throat burns with sincerity. You might cry again. 

Spencer nods like he's reading something else from what you've said. It's not that you'd meant to imply a double meaning, but he must see on your face how relieved you are, and how terrified you'd been. He brings his hand to your face, ignoring his cannula, to wipe the dried tears from your lashes. "You look pretty, too," he says. "Just don't cry anymore." 

[faerykingdom]

DAY ONE - K. BREKKER

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1162 words

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: kaz brekker x reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: overstimulation, penetration, fingering, unprotected sex

It had been an exhausting day. Your entire body hurt from the hours of exertion. You had a migraine that has decided to live indefinitely in your head. Your wrist, your motherfucking wrist, hurts worse than it has in a while; it having being sprained painfully in your latest heist. (You’ll admit, you’ve had worse injuries, but right now, with your heart beating steadily in your wrist, and agonizing shots of pain shooting you your entire arm, you can’t think of anything worse.)

The heist, the lovely it’ll-only-take-two-days-at-most-Y/N heist. The one that had definitely lasted longer than a fucking hour, and immediately went wrong.

𝟐𝟒 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐑

“Gods damnit!” You shouted, as you jumped onto different roofs in a matter of seconds. You were running from Ravkan soldiers. You, and the couple of Dregs were sent to break into a multimillion kruge building, that would set you up for life.

It’s only been almost six years since the Fold was destroyed (by a fucking Sun Summoner, who died and made more Sun Summoners – it’s a very difficult concept to wrap around your mind, you mean, how the hell does the death of a saint cause everyone around her to gain her powers? – anyway, you’re getting off topic). Kaz sent you along with a couple newbies – seriously, how were you meant to successfully complete the heist when you were surrounded by idiots who didn’t know what they were doing? -, and explained that he expected all of you back in two days with bags filled with kruge.

However, as soon as you landed on Ravkan soil – after a lovely sail against the former Fold, to which you thought those damned winged beasts would fly out of no where and take you – you were almost immediately surrounded by soldiers.

Some motherfucker had told the authorities the plan. And when you find them, they’re going to wish they had never been born.

So now, you were split up from the rest of the group – if they hadn’t been arrested yet – and we’re currently flinging yourself over roofs to get away.

You jump from the last building, that will put you out of sight of the soldiers for a while. Unfortunately, there isn’t anything to grab a hold of to slow your fall. You barely have time to duck into a ball to stop from landing your neck, before your crashing onto the floor.

You yelp, feeling your wrist catch the brunt of the impact. You’re lucky you haven’t broken your damned arm.

You’re going to kill Kaz when you get back.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓

The rest of the crew had managed to make it back to a different boat than you, and were able to make it back to Ketterdam about a day before you.

While they were happily sailing back home, you had had to hide out for the rest of the day, and sneak onto the bottom of a boat heading home.

You were in a piss pour mood, and you had no energy to deal with Kaz fucking Brekker and his questions.

And, of course, you were ignored and the Dirtyhands walked into your room, closing the door behind him with his crow cane.

“What do you want, Kaz?” You sigh, to exhausted to give much energy into the argument you can already see brewing. “If you’re here to scold me, I suggest you get a move on it. I’m tired, and not in the mood to deal with your bullshit.”

You looked up at the man through your desk mirror, numbly fiddling with your sleeping clothes. He stood stoically, his hands folded over the top of his cane. He stared at you, his dark eyes scanning the length of your body. He said nothing, seeming to want to examine every inch of you before opening his damned mouth.

Unfortunately for either of you, you were not patient enough to wait for him. You spun around to face him, your fingers dropping your clothes, and a scowl spread across your cheeks.

“What, Kaz?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest. “If you’re going to bother me, at least fucking say something!”

Kaz stared at you, his own lips deepening into a scowl, “What the hell happened?”

“What do you think happened?” you snapped, glaring at the man in the mirror. “You sent me on a heist with two fucking newbies. We got caught as soon as we got on Ravkan land. Those motherfuckers felt me to deal with it by my goddamn self!”

You stopped rifling through your drawer, anger coursing through your veins as you slammed your hands down on the dresser. You were exhausted, your wrist hurt (you really shouldn’t have slammed it down so fucking hard), and you were pissed. Those idiots better not come anywhere near you for the next year, or you might kill them.

You flop down on your bed, and tossing your pillow over your face. All you wanted to do was sleep off the last week. But nooo, of course Kaz can’t take a hint, and leave you be.

You don’t look at him, but you can feel him staring down at you, and you can already imagine the scowl on his face. “Go away, Kaz!” you shout through the pillow, officially over his silent stare.

“No, I’ve got something better planned.”

“Fuck!” you scream, your hips hitching up towards Kaz’s hands. It was too much!

You’re laying on your bed, loosely tied to the head post, and bared completely for Kaz. You don’t know how long you’ve been here, or how many orgasms he’s forced out of you.

Kaz was straddling your legs, keeping your lower half against the bed. His dark eyes were focused on you, a smirk spread across his face. His fingers drove into you, the tip of his fingers hitting your g-spot over and over again. “Come on, give me another,” he says, rubbing harshly against your clit.

“St-stop!” you screech, trying to pull away from him. Kaz grabs your hips, and slams them back on the bed, keeping you still under his grasp.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

It’s too much, oh saints...

“SHIT!”

Everything goes blank, and you feel like you just died and came back.

When everything clears, you realize the all-consuming pleasure was still pushing down on you.

You open your eyes, your chest moving quickly with your pants, and moans. You immediately make eye contact with Kaz, the man leaning over you as his hips slam sharply against yours. He’s looking down at you, and if you didn’t know him like you did, you would think he was completely unaffected. But you did know him, his eyes were glazed over slightly, and sweat lined his forehead. He was just as consumed as you.

“Fuck, Kaz,” you whisper, wrapping your fists around the sheets. “It’s too fucking much!”

Kaz leans down, his lips grazing your ear, “Shut up and take it. I’m not done with you.”

[plspush]

As mentioned, Caleb on Halloween <3😳<3

His favorite day is Halloween. His own birthday is in October, and he's an all around spooky kinda guy. His and Aiden's best friends (Jax and Maiya) are throwing their usual crazy halloween party, and Caleb insists he is absolutely fine. He wouldn't miss his favorite day for anything, especially when it's *totally* just "practice ones or something." He scrunches his face putting his costume on, knowing if his water were to break it'd be so easily visible, and also pretty difficult to take off by himself. He shows up with his partner and has fun, taking shots of water when everyone else is getting wasted, playing drinking games, hearing good music, horror movies playing in the background. Aiden is drunk, at Caleb's insistence that "everything is fine" and that he should "have some fun before the baby arrives." Caleb's cramps are building, and annoyingly the practice contractions are sticking around longer than usual. He doesn't want to halt the fun or make a scene, so he takes some time for himself on the couch, laying down and slowing his breathing. He watches Halloween (fitting) while he tries to relax, and eventually raises concern from Aiden and Jax. Rubbing his shoulder, Aiden asks Caleb what's up. "Nothing, I'm okay." Caleb lies. He doesn't entirely know why he is concealing this-- they should probably get to the birthing center or call their midwife or something. His nerves are building up, and his discomfort is steadily rising. He's in pain. "Cay, you are looking kinda rough over there," Jax says. Caleb takes a breath. "I'm okay, r-really." He smiles up at the two of them. The party rages on around the three, and no one is really paying attention to them. "I just need to rest. I'm like, overdue pregnant and I've been helping set this party up all day. I'm just relaxing. My back hurts." And totally nothing else hurts.

The two of them reluctantly tell him okay, and that they'll come check up on him in a little bit before leaving his side. Caleb huffs and holds his round tummy as another contraction hits, this one even worse.

The party continues, and two hours later Caleb finds himself in the laundry room, wanting some peace, quiet, and privacy.

"Come on, there's no way this is happening right noowww..." He moans while bent over the washing machine. He waves his hips to ease the pain, swaying slowly. He hums low, and grunts as another contraction hits. It hurts SO much more than before. He spends another twenty minutes like this, battling four contractions. Then it hits him. Four. In twenty minutes. That's five minutes apart. "Fuck."

He slides down the side of the machine to sit on the rug with his legs apart. His skeleton costume is tight and fitting, but stretchy, and allows him to spread wide apart with his big belly jutting out in front of him. He just needs a bit of room to spread apart. Probably no reason at all.

His body clenches with the next contraction, feeling pressure. His big belly is hanging pretty low actually....... Much lower than it was just a few hours ago. Pressure. "Oh god."

He fumbles with shaky hands for his phone when he comes to the realization of the situation he's put himself into. He notices missed texts from Aiden, asking if he is just in the bathroom or if he is just resting somewhere. Another text comes in, [I'm just gonna com3 loiking for you if I don;t hear back from you soon, okat babe?]

Caleb responds with shaky fingers. [You were rright. I'm in llaundry rm, comme NOW.] He whimpers to himself, not looking forward to the next contraction.

Aiden comes clambering in with Maiya and Jax in tow. Caleb is grunting and moaning, clutching his belly with both hands on the floor. He lets out a scream he had been holding in for what felt like forever.

"Babe!" Aiden sobers up almost fully at the sight, dropping to his knees to reach Caleb. "Oh my god, are you okay?1" He borderline screeches. Maiya hurriedly asks if they should call for an ambulance, or the midwife. Caleb shakes his head violently, feeling the most intense pain he hadn't been feeling previously. A low, pressure-filled pain. An almost white, searing pain.

"N-no... time..." He answers between gasps. He reaches down to feel a slight bulge forming behind the fabric of his clothing...

[pancake-breakfast]

CW: Suicidal Ideation, Substance Abuse, Severe Depression, Body Horror

It really seems like Volume 6 of Trigun Maximum was about a lot of people trying to cope with Vash. We have Wolfwood, who has his experience with the Fifth Moon Incident plus his knowledge of Knives stacking onto all the reminders the Dragon's Nest gave him of what Vash is. We have Meryl, who ended up getting a megadose of Vash's memories and emotions at the same event, and must reconcile them with all of her own feelings toward Vash. Heck, even Knives spends a notable amount of time mulling over how each use of Vash's angel arm has brought Vash notably closer to death.

And then we have Vash himself. The king of false smiles hiding great sorrow. I've mentioned it before, but I'll say it again: the way Vash is coping with the return of his memories of July can easily be summed up as "not well." Heck, the way Vash is coping with being Vash could be summed up the same way.

And who could really blame him? Over the last two or three volumes, he has:

Realized he was the cause of death for thousands of people, including children, friends, and colleagues

Been reminded that he doesn't really know how to control his power and a slip-up can absolutely cost way more in lives than he's willing to pay

Held the hand of a dying man while knowing that any comfort he might try to bring with his right hand is too late to undo the pain he wrought with his angel arm, listening patiently as the man spits curses at him with his dying breaths

Seen one of his (few) friends slide into depression after seeing him release his angel arm

Had one of his other friends pull a gun on him while his back was turned and steadily aim it for his head

This would be a lot for most people, but for Vash, it's even worse. Vash's ideals mean the cost of even one human life is too high for him to justify taking it. In his mind, they're all his family, bequeathed to him by Rem via her death; to destroy one of them is to dishonor her memory and the bonds that bind him to them. Vash aches both for redemption for what Knives did in causing the Great Fall and for July. He also aches for connection, but has years of practicing not having it, trying to keep distance to keep others safe from him, and to keep himself safe from the possibility of their rejection should they realize what he is and what he's capable of.

The fact that Meryl, Milly, and Wolfwood seem to understand how dangerous it is to be around him and yet continue to follow him seems to be important to him...

...so how does a being who has put over a century of time and effort into protecting people, who may be able to read minds and can definitely key in on emotions deal with this:

The answer is, of course, not well. In fact, Vash decides to go with one of the more destructive forms of coping, choosing substance abuse as if he could just numb it all away to get a moment of escape.

This is probably one of the most upsetting images of Vash we the readers have seen thus far. We're removed from the danger of his angel arm, but too many of us have watched loved ones succumb to some form of substance abuse, or perhaps found ourselves sliding down that trail. To see him so upset that he's giving this path a shot is too real, and that adds a level distress to the gut-punch of seeing him this upset and casually trying to laugh it all off.

We've seen Vash drink before, but it was always in celebration. He breaks out his goofy drinking tie (from God knows where), ties it around his forehead, and allows himself to enjoy the company he's in, if only for a while. In fact, it seems like he might even be feigning his level of drunkenness in those scenes, as more than once we see him pop right up, seemingly sober as anything, when either no eyes are on him or when he senses danger.

But Nightow makes it very clear that's not the case this time. All through the fight where we see him slurping alcohol off his hand, his movements are uncanny. Vash, who usually puts so much work into trying to pass as human, is failing to do so.

This is first hinted at when his attacker compliments his dodging, but Nightow shows it to us some pages later. Vash flows through the panels at strange angles and takes poses that just don't quite feel right.

And then... he messes up.

Senses dulled, mind not fully in the game, and he fails to dodge a shot aimed right for his head. Instinct kicks in, and his body reacts before he realizes.

We haven't seen Vash swear much thus far in the manga, but he swears here. He might have saved himself (and anyone standing behind him) by catching that bullet with a part of his angel arm. In fact, this might be the first time he's had enough awareness during its deployment to see it used for something other than destruction or threat of destruction. But that's not where his thoughts go right now. Instead, they're on the crowd around him, because this tiny display of his power has irrevocably revealed him to be something that is most definitely not human.

Now, they see him as the monster he sees himself to be. He's laid bare before them. The threat of the bounty hunter and his posse is gone, not even referenced again in the chapter. The people want him dead. And to make matters worse, his friend Meryl is having a meltdown at the sight of him.

He knew it couldn't last, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Maybe if he hadn't been drunk or if things had gone differently in the Dragon's Nest or if...

There are a hundred thousand "maybe ifs" and "if onlys," but the chance for them to change has passed. He falls back on false smiles hiding great sorrow, hoping all his emotions will just melt together into an unfeeling mud.

[wildmtthyme]

Home, Sweet Home

Eight years is a long time. Simon knew he should stay away but betrayal stings and panic drives him to go to the only place that has ever felt like home. The fact that he still knows it makes his chest tighten. The fact that she's still there makes him wilt. The fact that she's still waiting breaks his heart even more.

Or...

Ghost and Johnny need somewhere to hide in Las Almas when the shit hits the fan. If only for the night. Ghost knows where they can go... but it would mean opening the door on a past that he'd walked away from so many years ago.

SFW but slight warning on language and gore? Depictions/descriptions of canon-level injuries. Non-canon injuries. Spanish speaking Ghost. Tumblr only drabble. *I pulled the Spanish from memory so it's rusty, some might be a little wrong but oh well. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And yes... this is what counts as a drabble for me. -sigh- I might continue this when I have the motivation to.

Soap squinted slightly as he studied Ghost in the fell light of the belly of the carrier they were in, steadily making their way towards the airfield in Mexico. Price’s words over their coms when they were getting ready to leave still making him wonder. You going to be alright going back there, Ghost? And Ghost’s deadpan reply of Yes Sir. That had given him no clue as to what Price had been talking about. He knew that Ghost had history with Mexico as a whole but not with Las Almas in particular. It wasn’t the last time he wondered that on this mission. There were quite a few times he caught the elusive and closed off Lieutenant seeming to slip into an even more stoic sort of thought, gazing off into a distance he couldn’t see himself before he seemed to snap back to this reality and act as if that hadn’t happened.

Simon felt uneasy on Mexican soil, he always would. For a variety of reasons. When they landed in Las Almas… he knew questions were growing in quite a few minds at the familiarity between himself and Rudy. The way the man didn’t just shake his hand. How he clapped his shoulder, giving it a squeeze and saying it’s good to see you again, hermano. Simon had just nodded. He couldn’t reply for the nerves that spiked inside him. Rudy was a part of a life he no longer had. And he didn’t want to answer questions about it. He was hoping he could fly under that particular radar while he was in Las Almas. But when the shit hit the fan… well… he stopped caring about a lot of those nerves.

Soap listened as Ghost guided him through the streets of Las Almas… the darkened alleyways were like a maze to him but Ghost seemed to know them intimately. He led him through twists and turns, guided him along all the while his shoulder screamed at him from the bullet that grazed the muscle. He had no idea where Ghost was leading him… but he didn’t have much of a choice except to follow his cryptic instructions. Shadows were everywhere, looking for both Ghost and himself. Things were going from bad to worse as he heard the screams, the shouts, the citizens of this town taking the fall for his and Ghost’s escape.

Simon knew he shouldn’t… he knew he should get the hell out of town, get to Alejandro’s safe-house. But he couldn’t leave without Soap. And the shot he took to the thigh was slowing him down in the worst possible way. He knew he had to get it out before he could make any kind of trip. Alejandro’s safe-house was a few clicks outside the city and there was no way he was going to make that distance if he was bleeding out the way he was. He knew he shouldn’t. But he did anyway. He slunk through the shadows… guiding Soap through their personal com channel to the same place he was currently approaching. He gave him the final instruction before he snuck up the covered stairway… his gloved hands easing the rug out of the way, shaking his head with a deep frown at the key he found laying there.

How many times had he told her to not hide a key under the bloody mat. He eased the key into the metal door’s lock, at least she kept the bars on the doors and windows; though, she’d hated it when he had them installed. He turned the knob on the interior door and winced when it clicked, seemingly so loud. There weren’t any lights on inside, but that didn’t mean anything. He shut and locked everything behind him… only a foot in and he heard the unmistakable click of a gun, felt the press of a barrel into the side of his damned neck. His eyes cut over and he swallowed down a whole mess of… god… so much. She was just as stunning as he remembered. No… even more so. “Easy with that, love.” Her expression shifted in a heartbeat… from fierce and threatening to stunned. She pulled the gun away, he heard the hammer disengage… the safety click on… and watched as she stepped away from him, nearly staggering back into the small kitchen table that he’d bought for her when they moved in here. Simón… she whispered his name, as if she couldn’t believe it. He stood up fully, his height always imposing. He nodded, looking down at her. His fingers itched with the urge to reach for her. He blinked sharp as he swayed back a half step… her violent shove the reason. The fuck are you doing here! She hissed at him, luckily not yelling. This shit all about you?! Is that why these gringos are fucking around tonight?! He sighed and she just groaned, holding her hand up, that gun still in it as if she were done and walking away from him. His eyes flew down her unbidden… from her worn old T-shirt to her jean cut-offs… she was… so damned beautiful. “Needed somewhere safe to go before heading out of the city.” He found himself murmuring, not because he had to be quiet but because he felt like a damned dog with his tail tucked.

So, you brought this to my door? She had set the gun in a cabinet, shutting it away before shooting him a glare. Eight years and nada… but now, now you decide is time to come home? He clinched his jaw to hold back a sigh… and silence the stab of pain that word caused. Home. His eyes flicked around… the place looked a little different but not by much. Nothing much changed in Las Almas, that much he was learning quickly. “Can we stay here tonight?” He swallowed against a growing lump in his throat. She raised a dark brow at him, her arms folding over her chest, her hip jutting out. We? Who the fuck is we? His sigh slipped past this time… and he saw her immediate response. Her lips pressed into a thin, hard line. He did not want to deal with her attitude right now… his thigh was starting to cramp… and he was sure there was a small pool of blood starting to form under his boot. He was about to answer when he heard Soap through his coms. Metal door, this the place. He heard the echo just behind him and he turned, opening her door even though he heard her go off in a hiss. Pinche-cabron. He eased the metal door open, letting a confused and injured Soap inside.

Johnny glanced at Ghost but immediately saw the woman standing just there past the pass-through to the kitchen in the hall. She looked livid… but kind of not? He wasn’t sure. She looked between him and Ghost once he was inside and the doors were once again locked. Well, this is just great, Simón… now I have two big ass gringos bleeding in my house. She made a sound and waved behind her as she started down the hall away from them. Sit down before you fall down, I’ll get the kit. She muttered to herself, quite a few curse words in Spanish that he recognized as she vanished into the darkness. He looked up at Ghost. “Simon.” He said simply… there was a question in the word but the LT ignored him and limped a little, moving past him and over to the dinning room where he pulled out a chair and eased himself down, letting his leg stretch out.

Simon ignored Soap’s questioning look and the man followed, sitting in the closest chair. He was struggling with a lot in his head at the moment… and her statement reminded him of what he should have thought of in the first place. Soap and him being here put her in very real danger. But in his weakness… his moment of betrayal and panic… he just thought of the one place he could go that was safe. Home. It struck him then that his mind still thought of this place as that. She returned a moment later carrying a first aid kit… she set it down with a snap, her jaw tight as she reached for a box of matches on the table and flicked one to light the candle there. The soft glow was the only light she was affording. She looked at Soap and kicked her chin in his direction. How bad?

Soap watched the woman… she was… a total knockout if he were being honest. Tan skin and dark hair, obviously a native. Beautiful. Long legs… and… he knew his mind was seeking out anything to focus on other than the burning in his arm. Sure, he’d been shot before but it never made it hurt any less. He started working his vest off, wincing slightly around his eyes. “Jus’ a graze, hen… nuthin’ major.” He saw Ghost sit up a little straighter, take in a little more air when he called her ‘hen’… he wanted to smirk, the man giving him a little information without even trying to. She opened the box and pulled out a bottle of alcohol and some gauze, some gauze tape and set it on the table in front of him. And you. He pulled his shirt off, his eyes flicking between what he was doing and her interaction with Ghost, fighting another smirk as she poked the imposing LT in the chest. What has you bleeding on my floor?

Simon looked up at her and saw her brown eyes swimming in worry… worry she was trying to hide. He sighed and shook his head. “Is nuthin’. Jus’ need—” You think you can lie to me? She cut him off with a hardened tone. He sighed again before he froze… feeling her hand under his chin, making him look at her again. You wearin’ this calacas like it’s dia de los Muertos. Like you some dios de los Muertos. She removed her hand and focused back down at the box, sorting through some of the remaining first aid supplies. Take that thing off and answer me, the truth this time. He stilled… his eyes flicking from her to Soap, who was now cleaning the swipe on his arm with a slight grimace around his eyes, but the man had stilled too… his eyes not looking at him but he knew he was focused out of his peripheral. Waiting to see what he was going to do. He swallowed tensely before he spoke. “Can’t do tha’, love. It stays on.” She blinked rapidly before looking at him again, more pointedly this time, her hip shifting as he saw her clinch a muscle in her jaw. She opened her mouth but he hissed. “Es definito.” He spoke firmly, his voice taking on a growl as he held her gaze with that same firmness.

She pursed her lips, rolling around her words no doubt before she dropped some of the first aid supplies down with a slap. You wanna be stubborn, burro. Fine. She snapped at him before she dropped to a knee, hard. Her hands reaching for his belt, he jerked slightly but didn’t move otherwise. Bleeding all over my clean floor, acting all big and bad with your estupido gringo friend… she was muttering at him, he could hear the heat in her words and he flexed his thigh on purpose, the pain keeping his cock from reacting to her close proximity and the fact that he’d always found her even more attractive when she was angry. He pushed his hands down on the chair, letting her jerk his jeans down, quickly tugging his boxers back up into position while she pulled his jeans down to his ankles. He wanted to quip at her but with Soap paying such close attention… he couldn’t. Wasn’t the best idea anyway. She paused when her eyes locked on the wound… he heard her mutter quieter under her breath, still angry… but he couldn’t make out her words anymore.

She rose up onto her knees and tugged a headlamp out of the box, grabbing the bottle of alcohol off the table now that Soap was done with it… some gauze… and started making a proper mess. She cleaned her hands and then doused the wound. His muscle jumped and he clinched his teeth. She pulled the headlamp on and grabbed a pair of forceps from the kit… dipped them into the bottle of alcohol and swirled them around before she slotted herself between his legs, having to climb into the valley created by his jeans. It was… oddly intimate… and he knew it spoke volumes to how close they were… or rather, once were. Soap cleared his throat as he set the tape down, having finished bandaging his arm. Bathroom? “Down tha hall.” They both said in unison and Soap paused over that but otherwise made his way quietly away from them.

Johnny glanced over his shoulder once he was in the hallway… watching as that woman started digging around in Ghost’s leg for the bullet that was no doubt lodged in there. Ghost tensed up… hissed and he saw her set her hand further up on his thigh. Shh, big baby. Ghost chuckled low. Tha hand’s not exactly helpin’, love. She rolled her eyes and continued working. It was clear that they knew each other on a more… intimate level. But how intimate was the question. Was this a girl that Ghost had met while they were here? He hadn’t spent every single moment with the LT while they’d been here. But somehow… it seemed… like an older thing? He wasn’t sure. He went down the hall and found the bathroom, was pretty easy to do since there were only two doors. One to an obvious bedroom and one to a bathroom. He used it and washed his hands before quietly heading back out.

He didn’t return to the dining room though, having walked back into the main living area just in time to hear the sound of metal hitting the tabletop, the bullet rolling a little as it did. He went into the living room instead, settling down slowly onto the couch with a heavy sigh. His bones were tired. He let his eyes lazily move around the room… and they landed on an older style entertainment center… the top of which was littered with clutter. A statue of the Virgin Mary… some candles that weren’t lit… and pictures in cheap gold frames. One he spotted right away, it seemed to jump right out at him. Not because of her… no… but the man with her. He was huge… much larger than she… and he had familiar brown eyes. But the white man with the sandy blonde hair was a stranger otherwise. He had a crooked nose, a scar that bisected both of his lips in a single swipe… another on his chin… but those lips were crooked in a grin. And he was holding her in his lap sitting in the sand on some beach. His eyes moved quicker now, over the photos that held a lot of people he obviously didn’t recognize, until he saw another one with the man. This one was like the clue that cracked a case wide open. He was standing in front of a small chapel… wearing a uniform, younger… and there she was beside him, her dress white, a lace veil around her face, and he had her pulled in under his arm like that was where he always wanted her to be.

Johnny couldn’t help but look over his shoulder at the LT now… and it just clicked. Holy Shit, he thought. This wasn’t just some girl. This was the LT’s wife. No wonder she poked at him… she knew him… in pretty much every way. But… there was a strange distance between them now. Something had happened… something changed between them. Something that made Ghost come here on a plane with him and not come straight here to this apartment. Soap desperately wanted to know what that was… but he knew better than to ask. And frankly, at the moment, he was too damned tired to care.

Simon watched her as she stitched him up… her steady hands and unyielding focus hadn’t changed at all. He couldn’t stop his gloved hand from reaching, brushing some of her hair back behind her shoulder where it had been before it had slid off. She paused, froze for a heartbeat before continuing. Rudolpho said you were in town. He sighed quietly, watching as she dropped the needle back into the box and grabbed a tube of ointment. She dabbed it around the wound softly before laying a bandage over it. She stood up and stepped out of the trap his jeans created, clicking the light off before she did, plunging the place back into near darkness. “Rudy shouldn’t have said anything.” He muttered… he saw her shoulders tense… and felt the way his stomach dropped. She was quick about collecting the first aid supplies. There’s left overs in the fridge. You should shower… don’t get the stitches wet. He stood up, tugging his jeans back up and securing them… she hadn’t looked at him again and her words were uncharacteristically quiet. “Maria.” He breathed but she was already turning away from him and heading down the hall. I want you gone by dawn. She left him standing there like a jackass… and he felt like one, too. The tension thick around him. He sighed quietly before he turned into the kitchen and tugged the fridge open. He quickly made food for himself and Soap… he ate in the kitchen, hiding from his colleague.

Johnny ate the rice and meat quick, using the tortillas like bread… it was probably the wrong way but he didn’t care, he was starving. As soon as he was done, he took his plate into the kitchen, where Ghost was already rinsing his. He did the same but hovered there as the LT was fiddling with something on his vest. “So… she seems nice.” He said quietly, testing the waters. And the look Ghost shot him let him know that those waters were the fucking arctic ocean. He held his hands up a little in surrender. You take the couch. I’m gonna go shower. He nodded. “Prolly won’t be awake by the time you get out.” He said low as he passed the man, he could already feel his eyelids drooping. One of them should take watch but he was just exhausted. And frankly… they were pretty well hidden and out of the way.

Simon hung his head under the cold spray of the shower, opting for as little hot water as possible. He needed to clear his head, get it on right before he did something stupid. Something like what he was doing the moment he was dry and had that towel wrapped around his waist. He shut her bedroom door behind him, his eyes already on her. She wasn’t laying down… she was sitting on what had once been his side of the bed, her hands in her lap, her head bowed. Go away. She whispered it but he heard how thick her words were. He swallowed thickly and shook his head. He only hesitated for a second before he reached up and tugged his mask off, having put it back on once he was out of the shower. He laid it on top of what had once been their dresser… but was probably only full of her clothes now. He crossed the room and he was a few feet from her when she erupted out of her seating.

She flew at him, her hands pushing on his chest in a half-hearted, hurt-fueled… well, he hesitated to call it an attack for how she very quickly sagged against him. His arms went around her, hands spanning her back as he shushed her softly… her shoulders rocking as she wept so damned quietly. He felt his eyes stinging, his throat burning, his nose itching. He never could stand to see her cry. You left me here alone. He closed his eyes tight and bowed his head, pressing his lips into her crown and taking a deep breath, nodding silently. She started struggling again, her hands balling into fists against him, she wanted to hurt him… but she hadn’t the heart to, he knew that. But he still tightened his arms around her.

Eight years ago… he’d left. He knew he’d been a fool to marry her in the first place but… he’d fallen so damned hard for her. He wanted her in every way. But the past had a way of sneaking up on him… and it did. It did in so many ways. She weathered his night terrors, his panic attacks, his episodes of PTSD. She’d stuck by him through it all… and he pushed her away. He fought with himself… against himself. Simon wanted her… but Ghost wanted to protect her from everything, even himself. He wasn’t split but he was close. “Had to make sure you would be safe.” He said low and heard her scoff against his chest. That was why he’d left in the first place… but that wasn’t why he stayed away. What had kicked it off was her asking for something he never thought he could have… something he couldn’t give her. She wanted kids. And he told her no. He couldn’t tell her why, though. So… after so many fights… one morning, before she even woke up… he just left. He left to hunt down Roba.

And he did. It took him three years… but he did it. He found that son of a bitch and killed him. Made sure he couldn’t come after him or her… made sure he could, if he wanted, give her a family. That they’d be safe. But… but then he didn’t come back. He didn’t return to her. He just stayed gone. Because he was technically a war criminal. He was a murderer. What kind of husband was he, then? The kind that hunted men like they were dogs? The kind that strangled them with their own hands? The kind that could slit another man’s throat without a thought? What kind of husband is that? What kind of father is that? No kind she deserved. She deserved the best. And that wasn’t him.

He kept in contact with Rudy, though. Her brother. Just… just to make sure she was alright. He sent Rudy money to give her… because he knew she’d not take it from him. But he never divorced her… and she never asked for one. Rudy never mentioned any other men… but he was sure there had been some. Not that he’d taken another lover in all that time… never. Not once. He was faithful to her. Always had been and always would be. Even though he was sure she’d been with others… but Rudy never said… in fact… his eyes flicked around the room now… there wasn’t a single sign that anyone else had been here. Just her. His side of the bed was vacant… his end table was empty. Almost like… he shook his head slightly at himself. She wasn’t waiting for him to come back. It was impossible.

He guided her back to the bed slowly. “I’s late, love… le’s get some sleep.” He murmured and felt her nod. He pulled back the woven cotton blanket and sheets… guided her into them. He glanced down at his towel and frowned slightly. Still have some boxers in your drawer. He blinked at her… looked over at the dresser and walked over… his hand shook just a little as he tugged what had once been his undergarments drawer open. He let out a shallow breath. Everything was as he left it… down to the vacant spot of the last pair of socks he’d pulled out. He looked over his shoulder at her but she was on her side, facing away from him. Had… had she been just… waiting for him to come back? He swallowed thickly and blinked rapidly before he took off the towel and laid it on top of the dresser, grabbing a pair of boxers and shaking them out before putting them on. They were a little tight, him having gained some bulk since he was here last. Climbing back into the bed was surreal… but wrapping around her, pulling her into him in the middle of that queen-sized was… second nature. A second nature he thought he might have lost somewhere along the way.

Simon was up and dressed before the sun… looking down at her still sleeping form. He knew that if he left now… it’d hurt her in the worst way. So… against his better judgement- as far as the mission was concerned… he knelt in front of the mattress and reached, smoothing his still bare hand over her hair softly. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open, locking on him in a sleepy haze. “Gotta move before the light.” He murmured out. He saw her chew on her lower lip but she nodded. Via con dios, Simón. He smirked and started to lean in but stilled, giving a slight shake of his head and started backing away only for her hand to snatch his collar and tug him towards her. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose, feeling her lips collide with his. It wasn’t a matter of not thinking… he couldn’t think as he climbed onto the bed, covering her in a heartbeat… bullying his tongue into her mouth and kissing her with every ounce of longing that broke free upon feeling her lips against his again.

God damn, he’d missed her so much. He felt he wrap a leg around his, felt her arms snake around his neck and hold onto him so damned tight that her muscles were trembling. His cock screamed from disuse, begged against the zipper of his jeans… she was so damned close… and yet so far away. He took a gasping breath, breaking the kiss that stole his sanity. “Can’t.” He breathed out… pushing his hands down into the mattress to lift himself off of her. “Not yet.” He kissed her again, a shorter but no less heated one. She was panting, her lips tinged red from his stubble. He pressed his brow to hers, holding her eyes… watching as they turned glassy on him.

He shushed her softly, ran the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “Te amo, mi esposa.” He kissed her softer then, just a peck really but it was sweet. He caught a tear on her temple and wiped it away. You come back this time, Simón… or don’t ever come back. He gave a nod, hearing the seriousness in her words… and the warning. “I will.” And he meant it. He climbed off the bed and took a deep breath before he pulled his mask on… then his gloves, hiding himself away. He looked down at her… bending slightly to brush some of her hair off her brow. “Still so beau’iful.” He said low and felt her bat his hand away, a bashful sort of smirk on her face. He couldn’t help his own huff of a smirk. Still so full of ca-ca. He chuckled and made for the door. Him and Soap stole a truck on the street and were out of the city in no time, aiming for Alejandro’s safe-house. He ignored Soap’s probing gaze.

Getting Alejandro his base back… shutting Graves and his men down… it all took a lot longer than he’d planned. But it was done. As Price, Gaz, and Soap all readied to return home… he glanced over his shoulder at Rudy. The man was eyeballing him with a hardened look… he must have spoken with Maria. He sighed when Price nudged his shoulder. Let’s head out. “Not comin’.” He heard himself say. He looked back into Price’s suddenly very serious eyes. “Got some business to wrap up before I head back.” He took a breath. “If I head back.” Price’s jaw flexed. You know this isn’t over. He gave a slight nod. “It might be for me.” He said simply. Yeah, he knew that Markarov was at the root of this. Yeah, he knew that. But he also knew that there would always be a big bad guy at the center of it.

There would always be another enemy pointing a gun at the world. And there would always be another operative. It didn’t have to always be him. “I’ll let you know.” Price’s aw tensed again, his mustache flaring. The thing about being dead, like him… was that he technically wasn’t in the SAS. He technically wasn’t in anything. He was dead. Legally speaking. So, Price couldn’t order him onto that plane and Price knew it. I’ll be waiting for your word, then. He nodded and Price walked off, obviously angry… but he’d get over it. Or he wouldn’t. Simon couldn’t control that. He waved Gaz and Soap off before he turned around and gave a nod to Rudy. The look Rudy gave him was half approving and half relieved.

This time… the sun was out when he climbed the stairs to the apartment… and the door was open, though the metal door was still shut and auto-locked. He didn’t let himself in this time, though. He knocked… and waited.

To be continued… probably.

[cuddlepilefics]

In hot water

Fandom: BTS

Sickie: Jungkook

Caregiver: Yoongi

Prompts: Dangerously high fever / Cool baths / “We have to get that number down somehow.”

@whumperless-whump-event

No one’s POV.:

Jungkook had expected it to be a slow day, which he planned to spend by taking Bam to the park and maybe meet up for ice cream with some of his friends. Before he even got a chance to head out though, a headache set in shortly after breakfast and he figured he’d be fine after having a cup of coffee. Bam grew a little impatient with him when he settled on the couch, sipping his coffee. “I know, we’re gonna play soon, Bammie”, Jungkook chuckled, scratching the dog behind the ears. Though the bitter taste of coffee put his mind on high alert, physically, the energy seemed to leave his body and setting the empty cup down on the coffee table, he stretched out on the couch. He wasn’t going to sleep, Jungkook told himself. He’d just rest his eyes a little till the headache improved.

When Jungkook woke up, he was drenched in sweat. Had the air-conditioning shut off while he had been asleep? It had unbearably stuffy inside his apartment and he sluggishly sat up, groaning when his entire body ached. He really shouldn’t have slept on the couch. Bam looked at him expectantly, impatient to finally go to the park. Soothingly petting the dog, Jungkook apologized and got to his feet. He dizzily staggered to his room to change his clothes, throwing his sweaty outfit into the wash before fetching himself a drink. The headache still persisted but the dizziness was probably due to overheating and dehydration, so he should be okay to go out after having some water. He had to. He had promised Bam that they’d go and it had been a while since he had last taken his beloved pup to the park.

Between grabbing a hat and sunglasses to shield himself from the relentless sun and packing water for both of them, Jungkook had almost forgotten to bring a ball but excited as he was, Bam had already been chewing on it for a bit and eagerly carried it to the front door where he waited for the singer to connect his leash. Though he didn’t feel like going out in the slightest, too sweaty to bear the heat and too tired to be moving about, Jungkook felt it was all worth it when he looked at his happy companion. Bam had missed playing fetch at the park, Jungkook having been too busy lately for anything other than their early morning jog and the walk during his lunch break. The energetic pup eagerly charged ahead, already knowing the way. Gripping the leash tighter, Jungkook winced when it yanked on his sore arm.

Though Jungkook had originally planned to grab some ice cream, he had close to no appetite and instead got himself some iced coffee to make the heat more bearable and maybe ease his worsening headache. Today wouldn’t be an energetic playdate, that much was certain but he still smiled in adoration when he could finally let Bam off his leash and the pup shot across the park barking happily. Jungkook found some shade and weakly plopped down in the grass, sipping his iced coffee. It took a few minutes for Bam to return, circling him before dropping the ball into his lap. With a small smile, Jungkook threw the ball across the park and followed it with his eyes, wincing when he accidentally glanced towards the sun. No matter how miserable he felt, his heart felt warm with love as he watched Bam play.

Eventually, Bam stopped running though, sticking closer to Jungkook. The singer’s headache had steadily gotten worse and he couldn’t even think straight anymore, slowly regretting leaving his air-conditioned apartment. All strength had left him and he had no idea how he should make it back there. Bam seemed to be sensing his declining condition too, sitting in front of him with his head tilted in worry. “’m sorry, Bam”, Jungkook breathed, “Thought I’d be more fun but I’m not such great company today.” Realizing that he wouldn’t make it back to his placw on his own, Jungkook considered calling someone before remembering that Yoongi lived close by. He should be able to make it to his hyung’s place and the elder would surely not mind him napping on his couch for a little till he felt well enough to go home.

Despite having walked the route so many times before, the distance seemed impossibly far today and Jungkook doubted, he’d make it. Bam stayed close to him, obviously worried, barking at him whenever he stopped. They could only hope that Yoongi would be home but Jungkook didn’t find the energy to call ahead, instead focusing on pushing himself on.

To say the rapper was surprised when he opened the door to his panting dongsaeng would be an understatement, yet he quickly ushered the younger in, worriedly frowning: “What’s wrong, Kookie? What happened to you?” Bracing himself against the wall, Jungkook tried to get his glossy eyes to focus on his hyung and muttered: “We were at the park but my head’s killing me and it was so far to get back to my apartment. Could I lay down on your couch for a bit? Your place was just so much closer an-“ – “Hey, it’s okay. I’m glad you came here, no need to justify”, Yoongi shushed, guiding him to the couch, “Do you think it could be heat exhaustion? It surely is hot out and if you’ve been playing with Bam….” Weakly shaking his head, the singer admitted: “Already been that way before we left for the park. Had some coffee and even took an unintended nap but I had promised Bam we’d go and he was so happy. Only sat in the shade and threw his ball. I don’t feel good, hyung.”

Jungkook shakily collapsed onto the couch, while Yoongi felt his heart sink. Something was not right here. “Let me get you some water”, the rapper hummed, ruffling his dongsaeng’s sweaty hair. For a moment, his fingers grazed Jungkook’s forehead and he froze in shot. Properly feeling the younger’s temperature, Yoongi announced: “Nope, I’m grabbing the thermometer first. You’re burning up.” Jungkook only sighed. That surely would explain why he was feeling so dizzy and why every inch of his body throbbed. Stretching out, he closed his eyes and draped his arm over them.

When Yoongi returned, Jungkook seemed to have fallen asleep. It hurt the rapper’s heart having to wake him but he was too concerned to just let the younger sleep it off. Gently shaking his dongsaeng, Yoongi hummed: “Can you wake up for me, Kookie? I gotta take your temperature.” It took a few attempts till Jungkook stirred at all, which was confusing because the older had barely been gone a minute, so he couldn’t be in such deep sleep yet. “Look at me, Kook”, Yoongi pressed, tugging in the singer’s arm, “Yeah, that’s it. Keep your eyes open.”

Jungkook’s eyes were completely out of focus he seemed to stare blankly through the older while he took his temperature. Yoongi’s curse didn’t even register in his mind before he was pulled to his feet. With his knees buckling, Jungkook clung to his hyung and chest heaving as he tried to breathe through the vertigo. “I’m sorry but we have to get that number down somehow”, Yoongi apologized as he dragged the singer to the bathroom.

Getting Jungkook into the tub was a true challenge and Yoongi’s arms burned from the strain when he eased him down. The rapper picked up the shower head and set the water temperature low before holding it to his dongsaeng’s legs. Jungook groaned while Yoongi rinsed him down with cool water, slowly filling the tub. Grabbing a washcloth, the older soaked it with cold water and placed it on the singer’s forehead, which earned him a relieved sigh. “Talk to me”, Yoongi frowned as he continued to wash the younger down, “How are you feeling?” Squeezing his eyes shut, Jungkook tried to focus and mumbled: “Dizzy. Gosh, my head….” – “Can I trust you to stay conscious? I wanna get you some water”, the rapper worried, cupping Jungkook’s cheeks to make him look at him.

Though the younger had nodded, Yoongi did not fully trust him to stay conscious, so he hurried to not leave the other on his own for too long. To his relief, Jungkook managed to sit up by himself, despite his muscles protesting the movement. “Small sips”, Yoongi reminded, moving the washcloth from his dongsaeng’s forehead to the back of his neck. Handing the glass back, Jungkook rubbed his face and breathed: “Thanks.” There was a moment of silence before he broke into tears. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to do and I was scared an-“ – “Ssh, it’s okay, Kook. Breathe, yeah?”, Yoongi shushed, picking up the washcloth to wipe the other’s tears with some cold water, “I bet you were terrified. I can’t imagine how you even managed to go out like this. Relax, hm? You’re with hyung now, everything will be okay. We can figure things out together.”

Jungkook continued to soak in his cool bath for a while and Yoongi kept rechecking his temperature. When the older was satisfied that they were out of the danger zone, he picked out a set of light clothes for his dongsaeng to borrow before helping him out of the tub. It took all of Jungkook’s energy to get himself dressed but the thought of Yoongi’s comfortable couch was enough motivation to push him on. Bam was glad to have him back, not leaving his side again once he had returned from the bathroom.

“You look about ready to sleep”, Yoongi chuckled watching Jungkook pet Bam, “How about I get you a small bowl of rice, so you can take some fever reducers? You can sleep afterwards and we’ll see how you feel then. If your fever doesn’t stay down, I’ll take you to the hospital, if it does, I’d like you to stay with me for a bit, so I can keep an eye on you.” – “Gotta go back to my place later”, the younger sighed, “Bam will need his food but yeah, rice and meds sound helpful, sleep sounds even better.” Nodding, Yoongi smiled: “That’s what we’ll do then. I can take you back to your place and stay with you there. Just don’t want you to be alone, wouldn’t want you to be in hot water again.”

[oneshotnewbie]

ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ꜱᴛʀɪᴋᴇ ɪɪ - ꜱᴜᴘᴇʀɢɪʀʟ

Trigger warning! This one-shot includes the topic of an eating disorder, illness and an unhealthy eating behavior. These plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle those subjects, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

Authors note: Finally a little update on this story, yeay!

You leaned your forehead against the window before the train drove the last few meter into the station, seeking the comfortableness in it while calming your mind in a way. It was already dark when you arrived in National City and you got off exhausted. The nervousness and tension that had steadily increased along the way made your heart beat faster. The recurring dizziness forced you to get a small snack during the stop in Carthago.

A soft sigh left your lips as the native air crept into your nostrils. On the one hand you were happy to return home, but on the other hand you were afraid of it.

The first semester at Aetherford University had passed calmly but with a lot of stress. You had the chance to be mostly left alone by your and avoided engaging with them via video chat. Even Kara had avoided asking for a video call every third day of the week, otherwise she always had shaky hands just to see you again.

You needed this break, you had to think about a few things. A few months ago your body and mind had started playing against you. A trap had formed, which created more and more problems for you and also caused great fear.

At first you thought it was just happening because you were so stressed and everything was new, but it was not. You quickly found that trying to fight back was useless, because no matter what you did.. It got worse.

You were glad you were able to hide it; you did not know much people at university. At least not someone, who would really care. But it was slowly becoming clear to your professor and your room mate that you seemed emptier and weaker.

It started with just skipping breakfast, but over time it got worse. Breakfast turned into meals that were skipped and you started to survive only on snacks. Protein bars, apples, broccoli. Several times you came close to writing to your sisters, but immediately dismissed the idea. You were sure that they would immediately worry and take you out from university to bring you home.

At moments like this you wished Maggie back. The brunette would certainly have known a good solution or advice without telling Alex anything. But you could not ask her anymore, the contact broke apart.

Memories came flooding back of how Maggie and Alex had split up and you saw her boarding a train to another city right here where you were standing now. And even though you have been talked out of the fact that you could have done something about it, you still berated yourself for not at least trying. It had just been, on the whole, a heartbreaking disaster. Not just because Alex wanted to have children back then, no. Alex could not imagine a life without them and was forced to separate from her great love.

A final sigh left your lips and you took one step after the other in agony. Your head hurt and you did not know if it was because you had not eaten and drunk much today or if it was simply because you sat on a train for five hours straight with a baby crying almost non-stop.

But one thing was certain: It could not be because of the many books in the library.

Over the last six months you have been looking for answers and self-help in the library, but unfortunately you have not found any that helped you. Instead, it kept getting worse.

At first it was difficult for you to really take this problem seriously, as it was often unclear or you had suppressed it. It changed quickly, however, and the consequences became clearer and sharper over time, especially since spring.

That is why you were reluctant to let classmates touch or hug you. You also no longer voluntarily sought physical contact. You were afraid that others would be afraid of you.

A loud horn honk pulled you back to the here and now and you saw none other than Alex on her motorbike. You just hoped that the redhead would not get the idea to hug you right away. You did not want to let it happen until you got your illness under control.

"Look who we have here, the missing Danvers!" mocking, her voice cut through the street noise. You closed your eyes briefly and took a deep breath; now it was going to get serious and you had to be careful at everything. "C´mere, kiddo."

You quickly raised a hand in front of your body, and held it in place. "No hugs please. I, eh… pinched two of my ribs and it hurts like hell," you lied and in the same moment you could have slapped yourself for this statement.

Your sister eyed you intently. You looked ill in her eyes and even though she could not see your face directly because of the darkness, she still noticed how pale and tired you looked.

For several months, Alex Danvers wondered what was wrong with her youngest sister. He had noticed the rapid change in you, even when you were miles away. After all, she was not a DEO agent for nothing. And she wondered why you did not talk to her, you always did.

"Well, can I give you at least a kiss on your cheek?" she asked with a slight smile on her lips. You nodded and mirrored her facial expressions. Putting on a mask, a smiling face. A breathy laugh escapes my mouth so she can not see my pain. The redhead quickly leaned down and gave you three small kisses on the cheek before placing a helmet in your hands and gently wrapping an arm around you.

You felt her hand on your shoulder and instinctively wanted to shake it off when she pulled it back on her own to get her keys out of her leather jacket. You knew from her lingering eye contact that she was not satisfied with your previous answer and that she suspected something. Nevertheless, you were glad that she left you alone without forcing any questions on you.

[jadzio-writing-prowess]

It’s gonna get worse, before it gets better (Papers Please fanfic)

Rated: T

Sergiu Volda & Calensk, Sergiu Volda & Calensk & Inspector (in bg)

A terrorist attack happens at the Grestin border checkpoint, Sergiu gets hurt and Calensk takes it upon himself to help his friend.

Warnings: Discriptions of blood and injury

Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic (kinda), No Beta - We die like Sergiu when a terrorist attack, Developing Friendship

A03 link if you want to read it there

The cold barrel of the rifle is being held steadily, in Calensk's big hands. It's another slow winter day, at the border checkpoint. Line of immigration is moving lazily. The hollow voice of the Inspector, methodically breaks up the silence. A few detains here and there, nobody is putting up much of a fight today. The air is cold and clear. The sunlight is harsh, but not warm. It's starting to get late, ⅔ into his shift, soon they will be able to all go home. Calensk closes his eyes, lets them rest and tries to welcome, in his own way, the cold embrace of Arstotzkan winter.

After a few minutes, there is a stir in the line, uneasy steps and voices fill the air. Then quick and frantic taps of boots, against the concrete. Some gasps from the crowd. The terrorist speeds past Calensk, creating a small breeze and scales the border wall with ease.

Dammit, his pay. He hopes the detainment bonus will be enough to cover for it. Uneasy steps turn into panicked running. Calensk  opens his eyes. The line of immigrants is evacuating. His fellow guard is already retreating - not their side of the wall anymore. But he chooses to stay a little longer. He listens to the sounds of the commotion on the other side. Nothing, but frantic running and shots from the other guards. He waits for the Inspector to do his usual. “For Kolechia!” resounded against the concrete walls. A gunshot echoes in turn, from the Inspector's booth and a pained moan follows.

Explosion rumbles through the air on the ground. Pained moans multiply and Calensk can hear quick shuffling, mixed with swears from the booth, followed by a shrap door swing and sounds of running. Calensk starts to make his way toward it, an uneasy feeling creeping in. He steps through the still open checkpoint and starts running.

The tranq dart was accurate and made its way deep, in between the ribs of the terrorist. Effectively neutralizing the target in seconds, while not killing or doing any major damage. The guards weren't so lucky. The late shot didn't stop the grenade that was already flying through the air. Red stains decorate the post. A medium sized hole has been blown, before the guards and large rock chunks were sprinkled all around. 

All of the guards managed to back off far enough from the grenade, to still be clinging to life. The first one had pieces of debris lodged all over his leg. The middle one had been pushed back by the explosion, now he is lying on the ground, treated to grenade parts and sharp stones all over his body. And the last one - Sergiu, kneeling on the ground, clutching his right arm in pain. The Inspector is already tending to him.

Calensk runs up to them. “Calensk! Friend, don't worry, I didn't get hit hard. Pyotr is already helping me out.” Sergiu looks up at Calensk with a weak smile. His painfully trembling arm and panic in the Inspector's movement, contradict his words. Pyotr is muttering apologies for his slow reaction and gently wraps Sergiu's arm in his shawl. It's blood soaked by now. He turns to Calensk. “It's not good. He will have to be escorted to the hospital, with the rest of the guards.”

Sergiu objects at the idea. “What! No, it's fine, it's barely anything. I've lived through worse during the war.” Sergiu turns white, his voice weaker than before. “Sergiu, this is serious. Rocks and grenade parts are deep enough in your arm, to be piercing through your veins. If you were to remove them on your own, you might bleed out. And if you leave it like that, your whole arm can die. I also wouldn't be surprised if it got infected and after that, it'll be just a matter of time before it reaches your bloodstream.” Inspector tries his best to sound stern and commanding, but the mix of guilt and fear in his voice are unmistakable. Calensk can tell that he is exaggerating a little, but the amount of blood coming from Sergiu's arm, his pained expression and the injuries of the other guards, are enough of a sign that he needs immediate medical help.

But all this, does little to change Sergiu's mind. “I won't… I can't go. If I do… they will get me off this checkpoint. I will be assigned a new job, or in the best case, I'll be moved to a less busy checkpoint.” Sergiu's words are broken up by painful gasps for air. “I will be fine… I can take care of myself. I can take care of this wound, on my own. Nothing, some bandages, water and sleep won't fix.” He tries to stand up, but his legs quickly start wobbling and he almost falls to the ground. Inspector and Calensk quickly catch him, before he reaches the ground. Sergiu lets out a painful groan, but does his best to stand upright, with their help. He clings to Calensk's side.

“You can't be left alone, like this, to deal with it on your own. You can't address your wound properly, in this state. It won't heal right.” Calensk shifts a bit, to get a better grip on Sergiu. It causes his friend to slightly hiss in pain. “You need to get your wound cleaned by a doctor. You need to go to the hospital, Sergiu.” Sergiu is visibly in pain, but that doesn't stop his protests. “It's impossible, Calensk.” He's weak, but seems to get ready to put up a fight, if need be. If this argument goes for longer, he will inevitably tire himself and pass out. Calensk sighs, knowing his stubborn friend enough to tell that trying to argue more, will be futile. "Someone should go with you, to help. Do you have any bandages at your place?” Sergiu shifts a little and avoids eye contact with Calensk. “No… I hoped to get some, on my way home...”

The Inspector chimes in. “He can't go to his apartment. The Ministry of Information agent, will visit him in his apartment, for an interview about the attack today, if he doesn't go to the hospital with the others.” He looks over at the other guards.

“Won't that make him suspicious?” Calensk raises an eyebrow. At the same time, he almost never gets interviewed for terrorist attacks. Most of them happen on the other side of the wall. So he's not accustomed to after attack procedures.

“Not necessarily. The agents are used to those situations and if there is no one at home to open the door, they schedule the audit for the next day at work. Only after you don't show up to it either, do they start an investigation. The rules are stricter than this, but no agent wants to spend the rest of their day searching for someone, who - is, most likely, just at some bar getting too wasted to be answering any questions, when found.” The commotion on the other side starts to shift, they seem to be starting to get on with the transport of the guards. The supervisors start to take notice of the three.

“I see. Sergiu, you will go with me.” Calensk looks at Sergiu. “My apartment is close by and empty. My wife and kids went to visit my mother-in-law. I should have something at my place, to patch you up.” He said in a commanding tone. Sergiu was getting worse and worse, there was no point in drawing this out. Calensk trusted that his friend had a good reason to be so desperate. To stay at this checkpoint, wounded and sick.

The Inspector shoves 5 credits into Calensk's hand. “Should help cover the rent today. I might come around later, in the evening. My wife is sick, so I won't stay long, but I might be able to drop off something useful. I will try to get your supervisors off your back for now. And hey-” The Inspector lowers his voice. “take good care of him, ok?” Calensk takes the money, he will need it with today's cut pay. He could use an extra set of hands to help, but he nods along understandably. Sergiu stays silent, looking like he is going to pass out at any moment.

They split, Calensk and Sergiu go towards Calensk's apartment and the Inspector walks to the rest of the guards. The two friends slowly make their way to the apartment. It's close by, mere 2 streets from the checkpoint. But with Sergiu's dwindling health, it took a while. Calensk also lived on the 6th floor, so getting through the stairs was another hurdle on their way. Sergiu needed to catch a breath every two floors. Slowly, but surely they made their way up and got into Calensk's apartment.

It's small. No hall. You almost immediately walk into a room that's a fusion, between a living room and a kitchen. It's humble, just a sofa, table big enough for a family to eat together, and a bookshelf. On the kitchen side, a counter fused with a sink, some cabinets and a fridge. Deeper in, there are 3 doors leading presumably to a bathroom, bedroom and the kids bedroom.

Calensk helps Sergiu take off his rifle and the uniform, then does the same. He pulls two chairs from the table and puts them opposite to each other, next to the sink. He sits Sergiu down on one of them and takes a seat himself.

He gently, but decisively unwinds the flimsy, applied layer of shawl that substitutes for bandages. Finally getting to have a look at his friend's wound.

“Jesus Christ…” Calensk mumbles. He has definitely seen worse, in the years he served under the Arstotzkan government. But that doesn't compare. If the wound gets any worse, the consequences will be gruesome. Pieces of debris and the grenade are sticking out of Sergiu's mottled skin, inserted in deep. Blood was slowly dripping out of some tears, mixing with the dirt, creating smudges of brownish paint all over the arm. Some of it managed to dry into dark reddish-brown clumps of unnatural shapes. The whole gash was covered in dirt and pieces of concrete, after the fall. There wasn't any water on hand to clean it at the border. But now there was.

Calensk puts the bloodied arm under the tap and turns it on. Lukewarm water starts to swiftly make its way down the uneven path, taking chunks of blood and dirt with it. Sergiu hisses lightly at the sensation, but keeps his arm steadily under the flow. Water eventually brings some relief, but there is still a lot of work to be done. Sharp stone fragments still firmly in their place and some dirt, still stubbornly clings to his skin.

Calensk looks down at his hands, big and bulky, but most importantly incredibly dirty. Chunks of dirt and grime on the palms, some of Sergiu's blood and some cigarette residue under all of it. He feels that he is the last person that should carry out such a procedure…

But there is Sergiu, looking up at him. With trust and hope in his eyes. Calensk can see the fear and pain hidden deep within, but Sergiu puts his hopes in him and he was not going to leave him like that. He knows that the younger man, if left untreated, will probably end up trying to treat himself and end up infecting and opening his wounds even more.

So, he gingerly pushes his friend's arm to the side, to wash his hands. He does it with as much care and attention as he can, while also trying to not take too much time. He knows it’s not perfect, probably not even good. That it would take way more, to clean the cigarette traces off of his fingers. He wishes he had some clean gloves, but no luck. He puts Sergiu's arm back under the stream, goes to the nearest cabinet and grabs a bottle of ethyl alcohol. He pours it onto a kitchen cloth and wipes his hands clean. Then he goes to get a clean cloth and a pair of tweezers, runs them under the water and alcohol, lays them beside him and turns to his friend.

Calensk starts to work. He gently puts his hands on Sergiu's arm and slowly and methodically, scrubs any dirt the water didn't take care of yet. Even the slightest touch of Calensk fingers sends hot waves of pain through Sergiu's arm, but he does his best to keep it to himself. Once the skin is cleared, Calensk turns off the tap and lays Sergiu's arm on the counter. He wipes the wound with alcohol. To Sergiu, it feels like he is getting his arm, gradually roasted by a fire. To add to that, the sharp stones in his arm, no matter how delicate Calensk tries to be, dig deeper  and tear his skin. Calensk puts down the cloth and gets out the tweezers, but then immediately notices that half of the stone chunks are too big for them and he will have to use his hands again. He puts them aside and patiently, with as much care as he can, pulls out bits and pieces of debris and the grenade.

Sergiu bites his right fist to muffle the sounds of pain, he can't keep inside anymore. His vision starts going white, tears show themselves at the ends of his eyes and nausea starts to wreak his guts. His war deteriorated body and mind, are not what they used to be. He desperately tries to keep his clam and starts breathing heavily, desperately trying to stabilize himself.

Calensk stops and looks at Sergiu. He wants to say something, but he stops himself and immediately softens. “...Listen to me.” He puts his hand on the shoulder of his friend's healthy arm. “Focus on my voice. In one, in one two, in two three.” Calensk looks at him, patiently waiting. Sergiu's unfocused eyes and mind fail to catch his friend’s movement, but he manages to ground himself in his unusually soft voice. “...In one, in one two, in two three…” Voice weak and trembling like he was about to break into pieces. Slowly his vision comes back and the pain gives out a little. Calensk decided to pour him a cold glass of water, Sergiu slowly drank half of it. It helped with the nausea.

“Thank you my friend, I… my endurance is not the same as before.” Sergiu's eyes drift to the side, unable to face the judgmental look Calensk is probably giving him right now. Instead he gets a short response and an empathetic look. “I don't mind. War and Arstotzkan lifestyle took a toll on all of us. ..The thanks we get… .. Stupid terrorist. Just tell me when you need a break again.” Calensk's voice is back to normal. He's looking at his friend searching for any more signs of distress. “...I will keep that in mind. Thank you again, not everyone has as much patience when dealing with wounds and...” Sergiu gains a little courage to look at Calensk. His face is the same stone cold expression, he always carries and yet it feels a little softer now, a little more understanding. It gives Sergiu the courage and ease he needs. He releases a shaky breath.

Calensk resumes cleaning the wound. Picking out sharp, uneven rocks and grenade parts. Slow and tedious work, of digging out every speck of dirt from under the debris. Calensk, careful as before, does his best to not drag out the process. Sergiu lets himself catch a break, every few minutes. Calensk is always there, patiently waiting. Sergiu tries his best to break out the uncomfortable - in his mind - silence,  in those moments. But he gets more and more tired as time goes on and finds it harder and harder to speak. Calensk doesn't mind and always just silently listens or answers the best he can.

Time passes, the sun has hidden under the horizon a some time ago, but neither of the two men noticed. Finally, after a few hours of tireless work, it's done and Calensk is only left with going over Sergiu's wound, with alcohol, to make sure it won't get infected. Sergiu is too tired at this point to react to the burning sensation. His eyelids heavy, he still tries his best to stay conscious and help Calensk with what he can. 

Calensk after clearing the wound, stands up and looks around, searching for something to wrap the arm in. Unable to find a bandage and realizing it's far too late for any medicine shop to be open, he settles on tearing up a new shawl he bought recently for clean cloth.

“What… what, no don't use it on me…” Sergiu's weak protest, didn't even manage to register in Calensk mind, before he teared up the shawl and applied it to his wound. “Nonsense. It's cheap cloth that can't even retain heat properly.” He swiftly wraps Sergiu's arm and puts a firm knot at the end of it. “Besides, I can't let all this work to now go to waste.” He says in a no nonsense tone and shoots Sergiu a look. Sergiu relaxes a little. “I'm in debt to you friend.” Sergiu smiles at Calensk and looks around for a clock. “It's late, I should be going home. I'll find a way to make this up to you. Thank you for everything again…” He tries to get up, but his legs almost immediately give out. Thankfully Calensk managed to catch him in time, before he reached the floor. “You are all fired up. You are not going to go through Arstotzkan winter night, in this state. Especially if you hope to stand guard at the checkpoint tomorrow.”

Sergiu, overcome with dizziness, didn't protest much and gave in to the support of his friend. Calensk carefully held his friend upright and started to guide him to bed. Slow, ginger steps. Tired, but strong arms supporting the wounded. Sergiu broke out into fever shivers every few minutes, but Calensk managed, to safely, get him to lay down under a blanket. He wondered if he had any medicine left, that he could use to lower the fever. He searches through the cabinets and finds some leftover pills, from the time his wife fell ill. He also remembers an old blanket he had stashed in the closet and took it with him too.

Sergiu was already sweating bullets under the current blanket, but he appreciated the second layer. Calensk wondered if he had any clothes for tomorrow morning that would fit Sergiu. For now, he helps him to take the medication and brings him a glass of water. Sergiu downs it almost instantly.

He goes to refill it and comes back to Sergiu. He notices fresh tear stains, decorating his cheeks. “Are you in pain, my friend? Did I knot the bandage too tightly or is the sickness getting worse?” He isn't sure if Sergiu is even capable of answering him in this state, but he managed to mutter a few words. “No… no.. it's just..” He takes a few painful, desperate breaths. “I.. I think… I'm dying, Calensk …” Sergiu tries to muffle a wet sob that tumbles through him.

Calensk takes a close look at his friend - fever shivers still not giving out, sweat running down his face, the way he curls in pain and the way Segiu's eyes dart around the room. Calensk takes out a clean tissue cloth and wipes Sergiu's face. “Bullshit, you are not dying. You are strong enough to get through this fine.”

These words hit Sergiu deep, they act like a firm punch to his guts and everything unravels. “...I don't want to die.. not now.. not now.. when we are so close.. ..I can’t.. I need to see you again.. ..I can't now… ..I don't.. I can't…” Sergiu now fully breaks into muffled, ugly sobbing, mixed with incoherent mumbling.

Calensk, taken aback a little, tries to soften his approach. “Don't say that. Fever messes up your senses. You are going to be fine, I promise. Now deep breaths. Remember?” He tries to help Sergiu stabilize himself.  Slowly, uneven and deep breathing is the only sound breaking up the silence, with an exception for occasional sobs and shivers from Sergiu. Little by little, Sergiu calms himself.

Calensk stands up to find some clothes, he hopes will fit his smaller friend, for him to change into. He searches through the closet and the dresser. Not much luck, everything is at least two sizes too large. He wonders whether to use some of the clothes his wife left behind. But ends up settling for his for now, concluding that Sergiu's sleeping clothes can be a bit too big and decides to possibly use the other ones in the morning.

He takes the clothes, uncovers Sergiu and helps him to dress himself. Not the most grateful job. He would gladly leave up to Sergiu, but he knows that he can't when he is in this state. He goes from down to up. It goes semi smoothly with Calensk's help and Sergiu's collaboration. Sergiu is too weak to do much at this point, so Calensk gently removes Sergiu's two shirts himself and-

“Blyat! What happened?! When did this happen?” Calensk uncovered Sergiu's torso, to reveal a bandaged up stomach, blood staining his left side, mottled skin spreading from it. “Please, don't shout….” Sergiu takes a long pause to compose himself. “.I.. During the war.. near the end, I was shot.. they sent me away back into Arstotzka … to a hospital to get treated. I was unable to get help … There were many more like me ..and the civilians..  …and I wanted to quickly come back to Kolechia to finish some business… so I used the money they gave me for the hospital stay… to buy some supplies and I cleaned and patched myself up. It wasn’t much.” Sergiu with great effort strings together sentences. Calensk gives him a sign to stop talking and straining himself.

He carefully starts pulling back bandages. Thankfully they weren't that old. But what was under them... Calensk can't shout, no matter how much he wants to and just mutters: “Suka blyat. Here is the dog buried... When was the last time you cleaned this?” Sergiu squirms at the sensation, hot waves of pain overtaking him again. “It's fine, it's healing ok, it's just flaring up because of the arm and the stress-”

“It's not healing ok. I can still see parts of the bullet inside it. It's infected.” Calensk interrupts Sergiu, keeping his voice low, but stern. He remembers Inspector's words ‘I also wouldn't be surprised, if you got it infected and after that, it's just a matter of time before it reaches your bloodstream.’ They keep ringing through his mind. Where is he either way, he said he was going to be here, at some point.

The infected wound before him, Inspector and Sergiu's words mix in Calensk's mind. He is at the verge of passing out. He doesn't know if he has the strength to do this, nor what he would even use to clean it. He used up most of his supplies, for the arm. He lets out a big sigh. “Stay here. Rest and gather up energy. I'll be in the kitchen trying to figure out how to tackle this.” He takes one of his shirts out of the drawer and uses it to cover the wound for now. “Calensk…-” Sergiu tries to say something, but a stern look from Calensk is enough to stop him. Sergiu gets hit with a new wave of pain and nausea, so he tries to focus on that for now.

Calensk leaves his bedroom and goes to the kitchen, to brew himself a coffee. He will need it. Ramped thoughts course through his mind. As he is finishing boiling the water, he hears a knocking on the door. ‘About time…’ Calensk opens the door to a tired Inspector, holding a material bag in one of his hands. His eyes are bloodshot and the expression tired. “Apologies for the hour, she got worse...” His eyes darted to the side in shame. “But I managed to get some supplies. Though I'm not sure if they will be of any use now, you probably already took care of the wound. Well I hope it can at least compensate-” Calensk steps aside, in a clear sign for the Inspector to come in. “No, no… Come in. He… also just got worse and I was wondering what to do. My supplies had run dry.”

The Inspector came in and they went to the kitchen. Calensk poured more water into the now, lukewarm kettle and started to heat it up again. The Inspector sat down by the table, while Calensk tended to the coffee. “So what happened? Was the wound that serious?” Pyotr started to pull out his supplies on the table. “No, there wasn't much trouble with his arm. He will probably come out of it with some scarring. If he cleans it regularly, it shouldn’t get infected.” Kettle starts to boil, Calensk takes it off the fire, before it starts to wheeze. “It's just that… he got shot during the war. Never got treated for it and well you can imagine the rest yourself.”

Calensk turns toward the Inspector. On the table lined up neatly, were a roll of gauze and bandage, a pair of gloves, a safety pin, a medi pad and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “Did… Did you rob a United Federation hospital, when you were gone?” Calensk raises an eyebrow at the lineup. He struggled to get a few cough pills out of the medicine shop, Arstotzkan stores being notoriously understocked. “Heh, no. I went to the hospital with the guards and the agents, was close to my apartment anyway. They keep the local hospital pretty well supplied, with all the attacks going on the border. It's not much, but I wouldn't be able to get half of it, if not for the fact that I work at the border and that some of the staff seems to know Sergiu and was willing to lend a hand.” 

Calensk finished brewing the coffee, handed one cup to the Inspector and sat beside him. “I'm impressed. This will surely come in handy. But I'm not sure if he will be able to come to work tomorrow, even if the wound gets cleaned.” Calensk takes a sip of the coffee, it's not much, being mostly water, but it's exactly what he needs right now. “Well you at least got time until 2pm. The Investigator will be out of town, with our Supervisor until then.” The Inspector sipped the coffee, his 4th cup today. He isn't sure if it will do anything at this point.

“Could use some extra hours. Thank you for the news and the supplies. …About the debt from the det-” Calensk starts, but gets interrupted by the Inspector. “Don't even mention it. You needed the money, I get it. Now I need time to be with my wife, rather than helping here… and you understand that. That being said” He stands up, having already finished the cup. “I'm afraid I need to go. Can I take a look at him before I go?”

“Sure. He's weak and resting now, so try to not wake him up, if he's sleeping.” Inspector nods and as quietly as possible, goes to see Sergiu.

Calensk finishes up the coffee, while he meditates over how he will tackle this whole thing. Inspector doesn't stay by Sergiu for long and quietly makes his exit. Calensk gives himself a few minutes, after the door closes to gather himself. He takes all the supplies from the table, grabs a pair of tweezers, a bottle of ethyl alcohol with whatever is still left in it, a new cloth for wiping, a bowl and a pair of scissors.

He comes into his bedroom. Sergiu is laying down, but clearly not sleeping. His eyes have a distant fog to them, not too unfamiliar for Sergiu to have. Calensk wonders what thoughts cloud his vision now. Is it the war, the terrorist attack, the image of his wounds, or is it simply clouded by pain and nausea. Calensk goes to grab another shirt, in case the bleeding gets worse. He puts down the supplies on the bed and floor, next to the bed. They lack the precise organization of the Inspector, but it will suffice. He kneels next to the wound.

Calensk looks at Sergiu, sweat and tear stains cover his face, his expression remains unchanged. He takes the cloth on the stand and wipes Sergiu's face. His face changes expression slightly, Calensk isn't sure what it exactly means, he just hopes it's a little of a relief.

“I'm sorry, I was too harsh to you before. I was tired …and worried.” Calensk takes a slight pause before saying the last part. His voice wobbles a little. “Don't worry, I've heard worse. At least you scream and swear, because you are worried about me. It's a nice change of pace.” Sergiu smiles weakly, but his eyes remain unchanged, still distant. “Don't say that. You deserve better.” Calensk eyes land on the floor, unable to look at Sergiu's face anymore. “Do I, though? I got my arm blown up, then refused to get professional help, becoming your burden. You already helped me so much, but I've taken up even more than you could give, or I could ever repay. You have the right to be upset.”

Calensk looks straight into Sergiu's eyes. “No, I do not. It’s not your fault that the terrorist attack happened,” Sergiu tries to interrupt Calensk, but he doesn't let him. “It's not your fault you are wounded. It's ok to get help from your friends. You didn't want to get to the hospital, for an unknown reason, I get it. But what is not ok and what I don't get, is why did you have to hide this from us too.” Calensk puts emphasis on certain words to hammer the point home. “You don't want to take more than you can give back, but… if we lost you, how do you imagine you could make up for that?”

Sergiu averts his eyes from Calensk's gaze. His expression changes, giving to a mix of sadness and distant grief. Calensk puts his hand gently on his friend's shoulder. “You don't need to hide anymore, you are among friends. You don't need to handle everything on your own. You are always ready to give a helpful hand to us, why not extend this kindness to yourself?” Sergiu's glances back at Calensk. His usually sharp features are softened, his face wearing the same sadness and grief to it as Sergiu. Except his grief feels closer and more tangible right now, than his.”You are right. Though I will find a way to repay you friend, it's only fair.” His voice gets quieter. “Trust me there is no need. So… ready for a round two? And don't you worry about the state of my medicine cabinet. When Pyotr came by, he made up for his absence by robbing a hospital.” A small smile graces both men's faces. Sergiu seems to be more at ease now. 

Before Calensk takes care of the wound. He unravels the shirt protecting the wound. It didn't get any better during all this time, maybe except for the bleeding slowing down. Sergiu winces at the sensation.

Calensk looks into Sergiu eyes. “It's gonna get a lot worse. It’s gonna get worse, before it gets better. Are you ready?” Sergiu takes in a shaky, deep breath. “I am ready.” Calensk gives him a small reassuring smile and the tissue cloth to wipe his face, if he needs to and to bite down on, instead of his hand. 

Calensk puts on the gloves and starts to dig out the dirt and grime out of the wound. He puts it in the bowl. Slowly and methodically, already familiarized himself with the rhythm. Segiu does his best to keep his pained moans and whimpers to a minimum. It feels like he is on fire again, but somehow it's even worse. Waves of nausea hit harder than before. His vision goes blank several times.

Calensk grabs the pair of tweezers every now and again to pull out a rock or a bullet fragment. He does his best to be gentle, but most of em had grown into the skin and had to be pushed and pulled out the flesh. Sergiu needs a moment, every time this happens. Calensk doesn't mind the countless trips to refill Sergiu glass, it's a neat break from the look and smell of the blood that starts to cling to him more and more.

It's been like that for hours. Digging dirt out, break, back to digging, break. It weighs on both of their minds and bodies. When it feels like it's almost over, Calensk takes off his gloves and Sergiu feels some relief. Before he hears a soft “I'm sorry.” from Calensk. He pours alcohol down into his wound, to disinfect the gash. Sergiu instinctively thrashes and Calensk gently and carefully holds him down, with his second hand. He breathes heavily, eyes hazy, alcohol digs deep into his flesh, scorching everything in its wake. Sergiu passes out from pain.

An unknown amount of time passes. When Sergiu gets dragged back to consciousness, his wound is bandaged up and the room cleaned from the medical supplies. Calensk is sitting on the floor by the bed, looking over him. When Sergiu opens his eyes, a relief washes over him. His cold hand brushes his face and stays on his forehead. “You are a strong horse, you will live through this. You already went through the worst, now you can only go up from there.” Sergiu enjoys the cold sensation of Calensk's hand on his face. “Your fever rises again, you need to take this.” He hands Sergiu some pills and water. He struggles to take them, but eventually manages to swallow them down. His eyelids are getting heavy and soon enough he lets himself drift off to sleep, tired and restless.

Calensk waits a few minutes, looking over his friend, checking if he is truly sleeping. When he confirms that Sergiu is deep in sleep, he takes the tissue again and wipes new sweat off of Sergiu's face. He puts his hand on his forehead and checks the temperature again. The medication should be slowly kicking in. He stands up, to go to sleep himself.

In the small living room, he opens his convertible sofa and thanks his grandfather for passing it onto him. With Sergiu occupying the only spare blanket, he makes due with his winter coat and an old sleeping bag, he hoped he would never have to use again. He changes his clothes into something more light, tosses the dirty and bloody ones in the laundry basket and settles on the sofa. Imagines of lines of immigrants, the terrorist's neutralized body, Sergiu's wounds, his distraught face, sounds of explosions, gunshots and soft sobbing fill Calensk mind as he drifts off. He knows full well that he is not the only one, with such things occupying his mind and that it will be a tough night, before Sergiu gets any better.

Sergiu's fever rises and falls throughout the night. Cold shivers break up his tired dreams. Sometimes he wakes up, nightmares, memories and reality meshing together into an unholy abomination that Calensk has to pull him out of. In the flurry of visions, seeing Calensk and his soft expression, his hand on his forehead, is like a lighthouse guiding him back to reality. Fever fights within him, slowly giving in to the medication, but never fully stops. Calensk is at least able to quickly fall back into calm, dreamless, but restless sleep every time. To be just as quickly, pulled from it by Sergiu. He doesn't mind it much. Be it his experience, with his sick kids, wife, or in service to Arstotzka. It's not his first night like this and it's not going to be his last.

Night quickly turns into a cold morning. Calensk wakes up, sun up above the horizon and gets himself ready. He finds some fresh spare clothes for Sergiu, for when he wakes up. Makes a light breakfast for both of them. Gets ready the last few remaining medicine pills and carries everything to his still sleeping friend. Sergiu sleeps deep,  drenched in sweat. Calensk checks Sergiu's temperature with the back of his hand. Still warm, but he doesn't shiver so much. He puts breakfast and the medicine on a small bedside stand, next to an empty glass. He goes to refill it and thinks what a shame it will be to wake Sergiu up like that. He could really use a day off and stay in bed, but from his yesterday's reaction, there was no convincing him to stay. Calensk understands.

What is left now is to hope - that the weather is better and that there are no terrorist attacks happening in the near future. But with the sharpshooting guardian angel, he has in the Inspector, Calensk's patient helping hand and his undying hope to live another day on that post, he just might make it out alive, long enough to see his lover.

[chryzure-archive]

fragmented

ALT TITLE: i am also holding onto my stuffed bunny while grieving over azure :;;;;;;;

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i’m already missing writing in azure’s pov :(((

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———

xvi.

“We’ll be fine,” Jacks told Filly and Pleck, though he could read in their eyes that they didn’t believe him. They weren’t wrong not to, but he wasn’t going to be the one to break it to them that their friend and coworker had been dead for the past couple months. He was already being nice by sticking around and comforting Chrysi—he didn’t have any further goodwill left in him. “I’m here for her if she needs anything.”

Filly’s brow furrowed. Her eyes searched the railing of the next floor up, as if she expected to see two pairs of eyes staring down at them. “What about the children?”

Jacks fought to keep his upper lip from curling. He didn’t want to deal with them. Like he’d said—he was already using up what little goodwill he had as a Fate. 

But still he said, “I’m here to watch them too.”

Pleck picked at his sleeve, a pensive look on his face. His mouth tensed in a frown. “I just don’t get it. Azure’s never like this.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” 

Like being dead, he thought, too cruelly.

He shoved down the unpleasant lurch his heart gave. He blamed it on Chrysi—he’d been trying to soothe her heartache, to little success, even with her permission. 

Both of them shot him doubtful looks. 

“I don’t really know if I feel comfortable with leaving Chrysi here,” Filly said. Her face darkened, underneath her concern. “Especially not alone with you.”

Normally, Jacks would’ve bristled at the veiled accusation. He truly didn’t believe he was that bad—but he couldn’t bring himself to care this time. 

Instead, he drawled, “We’ll have you on speed dial. Satisfied?”

The glare she replied with was anything but. 

Pleck glanced between the two of them uneasily. 

Throughout this debriefing, Jacks had slowly but steadily pushing them into the foyer, away from where Chrysi curled up, crumpled in the library. But now Filly had screeched to a halt, and none of Jacks’s increasingly animated herding could move her. 

“Clearly not,” she snapped, inscensed. Flinging an arm outward (and nearly catching Pleck in the jaw with it), she stressed, “Chrysi is not okay. And this is worse than she’s been! Obviously something happened between her and Azure, which means—”

“Which means it’s none of your business,” Jacks cut her off. His own anger flared up, hot and furious. “Not until Chrysi comes to you.”

Pleck’s unease visibly intensified. He chewed on his bottom lip, face pale and looking paler in the deepening shadows. One wrong move, and Jacks knew he’d bolt between the two of them to stop the argument. 

“Oh, and I suppose that means she came to you?” Filly scoffed. Her words were caustic. Her eyes hardened like stone. 

Jacks sneered. “I suppose it does.”

Though her eyes brightened furiously, a shadow of uncertainty flickered across her face, grey amongst the bright ire. Jacks imagined he could hear what she was thinking—a hollow wondering, if what Jacks said was true, if Chrysi had trusted him with her problems before she’d entrusted Filly. A flush of inadequacy colored her worries and gave them shape.

Jacks knew he had no right to feel triumphant. The only reason he discovered Chrysi’s mystery was because he’d been in the wrong place at the right time. If it had been anybody else in that library when Azure blinked out of existence, they would’ve been the first Chrysi confided in. Jacks was lucky, in the worst, unluckiest kind of way. 

He wished it had been someone else to know the truth. They’d be able to handle it better than he.

But this conversation was growing old, and quickly, and Chrysi’s heart pressed against his, so cold and agonized that it made it more and more difficult for him to draw in a satisfactory breath. 

He took a deep breath, ready to tell them to get out, go home, forget about everything that happened this evening (all things he wished he could do as well, to take an eraser to the slate and erase the horror of the day), when Pleck jumped in. 

“Listen,” he mollified, hands outstretched in a defensive gesture, “we’ll trust you with this, Jacks.”

He glanced at Pleck cursorily, and sniffed. Good. 

Though I don’t think I am the one to be trusted. I am never the one to be trusted. Filly was right in her skepticism, and Jacks hated it. 

“But,” Pleck continued, and this made Filly turn to him expectantly, her face unreadable and her brow arched, “please. Contact us if you need any help. I know I’d be willing to make the trip up, even in the middle of the night.” He turned to Filly, a question twisting his face. 

She lifted her chin, then, after a moment’s pause, gave a tiny nod. From the corner of her eye, she glared at Jacks. 

That was enough for Pleck, Jacks presumed, because he relaxed. His hand rubbed at his opposite arm, burning off the remnants of his nervousness. With a subdued smile, Pleck added, “Tell Chrysi we’re here for her, if she ever needs it.” He paused, then emphasized, “We’re really, really here for her.”

Jacks had an idea that they would need to be there for her sooner rather than later. He couldn’t damage-control this for very long. A horrible, horrible thought came to him, one where Azure never reformed in a faux-human shape now that he knew he was dead, one where Chrysi wasted away in her grief. 

He recoiled. 

Yes, Jacks would certainly tell Chrysi of Pleck and Filly’s support. He didn’t trust himself with something so precarious. He wasn’t that emotional of a person. 

He couldn’t comfort somebody after the death of their lover. 

A jolt of agony cleaved through his heart. 

Thump. 

He stiffened, but it didn’t make a return beat. Cold sweat cropped up underneath the collar of his shirt. Air came in too thin. 

“I will,” he croaked. 

Filly turned her gaze upon him wholly, a furrow wrinkling her brow. 

He cleared his throat. Retried, staring down at his shoes. “I will.” 

There. Less of a waver to his words. 

The heart thing was troubling, though. 

He looked up to Filly and Pleck frowning twin frowns at him. Filly’s eyes glinted. Not knowingly, but there was the start of something—a glimmer that saw too much for Jacks’s comfort. 

Setting his jaw, Jacks gestured to the front door with more agitation than necessary. “Happy now?” he asked brusquely. 

Filly didn’t reply. 

Pleck eyed her worriedly, even as he said, “Not really, but… for tonight, everything should be fine.”

Jacks couldn’t smile, so he just shrugged. “Suppose so.”

Filly’s frown was palpable. 

Both of them moved reluctantly to the door—Pleck took a particularly long time shrugging into his coat, and Filly sluggishly picked through her purse for her keys—and Jacks flung it open to hurry them along. He tapped his toe against the floor, though he wasn’t quite sure if it came from impatience or apprehension. 

Finally, when there were no more tasks for them to drag their heels in the process of doing, Filly and Pleck walked out into the night. They shared a glance between them, something that Jacks imagined they thought he wouldn’t see from his vantage point. It was a tense-mouthed, dim-eyed, furrowed-forehead look, one of uncertainty and misgiving. 

Jacks shared that misgiving with them, so vivid it made his muscles ache. 

Then he slammed the door shut behind them before they could change their minds about going home. 

*

He couldn’t find Chrysi in the library.

Jacks couldn’t blame her. Too much occurred in there in the past day alone. It hurt too badly, even for him and his half-beating heart. 

Trudging upstairs, Jacks suppressed the urge to scream. He didn’t know who the scream was for. Just a scream, something to stave off the building tension in his chest, knotting tighter and tighter with each passing second. He’d almost screamed when Azure reappeared. He’d almost screamed when he disappeared a second time. He’d almost screamed while talking to Filly and Pleck. 

But all those were the wrong moments. And Jacks was the wrong person to scream. 

He didn’t deserve it—not in the way Chrysi did. And after she had shattered apart in the library earlier, Jacks knew that even if he had the right to scream, he couldn’t. Not until Chrysi was alright. Or better, at the very least. 

He couldn’t think of Chrysi ever being alright again. 

When he found her, it was in the bedroom she’d shared with Azure. She curled atop the comforter, a stuffed rabbit clutched to her chest. Her eyes were screwed shut, and tears trickled down her face. 

Jacks bit down on his tongue before he commented the wrong thing. Even he knew that it was wrong to tell her that he thought this was the wrong way to grieve. Who was he to dictate her grief? He barely knew the emotion himself.

Instead, he murmured, “Is there anything to be done?”

Chrysi cracked her eyes open and her expression wiped itself away into nonexistence. She pulled the rabbit closer to her. 

“In what way do you mean?” she asked, monotone.

“Like…” He shrugged helplessly. “Any way. For Azure. For you.”

“Ha.” She curled in on herself tighter than ever before. “No. Of course not.”

Jacks hesitated. 

Suddenly, he wished he had let Filly and Pleck stay. He should’ve marched them up to Chrysi’s room and unleashed them upon her. If there were any two people to make Chrysi feel better, they were it. 

But he’d sent them packing, so he walked up to her and laid his hand atop her head in an approximation of comforting. 

She stared up at him with exhausted eyes. 

“I can’t,” she began—then she stopped, shuddering. 

Jacks slid his hand down, and rubbed small circles along her back. He thought he’d seen Azure do that once, when Chrysi was distressed, and it was the only thing he could think of. 

Underneath his touch, her bones stood out, angular and sharp, like a fragile glass sculpture. Maybe she’d already broken apart, scattered across the floor, and that was why she lay immobile atop the bed. 

“It’s…” He paused. No, it wasn’t alright. He wouldn’t lie so vulgarly to her. “This is hell.”

That made her laugh. Another tear trickled down her face. 

“Isn’t it just?” She burrowed deeper into the bed, curling against him. 

His skin burned too hot where their bodies met. Jacks preemptively swallowed down that half-skipped heartbeat. 

Silence curled over them, about to crest like a wave, and they would drown in it. 

Jacks traced shapes over her back in the place of words. None of them were comforting. None of them were helpful. Bloody, godforsaken saints. 

Her voice crackled. “He knows he’s dead now.” Her breath shivered. Underneath his palm, Jacks could’ve sworn she grew colder. “He knows he’s dead, Jacks.”

He shut his eyes. “I know.”

“I told you what would happen if he knew.” It wasn’t a sob, not yet. But soon, Jacks imagined it could be. 

“I know.” 

She trembled. “And I told him anyway,” she whispered. “I told him the truth.”

Jacks didn’t say anything. 

It wasn’t his call to say whether that was the right decision or if it was the wrong one or what. He didn’t know if he should’ve demanded Chrysi tell Azure the truth or if he should’ve stayed silent. The moment had unfolded like something through crystal—painfully clear, agonizingly sharp, and divorced from Jacks’s immediate sense of reality. Seeing Azure in that false sense of living startled him into a part of himself he didn’t think he’d still possessed—an animal-like state, one where he was driven by fight-or-flight, instinctive fear. 

Azure had picked up on it immediately. 

Jacks would’ve rather Chrysi told Azure the truth rather than watch him disintegrate under his own realization. He didn’t know how he knew, but it was better this way. Better for Chrysi to have been the one to inform him. 

Even though it had broken her, cleaved her right through the center. 

Chrysi gasped, then let out a broken sigh—a tearless sob. She pressed against him harder, tightening her hold on the rabbit so much that Jacks knew it would’ve been struggling for its life, had it not been an inanimate object. 

“I told him.”

“I know. I was there.”

“He’s gone, Jacks.”

He stopped. An imperceptible tremor rattled through him, and with it came a bone-deep cold.

“You don’t know that,” he said, voice tight. “You think Azure would disappear forever, just because he found out he was dead? You’re foolish if you think he would leave you just like that.”

“It’s not up to him.” Chrysi twisted around in the bed, her face a painting of anguish. “Azure doesn’t get a say, and nor do I.”

It was too hard, maintaining eye contact with her. His eyes dropped to the rabbit in her arms instead, a guilty flush heating the back of his neck. 

The rabbit stared back at him, its glass eyes scratched and milky, like sea glass. Something had chipped part of the eye away, leaving a crushed white line across its right eye. Its nose and the velvet lining in its ears had gone grey with age, with nary a hint to its once-cheerful pink. The black fur had become matted from use. The shape of it was floppy, limp. 

It was a sad, old thing, all the life squeezed out of it. It stared up at him, as accusing as a corpse. 

He frowned. 

“Princess,” he said quietly, dragging his eyes back to hers, “you can’t let yourself take the blame for what happened.”

“Why not?” she shot back, vitriolic. Color finally came to her cheeks, but it burned too hot, a bright red in her otherwise-pale face. 

Jacks stared down at her, at a loss. “Because.”

Because… what?

Because Jacks couldn’t imagine Chrysi being able to do anything else. He knew it tore her apart, this truth, but it was just that—the truth. Azure LaFaye had died. He came back as a ghost. His spirit struggled to maintain physical form. And Chrysi Solstice could not do anything to stop that. 

Jacks had been alive for a very, very long time. He knew a lot about spells and curses and death and murder. Maybe not everything, but he knew much, much more than Chrysi—and he knew that there was no instance in which someone, dead as long as Azure had been, had ever been brought back to life. That was a miracle saved for minutes after death—a day, at the most magical. 

The only thing Chrysi could do was let Azure go. And, based on the answer Azure had given Jacks, that was precisely what Azure wished of her. 

Chrysi glared up at Jacks, but the accusation in her eyes pointed inward with a knife’s blade. 

He didn’t like seeing that look on her face. 

“You didn’t kill him, Chrysi,” Jacks snapped, but that was to cover the empty spot in his chest. “There’s nothing you could possibly blame yourself for. So stop it.”

She glared at him still, but the heat quickly faded from her eyes. Tears welled up in her anger’s stead. Her arms loosened around the stuffed rabbit, finally giving it the room to breathe that it needed. 

“Then what can I possibly do now?” she whispered, heartbroken. 

Jacks didn’t have an answer to that.

He didn’t need one, though, for Chrysi’s door opened in lieu of what useless words he could drudge up. 

Jacks glanced up to see Alice standing in the doorway. Her eyes widened, wide enough for him to mark the rim of white around her dark eyes, when she saw him. An uncharacteristic shadow of doubt paled her face. 

A frown furrowed his brow. 

“Hey, ankle-biter,” he said sharply. Then he stopped, strangely uncertain.

Chrysi shifted under his palm, until she faced Alice too. Her red eyes peered out from her tangled mess of hair. 

“Alice,” she whispered, voice ragged.

The girl’s mouth wobbled. Her eyes squinted and her nose wrinkled in the most unbecoming way, and it took Jacks a moment to realize Alice was holding back tears.

There were many reasons for her to cry. Maybe she’d stubbed her toe. Maybe Oz had said something a little too mean to her. Maybe seeing Chrysi like this unsettled her. Maybe—just maybe—she understood that Azure was never coming back.

But none of those answers seemed right to Jacks. The way Alice’s face crumpled had the flavor of guilt to it, and that didn’t align with any of those reasons. 

Alice said, “Something’s happened to Oz.” Her voice quavered. “You need to come with me.”

Jacks opened his mouth to kindly tell Alice that whatever it was Oz was dealing with could fucking wait, but Chrysi pushed herself up with trembling limbs. All remaining color washed from her face. 

“Alright,” she said, in a imitation of her normal, caring tone, but it sounded like a broken wind chime instead. “Lead the way.”

Jacks shot Chrysi a disbelieving look. “Chrysi. Seriously?”

Her eyes looked glassy, empty, as she shot him a look in return. 

“I still have to take care of the kids,” she said in a voice so quiet he had to strain to hear it. “This is what I’ve been doing this whole time. I can’t… I can’t put myself higher on the list than them.”

With that, she pushed off the bed. 

She wobbled and Jacks lunged forward to steady her. 

Chrysi’s breathing shuddered, her hair swinging forward to cloak her expression. Her hands clenched by her sides, bleaching her knuckles to white. Her limbs trembled visibly. 

Then she lifted her head and repeated, “Lead the way, Alice.”

Alice didn’t need to be told a third time. 

She cast one last glance over Chrysi’s room. “Jacks should come too,” she said, rushed. 

Without awaiting an answer, Alice whirled about on her heel and scurried down the hallway.

Chrysi glanced at Jacks, a curious look on her face. He mirrored the strange confusion, mouth twisting into a scowl. 

Her frown deepened.

Jacks and Chrysi trailed after Alice much slower. Jacks made sure to keep a hand on Chrysi’s hip—he wouldn’t be surprised if there were another loss of balance, one where Chrysi would go sprawling over the floor. She’d lost her counterweight, the one to lean on, in physical and emotional. 

Alice shot up another flight of stairs, pausing only long enough to shoot a look at them with a deep frown, as if she were surprised they were following her in the first place. Or perhaps she thought they were foolish, trusting her. 

“The attic?” Chrysi murmured beside him, her frown coloring her tone. 

Jacks didn’t know much about Baskerville Manor, but he did know about attics. 

They never meant anything good. 

But Chrysi didn’t stop following after Alice, and he didn’t want to leave her alone with the children for the moment. 

He followed her with much more reluctance. He stretched his hand outward, steadying Chrysi as she walked the stairs in front of him. It was a bit useless, what he was doing, but he didn’t like that Alice said that he also needed to come with Chrysi. It didn’t make sense—not once had he been in a supervisional role for the children. Not in any of the times he’d visited. 

The attic pressed in close on the three of them once they got in. Jacks found himself particularly overcome by claustrophobia, in a way he knew the others couldn’t experience. He had to stoop forward to keep his head from hitting the exposed beams arcing along the ceiling. 

Alice stood in a cleared center of the floor, twisting her fingers anxiously. Her eyes darted over the room, uncertain. 

Jacks glanced over the room, trying to determine what it was she was searching for. 

All that met his eyes were old pieces of furniture clothed in ghostly-white sheets and moldering boxes full of a wide array of items. The only decluttered part of the room was the thin walkway Chrysi and Jacks stood in now, and the center of the room Alice stood in. That looked newly cleaned, with scrapes across the old wood floor and the lack of dust, as opposed to the walkway, still choked by dust. Where Jacks stood, he could make out countless footprints disturbing the thick dust, as if someone had walked to and from there often. 

“Where’s Oz?” Chrysi finally asked softly. 

Alice’s head dropped. “I don’t know.” It didn’t sound like she was lying. “He was up here a moment ago. I don’t know where he went.”

Chrysi frowned pensively. “You know you guys aren’t supposed to play in the attic.”

Her head dipped further. “We weren’t playing.”

That definitely didn’t sound like a lie.

This felt strange.

Jacks took one step forward, then stopped. Misgiving soured the taste on his tongue. 

“What’s up here, then?” he demanded. He turned to Alice, a scowl marring his face. “Why are we here?”

Chrysi didn’t say anything behind him. When he glanced at her once more, she was studying the shadows. Her face twisted in pale concentration.

Alice stared up at him, eyes wide and frightened. Pulling her hands to her chest, she curled in on herself, trying to make herself much, much smaller. 

It was wrong. Jacks still had his bite wound, inflicted by this same girl, with passion and fury making her into a beast to be reckoned with. This made no sense, coming from Alice. 

“I’m sorry,” she finally whimpered. “I’m sorry, Chrysi. I know I shouldn’t have. But I don’t want to lose Oz too.”

Alarm thrilled through Jacks, though its origin was not from him. It had the distinct color of Chrysi, golden-edged and heart-tumbling. 

“Alice—!” she cried.

Crack!

Silence. 

His heart screamed, empty, his sense of Chrysi ripped away from the room. 

He wheeled about. “Princess—”

White cracked across his vision. Fireworks spiraled in his brain, all off-kilter and twisting and painful. Coppery blood trickled into his mouth, salty and overpowering. 

Then Jacks collapsed to the floor and blackness rushed in. 

—

xvii.

Helpless.

Chrysi was fucking helpless. 

All this time, she’d been the one to study the ghosts—marking it down in that morbid, awful journal of hers, with notes on how to weed out the denseness of the haunting, like one of Pleck’s flowerbeds. 

But she didn’t get to it in time. Not enough time in the slightest. She had seen the steel glare in Oz’s eyes after she found Azure’s ghost staring down that well, and she had seen the airy look of not-there-ness in Alice’s own dark gaze, and she should’ve known. She should’ve known sooner, and not soon enough, and no matter what, she was useless. 

All because she wanted to save a fragment of Azure, all because she had to injure her soul deeper than she should’ve.

She woke up in the attic, but she didn’t know how much time had passed. Too much, in her estimation. Long enough for her to have been tied up and slung against the wall. A gag jammed into her mouth.  

Should’ve known sooner. 

So caught up in her own problems that she didn’t consider that it might be bigger than just Azure. 

No—she did consider it, but she hadn’t cared.

Pain pulsed though her. 

Fuck. 

She’d lied to Jacks. The children did not take precedence on her list. Azure did. 

Chrysi failed them. 

She narrowed her eyes, trying to discern the meaning of the shadows around her. 

The attic had been spruced up since she and Jacks had been knocked unconscious. She knew that much from the floor alone. Dust still cloaked it thickly, but a throw rug—equally dusty—gave the room a much more lived-in air. 

That had to have been a recent addition. 

She swept her gaze minimally over the room. Each movement hurt her head—but a quick overview revealed that they were boxed in by towering piles of forgotten suitcases and lamps, save for the narrow path they’d entered from. 

This was the only room Oswald claimed was completely and entirely off-limits in the entire manor. Off-limits even for the remaining staff.

Foreboding filled her. 

She heard a noise beside her—a labored breath, but not quite the death-rattle gasp of one of the manor ghosts.

Even though it sent a spike of agony piercing through her head, Chrysi twisted her head to the side to find Jacks, just as tied up and wounded as she, listing weakly against the wall. His eyes were closed. Blood stained the side of his face, and his skin had a distinct grey pallor to it.

He was breathing, at least—but the thought didn’t bring much comfort with it.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment as she tried to quell the nausea welling up inside of her. 

Her recollection of herself was rudely interrupted by approaching footsteps. 

They stopped right in front of her, right as Chrysi struggled to open her eyes. She found a pair of muddied boots right in front of her, disturbing the dust and ruining the throw rug. 

“There you are,” a familiar voice said, far too bright a tone for the ache pulsing in her skull. “I was scared you wouldn’t wake up for a moment there.”

Chrysi bit down on her gag, hard enough to taste blood through the fabric. She turned her hateful gaze to the speaker in question.

Oz leaned over her, grinning.

And underneath his skin, she could see the horrible, twisted form of Jack Vessalius, puppeteering the poor boy’s body.

—

xviii.

Meredith stood in front of Azure, and though Azure could remember her funeral just as clearly as this moment, he didn’t find it strange. 

She looked exactly the same she did those three years ago—long auburn hair, electric green eyes, and displeasure twisting her pretty face into a gorgeous painting of a woman biting into a lemon. 

“What do you mean, you want to call off the wedding?” she demanded. “You belong to me, Azure LaFaye. We’ve belonged to each other since we were children. You can’t just back out of that on a whim!”

On a whim? Hardly. Azure had been looking for a way out since he was sixteen, right after Meredith had punished him for cancelling a date to sneak out to a chess competition. He was just ashamed it took him this long to plan for his escape.

“Get out of my way, Meredith,” he said quietly. 

Disgust warped her face into something ugly. “What makes you think you can tell me what to do?”

He knew he should’ve listened to Jacks’s advice. He blamed lingering feelings for Meredith for the way he’d chosen to leave. 

Azure just hoped that he would be able to stay so far under the radar that not even Meredith telling his father would get him caught. 

“I’m asking nicely.”

She smirked and it was just as ugly as the lingering disgust sharpening the edge of her expression. Her eyes turned that lurid green—too much glitter to be safe, like a poisonous plant to avoid.

“It’s not a very nice request in the first place. It doesn’t matter how sweetly you ask, mon chaton.”

He couldn’t help it. He flinched. 

Satisfaction flashed bright in Meredith’s eyes. It writhed beneath his rib cage, wriggling for his heart with hooked claws. 

“Oh, mon chaton,” she murmured again. She breezed closer to him, suddenly full of grace and a lovely smile. All her fury melted away at his wince, like she could smell his weakness. She reached for his face. “I know you’re just overwhelmed. I’m sure to forgive you if you just apologize. But you don’t need to apologize right now, since I’m sure you’re very—”

Heart spiking into his throat, Azure shoved Meredith back with great force. Pressure pulsed behind his left eye and his vision half-blurred from the water welling in the leftmost half of his vision. 

He hadn’t raised a hand. 

Meredith slammed into the wall. An airless gasp jolted from her—a choking cough followed soon after. 

Azure trembled. He tried to swallow it down. 

It was the first time he’d used his magic on her. Hopefully it would also be the last. 

She struggled to straighten herself—her elbows bumped the picture frames akimbo, her nails gouged at the wallpaper Azure’s sister had lovingly chosen, her limbs shook from effort—but he reinforced the weight of his magic. Her face reddened in reinvigorated ire. Suddenly, her auburn hair did not suit her face quite as well. 

“Bastard!” she snarled. “Fils de pute!”

He stumbled back a step, then another. 

It couldn’t be this easy.

It couldn’t be.

But Meredith couldn’t move. Her face twisted up in rage, and Azure wondered how he could’ve ever thought her beautiful in the first place. 

She swore fiercer, livid. Each curse spilling from her mouth was more violent than the last. 

She still could not move. 

A laugh tore from him, incredulous. 

“All this time,” he said, “and I’ve been more powerful than you from the start.”

He didn’t know why he hadn’t realized it sooner. Meredith’s eyes had never been red, and what hexes she’d managed were never more than mildly upsetting. She was never a full-fledged witch, just as she was never a half-fledged spellcaster. Azure had been top of his class, highest-ranked in Europe that entire time.

What a blind idiot he’d been. 

Just as quickly as her face reddened, it blanched to white. 

“Azure,” she pleaded, “Azure, please. I forgive you. We can push back the wedding until you’re more comfortable. Come on, kitten.” 

“God!” Azure laughed again, but it hurt this time. “I’ve wasted so much fucking time on you.”

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed away.

Her pleas chased after him, right up to the door, where Meredith realized that he wasn’t going to return. 

Last-ditch white-hot rage turned her voice into a drilling screech.

“Don’t forget!” Meredith screamed after him. “You’re mine, Azure LaFaye! You fucking bastard!”

He wished. Azure so desperately wished he would forget everything about Meredith, forget everything about France. He’d move onwards and forwards, damn everyone else here.

*

Oswald Baskerville looked exhausted. Azure knew that he looked even worse. 

It wasn’t often that Azure went to a brasserie after a failed job interview, if ever. It was even rarer that he saw his interviewer at the same haunt as he. 

The only reason he’d even bothered to come was because of Jacks—bored to the point of threatening Azure, which really only meant that Jacks had become incredibly lonely. Azure didn’t ask what happened to the last girl Jacks had chosen. He knew better than that. 

From where Azure sat, however, Jacks didn’t look very lonely or heartbroken. His friend merely grinned at a girl, his finger twisting a blonde curl around his finger, as he whispered in low tones. The girl stared back at him with a significantly less enamoured expression than the rest of Jacks’s conquests. 

Normally, this would’ve annoyed Azure. What was the point of all this dragging around, if he weren’t to be Jacks’s entertainment? 

But, as his eyes slid back to Oswald Baskerville, he couldn’t help but thank his friend’s flightiness. It granted him this. Perhaps not a second chance, but at least a sense of closure. 

Oswald sat on the bar stool tensely, his back straight and his shoulders tight. He nursed a gin and tonic, only taking small sips. Whatever it was he was looking at, Azure suspected that it wasn’t within the room. 

Most people came to a pub to relax, but as Azure studied Oswald Baskerville, he decided that Oswald saw this more as a punishment than anything. The lighting did not help with the dark circles under his eyes. 

Azure arched a brow. 

Oh, et puis merde. 

Azure finished off the drink in his hands, disregarding the way it stung at his throat on the way down. He didn’t make it a habit to drink, and even less of a habit to drink such a low quality of alcohol. 

Yet, he still approached the bar. 

The bartender glanced up at him with a disinterested look. 

Azure smiled a smile without much feeling, ordered two glasses of wine, and made for Oswald. 

He stopped beside him, but he didn’t take a seat. 

The bartender slung two glasses onto the bar. He poured the wine with an exhausted familiarity. 

“That was the worst interview of my life,” Azure announced. 

“Mr. LaFaye,” was all Oswald replied with. He eyed him tiredly. 

Azure guessed that Oswald had noticed him just as quickly as Azure noticed Oswald. Perhaps Oswald had hoped Azure would not approach him. 

Too bad Azure had a streak of stubbornness in him. 

He pulled out the stool beside Oswald and sat, right as their drinks arrived. 

A hint of disgruntlement soured Oswald’s expression, but he swept it clear just as quickly. 

“What is it you want?” he asked in a monotone. 

“Nothing.” He picked up the glass by its stem, but did not bother to take a drink. Azure stared at the shelves behind the bar blindly. “I’m pretty sure it was a horrible interview for the both of us. I figured drinking would be the best way to ease the pain.” 

It was a half-joke and Oswald’s glance was suitably doubtful. “I don’t drink to the point of senselessness, Mr. LaFaye.” 

Azure shrugged. “I don’t either.” 

They sat in silence. A growing breathlessness tightened his chest, but Azure fought to keep himself under control. He knew what he was doing was a mistake

But then Oswald took his own glass of wine and took a minute sip from it—smaller even than the ones he’d been taking from his previous drink. 

With the way Azure’s day was going, he’d take whatever success he could get. 

“You asked me what my catch was,” he said abruptly. It exploded from him, expelled like a toxin he needed to purge, for fear of dying.

But if it startled Oswald, he didn’t show it. 

He tilted his head. His silence invited Azure to continue, but suddenly Azure’s mouth felt like he hadn’t wet it with any sort of drink for a week. 

He quickly took a drink from his glass, but his nose wrinkled. He was too accustomed to a richer taste of wine for him to enjoy this much.

The memory of his lessons in France and his ex-fiancée acted as glue, forcing his molars to grind flat against each other. It took work to tear them apart. 

When he did, he spoke only in half-truths. 

“Do you know,” he asked, “what it’s like to be expected to shoulder an honor that is only a burden?”

Oswald did not answer him. There was a steel in his dark eyes, a blade of recognition, and that was as good as confirmation for Azure. 

The laugh that burst from him hurt, lined with glass on the way up. “That was all I knew, my entire life. So I left. My past is erased. I’m a blank slate.” He raked a hand through his hair. Unruly black curls fell into his face in its wake—Azure couldn’t be bothered to care. All his product lost its hold on his hair. “It took me longer than I’d like, but I did it. And when I saw your ad… Well, it was convenient.”

This time, Oswald hummed curiously. 

Azure recognized the question without the words. He straightened in his seat. “I was used a lot, back in France. I’m sure you’re familiar with it even here. But with children, at least when they use you, it’s not out of maliciousness. It’s out of need.” He worried at his thumbnail with the pad of his forefinger. Silently cursing, Azure found himself wishing he had something proper to fidget with. A coin. A ring—but no, he threw away the ring Meredith had forced him to wear. “And I can tell the children need someone.” He eyed Oswald, prying out what secrets he could from the face of stone he wore. “What about you? What’s your catch?”

Oswald didn’t bother to fake innocence. 

“Imagination,” he said simply. “The children have a lot of it. Their current au pair doesn’t help matters much—but she’s a very lively girl and I wouldn’t dare fire her. The children love her too much. I’m sure she feels the same way for them. But…”

Azure canted his head to the side. 

Whatever train of thought Oswald found himself going down, he abandoned it. 

“It’s easy to lose yourself there,” Oswald settled on saying with a tiny frown. Then he fell silent, grim.

“I wouldn’t.” It was a promise. Azure was very, very good at many things, and above all else, his self-control was what he was best at. 

Oswald’s expression, normally so inscrutable, lightened with thoughtfulness. He studied Azure silently, then stood. He collected his coat. 

The two drinks he’d been sipping at barely had a dent in either of them. 

“I don’t make it a habit to tell people on the day of,” Oswald said, “but since you’re here, I suppose you should know. You got the job.” 

Azure stared up at him. Everything in the room ground to a halt, suspending in midair. 

He got the distinct feeling that he almost blew up the only thing going for him. He’d been barreling for the empty chasm and only just stopped on the precipice. 

“Oh.” It was the only word he could manage. 

“Goodbye, Mr. LaFaye. You’ll be getting a call with the details within the next few days.”

Numbness poured into his limbs.

“Oh,” he repeated, but this time it was to nobody in particular. 

Oh. 

He got the job. 

*

“You’re the new guy, huh?” a voice asked from behind him. 

Azure turned to find that white-haired girl from before leaning against a bookshelf, her eyes intelligent and gleaming in the grey light from the windows. 

Now that they were in closer proximity, Azure realized that her eyes were also red. 

Surprise flashed through him. 

Another witch, working here? A strange coincidence, though a part of Azure wondered if it could even be considered as such.

He yearned to ask this girl about her story, how she ended up here, what family she was from—but he withheld. Too many years of propriety instilled in him. Azure was well-accustomed to holding back from all his instincts, used to denying himself everything. 

Instead, he replied, “Yes. I’m the new tutor.”

The girl grinned. With it, Azure noted that she had sharp canines—almost like fangs. 

“Figures,” she said brightly. “I’m no good at math and I tell the little ones too much about certain sciences that Oswald would rather they be older to understand.” She lifted her chin. “So what are your strengths?”

Azure blinked. 

He hadn’t expected to receive a second interview, and he certainly hadn’t expected his co-tutor to be such a slight girl. She couldn’t be much older than him—if anything, she looked a fraction younger. And he could hardly imagine how an American witch found herself in an esteemed English manor, teaching two children. 

“Well,” he said slowly, “I’d consider myself well-rounded in all areas. But my strengths would be French” —It had better be one of his strengths, after growing up in Paris— “and literature analysis.”

The girl waved that away. “Nah, I don’t mean that. Here, let me give you an example: my strengths are gravestone rubbings and the horror genre—preferably books, but God, let me tell you how hard it is to find a good male horror author.”

“What?” 

“How you’re going to connect to the kids,” she explained. “Oz and Alice aren’t necessarily hard to entertain, but you have to have an in with them to manage to teach them anything. If they don’t think you’re interesting, then forget it. You’ll be out the door by next Thursday.”

He stared at her, at a loss for words.

The girl sighed. “Okay, how about this: what are your hobbies?”

Hobbies. 

Azure’s eyes scoured the room. A strange sense of unease lurked at the edge of his awareness. 

Surely she wasn’t actually interested in what his hobbies were. 

So he shrugged. “I like reading.”

She made a buzzing noise, as if he were a contestant on a game show and he’d just answered wrong. “Not quite. Try again.”

A flush of irritation swept over him. The vividness of the emotion surprised him. “I do like reading.” 

“I do too, but that’s so tame,” she said, disgust dripping off her words. “It’s what you say at the family reunion because Auntie Mary thinks that playing through the first three Resident Evil games in a single day is a surefire way to corrupt your soul. I want to know what you like.” She paused and, for the first time, a flicker of a blush colored her freckled cheeks. “And the kids. The kids will want to know, for sure.”

Azure continued to stare at her. Rigidness stuck him to the floor, even though he wanted to fidget with something. He settled for digging his hands into his coat’s pockets. 

“I like to read,” he repeated slowly. When the girl sighed heavily, he quickly added, “Anything. I like to read anything—besides stuff with an annoying magic system, I suppose.” 

Now a light brightened her eyes. She shifted forward, like a wolf cornering its prey. The smile hitching across her face did not help the illusion. “There we go. Something more like that. Opinions, that’s what we like to see!”

He bristled. “I have opinions.”

He didn’t know why it bothered him that this girl would’ve thought otherwise. So long,  he’d spent stifling himself. Surely he’d grown accustomed to coming off as impersonal. 

He blamed it on her American nature. 

“Strong opinions and strong hobbies,” the girl said cheerfully, in agreement. “That’s all that matters. Anything else you’ve got for me?”

And at that moment, Azure wanted to prove himself as an interesting person. He wanted her to know just how much he hid underneath his stern expression. He didn’t know why—it wasn’t to impress her. 

He thought of Meredith. 

Perhaps because he knew that his ex-fiancée would hate Azure talking to this girl and relating to her. Perhaps because this was a way to break from Meredith’s suffocating nature—from his father’s. He could be himself here.

“I also like photography,” he said. 

The girl’s brows arched. This time, her smile came off as warm, and Azure realized that it was in response to his own warming voice. A quiet thrill of excitement burned through him. 

“Film photography, specifically,” he continued. A tiny smile of his own surprised him. “There’s something more melancholy about it. It feels like nostalgia in image.” 

She gestured for him to go on. She leaned closer, bracing herself on a table. 

He knew he should’ve been embarrassed, but her engagement chased away all sense of self-consciousness. The girl’s unabashed interest kindled a silent flame Azure hadn’t realized he had. 

“Chess, too. I’m nationally ranked in France.” He should’ve said it with the familiar humility required of someone of his stature, but he said it with quiet assurance. He was good. No need to shy away from it. “I also enjoy horror books,” he added, eyeing her and her interest. She looked lovely, with the way her eyes glittered with gold and her smile showed her unnaturally-pointed canines again. “In case you wanted to know.”

This made her grin wider. 

“Save some for the rest of us, LaFaye.” The girl whistled. “Fucking hell, I’ve actually got some competition.”

He cocked his head to the side. “You know my name?”

“Hm?” She raised her brows, but the line of her mouth and the light in her eyes hinted at a mischief he couldn’t read. “Yeah, of course I do. Oswald told me.”

And here Azure didn’t know a thing about this girl, besides the fact that Jacks knew her as well. 

Unfair. He was at a disadvantage. 

“So?” He gestured for her to go on.

The look she shot him was amused. 

“You can call me Chrysi,” she said. “That’s all I’m giving you, Mr. Nationally-Ranked-Chess-Master.” She punctuated this by tapping just under her eye and grinning. “Nice to work with another witch, by the way.”

With that, she breezed past Azure. 

A tiny electric thrill sparked through him when she brushed by. 

Azure turned to watch her leave, feeling distinctly unmoored and brilliantly light. 

Yes, he agreed. 

It would be nice to work with another witch. Especially one as friendly as this Chrysi. 

He wondered what her name was short for. 

*

Chrysi’s fingers tangled in his. Her eyelashes tickled his skin whenever she blinked. Her breaths were warm against his skin and the weight of her head against his shoulder felt like a final piece of the puzzle he’d been missing. 

Azure could die right here and now, and he could be happy with it. 

They laid like that for quite some time. Azure didn’t think he could drift off to sleep now—he was too excited about living in the Manor now, with closeness to Chrysi and the children. It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel solid. 

He wondered if Chrysi felt the same way. 

He traced her hair with his free hand.

“What is your full name?” he asked softly, eager to make the most of his first night he lived here. 

Chrysi shifted. “Hm?”

“Your full name. You’ve never told me.” Even though they were curled up together under the blankets, even though they had moved into the same room, even though Azure was pretty sure he would spend the rest of his life with her, if given the chance.

“Have I not?” Chrysi moved away and pushed up to her elbows. Her long hair cascaded around him. Moonlight glittered in her eyes, a smile hooking across her face. “I guess now would be the time to tell you, wouldn’t it?”

He couldn’t help but grin back at her. “Never a wrong time.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can think of a couple.” She tucked a curl behind her ear, and for a second, she looked strangely shy. “It’s Chryseis Diana. My full first name. Well.” She shrugged. “First names. You know how it is.”

His breath caught in his throat. 

“Chryseis Diana…” 

It tasted right in his mouth. The way his mouth shaped around her name fit perfectly.

Chrysi flushed, visible in the moonlight streaming from the open window. 

“Well, no need to say it like that,” she said with an embarrassed laugh. 

Azure lifted his chin curiously. “Like what?”

Her eyes caught on his. Whatever she saw there made her flush a pretty red. She averted her gaze. “I dunno. Like a prayer, I guess. It’s just a couple sounds strung together—nothing special.”

He raised his brows. “That’s a lie.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is special,” he challenged. 

Chrysi looked embarrassed. “Knock it off, Blue. It is not.”

“It is,” he insisted. “It’s your name and it’s a pretty name. So that makes it very special to me.”

She faux-gagged. “Keep it up, LaFaye, and I’m kicking you out of my room.”

“Our room.” 

She shot him a narrow-eyed glare. 

He smiled innocently. He raised his hand to her, inviting her back to the position she’d been in, curled up against him. “Come on, Chrys. Don’t be like that.”

“You think you’re so cute,” she complained, even as she obliged. 

Azure hummed in agreement. Happiness sparked in him as she nestled her head against his chest, ear pressed to his heart. He planted a kiss on the top of her head. 

It didn’t take long for the tension in Chrysi’s limbs to relax. Her breathing came out steadily as her hand clumsily traced shapes on Azure’s hip. 

Still, he could not sleep. 

Chryseis Diana.

He kept repeating her name to himself. 

Such a lovely name—how could she think otherwise?

The room buzzed, as if with static. 

Azure flinched. 

The buzzing stopped. 

He frowned. 

What the hell was that?

He tried to settle back, to let himself ease into the same half-sleepy haze as Chrysi—yet his heart hammered against his rib cage. He struggled to keep his breath even. 

But the buzzing did not make a repeat appearance. 

Azure reluctantly laid his head back down, burying it into his pillow. 

The buzzing started up again. 

He bolted up.

The buzzing turned to an aggravating hum, far too loud for comfort. His teeth ached with it, as if it were on some strange frequency that affected him and him alone. 

He glanced down at Chrysi in his arms. 

She merely adjusted her head with his movement. She made a sleepy noise and tightened her grip on his hand. 

How could she not hear this? Azure’s head pulsed with pain, originating deep in the back of his neck. 

The hum twisted into a throaty growl. 

Azure’s head jerked back up. 

The room looked… wrong. Almost there, but not quite. When Azure narrowed his eyes, the posters looked painted on the walls. The bookshelves were full of book-shaped boxes. The closet doors were wood-rectangles, but he couldn’t see hinges on them anymore.

The room suddenly looked like it had been taped together, like a box made of cardboard. A little like Alice’s most recent project—a homemade dollhouse, made to look like the manor. 

Don’t forget…! a distant voice echoed in his head, just loud enough to be heard over the growling in the room.

A cold sweat broke out along the back of his neck and his heart raced in its well-learned way. 

He knew precisely what that voice meant. 

Then he tightened his arms around Chrysi and remembered where he was. 

Merde.

He squeezed his eyes shut. 

Why was he remembering that now? Meredith’s voice rang in his head painfully.

“Az?” Chrysi mumbled sleepily.

He laid a hand on her head. “Go back to sleep, Chrys.” 

He didn’t know how convincing he sounded. He could barely hear himself over the noise in the room. His heart thrummed hard and fast.

Maybe he should’ve let her wake up. Maybe he should’ve been dragging her out of this room, in its wrongness and dollhouse-edge.

Don’t forget…

Azure flinched again. 

This time, however, the voice didn’t sound as vitriolic as it had when it tore from Meredith all those years ago. Desperation filed off the edge, leaving something blunt and cold in its wake. 

…easy to lose yourself… 

Azure stared at the corner of the room, ice filling his veins. 

That was Oswald’s voice. 

What the hell—?

Save— 

Another voice.

—Chryseis Diana.

The same voice, an echo of earlier that very night.

He slammed against the backboard. 

No. No, no, no, no, no.

He glanced down, but despite the fact that those words had been in Chrysi’s voice, she hadn’t so much as stirred. 

“Merde,” Azure said, laughing shakily at something that terrified the hell out of him. “Merde, merde, merde.”

This wasn’t happening. He was imagining this. Perhaps he’d accidentally fallen asleep, and he was just having a nightmare—

Don’t forget, Meredith’s voice screamed, but it was more of a whisper now, and Oswald’s voice relayed, It’s easy to lose yourself there, and Chrysi whistled long and low and, with a laugh, said, Save—

This is a dream, he realized with a shock electrifying from his spine to his skull.

Azure’s eyes snapped open. 

“—Chryseis Diana,” he gasped. 

He was laying on his back, but when he shifted, he realized he wasn’t in the bed with Chrysi at all. 

He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t in the night light-lit bedroom, familiar even when a dollhouse rendition. 

Twisting about, he stared at a familiar uneven stone wall. Dead grass waved in the wind, brittle enough to break. When he passed his hand over the stalks, however, they didn’t so much as move. 

Azure stood shakily. 

His head should’ve been spinning. He should’ve been cold. He should’ve been a lot of things, but all of them required him to be alive. So he ignored all the should haves and looked around him. 

He stood next to the well, grey skies closing him in like the lid to a casket.

Wrongness weighed over him heavily. It took him a moment to realize his chest had gone completely silent—not in the way of death, but in the way of Chrysi’s. In the way that he could no longer sense her, at the edge of his consciousness. In the way that vibrated with terror and horror and in the way that Azure could not withstand, even when dead. 

Save, her voice said again, a memory fading now that his eyes were open.

“Chryseis,” he repeated again, quieter. “Chrysi.”

Something had happened to her.

[a-smile-dat-spreads-like-buttah]

Aforementioned Mental Health Post

Hey, guys. Sorry. I have been struggling alot lately and haven't known what to do or where to go, I guess. My anxiety has been getting steadily worse, and in December my psychiatrist changed my adhd meds because she (very reasonably, really) thought the meds might be the cause, but it's been about a month now, and things are still getting worse. And on top of that, there has been so much shit happening that I can't keep up with the general anxiety, let alone all the other stuff.

Just to kinda explain the complexity, I guess, here's a little list: (under the read more; tw for family stress, mention of death, gun violence, domestic abuse, suicide, murder, alcoholism... please read cautiously and at your own risk)

-massive ongoing conflict at home leading up to Christmas. I had basically no time off and if I didn't do the Christmas decorating, nobody was going to. I was drowning, but I wasn't doing enough. I will say, tidiness is hard when I'm on a good adhd med, so it had gone berserk, but it was worse because I was drowning and I had no time off. Christmas is one of my actual favorite holidays, and I got tired of it and wanted it over with.

-My sister found out a best friend of hers died while we were hanging out one day. I was at a loss because it's my family job to fix things and she was so heartbroken, obviously, and I couldn't help or do anything. Then she found out that this friend was shot, and either was murdered by her abusive fiancee or comitted suicide.

-The above then caused my mom to relive the trauma of losing HER best friend in a car wreck before we were born. She drinks alot already, but started drinking more, and tries to help by talking about her experiences, which makes things feel like a suffering contest, but my sister is already drowning in her own feelings, so I've been trying to support my sister, but also my mom so she'll stop making things harder for my sister.

-My boss wasn't posting schedules like he's supposed to, and then we find out that WHOOPS BOSS HAS BEEN FORCIBLY EJECTED FROM THE STORE so we now have the fourth new boss that we've had in the one year seven months that I've been here. And old boss' last day was a couple days before New Year's, so it was INSANE.

-I've been struggling with gender, still, and trying to figure things out, especially as I look into going into theatre, where I'm still not sure I have a chance.

-I'm misgendered constantly at work, and if I'm at work, I'm already panicky and overwhelmed but I can't talk to anybody about it. And when I do, they say "oh you only have x amount of time left, then it will be over", but it's never over. It doesn't stop unless I'm asleep.

-At least three of my favorite coworkers (and very good friends) have said that they are considering leaving, ajd one of them, bless her, mentioned dropping evrrything and moving across the country. (I know she has to do what she has to do and all I want is for her to be safe and happy, but I'm so tired of losing friends.)

-And I'm sure there's more, but my break is over. I don't know who to talk to. I DO have a wonderful therapist and a psychiatrist, with whom I have an appointment Monday. I don't feel comfortable (or safe) talking with my parents about things. My sister is drowning in her own problems 45 minutes away and I'm worried as hell about her. And I just feel like I'm bothering everyone.

But I promise I'm trying. And I will keep trying. I'm not going anywhere or anything. But that's what's been going on. Sorry for the length of the post.

[invisiblegarters]

The Trainee Final Thoughts

I sat here for a long time waffling over what I wanted to say about this show because there were things it did so right and I adored it for that. But the things it did wrong really bothered me, and the last two episodes highlighted it in ways that I couldn't ignore.

First of all, the great. I loved the work atmosphere - it felt like places I've worked myself at times, for better and worse. And yes, I'm including the workplace relationships in that. People who think that this was a lot amuse me because I've worked in places where so much more happened on the regular, to the point that it's a wonder any work was getting done. I also really appreciated the little insights into how the industry works from that side of things - a lot of it was stuff I already knew or suspected but it was nice to see it clarified. Ryan's after work bits were always fun.

I also loved the relationships between all the interns - yes, even Ba Mhee and Tae. I have steadily maintained since I started watching that their relationship was believable to me, both the way it broke down and the way that it started up again. And I loved the friendships and the way that the interns grew up as they went along. They all learned things about themselves and became more confident in their abilities and who they wanted to be, and they did it in ways that felt realistic - stumbling a little because that's what we all do, but coming out of each new problem a little smarter and a little more able to handle the next. I also really liked that it wasn't just the interns who were growing - everyone was, a little. Because the honest truth is you don't stop learning just because you're out of school and in the real world, and you don't stop making mistakes, either.

Jane. Jane was amazing almost all the way through. I have never liked Off so much as I did in this role. The way he played Jane spoke to me so much to me - the mix of assuredness in his job but dissatisfaction with the same, the way you could tell even before he said anything that his life had hit a bit of a rut and he had no clue what to do about it. I think in that way Ryan breathed some fresh air into him - dude had no clue what he wanted to do or why but his contentedness to be where he was just helping I think helped Jane see how very not content he actually was. In reassuring Ryan that it was okay to just want to get by doing your day to day (a lesson that I think that many people need to take to heart), he realized that he did not want to do that anymore. I loved the second to last episode for what it did for Jane - how it showcased exactly how long he'd been struggling and pushing it back, seeing someone else be put in front of him and seeing how he thrived. The way his own timidity and need to please shot him in the foot. And how it came to bite him again years later. Great stuff.

The not so great, though...

I am not one who cares much about the romance in this show, but I still wanted more than we got. While I appreciated how realistic the Tae and Ba Mhee relationship was, I did not like Judy being used as a facilitator for a breakup that was coming anyway. I called the way Ba Mhee's admiration of Judy would break down, but the way it happened felt ham fisted. There was no need for that. And while I appreciated that the show did showcase both Ba Mhee and Tae working to communicate better and make changes in their relationship, it still did not feel to me like one that would stick. Apparently I was wrong about that, but it did detract from the show a bit for me.

As for Jane and Ryan, they were cute but I was annoyed by Jane disappearing for five years with no word and then coming back expecting to pick up where they left off, and Ryan just being like "sure." That is not romantic to me in the least. While they had their cute moments (the SHOES. Jane clencing down on things so he wouldn't grab Ryan instead! The cute little dinner scene where they started dating right before Jane took off) I just felt that going back to the relationship (after five years of no contact come ON what even) like they'd never parted was a regression.

I was also very frustrated with Ryan as a character. He had some growth and I appreciate that, but I wanted more out of him. There were some shades of that in the final episode - he seems like a competent creative director - but then it seemed to walk it back the second that Jane appeared again, and I really hated that, although I was pleased to see him being sassy in the last Ryan after work segment. In general though, his utter passivity with Jane - the way he kept turning into this wide eyed ingenue whenever he had to interact with him - annoyed me.

I feel like Ryan began as an observer in his own show - and his own life - and then instead of growing to be less so, he ended it that way, too. And maybe that was the point - it does tie into the theme of accepting doing what you can and not having to be the best or be the stand out to be not only satisfied but happy in life (a plain porridge with side dishes, if you will) - but it didn't work for me personally and thus, lowered my enjoyment of the show overall.

Final Rating: 7/10. I loved the journey but unfortunately I'm an ending person and one that doesn't work for me can really break a show in my eyes. While this show wasn't broken, exactly, it definitely wound up being far less than I was hoping for. Too bad; I really thought it'd be a favorite this year.

[transitional-diaries]

My First Year on Testosterone

I've been on Testosterone for a year, and I want to try to do a write up of all my experiences with it so far.

These are just things I've noticed so far - there's probably a lot of smaller changes I haven't noticed yet.

Month 0-6 First off, I was on half a sachet of Androgel (25mg) for the first six months, as I'm nonbinary and anxious and wanted to go into the process slowly. The first six months nothing big really happened, and I've also heard people say gel works slower than injections do.

My acne on my face got a bit worse, but I've always had terrible hormonal acne, so this was both expected and not that big of a change

My skin and hair got very oily, but it wasn't consistently oily all the time - just like once every one or two weeks for a few days I'd notice my skin being more oily than normal.

The first two months my PMDD got easier to manage, but then it went back to being as bad as it had been before.

I started masturbating usually twice a day instead of once a day, but I'm not sure if that was because of horniness or just because masturbating helps my anxiety and falling asleep.

My upper-lip hair started growing in faster and thicker, though not any longer. I always had upper-lip hair though so it didn't feel like a huge change.

Month 6-9 6 months in I moved to taking a full sachet of Androgel (50mg) every day for 3 months. When I did this I planned from the get-go to go onto injections, as the injections are waaay cheaper than the Androgel (like, a quarter of the price), but stayed on gel for a bit longer because I was going on holiday and didn't want to have to worry about injections while away.

This was when I noticed my first long chest hair and little chin hairs

My voice started changing around this point

Month 9-12 For the last 3 months I've been on injections (0.25ml). I prepare the syringe but get my dad to give me the actual shot because I haven't been able to get myself to do it yet.

Voice has been steadily getting deeper, though it still breaks pretty frequently (and I haven't gotten fully used to talking at a lower register all the time)

I've gotten a lot more chest hairs as well as more hair in various other places on my body too, though nothing as obvious as the chest hairs.

The acne around my jaw has gotten worse, and I've noticed some acne on my shoulders, though not a lot. The skin on my shoulders feel like a different texture than previously (more rough and dry)

My period for the first two months on injections were ROUGH - they were both late and I got worse PMDD and headaches before they started, but the most recent period started a week early with no signs of it coming other than a headache the day before.

MUCH hornier. All the stuff I write lately is so fucking horny.

Noticed I had some bottom growth - my clit is bigger than it was before I started on T, though I had to double check some photos to see because it's not a huge difference.

I've also been slightly more anxious this month, and have gotten more throat-related colds over the last 6 months than I used to (like, I've gotten sick with very similar symptoms 4 times since September) but I don't think that's related to T?

[thetantiger]

Character Insight #12: Phoebelynn

Full Name: Phoebelynn Swiftbreeze Gender: Female (she/her) Race: Kaldorei Class: Rogue Specialization: Outlaw Orientation: Bisexual Relatives: Shadryssa (mother), Mythodoran (father), Alindel (aunt/adopted mother) Age: ~40 Height: 6 ft. Voice reference: Princess Carolyn - Bojack Horseman Theme: Pop! (Cherri's Assault) - PARANOiD DJ, Cycoriot, Krystal LaPorte

[BACKSTORY]

Phoebelynn Swiftbreeze was born to Shadryssa Swiftbreeze in Ashenvale, Kalimdor. Claiming to be too young and naive to properly take care of a child, Shadryssa handed Phoebe over to Shadryssa's sister, Alindel Swiftbreeze. Alindel was a Sentinel Commander at Stardust Spire, also in Ashenvale, for many years, and took care of Phoebe and raised her. Phoebe knew Alindel was biologically her aunt from a very young age, and that her "real parents" were out of the picture, but she called Alindel "Mom" or "Mother" anyway, and Alindel frequently referred to her as her daughter. Alindel raised Phoebe to be very independent, witty and confident, and Phoebe's infectious and spry attitude attracted to her a few friends, the first being a male Kaldorei jokester around her age named Shujiinko Nightwolf. Phoebe and Shujiinko were inseparable for the longest time, and were often a duo of sorts, eventually moving in together in Darnassus for efficiencies on rent and pranking their neighbours for the hell of it. Another friend was one Fauna Leafbreeze, a Sentinel working under Alindel also stationed in Ashenvale. Alindel considered Shujii and Fauna her adoptive children as well, in their own way, and would gladly house them or just all-around help and support when needed. Despite knowing better, Alindel couldn't help but consider Fauna her favorite Sentinel.

Phoebelynn's taste of paradise, however--hanging in a trio of mischievous young Kaldorei--would sadly not last forever. Suddenly, during a border skirmish against the Horde at Talondeep Pass, both Fauna and Alindel fell in battle. The former by being shot in the back of the head with an arrow whilst delivering a message to Alindel on the battlefield, and the latter while charging into the fight to seek justice for her champion Sentinel. Phoebelynn and Shujiinko were both devastated, and the loss would shake the foundation of their friendship and change their connection forever.

Despite the hardships, Shujiinko was there for Phoebelynn. As a matter of fact, he was the only one she really had left in her life. He comforted her through the loss and they became closer, with both of them even developing romantic feelings for one another--but refusing to admit it. Their silence only made things worse, however. Phoebelynn had taken up assassination work in the meantime to make ends meet, working freelance as a mercenary for any sketchy client to get someone taken down (though Phoebe did have her limits, and usually kept her work to killing corrupted high-ranking members of society or abusers). Due to a sort of fear of losing the people she loved, she became more and more distant, being away from Darnassus for increasing amounts of time. Puzzled and a bit worried, Shujiinko would often question her why she had gotten home a day or more late, or ask why she was being so standoffish, which Phoebe responded to by only becoming more distant. The tension rose steadily over time, and eventually hit a breaking point that would drive a wedge between Phoebe and Shujiinko.

Phoebelynn was out on another of her assassination missions one day. She was late coming home to Shujiinko again, but that was normal at this point. They had gotten into an argument and she stormed out of their homes, but she was ready to approach him again and face the real reason she'd been avoiding him more and more all this time.

...But as she approached the shores of Kalimdor, it became apparent that sneaking through the woods of Darkshore was going to be a necessity for her. Sounds of war and stalking Forsaken surrounded the area. Were the Horde planning an all-out attack..?

And then, she saw it. Teldrassil, the World Tree that Darnassus called home, was fully ablaze. She immediately felt sick. Shujiinko was up there. Passage to the World Tree was blocked, though. Kaldorei were fleeing from the burning city in panicked frenzies, though as she skimmed through them, Phoebe could not find Shujiinko. She did not leave the site for days, despite the danger of the Horde's presence. Risking her life was worth it to find her best friend. She deprived herself of food, water and rest for hours upon hours at a time, but there were no signs of him. Not for a long time.

Phoebe was fully convinced he had perished with the World Tree, just as so many of their kind did that day. Grief-stricken and lost, all Phoebe had left was her work. She focused on that, taking her vitriol and anger out on those that had dared cross anyone willing to pay enough. The nature of this career, however, had her covering every track, hiding everywhere she'd been. It'd be nearly impossible to find her, if someone were looking for her.

Which they were.

Shujiinko, as a matter of fact, had not died in the burning of Teldrassil. He had escaped, barely alive, after frantically scanning the city for Phoebelynn. He ran into a group of people called the Shadows of the Faithful, an organization dedicated to protecting itself and its allies from threats. Shujiinko asked for their help and they gladly accepted, trailing Phoebe all the way to Winterspring. A Bronze Drake that was part of the organization named Yamaladormi was also helping on the sidelines, unbeknownst to the rest of the group. She was harassing Phoebelynn, purposefully making the Kaldorei angry at her so the rogue would follow her to--you guessed it--Winterspring. There, at Everlook, an unsuspecting Phoebelynn reunited with Shujiinko.

Phoebe was ecstatic, to say the least. Not only was her best friend back, but he had evolved into something more. Atop a mountain peak on their own they confessed their feelings for one another that had been stewing for far too long, and agreed to being in a romantic relationship with one another. Furthermore, upon Phoebe also joining the Faithful, she was surprised to discover an old friend--Fauna! Or, "Frost," rather, as she now went by that name. She was undead now, having been raised as a Third Generation Death Knight and was momentarily under Arthas Menethil's control before the Ebon Blade broke free and went against the Lich King alongside the forces of the Alliance and the Horde. Since then, she had been serving the Ebon Blade, and was even a founding member of the Faithful. Phoebe was overjoyed to have reunited with Frost, even if she was a little different now.

Serving the Shadows of the Faithful wasn't an easy feat, though. Many enemies threaten the livelihoods of this interconnected group of allies, and Shujiinko's life was threatened multiple times. Phoebe, of course, was always right beside him, ready to butcher their enemies. Something that did strike her though was a certain void priestess, the ghost of a former member of the Twilight's Hammer cult looking to restore its glory and gain the favor of the Old Gods, as well as seek revenge on those she had perceived to have wronged her in life. Her name was none other than Shadryssa Swiftbreeze.

The realization of who Shadryssa really was shook Phoebelynn. She had never really thought much of her biological mother, to be honest, nor was really curious as to what she was like. Alindel was her true mother through and through, and that was enough for her. But Alindel never told her the realities of how horrible Shadryssa really was. Maybe the Sentinel Captain still had even the slightest spark of faith in her little sister.

Phoebelynn, for one, did not. A newer member of the Faithful named Tree Gnarlbranch had once been Shadryssa's partner, but opened up about how she had abused them, verbally, mentally, emotionally and sexually. Phoebe was not one to get sentimental towards arbitrary connections like blood. She had struck down abusers before and had no problems doing it again, and so the Faithful defeated Shadryssa.

In the meantime, Shujiinko was acting.. standoffish. Phoebe figured she was sort of a hypocrite for thinking so, but he was. In truth, Shujiinko was dealing with his own past traumas, and opened up a little bit more about his early childhood, which was the only window of life Phoebe wasn't there for. She understood, was there for him, and consoled him, but also made sure to let him know his distant behavior was bothering her. She wasn't going to let problems sit and not be spoken about anymore. He listened to her, and promised to spend more time with her--which, he did. Over the span of a few more months they were practically attached at the hip, growing even closer and learning to understand one another even better. Eventually, Shujiinko even proposed, and Phoebe said yes.

There was more to be discovered about her origins, though. A group of Wardens interested in the Faithful's successes came to investigate them (partially so they could ensure the Faithful's power and numbers would not be a threat to Azeroth, but the Faithful didn't need to know that). One of which was their captain, Mythodoran Talonstrike, who saw something strikingly familiar in Phoebelynn. It was when her last name, "Swiftbreeze," came up, that the stoic Captain uncharacteristically began to panic, almost as if a trauma response.

To some of his fellow Wardens as well as a select few members of the Faithful, Mythodoran admitted that he, too, had been involved romantically with Shadryssa when he was much younger, and had undergone a very similar experience to Tree. He left to become a Warden Captain solely to escape her. But Shadryssa never told him she had had a daughter, or even that she was pregnant--yet Phoebe's resemblance to him was undeniable. Pale skin, leafy green hair, and an attitude that could kill--as well as a fighting style that often killed. A chemist that was an ally to the Faithful ran a DNA test, and it solidified it. Phoebelynn was Mythodoran's daughter. Shujiinko was here for this conversation and, when Mythodoran left, immediately told Phoebe. Because, like.. obviously.

Mythodoran, however, had different plans. He had only come here to investigate the Faithful, purely for the job, but now he was interconnected back to the same woman who had traumatized him and hurt him for so long. Phoebe looked like him, yes--but she also looked like her, and it shook him to his core. He tried to run, run like he had all those years ago and escape what had brought him back to the threat, but Felshredder Nightwind, a fellow member of the Faithful and a close friend of both Phoebe and Shujiinko's convinced him not to (maaaaayyyyybe through a little bit of violence). In the end, Mythodoran returned to the Faithful.

Since then, Mythodoran and Phoebelynn have been talking more and more, improving their relationship. At first, Phoebe was very opposed to even the concept of Mythodoran out of sheer principle--she viewed Alindel as her only parent since Alindel was the one that was there for her growing up, and nobody else. On top of that, Mythodoran had just tried to abandon her. But as they spoke more, they began to understand one another. Phoebe supposed she couldn't blame the sheer fear he held for Shadryssa, nor the fact he was never even told Phoebe existed in the first place. Mythodoran on the other hand was getting more and more comfortable with even facing Phoebelynn, and when Shujiinko's life was momentarily threatened again by an enemy of the Faithful, he was there for her, fighting alongside his daughter to protect the man that made her happy with diligence and determination. Phoebelynn also asked Mytho for information on Alindel, since they had interacted a few times, and he was happy to share the stories, which comforted Phoebe.

Phoebelynn's life has been far from easy. From tragedy to tragedy, though, one thing has remained consistent--she has always pressed on. Always surviving, always finding a way to eventually thrive again, always persevering.. just as she knows Alindel would want her to do.

And that--that was enough worth living for.

[THOUGHTS]

HOOO boy, in case you couldn't tell, Phoebe's story is.. kind of all over the place lmao! I absolutely adore her though, she's such a punk ass little shit and I absolutely love her through and through, she's so fucking neat to me. She's a badass and she was super cool to write about here! I hope y'all enjoyed! I've been kind of on a burst with these recently because I just randomly feel the motivation to actually write them. ADHD do be like that lmao

[ART]

Body ref Outlaw rogue spec art Thirst art Phoebe X Shujii ship doodle Random Phoebe piece lol

[kiame-sama]

Night and Day

Warnings; yandere behavior, yandere character, soulmate au, yandere soul mate, yandere Chrollo, soulmate Chrollo, autistic reader, descriptive language, panic attacks, sensory overload, kidnapping, picky eater reader, mention of masking, slight infantilism from the Troupe towards reader, non con touching, stimming, neurodivergent behavior,

~~~~~~~~

The walls seemed to loom inward, looking down at you as the far too warm and fleshy bodies around you grabbing at your arms. Each touch being far too much given your situation, your panic steadily rising up as your heart thundered in your chest. Every breath or sniff or even the footsteps of those around you feeling magnified as eyes stared coldly on you.

When a large hand wrapped around your much smaller wrist, you couldn't stop yourself from wrenching it away. As the hand made another grab at you, instincts kicked in and chose your actions for you.

The sting of the gravel through your pants on your soft knees was nothing compared to how badly you wanted these people to stop touching you. Each hand stinging like flames on your skin, leaving you reeling away from their grasp. Ducking your head down and covering your ears with your hands, you wound up in the fetal position, hyperventilating and ready to lash out at any contact.

"Uvo, stop!"

Too loud. Did they really have to yell? The silence that followed the shout was just as deafening as the cacophony of sound from moments ago.

"What?" "Don't touch her." "I get she's boss' soulmate, but if she won't come quietly-" "That's not the problem!" "Then what is!?" "She's autistic, you're just making it worse by grabbing her." "The hell does that mean?"

There was a moment of silence before a sudden gunshot rang out, making you wince from the sudden sound. You truly hadn't expected someone to fire a gun in such a small space and your ears continued to ring despite how you still had them covered. None of the others responded to the shot, as if they had completely expected it.

"Then what the hell are we supposed to do?" "I will handle it."

The smooth dark voice that answered the giant feral man was slightly soothing to your distressed mind, as if you knew it from somewhere you couldn't place. When a pair of shoes entered your line of sight in front of you, you decided your hands would be more useful in helping you scramble back instead of covering your ears. Your assailant did not move even when you backed into a wall, eyes darting in search of movement towards you.

When no one moved in your direction, you worked up the nerve to glance at the face of whomever stood before you. Pale skin paired with deep black hair, cold steel colored eyes staring at you as if trying to read you and your reactions. You couldn't help the way you immediately averted your gaze when those eyes locked with yours, feeling far too invasive and tense.

With slow, easy strides, the man began to approach, pausing whenever you tensed up in fear until he made it about four feet away from you. Your breathing had picked up again from the close proximity with this stranger who acted as if he knew you, invading your space so casually. He crouched slowly, eyes still trained on you as if he was waiting for something.

"To think, you had been acting so behaved before this moment. It seems extreme stress makes your break your facade... Isn't it suffocating though? To pretend to be one of the mindless flock of people when you couldn't be farther from the sheep that consider themselves normal... Surely you must be tired of the charade by now?" "... My name isn't Shirley."

He seemed surprised a moment, before he smiled and chuckled softly, as if you had said the damndest thing he had heard in a while.

"The adverb 'surely' not the proper noun 'Shirley'." "..." "(Y/n), I want you to look me in the eyes." "... I can't." "Just look at me." "I can't." "(Y/n)-" "Stop asking! I can't do it!"

You once again covered your ears, tightly shutting your eyes as the thought of looking this familiar sounding man in the eyes truly made your heart sink and squirm. A long moment passed before you noticed something interesting, the people who had been so eager to snatch you and throw you into a van had not laid a hand on you after the gunshot. Not even the strange man.

Your eyes hesitantly opened as you tried to take stock of your surroundings. The familiar sounding man had remained where he was, crouching in front of you and hadn't reacted to your shout and refusal to obey. If anything, he seemed far less put off than you did at that moment.

"Alright, you don't have to look at my eyes, but I do want you to listen. Do I seem familiar to you? Something you can't place but you can't ignore either."

It took a moment before you nodded your head, not wanting to try and force words out of your mouth when you knew you'd be unable to with the current state you were in. This seemed to please the man as you saw a small smile pull at his lips in your peripheral, he hadn't blinked yet.

"Do you know why that is?"

Another shake of your head, this time back and forth.

"You know of soul mates, yes? Quite the popular way of finding lovers these days, even if most people never meet their soulmate. You are my soul mate. I know you. I have known you for years and truly wondered if I would ever find you. You have nothing to fear from me, or them."

He nodded his head towards the still statuesque group of people that stood unmoving around you. Truly, you appreciated that they had very muted or subtle movements, meaning they took less of your attention than they would if they were idly moving.

Outside a crow cawed and the sound of little chicks broke out in excited and hungry chirps.

"... Leave me alone." "I can't do that. I've spent much longer on finding you than I have anything else in my life. Now that I have found you, I can't leave you or let you go." "I want to go home." "You don't have one anymore. I am your home now." "No." "No?" "Home is safe. Comfortable. Familiar. The same always. Not you. I want to go home." "That can't happen." "Why?" "Because you need to be with me." "Why?" "Because we are soulmates."

You sat in silence for a long while, mind racing and leaping anxiously in your head. Finger tips drumming on your arm, shifting your legs uncomfortably beneath you, pangs of hunger tingling through your stomach, eyes warily tracing the space you are in.

A dog is barking about a block away. Maybe someone looked at it wrong?

The baby birds aren't chirping anymore.

"If you are hungry we can get something to eat-" "No." "Why not?" "It- I don't- anything picked up or ordered won't be right." "What makes you so sure?" "You don't know me." "Want to bet on that?" "I want to go home."

Despite how you tried to resist him and his questions, he remained quite patient with you, seeming more interested in you the more you squirmed. He was like a cat gleefully toying with a mouse, prodding here and there to figure you out. You didn't like that he still had yet to blink.

The dog stopped barking.

"(Y/n) I won't lie, it will likely take time for you to adjust to me, but I refuse to give up regardless of how difficult you may try to make it." "I'm not difficult, and I'm not a child that needs to be coddled or scolded. I'm... Different. I know what makes me calm. I know what makes me happy. You are taking those things away from me and expecting me to be okay with it. I'm not okay with it."

For a moment, the man seemed surprised at your rebuttal, finally blinking for the first time. He hummed in a soft contemplative way as he took in your words, resuming his extended stare. After a moment of silence, he chuckled softly, standing up and smiling at you, a dark glint in his eyes.

"I knew you were quite intelligent when I first saw you, masking yourself among the common sheep. You may not like it, but I plan on destroying that mask you hide behind. It's time you are freed from the shackles of this rotten society."

[katelynnwrites]

pairing: Alexia Putellas x f!Reader

warnings: this one is a slightly angsty one

word count: 1058

summary: alexia’s dating you but some offhand comments make you think that she would be better off and happier with jenni

a/n: based off this request



You’re The One I Love

The first thing that you feel as you wake up is soft, gentle kisses being pressed onto your face.

Instantly, you smile because there was only one person who would be waking you up like that.

Said person laughs as you open your eyes, pausing her kisses.

‘Morning.’ She whispers, a look of complete adoration in her eyes.

‘Morning Ale.’

Alexia grins, brushing her lips against yours once again before getting off the bed.

It’s then that you see she’s already fully dressed in her training kit and socks.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’ve got an early training session but I didn’t want to leave without telling you good morning. Or that I love you…’ She explains.

Smiling at her, you give her a little wave, ‘Mission accomplished. I’ll see you in a bit then. Love you.’

Alexia ducks her head to hide her blush.

‘Te amo.’

******

It’s still early when you walk onto the training pitch, passing a group of trainers. You don’t recognise most of them, thinking that they must be new.

‘Did you hear? Jenni and Alexia broke up.’ One of them loudly says.

‘I thought they were really good together. I can’t imagine them being with anyone else. I know that Alexia really loved Jenni.’ Another adds.

You frown, their words making you feel sick to your stomach. You’d always felt slightly insecure about your relationship with Alexia. Overhearing their words only made it worse.

‘They’re made for each other, dating anyone else would be a mistake. It’s pretty obvious that they’re soulmates.’

The last comment hurt the most, a trainer you recognised saying it with a small shrug.

You can’t help but think that they may be right. She was the winner of the Ballon D’or and you were well…you. She had already won countless awards while you were just beginning to gain recognition.

The fact that she had wanted to keep your relationship a secret didn’t help. Sometimes it almost felt like she was ashamed of you.

******

During training, Alexia partnered up with Jenni and from across the field, you watched as they laughed together. You knew their break up had been mutual and they had agreed to be friends but seeing them so happy? It was like the world was telling you Alexia was better off with Jenni.

Turning back to your ball, you kick it and watch it fly way off target. That’s how the rest of the session goes, you miss every shot on goal and lose possession of the ball far too easily.

At the end of it, you’re pulled aside by the coach who tells you to clean your act up if you want to be put on the roster for the weekend game against Atletico.

******

Alexia tries to approach you as you leave training but you brush her off, returning to your apartment for the first time since she had asked you to move in with her.

Your lease had yet to expire but the house no longer felt like home. Home was no longer a place but a person. One who you steadily avoided for the next few days.

******

‘Did I do something?’ Alexia demands as soon as you walk into the locker room on match day.

You flinch and glance around, looking for an escape. For some reason you two were the only ones there.

‘No.’ You whisper.

Alexia swallows hard, ‘Then why have you been ignoring me? I love you and I need to know if we’re okay. If you’re okay.’

‘I-’

Leila and Mapi walk in then, laughing loudly and making you freeze.

Alexia grabs your face in her hands, smashing her lips onto yours.

‘We’ll continue this later.’

The Melis stare in shock and you do too as Alexia runs out the room.

******

Somehow you play well during the game and Alexia exceptionally as usual.

It’s after the match that you’re nervous, your stomach dropping as Alexia tugs you out into the empty car park.

‘Something’s bothering you mi amor. And it’s causing our relationship to suffer.’

Alexia had always been straightforward, direct almost in the way she conveyed her thoughts and feelings. It was one of the things you loved about her.

‘Please tell me what it is.’ The older girl grabs your hands and holds them loosely between the both of you.

‘I think we should break up.’ You whisper.

‘What?’ Alexia gasps in shock, letting go of your hands and taking a step back.

‘Do you not love me anymore?’ She shakily says.

‘That’s not-I love you. I always will Ale.’ You stammer.

‘Then why?’ Alexia’s close to tears, staring at you as she tries her best to understand.

‘You would be better off with Jenni. She’s so much better than me Alexia. She’s so much more deserving of you.’

Your words make her feel like all the air’s been knocked out of her.

‘What? Where is this coming from? Jenni and I broke up for a reason. It’s you that I want. It’s you that makes me the happiest I’ve ever been. It’s you that I’m so desperately in love with. You’re kind and good, there’s no one else who deserves me like you do.’ Alexia’s answer is fierce and she grips your shoulders, willing you to believe her.

You stare at her and she whispers, ‘If you’re going to break up with me, do it because you don’t feel anything for me anymore. Not because of such a stupid reason.’

The conviction and emotion in her voice is the last straw and you find yourself crying.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Alexia.’

Your girlfriend envelops you is a tight hug, holding you close as she softly reassures you, ‘It’s okay. I’m sorry you ever felt that way. Just please don’t scare me like that again. Talk to me because I’ll always fight for us.’

You nod, head buried in Alexia’s shoulder and holding onto her like she was your lifeline. In a way, she really was.

Alexia herself is crying but she kisses the top of your head protectively.

‘I love you. I love you Alexia.’

Turning your head, you kiss her slowly, letting her feel how much you love her.

She must have because her hands travel down to your waist as she kisses you back with just as much passion.

‘I love you too.’

Spanish Translation:

te amo - i love you

mi amor - my love