#uh oh the coughing has gotten worse

[reallifepotato]

me: i should take some medicine before i feel worse

also me: i don’t need to take medicine i don’t feel that bad

[safination]

Partners in Death...and Life.

Part I: Radio's not dead

| Part 2: Radio Will Be Dead if He Doesn’t Explain Himself. | Masterlist| ao3 Pairings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem! reader, established relationship, human!alastor, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) acroace!alastor

"Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow. You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.” “Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?” You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” [Or after a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping . . . *checks notes* . . . the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason.]

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

You pass the tissue box—the third one already.

Your patient blows his nose, rubbing snot off his snout. He has to stretch his arms to reach his nose. Alligators are known for their long snouts. His nostrils flare when he sniffles.

Used tissue is discarded on the pastel-pink floor despite a pastel-pink trashcan stationed by his webbed feet. It’s been the same pattern for the last fifteen-minutes. Tissue, Sneeze. Floor.

“—and I have this . . . uh . . . like this real bad itch on my eye. I keep rubbing and rubbing but it doesn’t do shit! My eyesight’s gotten worse—It’s already fucked up but this is just different. My roommate hissed at me about getting blood all-over the carpet floors if I kept scratching my scales. Oh. Oh! I’ve been snee—achew!” Alligator snot lands on the pastel-pink floors of the clinic.

Your eyes twitch.

He takes another tissue and waves it around his head. “The top of my head is killing me. Ya’know where that is right?” He blows his nose. “It’s right here,” he says, inching his head closer to you. “The last nurse I went to was blind as a bat! Literally, she had the wings and everything. It was kinda hot.”

“I’m well aware of the location of your head,” you say. “You can lean back now.”

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Pastel pink floor.

Underneath the mix of feathers and hair strands, the bustling of the waiting room catches your ears. Someone curses, booming and violent at another waiting patient. A cough, a sigh, a barf. Painful curses erupt after that. You bring a hand to your ears, wincing as your eardrum ring. Pentagon City’s best and biggest hospital needs better doors, but those lazy sloth fuckers at the top invested at the first material they found.

The alligator sneezes into another tissue. He flicks it with his wrist, and it hits the pastel-pink wallpaper adorned with closed eyes. Maybe Belphegor should be the sin of Pride instead, considering all items are covered in her symbol.

“I really feel like t’was those exterminators ya’know?”

You do not, in fact, know. Half of what this young man says is incomprehensible.

His snout sways left to right when he shakes his head. “It’s only my second one, and this was a close call, and uh . . . well, ever since then I’ve been like this. One even got to my roommate. “

You hum, leaning back on your chair. You should petition to for thicker doors. And while you’re at it, better interior design, and better paint—something that isn’t pastel pink.

“Ugh, and it’s so not cool that this new roommate of mine’s been shedding since the day they moved in,” he says.  “Speaking of shedding, do you think it’s because of those exterminators? Do you think they like spread some sort of weird pollen to make us sick? They’re totally the type to do that.”

You take your pen—your pastel-fucking-pink pen—and poke his alligator sinuses.

Hell does have its own brand of humor. You gave your 20s to studying human anatomy, only to die and find yourself with the need to re-learn the boring part of biology.  (Two books on reptiles, four on mammals, and fifteen on sea creatures.)

“YEOWCH!” His teeth stick out again. You do not know what this means.  “What kind of nurse ar—“

“Doctor.”

“—you? That’s not the top of my head!”

You push back on of the feathers on your head. “Your roommate ‘hissed’ at you? And they’ve been shedding fur for two weeks now.?

“Yeah . . . ?”

You stare at him. “Have you ever considered that you’re allergic to your roommate?”

“Ooooooooooh,” he says. ‘Yeah, I was allergic to cats back when I was alive.”

You grab your (pastel-fucking-pink) prescription pad from the desk drawer. “Control it with some antihistamine. Four pills every 12 hours.”

His teeth start showing. You’re not sure if he’s frowning. It’s hard to tell. “Pills, really?”

You toss what you were writing into the massive pile of germs, mucus, and tissue. “I can give you a nasal spray. I’ll flush the mucus then insert a spray that prevents build-up,” you say. “They last for two weeks and then you’ll need to come back.”

He grabs the last tissue from the box. It still lands on your floor. “Ma’am nurse, do you have any more of this?”

You sigh and reach for a fourth box of tissue. “It’s doctor,” you say. “We keep nasal sprays here in the clinic. I’ll just grab one and you’ll be out in fifteen minutes.”

“No can do,” he says. “Before I died, my coach told me to stay away from that non-organic shit. It’ll mess us up real bad apparently. All those steroids.”

“You have phencyclidine sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Pheny—what?”

“ . . . Angel Dust.”

“The porn star?”

“The drug. You have drugs sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Come on, nurse—”

Threads erupt from your fingers. It snakes around his wrist, coiling and twisting.

He jerks his arm away and cries out when you tighten your hold. Your threads wrap around his legs. It pulls against his waist. Magic binds his arms, and tightens around every joint he owns.

You stop, only when the alligator struggles, trashing against the clinic chair.  His teeth bare and he snaps at whatever he can reach. You tug on one of the thousands of strings digging into his skin. His jaw snaps shut, and it will stay shut. Another tug and his back stretches to straighten. You move your fingers as if a piano laid before you, and he sits up like a good puppet.

Another month of clinic dury will be your punishment if those sloth from down below are lucid enough to do their jobs.Sadly, killing this idiot would have you suspended for three months.

“I am a doctor,” you tell him. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

The tension on your strings marks even the few scales scattered on his body. He’s a real idiot if he continues to struggle.

Delicate movements of your fingers bring him forward, his back still strained, and tilt his snout at a forty-five-degree angle.

Your threads elongate as you move toward the clinic drawers. It loosens around you, careful at keeping you able to move freely. It’s one of the handier parts of your magic. You shake your hands and the threads detach. It sticks to the floor to keep the alligator as your puppet. You scrub your hands thoroughly before taking the nasal spray and filling with with distilled water.

You place on nitrite gloves. It’s always best when dealing with bodily substances such as mucus.

You place a pan underneath and jam the tube up his nostrils, hosing his sinuses with water. The tension of his binding keeps him still. (If you ignore his whining, then that’s your business. The brawl you heard from the waiting room drowned it all out anyway.) He starts breathing better when all the snot flushes to the pan.

“Finished,” you say with satisfaction. You grab your prescription pad and write one for a nasal spray. “I cleared the mucus buildup so you shouldn’t feel any more headaches. The spray will keep your nose clear for as long as you use it. Come back if you start to feel any discomfort. For the rashes just get cream.” You point at the pastel pink door. “The exit’s right there.”

The threads dissolve in the air. He rubs his wrist, trying to soothe the red marks that your strings bring. You hand him the signed prescription.

He doesn’t close the door on his way out.

The broom and dustpan are hidden in one of the taller cabinets—pastel-pink like everything else in the room.

(Well, not everything. The radio sitting on the corner of the counter gives a splash of red into the room.)

You sweep the tissues into the dustpan. Your control over your strings is much more proficient when living beings are involved. Inanimate objects whip around when you use your magic on them, and radios have been difficult to purchase recently. It’s more convenient to clean using your own hands.

“Tagatha,” you call out when the floor is clean. “You can bring in the next one in.”

Silence is your reply.

“Tagatha?”

Your ears quirk. The noises are faint—an occasional cough, silent weeping, and muted voices coming from the television. You peek out the door, eyeing the crowd formed around the corner of the hall where a pAstel-pInK television mounts on the wall.

The door closes with a faint click. You sink into the cushions of the office chair. Vox’s yapping bore you. It was probably some man-child debate about the new extermination date.

Although . . . those serialized dramas he produces, sadly, are interesting enough to be consumed. If asked for your honest opinion, you’d tell them that they were a hot pile of smelly garbage, but you like to leave it playing mindlessly in the background.

Your husband will throw the television out the window the first chance he’ll get.

Too bad he’s occupied.

You grab a piece of paper from the drawer. Management is forcing you to write a thousand-word formal apology. There are about three-hundred words left to write.

Getting caught dissecting the dead bodies from the morgue is a mistake that won’t be repeated. One dead body and suddenly those lazy fuckers have diligence weaved into their DNA.

The body was already dead, and it’s not every day a chance to poke around a chimera’s entrails appears.

The sinner would contribute to something meaningful at least. You’re stuck on clinic duty until you dot your last sentence, and not a moment before

The coffee’s cold now, but consumable.

You reach across the desk, feeling for the knob of the radio. You twist until you feel the clink. Music fills the air—the same twenty-five songs on a loop. You stare at the radio for a moment. Just . . . a small . . . single moment.

 . . . On your kitchen counter, that second cup of coffee should be cold by now. It’s always cold when you trudge through the door. It’s been cold and untouched for years.

Yet, without fail, that second cup you brew will always be waiting for its owner.

“Salutations!” You snap your head to the radio. “Good to be back on the air.”

Huh? The feather on your hair preens. You swipe the radio, your hold on it feather-light.  You turn the knob responsible for volume. The static noise stings your eardrums.

“—ile since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast. Sinners rejoice!”

Murmurs erupt outside your door. You blink and find yourself slamming it open. One foot after another, one step after the other, brings you closer to the television. Your shoulder throbs when you bump into someone, but you keep pushing until you see Vox and his tacky suit enlarged on the screen.

“What a dated voice!”

A reply comes from the radio. “Instead of a clout-chasin’ mediocre video podcast.”

Your feather rises higher. Laughter escapes your lips, it leaves a dry taste. That . . . that ṁ̵̭͔̲̙̦͎̝̜̲̠͙͇̂̏̃̐̂̓̊̂̕̕o̴̢̭̝̙̤̬͚͐̅͗̌̇̂̌̕ţ̷̛̝̂̿h̶̯̟̙̲̘̟̟͙͔̔̋͊̋̿̐͘͜͜ę̶̗̰͔̫͔̗̝̘̻̰̓̓̈̊͜r̵̨̂̏f̶͖̻̱̺͕̹̫̭̠̚u̸̬̺̯̟̦͖̅̂́́̌̚͝ć̴̖͙̰͈͕̉͌̈́́̈̔̀̉̍́͜͠ḳ̴̨̧̗̫̗͖̞̟̑͌̂̀̈́̀͆͒ę̷̛͓̼̟͍̆̆́͆̾͛͝r̵̹̮̤͓̗̹̈́̎̉͌̾͌̏͑̋̚͝.

“Doctor!” Tagatha screeches when she spots you. “I am so sorry. I’ll bring in the next one right away!”

Your eyes are trapped by the screen and your ears by the radio. “It’s alrig—”

Tagatha grabs the closest person to her and shoves you back into the clinic. The door slams shut just as everything goes dark and silent. (Well, it’s not completely dark, once your eyes adjust you can still see as if the lights were open. Another small perk to this body). Your radio, along with the power, stopped working.

“Oh my!” Your new patient bleats.

“We have generators,” you find yourself saying. “I’m sure the power will come on in a minute.”

The cushions of the chair do little to ease your nerves. You pat your hair, trying to get it in control. A pile of feathers starts forming on the PASTEL-FUCKING PINK FLOORS. T̴̹̜͇̅̅͗͜H̶̰̗̄Ơ̶̡̡̻̗͖̋̎̓̓S̴̨͉̝̻͋̽̆́͆Ẹ̸̡̢͐͐͠ ̷̨͚̞̙̀͒̆̆͊Ŭ̵͕̲̪͇͓͐̚G̷̹̝̦̬͊͒Ḷ̶̭͓̎̏̈͘Y̶͇̟̍̉̚ ̷̟͎͕̞͂͑̂̇À̶͉̍̄̈̚S̸͖��͕͑̏͛̈́S̶͚̤̼̯̀ ̶̻͆P̷̬̝̉Ä̵͕́͊̌S̸̢͍̆̓͝Ṫ̸͖̲̠̾̉͜͝E̷̺͆L̷͖̏͐́͝ ̶̛̟̽͝P̷̪̔͜I̴̹̥̹͖̮͒́̏͘N̸̳̙̼̾̆̿Ķ̶̟̞̜̉͊̓̂̚ ̵͈̬̃̿̄̈́̋F̵̨̨̼̫̘͘L̸̙̠͎̓̆́O̷̧̘͚͉̤̓O̷̤̟̱̼̤͋̍͐R̷̰̝̓͌̌Ș̵̲̝̈́ “Excuse me?” You will paint this room red with the blood of management.  You tap your foot again, and again, and again. “ . . .Doctor?”

Your neck snaps in her direction, eyes wide and staring.

“The . . . uh . . . the lights are back.”

You blink at your patient—huh, she’s a goat. “I apologize,” you say, smiling. “Please, tell me, what brings you here in this hellish afternoon.”

She holds up her bleeding arm. “It’s been like this since the extermination,” she explains. “Some angle got me. Luckily, I was able to run off before I was finished. I thought it would heal on its own like it usually does but it just hasn’t. It keeps bleeding.”

“Well, angel-induced injuries are my specialty,” you say. Tucked away to the side, a mirror hangs. You catch your reflection, and you blow your hair away from your vision, your red sclerae “This will cost you. Injuries caused by angels are . . . difficult to stitch, but not impossible—not for me at least.”

“Oh, yes.” She bleats one more “Dear God, where are my manners? I’m sorry can I ask for your name?”

Your smile widens. “Of course. I’m—"

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow.

You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.”

“Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?”

You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” He steps closer to take a peek. You watch him as his eyes gloss over your matches then your needle driver, then the alcohol lamp. His smile wobbles when he lands on the syringe.

You move the tray, dropping it down on the little cart by the examination chair.

“There’s no need to worry.” You beam at him. “I have the steadiest hands in this city.”

“Hmmmm,” he says. “You must be the other doctor then.”

“Not at all.” You point to your uniform, where the initial ‘NP’ is embroidered next to your name. “Just the nurse practitioner.”

He takes a closer look and reads your name. “Then I have no reason to fret. None at all! In my experience, doctors usually have their noses buried in their books. It’s the nurses that actually get the hands-on experience.” Alastor’s hands move when he talks. “What’s such a talented practitioner doing in such a dinged-up clinic?”

“Management caught me in the morgue dissecting the dead—It’s how I practice my stitches.”

“Really, now?”

You bark a laugh. “Not at all—I’m far too smart to get caught.”

“A witty sense of humor and a steady hand! I am in good hands, indeed.”

You take a seat on the rolling stool. “Yes, yes,” you say, waving your wrist. “You make fine compliments, Sir. I’ll be sure to be extra gentle.” You point towards the examination chair. “But, please hurry to the chair. You’re dripping blood on my floor.”

Alastor glances down. His eyebrows furrow as he glares at where the blood seeps from his sleeve . . . almost . . . almost as if he’s angry. “My apologies,” he says, allowing his blood to drip to the floor.

Alastor shrugs off his coat. It’s rare to see such a dark red—only a few choose such a color. You hum. Alastor is a well-dressed gentleman. Lovely. Those are your favorite kind. He drapes his coat over the spare chair, ignoring the coat racks the clinic provides.

You turn away and wheel yourself closer to one of the drawers on the counter. It takes two attempts until you find the stash of sterile gloves. “Take your seat when you’re ready,” you say. “I’ll take a look once you are.” You place the gloves on the little green cart, right next to your tray.

Alastor takes his seat, landing with an audible ‘humph’. He smiles at you, sleeves rolled and arm ready. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You hold your palm out. “May I?”

His smile wobbles—it’s a small change in expression that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t looking. “Of course.”

Along his forearm, a long and sharp cut wounds him. The sight of grime that covers the opened abrasions makes you inwardly cringe. You need to clean these as soon as possible. “Why was this not checked sooner?” You rest his hands on the armrest and use your foot to bring the cart closer. “This looks old, and not at all like a freshly deep cut. I prefer it when patients come to me with fresh wounds.”

You grab a bowl with distilled water and pour in a sterile solution. “I assumed it would heal on its own,” he tells you. “It was quite a surprise when it did not.”

“I need to clean this before you die of infection.” You dip his arm into the bowl. He remains silent, but you feel the tension of his muscles under your fingers. “Hopefully there will be no next time, but just in case, next time, please don’t wait a month.”

He laughs, and there, you faintly see it—a twitch in his eye. “It was only a week actually.”

You smile to yourself. “I’d prefer it if it was only a few hours.” You dry his arm with a soft towel, his arm still tensed underneath your touch. “There, much better.”  You release your hold to go to a shelf filled with different labeled vials and select the one you need. With the clean syringe, you draw the contents of the vial. “You’ll feel a bit of a pinch,” you say. You tap its side. “It’s morphine— wouldn’t want you screaming and writhing”

You study his face for a second. There’s just that same dismissively polite smile.

“You can look away if you wish,” you tell him. “It’s why we pin such . . . er . . .interesting decorations around. . . . May I?”

You feel it again when Alastor inches his arm closer. His muscles tense under your touch. It’s almost as if he wishes to pull away. You keep your hold feather-light, but firm.

“Are you a hunter by any chance?” you ask. You don’t prick him—not yet. Not when tension coils in your hold.

“You could describe it that way,” he says, chuckling like he’s told a humorous joke. (You don’t understand why.)

“I figured you were.”

Alastor slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You inject the morphine into his skin, right inside the soft pink tissue. Good. Alastor relaxes when he speaks, it seems. “I do love a good hunt,” he says. “How ever did you know.”

You release your hold and discard the syringe. “Your hands are rough,” you tell him. “And hunters always have this silly notion that injuries magically heal given enough time—along with farmers, actually. Although, farmers are usually much more deluded.”

He flashes that same polite smile. “I'm guessing you’re not a hunter then?”

“How ever did you know?”

You watch his eyes flicker to your palms as you re-arrange the needles. “Delicate hands.”

You flash the same polite smile right back at him. You take a match, and light the alcohol lamp.

Soap spreads all over your palms and up your arm as you scrub your hands. You slip your hands into the sterilized gloves, careful not to contaminate the surface. “I’ll begin now.”

Alastor hums in reply.

You take a scapple and pass it over the flame. You poke him, lightly, but he doesn’t react. Satisfied, you cut back fibrous tissue underneath the skin. You replace the scapple with a needle driver. There was a quiet click when you pinch the tiny curved needle. You pass it over the flame as well. “Can you do me a favor? Can you tell me how many stars are on that wall over there?

Alastor turns to look at you, but you block his eyes with your palm, shielding him from your stiches.

“The wall isn’t over here.”

“I assure you, I’m not afraid of a silly needle.”

“I’m sure you are,” you say. “However, you’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. The last three people who said that took one look and started squirming. One even fainted. It makes your life miserable, and my job harder.

He counts.

“Out loud please.”

He does as he’s told, rather reluctantly.

Hands steady and determination set, you pierce the soft pink tissue with your needle The tissue nearest to the surface is always delicate. You’re certain not to catch any fat in your suture, for fat dies, and a loose stitch is useless. “Well, isn’t this fun!” he says. “I really feel nothing.”

Your concentration does not break. “I don’t remember there only being twenty-six stars. I’m positive there are more.”

“Why is someone as talented as you only a nurse practitioner?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a nurse,” you reply, tugging on the needle. “Well . . .we . . . we certainly could be paid more.”

“Why not become an actual doctor then?”

“My father couldn’t afford it. He wouldn’t send me . . . and . . . hmm.” You smoothly pull the suture thread and begin the next stitch. “And I enjoy this.”

He looks down at you. “Is this all you’ll be satisfied with?”

You focus back on your stitching, hiding your glare. You bring your needle underneath the flesh, making sure to catch the soft tissue. You’re doing an uncommon stitch, but it would be a shame to leave a scar. “You sound familiar.”

You pause to look at him, His smile brightens, and it actually looks like a genuine elated smile. “Why, I’m a radio broadcaster. You might have heard me there.”

“Oh yes,” you hum, turning back to your stitching. “Alastor . . . I remember now. The ladies and I listen to your broadcast as we do our crafts.”

“Knitting?”

“I personally prefer embroidery,” you say. “I get to practice my stitching and make beautiful art.” You pull the thread and begin a new one, stitching his skin like they were shoe laces. “You’re quite the humorous gentleman, I must say, and quite a lovely taste in music. We enjoy your broadcast very much”

“Do you have any of your artworks here?” he asks you. “I would be eager to see them.”

“Maybe next time.” You tug the suture, and his laceration snaps to a close. You tie a knot and snip the end. “Unfortunately, I’ve finished your stitches.”

“Next time then.”

You discard your gloves and go back to the shelf with the vials. You fill up another syringe. You jam the needle into his skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to scare him a bit. “To prevent infection.”

He jerks away from you. “What happened to that gentle touch of yours?”

“It’s still a sharp object, Sir. They tend to hurt.” You smirk and carefully clean the remaining blood on the skin around the sutured wound. You take a bandage from your cart and begin wrapping it around his forearm, covering your sutures. “Don’t forget to drink your pills every 8 hours, with a meal in your stomach, preferably. Replace the dressing every three days. You can come back here or if you’re able to do so, you can change them yourself. Any by the good God, please, visit the nearest hospital should this incident repeat.”

Alastor slides off the examination chair. He grabs his coat as if you didn’t just stitch him close. You start packing when you notice him fixing his bow tie, and smoothing his hair. Huh . . .There’s blood on his coat, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Like he’s used to having it there. Like it’s just something he’s learned to live with. “You were wrong by the way.”

“Pardon?”

“It was quite the pleasure to meet you.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part |Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn't Explain Himself| Hello, welcome to the hell that's been plaguing my head. In case you didn't know Belphegor is the ruler of the sloth ring, and she seems to be in charge of medical-related stuff in Hell. I have the story mostly plotted out, it's just a matter of writing it down. If you have any questions, ask away

[webslingingslasher]

could you do angst -> fluff?

you and peter are long distance. someone sends you a picture of "peter" cheating. but the picture isn't peter.

Long distance relationships sucked. 

You may be biased, but you knew that long term relationships were the worst of them all. You’d put that in the same category as finding out you’ve been catfished for years. 

It could be worse, like Sadie and Dylan. Dylan moved across the country for school and watching your roommate go through the process of trying to set up date facetime calls, and scheduling calls between the hours of the night, made you feel like you didn’t have any say about yours. 

At least you and Peter were in the same time zone, he was only an hour and a half train ride away but it felt like lifetimes when for years you shared a school and zip code. You always had Peter around, and it’s very noticeable when he’s not. 

Imagine not being able to kiss your lover everyday, hold their body, or look in their eyes. 

Sadie smiled empathetically when Peter called, she got up to leave the room empty. Many times you’ve gotten out of bed at three am for a long bathroom break, you know that there are some things you tell Peter you’d never want anyone else to hear. You could extend that to Sadie as well. 

Peter’s voice was warm through the phone. 

“Hiya, baby.” 

You bit your bottom lip, too excited to keep it in. 

“Hi, handsome.” 

“Tell me three things from your day.” 

You paused to think, you knew this question would come up, you made a mental note of what to tell Peter. 

“So, the fat squirrel by park hall attacked this guy for his sandwich, and I know what you’re thinking, but that squirrel is fucking vicious. And, hm…” 

Peter shuffles around on his end. 

“Oh! My English professor is letting us have open notes midterm, and finally… I really, really missed you.” 

Peter gives you a soft chuckle, you wish you could see his face too. 

“I missed you too, also that fat squirrel? Next time I come down I wanna see him in person, pictures don’t do it justice.” 

When he comes down, he hasn’t visited in a month. Not that you can’t go see him, you make sure to take trips but he also has his aunt here, and he tries to do Spidey in the city as much as he can to keep questions to a minimum. 

“Two more, petey.” 

He hums on the line, you miss feeling his chest vibrate when he does it against your back. 

“I ate a salad for lunch,” 

“Bullshit.” You cough on the line. 

“Okay, listen here, stinky.” 

“Shots fired! I’ll hang up right now.” 

Peter whines, “you can’t! I have to tell you my third thing.” 

“Go on, I have a call to finish.” 

He scoffs, “rude, I was going to say that I may have found an out for my robotics midterm so hypothetically-” 

You squeal so loudly on the phone Peter pulls his own away from his ear, it was slightly obnoxious but knowing you were just as excited to see him made his heart melt. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!” 

Peter gives you that boyish laugh, the one that makes your heart beat three times fast. 

“Baby, I didn’t even finish.” 

“You don’t have to! I know what you’re saying and I need you here so I can kiss your face and other stuff.” 

Peter’s tone drops seductively,  “oh? Like what other stuff?” 

“You want to see the fat squirrel right?” 

“The one in my pants?” 

“Oh my god.” 

“Okay, okay, so I was thinking I could come up on-” 

His name was called in the background, it made you pause for a second, he stopped talking for a minute. His name was called again, it was tilted, like a song almost, it was a female for sure. 

“Oh, peteyyy?” 

Your stomach dropped, that was your name for him. The name that he only liked you calling him, it was something that was so sacred and this person you don’t know saying it so loosely, like it’s regular. 

“Pete?” You say his name like you’re asking ‘who’s that?’ ‘why is she calling you that?’ ‘where are you, are you in your dorm?’ ‘why is there a girl in your room calling you my name?’ 

He coughs, “sorry, baby. I uh, I need to go but I’ll call you in a few hours, okay?” 

“Oh. Oka-” 

The line went dead. 

Your mind swimmed with dangerous thoughts, each one simmered down with the overwhelming echo that peter would never do anything like what a part of you is insinuating. Not to mention you were sure that he’d explain everything when he called you in a few hours, except when you sat around and waited, and waited, and waited, he never called. 

You fell asleep waiting on his call, you woke up with your morning alarm and checked your phone, no missed calls or texts. It felt weird, he never missed goodnight calls. It wasn’t until ten he tried to call, you had to ignore it because of your class but made a note to call him on your way back to your room.

At lunch everything shifted. 

You and some friends met up in the dining hall and you were in the middle of scarffing down fries when you tried to look up your friends ex’s new girlfriend on instagram, you were confronted with a message request. The picture and text made your hand fall, french fries scattering, you felt like you were about to puke all over the table. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re peter's girlfriend, we shared a class last semester and he talked about you all the time. I was out with some friends last night and I’m pretty sure I saw him at a bar with a girl that doesn’t look like you. If this isn’t him or if you guys aren’t together anymore please ignore this, idk i’d want someone to tell me. I’m sorry :(“ 

Sure enough the picture was grainy, definitely zoomed in from across the bar but it sure did look like him. A plaid button down you’ve seen him a million times in before, curls poked out the sides of his head, it seemed curlier and longer than you remember but it’s been a while since you saw him in person. 

His left arm was looped around the waist of a girl totally opposite of you, it looked like his other hand held her face steady as he kissed her. It made your vision go blurry, you’ve never felt this way before. Curls blocked the side of his face but it looked like him, maybe he looked taller than normal but it was a pic taken from far away, you want to question everything about it but the longer you look at it the sicker you feel. 

You shut out of the app and go back to smiling with your friends, you wonder how you’ll call him out. If you were strong enough you’d just ghost him all together, never speak to him again and make him question his insanity. 

Instead the second he called when you were home you picked it up with shaky hands. 

“Hi ba-” 

“We’re done.” 

You hung up the phone. 

It rang less than three seconds later. 

“I’m sorry, what did you-” 

“I said we’re done. Goodbye.” 

You hung up again. 

It rang even quicker, immediate redial. 

“Is this a joke?” 

“I dunno, peter. Am I?” 

“I-” 

“Save it, it doesn’t matter. We’re broken up, you can stop calling.” 

You don’t know why you thought that would settle things, if anything that made everything worse. 

The fourth time he facetimed, he only did it when he was alone, you assume he either kicked his roommate out or is biting the bullet to get teased by his friend for the rest of his life while he begs to keep his girlfriend. 

You answer, “what.” 

“I need to see your face, what are you telling me?” 

“What did you do last night?” 

Peter’s eyebrows furrow, “I don’t know, what did I do?” 

You take a deep breath, “don’t play dumb. Who was she?” 

He makes a face of realization, “Ohhhh, you mean the girl on the phone?” 

You mock his tone, “yeah, the girl on the phone. You know, the one you were making out with?” 

You hear someone cough, it’s not peter, you can imagine the dead silence that just blanketed the room. 

Peter immediately takes the defense, “I didn’t make out with anyone last night, want to take the offense louder?” 

“Someone literally texted me a picture.” 

“Okay, so let me literally see it.” 

You narrow your eyes, “I don’t have to entertain this, peter. I broke up with you and you cheated, the end.” 

Peter sits up on his end, “no, not the end. You’re throwing damaging accusations out there and not giving me any fucking context.” 

“I. got. a. text.” You paused between each word to prove a point, also a little condescendingly. 

“Show. me.” He mocked your tone. 

You let a groan rip from your throat, “it doesn’t change that you did it.” 

Peter rubs his hand down his face, “okay, fuck this. I was here all night, in my dorm room. If you want you can ask my roommate, he was here, with his girlfriend,” he enunciated the last word, “who called me petey, you know, like you do, maybe, I don’t know, mockingly?”  

His words make you think, if he was truly guilty you don’t think he’d be defending himself so hard. You would think that once he was caught he’d fold his cards, instead he’s insulted you could even assume something like that. 

You take down the threat in your voice, “but… I got a picture. And it looks just like you.” 

Peter takes your side, he may defend his but he can’t make it better by pitting against you. 

“I’m sure it does, baby, but I promise I was here all night.” 

“Peter, it looks just like you.” 

He takes a deep breath to settle his frustration, “I know, but I promise it’s not me. Why would I cheat?” 

It’s a good question, you never would’ve thought he could but the picture was damning evidence. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t think you would, but I mean pete, it looks like you. He’s even wearing your green blue plaid button down.” 

Peter’s eyes bug open, his head spins, you know he’s staring his roommate in the eyes. 

“Evan!” They both exclaim at the same time. 

Your eyebrow scrunches, “who?” 

“Hair a little longer than mine? Maybe a little taller?” 

You pull your head back, “yeah… why?” 

Peter smiles wide, “making out with a blonde? At a bar?” 

“That would be it.” 

Peter shares a high five off screen. 

“That’s our friend Evan, he was on a date. He borrowed my shirt, wasn’t me, promise.” 

You stare at the screen, he seemed authentic and desperate for you to believe him. 

“Fine. We’re still dating for now, but I need to see you and him in the same room. Preferably from the back and in the same shirt.” 

“Done. I’ll print them out and bring them when I see you next week.” 

Peter winks at the screen and you squeal at the thought of seeing him so soon. 

[katyawriteswhump]

the power of love pt 4 (steddie, stobin, steve whump fic)

Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part one Part two Part three Part five Part six Part seven Part eight Part Nine Part Ten Part 11 Part 12

Chapter Four

Steve POV

1978

Steve carves his way across Lover’s Lake with an energetic front crawl. Okay, he’s got to admit—it’s a bit bigger than he judged.

He’s getting tired, though he can still make it. After all, he’s eleven years old, and the best swimmer in his grade. He reckons he could beat half the kids in the High School swim squad. What’s a puny lake to Steve Harrington?

The waters grow thick and deadly heavy. Soon, his arms flounder and his legs splash uselessly. He glances up to figure how far the bank is, mistimes his stroke, gulps a mouthful of water.

He chokes, swallows, discovers he’s no clue in which direction he should go. He swipes wet hair from his eyes and realizes he can’t see his parents. Can’t see anybody. Yeah, he’d deliberately swum off to prove his father wrong, because he’d said Steve couldn’t cross the lake, but… Oh crap!

He sinks, pulls upward with all he’s got left, and bursts through the surface, screaming: “Dad! Mom! Dad? I’m… lost… Heeeelp!” His legs have gone weak, and he doesn’t know what to do with his arms, whether to wave them or try to swim or… “Mommy? Da-ad? Daddy!”

His final efforts fail, and the dark waters suck him deep, closing seamlessly above his head.

1986

The scary dreams fade to nothingness, and Steve begins to wake. His head aches, and his bat bites manage to throb, itch and burn all at once. He opens his eyes, with a weary sense of having been through all this before, far too many times.

However, he isn’t in his parents’ living room, which is the last thing he remembers. He’s not a clue where he is. It looks like some dingy log cabin, and a stale tobacco stench catches in his throat. Robin’s nowhere to be seen, which alarms him further. Eddie paces the creaking floor, flexing and cracking his fingers.

“Eddie?”

Eddie’s hand flies to his chest. Then that electric smile that Steve’s getting way too fond of returns: “Hey, big boy. How ya doing?”

“Oh, never better.” Steve coughs. He doesn’t even try to rise from the lumpy old camp bed he’s lying on. “My body feels like goddamn heavy metal… and, uh, not the sort you dig.”

“Seen bodies I like less, Harrington.” Eddie smirks then cringes; Steve’s not gotten a clue how to read that. “Look, you've been asleep for nearly twenty-four hours.” He grabs a bottle of water. “You have to drink. Or we’re gonna have to get you to a doctor, and Buckley’s gonna ride my ass.”

“I’ll give it a shot.” Trouble is, Steve knows that Eddie will have to help, and it’s dead awkward. He does his best to sit, while Eddie plumps the pillows and helps support him. Eddie’s hair gets everywhere, way worse than Steve’s. Then Steve’s hand trembles so bad, Eddie has to guide the bottle to his lips. Even then, half the water dribbles down Steve’s chin, and it barely wets his parched lips. After a couple of slurps, his stomach performs an unpleasant flip. “Had enough, man.”

“Ooookay. We’ll try again later, huh?”

“Yeah, if you want me to vomit all over your… Hey, is that my Hugo Boss t-shirt?”

“Don’t worry, Harrington. It’ll look waaay better when I daub it with the sacred Hellfire Club logo.”

Steve’s beyond caring about that kinda stuff. What he really wants to say, but won’t, is that it looks great on Eddie. The short sleeves afford sizzling glimpses of Eddie’s tats.

Christ, get over it, Harrington.

He concentrates on what Eddie is telling him. Turns out, the three of them have escaped Hawkins, though not travelled far: “We’re in a deserted cabin, about twenty miles out. Robin can cycle back and get into radio contact with Dustin and the others, which is where she is now. They can sort out supplies, give us updates. It’s still total chaos in town, which has bought us time.”

“You need to keep moving, man,” murmurs Steve. “I know I said don’t go without me, but… Jesus, I’m slowing you down.”

Eddie gives a casual shrug. “Nah. We can wait for ya, Stevie.”

Stevie?!?

Steve snorts with laughter, then he sinks again fast. He’s so stupidly tired. God knows how long passes before Robin’s voice revives him. “Steve? Steve! Try to wake up. Please?”

He does. For her. His eyes are watery, and it takes a moment to focus. Then he sees her eyes are watery, pink-ish too. “Rob? W-What’s wrong?”

“Thank God, you’re back.” She leans close, attempts a clumsy approximation of a hug. When she pulls away, she unleashes way too many words for him to cope with. Dustin has updated her on tons. Max is hurt, and it’s really bad, and then she talks about Hopper. 

Hopper’s alive?

Steve raises a shaky hand to veil his eyes. “Hey, slow down. Max is gonna be okay, right?”

He peeps between his fingers. The look that passes between Robin and Eddie all but chokes him. He disguises a sniffle beneath another cough.

“Hop’s coming back, and that’s good news, right?” says Robin. “Maybe he can get you two off the hook. Although, right now, I believe we’re among the missing, presumed dead. Yay?” She underlines her false cheer with a tremulous smile. That’s when Steve notices the baggy yellow top she’s wearing:

“Hey, that top is mine! You’re both wearing my clothes?”

Eddie leans coolly against the wall. “Badge of ownership, huh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asks Steve. “Who owns whose ass?”

Eddie grins and… was that a twitch of his eyelid or a wink?!? Either way, it dizzies Steve. “Whichever way round you want, baby,” says Eddie.

“Ooookay.” Robin giggles, sounding as jittery as Steve feels. “Uh, Steve. We should probably check your bandages.”

He’s genuinely relieved when Eddie wanders off. He lifts his t-shirt and hisses as she pries the dressing from his scabbed blood. “Is it bad?”

“You’re not all stinky and septic, nor leaking Upside Down black goop, so… No, I’d say good. Does it hurt much?”

“Not as bad as it did.”

“You still seem a bit fever-y.” She gingerly drifts the back of her hand across his brow. “Not so gross and sticky as you were, though.”

“Lucky for you,” he snarks. He actually finds feeling so sick and weak far more intolerable than the pain. It reminds him of when he travelled with his parents, when he was much younger. And when he always got sick. A splash of ice bites deep. “Ow!”

Robin assaults him with an antiseptic spray.  “Sorry!”

“Don’t go into medicine, Rob.”

“Wasn’t planning on it. Uh, Steve. One question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why did you ask us to leave town via Lover’s Lake?”

“Wha—” Steve blinks. His brain strains to retrieve whatever the hell she’s talking about and draws a blank. “I have zero memory of saying that. I mean, why the heck would I?”

“Oookay. You were probably raving.” That nervous laugh returns. “You sure you’re sure you’ve no idea?”

He blinks at her again. He really hasn’t.

He’s always loved swimming in Lover’s Lake. Then again, he likes swimming pretty much everywhere, particularly in open water. It gives him a rush, a sense of control that’s proven so difficult to grasp in pretty much every other area of his life. Okay, there was that one time he nearly drowned in Lover's Lake as a kid. Even that didn’t put him off for long. In fact, it fired him to get stronger, better, to learn lifesaving and CPR.

Robin’s brows are raised, as if she expects some bombshell revelation. “What do you want me to say?” he answers. “I haven’t a goddamn clue.”

She lets it drop. He fears he hasn’t heard the last of whatever’s bugging her. Perhaps, despite her protestations otherwise, she’s still fretting about rabies. “Hey, Eddie,” she yells, “stop skulking and come and help, will you?”

Robin and Eddie finish patching him up, and Steve struggles not to whimper like a candy-ass wuss. Then, as he feels too crappy to sleep, his mood plummets even lower. He can’t stop thinking about Max, and how he’d failed to save her. Maybe if he’d been there, he could’ve found a way, like he did when he saved Eddie?

That he was otherwise occupied feels like an excuse. He should’ve protected the kids better, and… Ugh, he detests being THIS DAMN PATHETIC, a total wimpezoid. He despises being seen like this, even by Robin, and she’s seen him brought low before, when they were captured by the Soviets. Plus, she’s his best friend. Steve Harrington is the big guy, the protector. Without that…

…I’m nothing. Eddie Munson’s gonna see that pretty quick. Uh… Why the Hell should I care so much about that?

His miserable thoughts drain him. He tries curling onto his good side, just as Robin comes at him with a bowl of cereal. “Get lost,” he mutters, and finally drifts back to a sick-feeling sleep.

Later, when he awakes, the fuss remains excruciating. Eddie props him up on more pillows and tucks up the blankets. Robin menaces him with the cereal again, and this time, he chokes down a few mouthfuls. Eddie checks Steve’s wounds, and wipes him down with a cloth, dabbing his scarred torso, hands and face.

Steve refuses to look Eddie in the eye, and chews his lip ragged. He waits till Robin goes outside then asks the question that is literally gonna kill him: “Eddie, I need the bathroom.”

“Oh.” Eddie palpably tenses. “Uh, pretty sure I saw a bucket somewhere.”

Steve groans. “Isn’t there plumbing inside this dump?”

“Noooot as such. There’s literally a brick shithouse outside. Reckon you can make it?”

“Sure,” says Steve, trying to sound casual rather than terrified he’s absolutely not gonna make it.

He manages to sit, and then Eddie helps him to his feet. They start off, with Steve leaning heavily against Eddie. To be fair, it goes better than expected. Steve’s dizzy and slightly nauseous, but the cereal stays down. While his legs are basically jello, they don’t give out completely.

Not until the way back, at any rate.

One of his knees buckles beneath his weight, and he flops into Eddie. He winds up clinging around Eddie’s neck, one foot sliding as if on ice, and staring up into Eddie’s dark, soulful eyes. Losing himself in them, like they’d drugged him or something; even giggling, and wondering fleetingly if that fizzle of attraction might still be real, despite his wretched state.

“I gotcha, Stevie.” 

Stevie… again?

The pulsing veins on Eddie’s face betray his strain in keeping Steve from falling. He’s also wearing a faintly amused smile, which touches Steve somewhere tender and deep.

But Eddie’s laughing at him, not with him, right? “Bet I’m hilarious,” mumbles Steve. “I guess with no TV you get your kicks where you can.”

“I don’t watch much TV,” says Eddie, placid enough. “Sure miss my Ghetto Blaster.”

“There was one in my room. If you were dumb enough not to bag it, that’s your loss.”

While bitching, Steve finds his footing again. Eddie helps him back toward the camp bed.  When, finally, Steve’s butt lands heavily on it, he’s still hugging around Eddie’s neck, so he tugs Eddie down with him. He slithers his arms free and shivers. He actually wishes he could keep clinging rather than go back to lying alone, feeling horrible. Christ, he’s hopeless.

He rolls to face the wall. Eddie pokes him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” snaps Steve, the heat of his temper warming him. “I made it to the outhouse and back, didn’t I? If you two morons quit stalling, we can get moving again right away.”

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part Ten Part Twelve

...

tags: estrellami1 (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

[sleptwithinthesun]

a personal (and very extremely late) fill for the🤞and 🥰 prompts on the spring prompts list, written for t/im d/rake from d/c c/omics. yes, i'm aware it's summer. however, i started this fic over two years ago and it needs to be done.

2K words, next part of the t/imber college au. hope you like it!!

"Look at me for a second?" Bernard asks, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against his notebook a couple of times, just to ensure that he has Tim's attention. It lands just to the right of his half-finished sketch of his roommate, who's typing a lab report up on his laptop on the other side of the library table. 

Tim complies, glancing up and making brief eye contact to show Bernard the slowly-emerging freckles scattered over his cheeks and the ever-present, bruise-like bags under his eyes. They've been getting worse lately, probably due to the arrival of the spring season and its various allergens, even though Tim started taking Benadryl towards the beginning of March. They're now a week into April, with allergy season in full swing.

Bernard's gaze sweeps over Tim's face, and then he squints down at his drawing. After a moment of deliberation, he goes back over Tim's lash line and carefully shades a touch lower and darker than he was previously. "Thanks." 

"No problem," Tim replies, coughing quietly into a fist a second later. It sounds chesty, same as it has been for the past few weeks, and Tim just keeps going, like someone's scratching at his lungs. Which, to be fair, is probably how he feels about the whole thing. He's been getting worse at night recently, waking both himself and Bernard up at early hours in the morning with coughing fits. 

There's not much either of them can do about it, though, and Bernard's not been sleeping well, anyway. Not to any fault of Tim; he's just been… wondering. About some things. Regarding Tim, sure, but not because of him. Nevertheless, he's been staying up with him until his roommate manages to fall back asleep congested snores emanating from his side of the dorm. 

Not for the first time since they'd arrived at the library, Tim suddenly drops his chin towards his chest, eyes pinching shut tightly before his shoulders give a minuscule jerk forwards. He barely manages a shallow inhale before the motion repeats twice more, and then blinks a few times, sniffling quietly into his sweatshirt sleeve. Also not for the first time, Bernard murmurs, "Bless you."

"Ugh, sorry, I don't think I'm dohh—" He cuts himself off with another silent double, and then a third pair for good measure. "Oh, fuck me," Tim mutters, a bit breathless. 

"Christ, bless you times... how many even was that, seven total? They're so quiet; it's hard to tell." Tim nods to confirm the number, his eyes bleary from sneezing as he rubs a knuckle against the side of his nose to quell the remaining itch instead of responding verbally. "Bless you times seven. Why do you sneeze like that, anyway?" 

Tim blinks at him, clearly confused. "Like what?"

"Like… you're completely stifling to the point where they're silent." Bernard fumbles to explain, trying to find the right words without sounding insane. "I don't know anyone who can do that without using their hands or something. It's kind of... uh, impressive, to be honest, but can I ask, why do you sneeze that way? Is there a reason, or is it just...?"

"I don't know," Tim says, then shrugs. "I never really thought about it. It's polite, I guess, to make them quieter. Doesn't bother anyone else."

And Bernard-of-several-months-ago would have simply been content to have even gotten an answer out of Tim in the first place, would have accepted his word without a second thought. But Bernard-of-now can see the little flicker in Tim's eye, the one that means he's lying to him, which makes no sense, because what does Tim have to lie about?

It's a sneeze. There's no backstory to it, as far as Bernard is aware of. It's simple, it's thoughtless, it's inherent. Sure, he knows that people can hold back their sneezes if needed, but at it's base, it's a reaction, and one that's hard to control. The level to which Tim can manipulate his own, though, speaks to something far more complicated than Bernard can even begin to form connotations to.

For now, he has to let it go. Everything about Tim is a mystery, and the code to deciphering him is written between the lines of Dick's offering of his and Jason's phone numbers. So, unless Bernard texts one of them to ask why Tim sneezes weirdly, which is quite possibly the most bizarre question he could even raise, he's on his own.

Don't let it be said that Bernard Dowd doesn't love a challenge.

-

Over the remainder of the week, Bernard keeps an eye on Tim as if he's a sentry assigned to stand guard over him. He does feel weird about it—almost stalkerish, which, honestly and a bit embarrassingly, isn't exactly new to him—but it's not like Bernard's trying to learn anything he didn't already know about Tim's personal life. He lives in the same room as Tim, for crying out loud. Objectively, he's not doing anything wrong. At least, that's how Bernard justifies it to himself.

He's aware that he's being all Bernard about it, looking too deeply into it when, in reality, it's probably nothing more than Tim preferring not to draw attention to himself. At the same time, Bernard can't help but feel as if there's something more to it. After all, Tim decided to hide the fact that he was missing a whole-ass organ for a semester; he truly wouldn't put it past Tim to somehow have a buried trauma about sneezing. It would only make sense for him.

To be perfectly honest, though, Tim is boring.

Bernard didn't notice it in their fall semester, when Tim was being avoidant for the most part and didn't trust Bernard enough to reveal anything about his personal life. Apparently, he wasn't missing out. Tim studies more than anything, and even when he's not studying, he's doing homework or reading or something equally uninteresting. It makes his observation of his roommate very dry.

Until the moment where he invites Tim to sit outside.

They're moving through the quad together, Tim having just attended his linguistics class and heading into a free period while Bernard's done with classes for the day. The April weather is gorgeous, with a nice breeze cutting through the heat of the day. It's so nice, in fact, that Bernard asks—

"Want to stay outside for a bit?"

Tim's steps pause for a moment, hesitating. "Why?"

Bernard can barely stop himself from staring in shock at him. Sure, he grew up in the city, but he spent every moment that he could in the park. "it's... nice?" he ventures. "Plus, you could use more sun."

"First, rude. Second, if you insist." Tim sighs, glancing around for a place to sit. "As long as we're not directly in the sunlight."

Bernard rolls his eyes. "Sure, whatever. Vampire."

Tim scoffs at him, following Bernard as they move to take a seat in the shade underneath a tree. He only seems vaguely annoyed, meaning that he does actually care, at least a little bit. They're not at the point yet where Tim's comfortable being jokingly annoyed or mad with Bernard, since Bernard did it to Tim once and ended up sending Tim into a spiral for the next day over whether he was actually upset.

So. His annoyance here is at least vaguely interesting.

"hn'x! ngt! hnk'tt!"

"Bless you," Bernard murmurs. Tim shakes his head and immediately goes to sneeze again, sitting up with his head tipped back slightly, eyes half-shut, mouth partly open as his breath hitches quietly.

"hh...hi'h? hHhh—" He's trying to hold it back and is failing miserably. "—hk't! hxxt! hn'gt! h'hHn'gt-sh!"

"Bless you."

"Why'd you want to be out here?" Tim asks, voice nasal. His head immediately bobs down toward his chest again, nose pressed into the crook between his thumb and pointer finger to at least give himself a semblance of modesty. This set is even more numerous than the first, each sneeze coming in rapid succession.

Bernard sits up straighter in alarm. "Uh... exactly how allergic are you to pollen?"

Tim's response is another rapid set of sneezes.

"You need to get better at putting your foot down," exclaims Bernard, grabbing Tim by his free wrist and hauling him upward as Tim sneezes again and again, each perfectly stifled and barely making any sound. The only reason, Bernard reflects, that he can hear them is because Tim's sneezing too much to fully have control.

"You're—gxt'sh!—telling me," Tim gasps out. Mockingly, he attempts to add, "You could use more su'h'nxt! hxt'ch!"

"Okay, Sneezy, let's get back to the very climate-controlled indoors," says Bernard, hastily dragging him toward the building.

-

Tim's lying down on his bed when Bernard walks into their dorm, three days after the incident, absently staring up at the ceiling. There's nothing taped up there—Bernard checked.

"You okay?"

"Fine," replies Tim. "Just... thinking."

Bernard sets his backpack down next to his bed, placing the binder in his hands down on top of his comforter to ensure he doesn't forget about the homework in it. "Anything in particular?"

Tim shrugs, which is his way of saying Yes, but I don't want to talk about it. Bernard had given up on trying to interpret all of Tim's nonverbal signals on his own and reached out to Dick the day after Tim's allergy attack; Dick had informed him that reading Tim was like learning a new language. He wasn't very communicative at best, even with members of his own family, and it took Dick years to figure everything out. Jason is still struggling, apparently, which Dick attributes to Jason being in college while Tim was adjusting to living with the Waynes. He's gradually been passing tips onto Bernard, trying to make his living experience a tad easier.

Uncertainly, he walks over to Tim's side of the room, stopping just short of sitting on the bed with his roommate. Looming over him feels like an equally terrible option, and Bernard just stands there for an awkward moment.

"This is a little creepy."

"You're one to talk," Bernard says before having the chance to properly filter himself. He's trying to get Tim to open up, here.

Tim huffs out a laugh, then sniffles quietly. "Just sit down."

Bernard does. Neither of them say anything for a long minute, with the silence frequently broken by Tim's soft sniffles as he continues fighting off the pollen in the air.

"You know you can sneeze, right?" he blurts out. Tim doesn't blink. "Like, around me. I don't mind, I promise."

When Tim doesn't respond, Bernard keeps rambling. "It's just that, every single time I've seen you sneeze you're stifling. No matter what. Even if you're alone in the room, you don't make any noise, and, like, it's worrying me. It's not, um, normal. Not that you're not normal, obviously, but—"

"Bernard."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Bernard rolls his head to look at Tim. His roommate is still looking at the ceiling instead of at him, but he's talking.

"I was..." He pauses, starts over. "My parents very much believed in the adage of children being seen and not heard. To them, my silence wasn't an expectation, it was a strict necessity for me."

"Tim..."

"For whatever reason, they included normal bodily functions in that." Tim scoffs, but it's devoid of any feeling, as if he's making the noise only because he's expected to show disapproval toward his parents. "Coughing, sneezing, anything like that was taboo. So, I learned to keep quiet."

"You know that's not okay, right?"

"I've heard that nearly a thousand times from Dick and Jason." Now, he turns to face Bernard. "I'm aware."

Bernard sighs. "Do you believe it?"

A moment of silence. Three different emotions pass over Tim's face, too quickly for Bernard to parse through them all, but something sad is certainly there. "I'm working on that," he says eventually.

"That's good," replies Bernard, and they fall back into silence before Tim sneezes adorably, much like a baby kitten.

"hk'sh'iew!"

"Oh my God."

"Shut up!"

[adudelolwriting]

The Chosen One never wanted to be back on a computer. Chosen never wanted to leave the Outernet again, and just wanted to peacefully live the rest of Chosen’s life with Lord in that small clearing, overlooking the ocean’s view. 

The Chosen One has never been able to get what Chosen wanted. 

So here Chosen was, staring through the blurry screen at Chosen's creator. The screen was different than the last time Chosen had been here — Noogia3 must've gotten a new monitor. 

“I know you don't like Him, but... you're hurt. You both are. I'm sorry to bring you here, but it's what needs to be done,” Orange spoke softly to the older stick, who was clinging onto Orange's body as the two of them walked. 

Chosen couldn't take Chosen's eyes away from the blurry, hunched over figure. “Alan's not gonna hurt you, I promise.”

The Dark Lord coughed weakly, flinching. Lord was in such a worse state than Chosen was because of Orange's attack. Chosen was still angry at her for just not listening to Chosen, and she nearly got herself killed because of it. Chosen never could repay the sticks who he killed being the ones that will save him.

The Cursor noticed the sticks coming back through the ethernet portal at this point, and quickly rushed over. Neon red lasers shot out of Chosen's eyes, launching the Cursor back to the other side of the screen.

“The Chosen One, He's just trying to help!” Orange gasped, looking between the stick figure and the Cursor. “He helped us in the outernet, He's not gonna suddenly attack us here.”

Chosen growled, weakly holding onto Orange's side. “Bastard can't be trusted…”

“Then trust me. Me, and everyone else, is not gonna let Him hurt you or Lord, okay?” Orange said sternly, trying to get the message through Chosen's thick skull. “We just need to get you and Lord better.” 

Orange turned to face the Cursor, pointing to the art program. The Cursor got the idea, and the program popped up behind and around ae and Chosen. Yellow and Red, who both were carrying The Dark Lord, also climbed into the box. Orange helped Chosen sit down before grabbing the pencil and drawing a bed for Lord to lay down on.

'whats going on??' The Cursor asked in a text box, wary of the Chosen One. 

“Alan, this is The Chosen One, and that is The Dark Lord. They're hurt really badly, and we need to help them.” Orange ran over to the other side of the art program, helping Blue bring a bunch of... pixelated bottles into the screen before helping Blue herself up. 

“I don't want to be near Him,” Chosen said, “I don't want Him to be near me or Lord.” Chosen looked up, and saw that Chosen's words didn't appear like they did for Orange.

I suppose that makes sense. It never happened before, Chosen though with a sigh. “Tell Him to fuck off. I will destroy the Cursor if He gets anywhere near us.”

“Uh-” Orange stuttered, turning to face Alan, “The Chosen One says that if you get close to The Chosen One or Lord, The Chosen One is gonna break your Cursor.”

‘oh. ok’

Chosen watched as the Cursor moved away. Lord groans, and Chosen’s head snapped over to her side. Chosen was instantly at his side, holding his hands as he laid in bed. “Hey, hey, you’re okay Lord, you’re okay.”

Blue was on the other side, putting an IV that Orange drew into Lord’s arm. A red liquid started dripping into the item. “It’s a regen+health potion mix. It should help Lord,” Green explained. “We’re using an IV drip here, since potions aren’t as strong outside of Minecraft, and they’re not as reactive to Orange. Yellow said it would probably be the same for you and Lord.”

“Green, Yellow, do either of you need anything else?” Orange asked, rocking on aers heels. The two shook their heads. 

Chosen couldn’t believe Chosen was letting these kids save Lord’s life. Chosen was furious at Lord, for a lot of shit. They both had left the life of fear behind, but Lord still went on to kill these kids in an attempt to attack Noogai3.

“I’m sorry,” Chosen quietly said, causing a few of the sticks to look up to Chosen. “I should’ve stopped her from attacking you guys. I should’ve been stronger.”

“The Chosen One, it wasn’t your fault,” Orange reassured, placing a careful hand on Chosen’s shoulder, “you didn’t tell her to kill us. You did your best to fight him off!”

“You guys still got hurt because of it. You all have permanent scars on your bodies now.” Chosen’s fists curled. “Lord and I are the first adults you kids have seen in years, and Lord killed you. The only other stick has been that human who hurts you.”

“Alan?” Red asked, “He doesn’t hurt us?”

“Yeah, Alan’s really nice. I mean, He did delete us that one time, but that’s when He didn’t know we were alive,” Blue spoke up, finishing their work. 

“No, He knew you all were alive! He had to deal with two other sticks before! Noogai fucking enslaved me for years as an adblocker! He created by best friend to kill me! He knew you guys were alive but didn’t care! He never cared!” 

Silence falls over all the sticks. Chosen’s fists were encased in flames, Chosen’s eyes glowing a bright red.

“Alan… created you?” Orange asked quietly. “He… did all that to you?”

Chosen took a deep breath, the flames calming and Chosen’s eyes dimming. 

“I…” Orange gulped, looking to aer’s friends. “Alan’s not like that anymore. If I help Him draw, He’ll let us live here.”

“Orange…” Green whispered, reaching out to Orange who shook aers head.

“I need to talk to Alan,” Orange said before creating a new canvas and climbing into it. Chosen watched as the Cursor disappeared and their view of Noogai was blocked off by a white wall.

A few moments of silence pass, and as Red opened its mouth to talk, Chosen said, “So how long until Lord wakes up?”

“Oh, uh--” Yellow jerked as if not expecting to be talked to. “We don’t really know much about potions outside of the game, but with how injured he is, it’ll probably take a few hours.”

“We can watch over him if you aren’t comfortable here,” Red perked up. “You can go home and rest, or--”

“No.” Chosen sternly said. “She’s not leaving my sight. I’m not gonna leave him here.”

“Oh… okay, um, yeah.” Red flinched as there was a particularly loud shout from the other canvas. “Once Orange comes back, ae could draw you a bed so you don’t have to leave Lord.”

“I’m not gonna sleep.” There��s been too much time spent in darkness here.

Silence fell over them.

“Does… the second canvas help?” Blue meekly asked. “He can’t see you, and you can’t see Him?”

Chosen thought for a moment. It was nice, knowing that Noogai couldn’t see Chosen or Lord right now. And the white wall blocking Chosen’s vision wasn’t something Chosen wasn’t not used to. At least, right like this, Chosen would instantly know if the Cursor comes back, and it wasn’t dark and Lord was here.

“I think that would be for the best.”

“Okay. Okay! I’ll um -- I’ll go tell Orange that,” Red said with a small smile, before knocking on the other canvas and climbing through.

Chosen grabbed Lord’s hand, gently holding it and stroking Chosen’s thumbs over her knuckles. “He is going to be okay, right?” Chosen asked. 

“Yeah, he should be. The potions are already working -- see, a bunch of her minor scratches and cuts are gone already.” Yellow pointed to different parts. “It’s not gonna remove the scars, or anything though. The most noticeable one will be this one.” Yellow pointed to the large wound in the center of Lord’s chest, before stretching up and across the middle of her neck and face.

“As long as she’ll live,” Chosen exhaled, dropping Chosen’s head down, forehead resting on the mattress. “This is all my fault. If only I stopped him earlier, or convinced her not to…”

“It’s not your fault, Chosen. You’re not responsible for him!” Blue says, wincing as a crash was heard. Red climbs back onto the canvas, and a moment after is followed by Orange.

Ae was much more disheveled, wiping aers eyes with aer’s sleeve. “Alan’s gonna leave you guys alone,” Orange sniffled, “we, uhm… yeah. Yeah.”

“Are you okay?” Green asked, rushing over to Orange’s side. The older stick nodded silently. Green sighed, leading Orange to sit down on the ground. Yellow and Blue shared a silent look towards each other.

Chosen watches these kids silently communicate to each other, and it reminds Chosen of those early days with Lord when they didn’t know how to talk.

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

Chosen didn’t fall asleep.

The kids stayed in the same room as Chosen and Lord, but one by one they all fell asleep. Chosen knows it’s morning now -- the clock shows that it was 9:28 am. Chosen takes a deep breath, watching the rise and fall of Lord’s chest.

The wound was fully healed now, the only evidence being the scar that resided on Lord’s body. Chosen sighs, thumbs brushing atop of her knuckles.

The Dark Lord’s face shifts in her sleep, before her eyes open weakly. “Lord!” Chosen whisper-yelled, trying to not wake up the other stick figures. 

Lord’s eyes glazed over, and Chosen’s heart dropped to Chosen’s stomach as Chosen was just barely able to dodge out of the way of her attack.

“Lord, it’s me! Don’t listen to it, we’re not safe!” Okay, fuck trying to stay quiet. “There are kids sleeping, you can break through it!”

Chosen dodged a fireball, which breaks the wall of the aet program. Chosen flies through it back onto the open PC, lasering Lord as she flies out. She hissed, but not stopping her attack. Chosen kicked a file into his face, which got incinerated almost instantly. “Lord, this isn’t the place for this!” Chosen led Lord further away from the art program as the sticks started looking out now. 

Lord tackled Chosen, bringing them both into a downward spiral before hitting the ground. His hands wrapped around Chosen’s neck as his hands burst into flame. Chosen growled, hands wrapping up to Lord’s hands and shooting lasers out of Chosen’s eyes.

Chosen should’ve slept. Chosen was tired and weakened, and Lord was well rested and not in control of herself. Chosen saw the Cursor appear, and Chosen instantly focused the lasers on the Cursor. 

“Don’t fucking touch him!” Chosen choked out, forcing the Cursor back. Chosen sees Orange running over, and ae tries to pull Lord off. Chosen’s ears were ringing, and Chosen’s thinks Orange is talking. “Don’t hurt him, he’s not--” Chosen coughs, face starting to sting from the fire.

Chosen focused back on Lord, doing everything Chosen could to fight off the other stick figure. Did she really have to do this here? A sudden box popped around Lord’s body, and Chosen’s stomach dropped. Lord stopped her attack, confused with eyes still glazed over. Chosen looks to Noogai, and towards the right side of the monitor -- there was an index pulled up, and the Cursor was hovering over Lord’s file name. 

Chosen screamed. Chosen was not going to let Lord die here. Chosen wasn’t going to let Lord die. 

Instantly, a deep, dark gray stormcloud took up half the computer screen. Lightning flashes quickly and violently. Thunder bellowed from the sky, and Chosen felt rage. 

Orange was yelling -- at Chosen or the Cursor, Chosen didn’t know. Chosen tries to grab Lord, but she can’t move. She was stuck in the box. Chosen pulled and tugged, but couldn’t move him.

A pop up appeared under their feet, and Chosen burned instantly. Chosen just needs to fight this off. Chosen just needs to wait until Chosen could get Lord out. 

Another pop up.

More ash.

Ignore the feelings. You’re not there.

Focus. There is no weight on your ankle. 

Pop up. Ash. 

Pop up. Ash. 

Pop up. Ash.

You can do this.

Pop up. 

You need to do this.

Ash.

There was screaming.

Another pop up.

Continue fighting.

There was so much ash. 

Chosen felt Chosen’s throat was raw -- has Chosen been screaming? Or was it the fire? 

Everything seemed off. Focus. The Dark Lord is going to die if you don’t fight for him. 

Arms wrapped around Chosen’s waist, pulling Chosen away from Lord. “No! No, He’s gonna kill her!” Chosen screamed, fighting off the stick behind Chosen as Chosen was taken further and further away. 

A thick, metal wall suddenly separated the two oldest stick figures from each other. Chosen hears Lord scream out, and Chosen falls to Chosen’s knees as the stick continues to drag Chosen away.

“He killed her,” Chosen’s voice breaks as Chosen talks, “I couldn’t save her.”

The static in Chosen ears slowly dim down. “...osen One? Are you back?” 

Chosen finally looks back, and, oh. It was Orange holding Chosen.

“It’s okay! Lord isn’t gonna hurt you anymore,” Orange says softly, and Chosen could instantly see that ae was putting on a brave face. “Alan’s fixing him.”

“He killed her,” Chosen replied, wiping away the tears. When had Chosen started crying?

“No-- No! No, Alan, He’s -- He’s removing the programming He made,” Orange explained, “me and Alan had an argument last night, and… well, He came in early this morning and we talked it out. He explained what happened and what He did to you and Lord, and He’s trying to fix it now.”

Orange watched Chosen for a moment or two, watching Chosen’s reaction. Ae then pulled out an eraser tool, and deleted the metal wall. Lord was still in a box, but… she was back. The Cursor was still hovering around her, but Chosen could tell. 

Lord was sitting down on the ground now, head tilted curiously as the Cursor continued to type stuff into the white pop up below Lord’s body. He looked up when the wall was erased before excitedly jumping up and waving to Chosen.

“He’s deleting the line of code!” Lord shouted. “We can finally be safe together, Chosen!” Chosen ran over, breaking out of Orange's (weak) grasp and looked over the pop up. 

mission.The_Dark_Lord = love(The_Chosen_One);

What? “No -- love? Are you serious?” Chosen asked, glancing up at Noogai’s blurred face. “No, no! Don’t force him to -- to love me!” 

“Chosen, I asked Him too,” Lord spoke slowly. “I… I want to love you. For the rest of my life.” 

Chosen whipped around to face Lord, Chosen’s face red. “Wh -- What? Lord, you can’t--”

“Chosen, listen to me.” Lord’s hands took Chosen’s own. “I love you with all my heart, okay? I want to retire with you -- properly, this time. I want you to teach me how to knit, and I want to teach you how to bake, and all that other soft junk. I love you, Chosen, 

Chosen felt tears well up in Chosen’s eyes. “Lord, I--” Chosen’s throat felt dry. It couldn’t be true. Lord couldn’t love Chosen, not like that. “The code is making you think weirdly again, I’ll tell Him to remove it--”

“Cursors, you’re an idiot,” Lord chuckled, pulling Chosen closer into a hug. “Alan hasn’t even implemented the new code in yet. This is me saying this.”

Chosen let out a small sob, fully sinking into her hug. “I thought you were going to die,” Chosen meekly said, feeling Chosen’s tears soak into Lord’s clothing, “Cursor, I love you so much, Lord, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you actually died.”

“It’s okay, Chosen, it’s okay,” she said while rubbing circles into Chosen’s back. She looks directly at Alan, the blurry man on the other side of the monitor, and nods. He was going to love Chosen for the rest of his life, even if it killed him. Lord would never leave Chosen’s side.

Alan hit enter.

[no1frogfan]

Akaashi finds out you’re sick

Akaashi Keiji x GN reader Word count: ~1k

Notes: Tooth-aching domestic sap. It gives me LIFE!! Happy bday Akaash <3 sorry you have to babysit your sick partner today

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Your voice sounds a little hoarse.”

“Really?” You shrug. “I had a lot of meetings today and probably didn’t drink enough water.”

A frown tugs at Akaashi’s lips as he puts the kettle on. He cuts up a lemon and squeezes it into a mug before dropping the wedge to the bottom and spooning some honey in. He tops it all off with boiling water and holds it out. “Here. I think you’re getting sick.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s nothing, Keiji. You worry too much.”

“Please? For me?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll drink it,” you grumble, giving him a kiss on the cheek as thanks.

The next morning, you wake up with a fever. Your throat is parched and painful, shirt sticking to your back and neck. You angrily roll over onto the other side of the bed, cool now that Keiji has gotten up. It doesn’t really help.

The bedroom door opens and he walks in carrying a tray. You petulantly roll away back to the far side of the bed. “I don’t want to hear it!”

“Hear what?”

“I told you so…”

“Well that’s good because I wasn’t going to say I told you so.” His lips twitch ever so slightly.

“You just said it!” You pout as he sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Did I? Oops,” he chuckles. The cups and bowls clink as the tray is set down in front of you. You grace him with a smile before tucking in. He always remembers exactly what you crave when you’re sick - something warm and filling and a little bland to keep the nausea at bay. A contented sigh leaves your lips as you wash it all down with a mug of tea. Akaashi gently rubs your leg as you rest your back against the headboard.

“Oh no!” You shoot up, almost spilling the rest of your tea. “What about work? You’re late!” Guilt washes over you. You’d been too busy stuffing your face to realize what day it was.

“Relax.” Akaashi says with a squeeze of your thigh. “I told them I’m working from home today so I can take care of you.”

Maybe it’s a good thing you have a fever you think, shrinking down into the duvet. Otherwise, you would have to explain the pleased blush that warms your cheeks when Akaashi tucks you in.

“Get some rest and text me if you need me. I’ll be in the other room.” He places your tea and phone on the nightstand next to you, taking the tray with him back to the kitchen.

Akaashi sits down at his desk after washing the dishes. 8:46 am. Luckily, no urgent meetings are on the schedule for today, so he's able to work from home with no pushback from his bosses. Although, feeling how feverish you were this morning, he would have stayed at home no matter what they said. He settles himself before opening his laptop and diving back into his project.

As he pens some feedback on the latest chapter (pacing feels rushed here - maybe incorporate more reflection to draw out tension), he becomes dimly aware of noises coming from the bedroom. Another round of coughs finally breaks his concentration. 10:23 am. How long had you been coughing? He immediately springs up from his chair.

You give him a weary smile as he walks in with cough medicine and another mug of tea. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. Can’t sleep.”

“Shh.” He strides over to the bed. “Don’t talk, you’ll make it worse.”

You wiggle under the covers again after downing the tea and medicine. He’s got work to do, but you want to ask him, but you know it’s selfish. The battle raging in your head must have been playing out on your face because Akaashi abruptly asks, “Baby, do you want me to stay with you?”

“No,” you peep. It’s futile to lie to him but you try anyways. You always try, even though Keiji has always been able to read you like a book.

“Uh huh. Let me go grab my laptop.” He’s back in a flash, laying down next to you and perching the laptop on his abdomen. You rest your head on his shoulder and close your eyes. The only indications that Keiji is awake and working are the occasional strokes of your hair and tip-taps of the keyboard.

You pull him in close, but sleep eludes you. It’s been 15 minutes, if the clock in the corner of his laptop is right. “Still can’t sleep,” you murmur dejectedly.

Keiji purses his lips. “Want me to read to you?”

Your whole face lights up. “Maybe you can read me the manga you’re editing. That way it’s like working at the same time?”

“Good idea.” He gives you a peck as he adjusts the laptop screen. A sense of tranquility embraces you as soon as he utters the first syllable. What he’s reading is immaterial. The warm timbre of his voice, the gentle rumble of his chest against your cheek, and the steadfast rise and fall of his breaths are more soothing than any medicine. You’re out like a light in no time. He continues for a while after he feels your breathing settle into a slow and steady rhythm.

Some time later, you wake up, your hand accidentally slapping him in the face as you reach up to rub your eyes. “Babe? How long have I been sleeping?”

He hums and kisses you on the forehead. “Three hours.”

You suddenly realize you’re still laying on him. “Oh my god, your arm must be completely asleep by now!”

You quickly roll away so he can free it. A grimace pulls at his lips as pins and needles shoot up and down his left side. He clenches and unclenches his fist to help the feeling return to his hand more quickly.

“Sorry Keiji,” you mumble guiltily. “You don’t have to watch over me the entire time, you know.”

He shakes his head and locks eyes with you. “Yes I do,” he says firmly, devotion written all over his face.

[tia-amorosa]

Sunset Died - Wolff/Sword/Crumplebottom

New facts (Longer Part)

After Morgana had finished her conversation with the others, she went back to the tent. Cyclone stood in the center and looked into space. "Oh, there's a man under the hat, hnhn. I was told to check you out." Exhausted and with tired eyes, he shook his head. "Actually, I'm fine…". Morgana looked at him and tilted her head a little. "Let the machine decide, okay?"/ "Machine?". She smiled and gestured for him to follow. "Just come with me to the back…"/ "mhm. Who else survived?"/ "A few more. And some of them only seem to think of themselves…" Cy narrowed his eyes, because he thought he knew which people she was talking about, "let's see how much longer".

Once they had arrived in the small room, she asked him to strip down to his underwear. Then he stood in the middle of the machine. Morgana switched it on and the scanners slowly began to rotate around him. A complete 3D image of his body was taken, both from the outside and the inside. Bones, tissue, even the smallest vessels could be seen. "it really is a miracle that you made it this far and carried her all the way here…"/ "hm, that bad?".

"Well, no… Fortunately, your rib is only cracked and not completely through. So if you take it easy for a while, new bone tissue will form quickly. "/ "And where does the shortness of breath come from?" he asked in a slightly worried undertone. "You're not the only one with this problem at the moment. It's gotten cold and people are coming here with the typical cold symptoms. Do you have to cough a lot?"/ "Every now and then…"/ "It looks like mild pneumonia, Cy. But don't worry, we have a broad-spectrum antibiotic here, which helps quite well in such cases".

Once the examination was complete, he was allowed to get dressed again. Which Morgana eyed a little critically. "You definitely need warmer clothes, Cy, that vest only encourages it to get worse. ". He looked down at himself and nodded in agreement. "I don't just need warmer clothes, we also need a warm house." Morgana thought for a moment until she thought of something. "I think I can help you with that, we've just renovated one together, there's electricity and water there too"/ "Oh?".

"Yes, but we are currently doing everything ourselves, laying the water pipes, power lines and everything. And we're always putting ourselves in danger. Electric shocks are not out of the question". Cy's face took on a grim expression. "That's not okay, and nobody's helping you?". Morgana shook her head. "The Altos are now in cahoots with the Landgraabs. There's so much we lack here and they don't give a damn about us! we don't even have access to the internet anymore"/ "oh, I wouldn't say that, you already have some"/ "huh?" Morgana looked at him in amazement.

Cy took a deep breath, well, as best he could. Then he looked at her seriously. "I think I can trust you, don't you?". She could see in his eyes that he had something serious to talk to her about. "uh… Yes, of course… What's wrong?"/ "O.k….Listen to me carefully, o.k.? Our radio tower here is working, perfectly, in fact. But some signals are being blocked, such as the internet's ability to transmit. Someone has installed a pretty powerful jammer there"/ "w-what are you saying?".

Morgana held her face with one hand. "That sounds like it was done on purpose"/ "Yes, that's what it looks like. I'd taken my laptop with me on the journey. I actually wanted to leave it at home, but now I no longer regret having it with me. I had edited it once so that I had a stable receiver with a longer range. "/ "o.k., but why are we being denied the internet?".

"Control, Morgana. Someone wants to control us here,"/ "but who, the Altos?". Cy shook his head and crossed his arms. "No, I don't think so. When everything was still fine here, they would never have thought of anything like that. everyone here could live their lives as they wanted…."/ "But then who is controlling us?". He raised his eyebrows and took another short breath. "I still have to find out. But first I'll make sure you get internet, but it might take a few more days"/ "I see, all right. Oh Cy, it's wonderful that you're 'home' again.“.

"I'd like to have a look at Blair's eyes, do you think that's possible?"/ "Well, nothing should really stand in the way of that. Everything looked pretty good last time. It's just… that she can't see out of one eye. She always says she can cope with it, but I think her soul is still suffering. Still… I love her…". Morgana smiled and could see in his eyes that his words were true… "All right. I'll get you the key first.".

It's well past three in the morning and Agnes wants to make her way home. "It's so nice to have you back. I was really scared for you"/ "I'm very brave, you would never have guessed that about me, I know, hnhn. Now I really want to see my nephew again… I hope Stiles has been well looked after him?"/ "oh yes, very much, they've been getting on well so far"/ "nice. What about Blair's parents?"…

"Well, her father usually seemed relatively composed to me. But appearances are a little deceptive. And her mother… I think she'll be beside herself with joy. Really, everyone thought Blair was dead, except Susan…". Agnes looked at her wearily and a little dreamily. "She often talked about her parents on our way back. How sorry she is that she drove so easily…"/ "Yes, but…it saved her life in the end".

Agnes looked up into the night sky for a moment. "Yes, the universe probably meant well. You wouldn't believe how happy I am to be back. I would have liked to have had more success…"/ "hey, that was a great success that you found the three of them. I'm very surprised about Cy, he looks like a real man"/ "hnhn, he acts like one too. The two of them are very cute together. But now I'm going, I finally, FINALLY want to go to my bed, hnhn".

And so Agnes made her way to Stiles' house. There he and Mortimer played with a ball under the night sky. And the boy was very happy when he saw his aunt again. And for Stiles too, it was almost a relief to see her safe and sound. The two had already grown closer before Agnes left, but now they could allow their feelings to grow further.

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

End of this Part

@greenplumbboblover ☺

[its-just-hyper]

Welp. @th3ratk1ng said they wanted all my opinions for bnha on that ask game( made by @/fintan-pyren) so

♥️the most egregiously mischaracterized character is either Izuku or Uraraka, easily. Many other common mischaracterizations are presented as aus or specified tropes (example: ao3 tags like ‘Bad Teacher Yagi Toshinori | All Might’ or ‘protective Bakugo Katsuki’ however Bakugo is also often overvillianized or oversympathised as well)

But Izuku was hit very very hard by fandomization/underswap!sans treatment/cinnamon roll too pure for this world/smol bean/woobification and while it’s gotten better as internet culture has left that, a lot of the older fandom content is like that. And Uraraka is a woman. So. Of fucking course fandom can’t handle her. (I might be biased cause I fucking love both of them. I feel like mischaracterization is hella common in this fandom in particular)

🧡a popular serious theory I disagree with is that I disagree with is Izuku and Shigaraki being related. I know, those are my blorbos ever, but yeah. I think their story (and purpose as character foils) is more compelling if they are unrelated, emphasizing that Izuku was ‘just some quirkless kid’, not somehow related to That Mess ™. (Trying to be vague for spoilers sake I guess but. Yeah.) I do enjoy the theory that AFO gave Shigaraki his quirk, but I have no stance on if it’s canon or not.

💛a popular ship I just can’t get behind fucking hate so much is fucking. Kaminari/Shinsou. Fuck that ship oh my god I can’t stand it at all. Literally no offense ever at all to shippers I’m not gonna go into y’all’s spaces and shit on your joy but I cannot stand this ship at all. It feels like they’re only shipped for their tropes and the fact that they’re both “leftover” from the shipping and also both boys. Like… I understand the parallels to erasermic but erasermic is so much better and you can just ship shindeku instead COUGH UH—-

💚I’ve already talked about Izuku quite a bit sooooo. Something that everyone else gets wrong about Shigaraki is that he isn’t just one thing. The fandom separates itself into “Shigaraki Tomura is evil and scary and intimidating and a threat” and “Shigaraki Tomura is a loser gamer nerd failure of a villan” and ALL OF THIS IS TRUE!!!!!!!! Let my boy be the contradiction he was made to be. He is intimidating AND immature and tactically smart while being a fucking nerd pleasepleasepleaseplease he is so much better if you let him be both

💙characters that I find not that hot? Dabi is not that hot. Yaourozu is not that hot. Aizawa is not that hot. Bakugo is not that hot. Todoroki Shoto is not that hot. Kai Chisaki is not that hot and has a stupid hairline. Uraraka is not that hot. I don’t think I find any of the characters actually very personally attractive, but that could be the aspec talking.

💜(opposite of above question) see previous.

🤍oh great peaks this is the question of the fandom, huh? “Character that isn’t as morally bad as everyone seems to think”? Well I. Don’t wanna start a fucking grease fire um. Okay this doesn’t really fit the question but. A common trope (especially for fics about Midoriya fix-its and getting justice for our favorite whump protagonist) is making All Might WAY worse than he is. Same with Midoriya Inko. Fics with either of these tropes are fine and good and I actually like a lot of them, but I always find it the best whenever the complexity of the situation is addressed.

Like. Sure, you can punish All Might for being a Quirkist asshole but it’s much more compelling to punish him and let him grow for his Quirkist actions brought up from his own trauma and seeing Midoriya through that lense. Sure you can punish Inko for not believing in her son enough to lie for his sake, or you can have the Midoriyas explore how even though her actions come from love, she hurt her son. Because mother/child relationships are ALWAYS going to be complicated.

🖤Which character isn’t as morally good? Fuck it, ALSO All Might. I don’t like it when All Might’s faults are completely glossed over. (sometimes in response to people doing what I talked about in the above paragraphs, sometimes just for that sweet sweet “Parental Yagi Toshinori | All Might” tag) As is. Probably a noticeable theme, you can put All Might in a good/familial/positive/heroic light while also acknowledging and letting him and Midoriya grow from his faults, and I actually prefer this significantly.

💖im not sure what constitutes as an unpopular opinion that I agree with, as I haven’t interacted with the modern fandom much, but here it goes. Villain!Midoriya Izuku is a very very very compelling idea, BUT most fan interpretations of it are very bad. You don’t need to vastly mischaracterize Midoriya to turn him into a villain, THATS why the idea is so appealing. As I’ve said over and over “pleasepleaseplease have more complexity in your bnha fan content PLEASE stop turning these characters into cardboard cutouts when there is SO. MUCH. POTENTIAL.”

💔Oh this one is hard as fuck, isn’t it. If I absolutely had to remove a major character from the series, it would be Gran Torino. AND SHUT UP I DONT LIKE THIS BUT HEAR ME OUT. Letting Midoriya figure out One for All without Gran Torino’s help would’ve been equally compelling. And shhhhh I’m not sure what constitutes a major or minor character in this show so I just picked someone important.

💕an unpopular ship that I like is Midoriya Izuku/Tokoyami Fumikage. As you might be able to tell, I have a habit of subbing in popular “broody/bubblegum”/“darkness/sunshine” ship dynamics to include Midoriya cause he’s my favorite 1A kid. And also I read a few really good fics for this due to Tokoyami content deprivation.

📖what book I would remove from the series had no answer

🏳️‍🌈again, I don’t really know what characters are commonly headcanoned as queer in the fandom, so here’s my maybe controversial queer bnha Headcanons. You will see a common theme. Arospec Midoriya, aroace Todoroki, gender nonconforming lesbian Yaourozu. Biromantic ace Shinsou, and uh. That’s all I can think of off the top of my head, I don’t usually make gender/sexuality Headcanons since I can’t even make one for myself—-

💀I would kill off Endeavor cause I want him dead, or I would kill off All Might. I wouldn’t LIKE IT, but it’s probably gonna happen eventually and I can see why—-

[squigglywindy]

Whumptober Day Five

Title: Every Whumpee's Needs

Prompts Used: Running out of air

Warnings: Asthma Be Annoying, but that's about it. There's a lil 'ah no death has come for me' moment, but it's just Drama (and it do be like that sometimes). Oh, horribly medically inaccurate treatment of asthma (don't try this at home it's like exactly the opposite of anything that could ever help)

Whumpee(s): Sky

Whumpometer: Like a two? I mean he's not having a good time but he was never not going to be okay

General Notes: Some of you know of my love for asthmatic Sky (projection who? Where? I don’t see any projection here…). Somebody made a bad call and I was allowed to make the rules; and I said a flower can be a bronchodilator if I need it to be

Sky: I can take anything you throw at me

Also Sky: *sprints three yards* Hold on I need a minute

And I felt that in my soul. And my lungs. Anyway, this one’s pretty chill. I wrote it at like three am and didn't really proof-read, so uh...have fun

It wasn’t a hard fight. They’d been through so much worse so many times, but alas, an easy fight wasn't always a good time.

They had been walking for a long time. There had been a small incident with a fire and consequential smoke. After that, it didn't take much. One more spin attack to take out a pesky keese and Sky knew he had participated in exactly one activity too many.

The vice around his lungs was subtle, at first. Like a single hand curling around his chest, squeezing and making it just a little bit harder to pull in a breath. But that hand tightened quickly, and the next breath he jerked in drew the eyes of everyone around him.

“Sky?” Twilight asked, concern clearly lacing his tone.

Sky waved him off half-heartedly, bracing a hand against a tree and dipping his head slightly, jerking in a breath that felt like it barely brushed the tops of his lungs. Somebody’s hand found its way to his shoulder and he couldn’t be bothered to check who it was. It didn’t matter how many times he pushed himself to breathlessness, it would always come with this undercurrent of panic. He knew he needed to breathe; but he couldn’t breathe. That would always be just a little scary, even if he had consistently gotten through it before.

He eventually flicked his eyes to the mysterious figure to find Four, who gave him a tiny smile and tugged on his arm, leading him to a stump and pushing him down.

Sky tried to thank him, but the breath he drew to do so caught halfway down his trachea and turned into a cough, which did absolutely nothing for his lungs, which felt like empty plastic bags, bound together by a rubber band.  He planted his free hand on one knee and leaned forward, twisting in a way he remembered helping in the past; but a series of coughs disrupted his plans and he was left wheezing, hand still curled around Four because the last thing he wanted to do was let go.

He heard Four talking, didn’t register the actual words, but looked up when Four pressed Sky’s hand to his chest, taking a deep exaggerated breath in a very sweet and helpful display of how he had completely misread what was going on.

“C’mon Sky, you can do it,” Sky tuned back in as Four rumbled quietly, so utterly calm because of course. They were the heroes of courage. One of them spiraling after a battle for one reason or another wasn’t exactly unheard of. “Deep breath, do it with me.”

Sky tried to listen, he really did, but it was always going to be a lost cause. He wanted to explain that their methods wouldn’t work, that they just had to wait it out, but if he had the air to do that then he wouldn’t have to.

“Hold on,” Hyrule pushed his way to the front of the cluster of Links, elbowing his way between Time and Warriors. “I think I know what’s going on. You're calm, aren’t you, Sky?”

That was a stretch, but Sky nodded anyway because it would put them on the right track. He finally released Four in favor of bracing himself to lean forward, wishing he’d listened to that voice in the back of his mind telling him to give them a heads up just in case. He hadn’t wanted to, and so now he was stuck; surrounded by eight oblivious incarnations of himself with not a molecule of oxygen to his name.

Hyrule nodded and snapped his fingers in victory. “Wild, you grabbed a ton of those orange flowers when we were in my Hyrule, right?”

It was an utterly ridiculous question, and Wild proved it when he nodded eagerly and stepped forward, pointing his slate toward the ground and tapping away until a veritable heap of bright orange flowers tumbled to the ground.

“What’re you doing, arranging his grave bouquet?” Legend snarked, earning a swat on the back from Time.

Hyrule shook his head, either not noticing or not caring that the question was asked in jest. “The air in my Hyrule’s pretty bad,” he revisited a point that was painfully familiar to all of them. “Lots of people have trouble with their lungs. These help.” He grabbed a flower off the ground and crouched in front of Sky. “I’m going to crush the pod in the middle and it’s going to send up a puff of spores. When that happens, you’re going to inhale for as long as you can and then hold it for a second. Got it?”

Sky was pretty sure Hyrule was talking nonsense, and he wasn’t all that clear on what a spore was supposed to be, but he nodded because he trusted Hyrule and he badly wanted air.

Hyrule brought the flower up under Sky’s nose and gave a reassuring smile. “One, two, breathe.” He crushed the pod, and as promised, a vaguely yellow cloud erupted. It went against every instinct Sky possessed to intentionally suck a cloud of what was essentially pollen into his respiratory tract, but the very fact that he could inhale it was a miracle in and of itself, so he went for it.

He tried to hold it as Hyrule had requested, but the act of inhaling had disrupted his lungs in the worst way, and he dissolved into a coughing fit after a few seconds. When he recovered, he jerked in a breath and actually felt it hit somewhere in his chest. It wasn’t perfect, or anywhere near as deep as he would like, but it was there. “Woah,” he croaked, wincing at his own voice and forgoing further attempts at marvelment in favor of focusing on his semi-functioning lungs.

Hyrule smiled at his reaction. “You pick up a thing or two, living in a polluted wasteland. Don’t do that,” he reached out to snatch flowers away from both Wild and Wind, who had gathered up handfuls and were eyeing them a little too eagerly.

“What do your other flowers do?” Wind asked hopefully.

“Nothing you should be inhaling,” Hyrule shook his head and waggled a finger. “Wild’s a bad example; don’t put stuff in your body and see what happens.

“You did it to Sky,” Wind grumbled, crossing his arms and stalking off to kick dejectedly at a clump of grass.

Sky drug in one more breath, genuine excitement growing when it reached all the way to his stomach; entire chest feeling the effects of the first effective breath in too long. “Do those always work?” He asked, clearing his throat against the scratchy pitch of his voice.

Hyrule nodded. “As far as I’ve seen. Do you not have something like this in Skyloft?”

Sky shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

Hyrule smiled. “Well, it’s a good thing Wild was prepared to start a conservation colony in case we need to repopulate the planet in the event of total extinction. We’ve got plenty.”

“If we ever get home, I’m planting these on the surface,” Sky decided, refusing to believe that he could wreck the entire ecosystem. He had no reason not to believe that he was supposed to be responsible for introducing Miracle Flowers to Hyrule the whole time.

[ed-edward-blackbeard]

Once upon a time, I intended to write a Topher & Echo Have A Fun Day With Shooting And Throwing Axes.

Yeah, I don't know what crack I was smoking, either. Mostly I wanted to give Topher a goddamn BREAK because my man was about to lose his goddamn mind.

This has been sitting in my email drafts for... five years? 09/2018, to be precise.

Free to a good home, be kind to Topher (we know what happens to him, my boy needs love.)

"Did I fall asleep?"

"For a little while."  Topher was stressing hard, but trying to keep his voice calm for the Active in the chair.

"Shall I go now?"

"Oh my God, YES PLEASE." He coughed, and shook his head. "I mean, if you like." Topher retreated into the post-imprint script even as every molecule of his being vibrated under his skin.

The Active and her handler left the lab, and Topher collapsed onto his couch. He wanted to go fully fetal, wrap his arms around his head, pull up his hoodie and scream until his voice was gone. Because honestly, he was having real trouble with the thought of his plans for his tech in the hands of people who were not him. But worse, it had been Adelle who had betrayed him, and that was the current bomb about to crack his coconut.

But he didn't trust Ivy within a league of his programming station, much less his imprints. And Doctor Whiskey Saunders was bat guano insane and prone to doing things like stalk him in the server room where he slept--past tense, notice, because he didn't sleep any more. Not with crazy doctor lady on the loose.

So he was working on a thirty-six hour no-sleeping binge, and he was starting to think that he was the one in need of a treatment, because Dolls didn't really care about things like misused tech and betrayal.  Or not sleeping.  Or crazy ex-Doll doctors.  

"Okay!"  Topher shot up off the couch, jerking himself awake with a shout.  The fact that he was even *considering* wiping his own coconut and wandering out with the bison meant that he needed help, capital-H Help, and it was quite possible there was no one in the House who cared enough to help.

"Topher?"  

"Aaah!"  He jerked, shocked as he turned around.  "Boyd!"  Of course, and Echo behind him.  "You... you... I told you I was gonna make you wear a bell if you didn't stop!"  The comment was directed at Echo and Boyd equally, though it was Echo he'd warned.  

"You need to get out of here for a little while," Boyd said calmly.  

"You're tired," Echo said just as quietly, and her fingertips reached out to gently touch the bags under his eyes.  "You need to sleep.  But you don't."

"Uh, no, there's about a thousand things on my mind keeping me from sleeping, and even if I was tired--which I'm not--" he was actually beyond exhausted and headed into sleep-deprivation.

"Trust me."  Echo pointed to the chair.  "Make me safe to help you."

Topher cocked his head to the side, and then looked back at Boyd.  "What is she saying?"

"Echo is booked on an anonymous gig who paid twice the normal fee to not give a name.  Only an address where the Active is to be dropped off," Boyd clarified.  "So you print her as whatever you need.  Bodyguard, teddy bear, exotic dancer that plays video games, I don't know.  Print her, take her, and go here."  He gave Topher a key.  "That's the executive suite at the Forrester, on the other side of town.  Ivy will take over printing for a couple of days, and you come back after you've gotten 48 hours of downtime."  

[hopefulstarfire]

Today is day 7 of my February ship prompts! And, oddly enough, uh,

Prompt 7: Movie.

I don't know how I managed that one but the number generator has spoken so 😂 apologies that this one's a bit of a shorter one but life's been a tad bit hectic but I so offer up some protectshipping in these trying times.

Previous Prompts

Day One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six

Hope you enjoy!

Being sick was the worst.

It was day 3 of whatever exactly he had come down with and it had by far been the worst of it. The last couple of days had mostly been sniffles and the occasional cough, a migraine. Today's bout came with shivers, a pressure building all across his face, fatigue, coughing fits, the works. He felt even worse that he'd had to cancel the groups game session for the week, right as they'd gotten to a really big and dramatic moment with Tomoyas character; everyone had been left on the edge of their seat with the cliffhanger they ended the last session on and he'd been so excited to get to the result this week.

They'd all been understanding, and Kat offered to see if her aunt could whip up her Memaws apparently famous chicken soup that could "cure anything in 8 hours guaranteed" (She would do it, but, respectfully, she wasn't as skilled in cooking as she was with baking). He hadn't wanted to inconvenience Chelsea when they'd apparently been busy with work, but as he laid in bed, the top half of his face being the only thing exposed by the cocoon of blankets he'd swaddled himself in, he blearily stared at his phone and debated if he should or not.

The ring of the doorbell echoed throughout the quiet apartment and he let out a weak groan. The thought to just ignore it and try to roll over and go to sleep crossed his mind. But, he (begrudgingly) argued it could be important. He kept the blankets curled around him as he rose to his feet, slowly shuffling across the floor until he got the front door.

He blinked, his vision taking a moment to focus and for him to process who it was. "Tristan?"

The other teen stood there with a backpack slung over one shoulder, one hand clutching a brown paper bag, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "At your service."

A wave of guilt washed over Ryous heart. Tristan had been the most excited for this week; he'd convinced his friend (sort of boyfriend? They'd kissed twice now; they weren't sure where they were at. Tristan was trying to get things figured out in himself and Ryou was willing to wait) to join them for this campaign and he'd initially been nervous trying to figure out stats, classes, etc, but he'd taken to it quickly and he'd been so proud of his half-orc fighter and he'd helped been an inciting cause in Tomoyas tiefling artificers big moment.

"I'm sorry, did you not see the text?" He asked softly. "I'm afraid we can't--"

"Oh, yeah, no, I saw it, it's no biggie," Tristan assured him, holding up his free hand. He then lifted the brown bag to gesture out to it. "I brought soup and some stuff to help. And I grabbed a ton of movies; I figured if you couldn't get to DM, I could bring some DND to you with some of those fantasy movies you guys told me to check out."

He blinked; and he couldn't be sure that the heat in his cheeks was from him blushing or from the potential fever. "Really?"

The other teen softened, and reached out to straighten the blankets around the white haired boys shoulders. "Really." He hesitated for a moment, seemingly debating if he should, before he dropped a kiss on top of Ryous head and wrapped an arm around him. "Come on. Let's get you to the couch and I'll get everything set up."

Ryou leaned against him, welcoming the thought of his company full heartedly.

[ducknotinarow]

❤️ for Rasey 2k12

| Send ❤️ to grab my muse and kiss the HELL out of them.

Oh sweet sweet freedom at last! Was Raphael's first thought the second he stepped foot out in the alleyway he was making how way into now from the manhole cover. He took in the biggest, deepest breath of smoggy, cool city air he could. Slightly coughing right after. Hard enough for tears to pickle at the corn of his eyes. He continued to scrambled his way out. Not wanting to waste a second or chance a change in Splinters mind about freeing him from grounding. He may be 18 and by human logic an adult. But by Splinter's logic he was still in his teens, a child and that meant when he broke crew few he was grounded. Well not to mention the bit of trouble he got into that caused him to break crew few if it had just been that? Then yeah Raph would have likely only just gotten a restriction on the crew few over not being allowed to leave for two weeks. And no visitors allowed either.

Raph started to scale up the fire escapes to make his way up to the roof, happily loving the feeling of the metals vibrating under his feet god he missed this. Fine it was only two weeks but that had been the longest he has gone with out the feeling of freedom! Though it was also the longest he has gone with out Casey. The worst part of that grounding period. Checking his phone for where they were meant to meet up. Just a couple blocks away. They wanted to make up for loss time, likely they would just tag some walls, maybe play some stick hockey. Well Raph was hoping for a different kind of hockey game as well. Didn't take him long to get to the run down little city park they were planing to be their meeting spot for the night.

Casey of course that big fuckin' sap was there already waiting up for Raphael. The turtle paused just looking out at his boyfriend. Bike resting up against the bike rack as they were doing the same against the play set. Raph just smirked to himself as he was about to jump right down to them, deciding to instead quietly make his way down to Casey. Foot steps light to avoid the slightest sound to give him away as he made his way up the play set. Stomach against cheap wood as he crawled over to the edge. Smirking at Casey from above reaching down to snag their bandanna sift and quickly jerking his arm back as he pulled it free from their head.

"aw bandit, ain't ya just cute there waitin' up for little 'ol me." casually twirling their bandana around his finger as he taunted them a little. "man you're so whipped." as if the turtle had any room to talk. He finally moved up to sit in the edge of the playset, before pushing off against it to drop down beside them. "Jeez someone might just think ya missed me or somethin' was only two weeks but I know hard to go with out me in yer life uh?" As if the turtle hadn't darted right out of the lair the second Splinter said he had served his time. Holding up their bandanna for them to take back. Only to jerk his arm away keeping just out from their reach.

Okay, he was still feeling just a bit in a mood to mess around with Casey. Blame it on going stir crazy locked up in the lair. Worse because all his brothers were able to go out all they had wanted too, and rubbed it in his face. He wasn't even allowed to train in the dojo outside daily practice! so pent up was also how he felt. And well Casey was his favorite person to mess around with which was why he was picking a fight already. Going to put their bandanna on top of his own head. Not out right calling attention to what he was doing more focused on poking fun at his boy friend. Moving in closer to them needing to lift to his tip toes as he took hold of Casey's hoodie tugging them down. Man he missed them so much, but he didn't go for a kiss nah he was still in a mood. Waiting for a sing that Casey was expecting the kiss as he grinned wide and with just so much grace, let out his tongue and licked it across Casey's face. Chuckling as he let them go and step back, in all fairness it was a bit of a show of affection just not very romantic.

Fingers moved to open up his mouth as he let his tongue hang out "what's a matter lover boy looking for a smooch? come and get it then." just a playful game of chase going on now as Raph was keeping just a bit of way from Casey's grasp, till tripping back over a balance beam on the playground falling back on his shell. Casey having him where he wanted. Raph paused to look up at them face slightly tinted with a blush as Case clambered over him keeping them down to the wood chips they were meant to act as padding for the place. Raph hand to wonder how humans thought wood chips were soft enough to fall on, as he was sure a few were jobbing him right now. Luckily his mind was taken off how uncomfortable they were, as Case got his hands on his face and started to plant kiss after kiss on to him. Raph could help the laugh that was working out from his shell right now. A soft low churr bubbled out from the back of his throat as he soaked in the affection. A near enough purr leavening him as Casey seemed to press his lips to every open spot he could on him. Raph Reached up to take hold of Casey's face in turn now. Sighing out as green eyes grew soft looking at them. "I miss ya too." moving to sit up now going in for a kiss when he once again took the chance to swipe his tongue up across Casey's face "Bleeh" he went on to say to add to the action unable to start how he laughed after, as he fell back on the wood chips with a laugh.

[bloody-crowleyy]

Chapter 3

“And here we have our latest invention: The Instant Clayer!” Arseli grunts, “name in editorial stages, of course!” He pulls the lever and put a bunch of clay under the machines arms. The arms work fast and precise, carving and and shaping the piece of clay into an exact copy of my face. “And…” He presses a button and it cooks the clay fast, then paints it. I stare through Arseli’s eyes, his nervous smile appearing again.

“What is our country known for, Aresli, other than the plague!” I begin to smoke a cigarette.

“Um… our weapons?”

“Yes. So my question now stands: why did you make something for art?”

“Well, uhm, sir, it’s for weapon creation. I uh… well… I um… I made this to see how it would, uhm, work? And it works splendidly so I’m going to work out the uh… what’s the word? Oh, the kinks— or quirks— of it. I forgot that blasted word, uh, so, I’m going to change it, and make it able to make weapons, King Borelius, sir.”

“Nervous?” I cough up blood and take the cigarette out to cough a bit more, then I put it back it.

“No sir.”

“Good. Now go.”

“Yes sir.” He takes his machine and frolics out, his wings surrounding him as a sort of protection.

I grab my mirror and start doing my hair, sweeping it to the left, keeping it straight, and pulling it back into a small ponytail for Denian to see. She’s going to think I look better than last time f hopefully. It’s been a year, she can’t know how much worse I’ve gotten. I stare at the photos on the walls of me and Corifael, me and Denian, me and the both of them. None of my parents, but that’s probably for the best. Corifael misses them, somehow. He was always mothers favorite, though.

“That sure looks great, sir, what’s it used for?” Denians voice echoes through the hall. I stand and walk swiftly down the hall. “Oh, bore, hi!” She smiles sweetly.

“Oh!” Arseli jumps at the sight of me, obviously fearful.

“He was just leaving, weren’t you, Arseli?” I stare him dead in the eyes.

“Mhm, yep, yes ma’am and uh, sir, I uhm, I was. I’ll go now. Goodbye.” He walks off faster than usual, leaving the castle.

“Oh, Bore, you look as handsome as ever! How long is it been?”

I cough hard, holding my hand up for her to wait a moment, “A year. It’s been a year, Denian.”

“A long year it’s been, hasn’t it? You’re pale, what’s happened to you?”

“That… plague… really messed me up. Messed up my parents worse as you could’ve guessed. I’ve… missed this. I’ve missed you, Denian. I hope your visit is longer than the last, and at least it’s for better reasons.”

“Yes, well,” she cups my face with her hands, “I’ve missed you, too,” she leans in close to my face, as if about to kiss me.

Corifael runs through the hall, ramming into paintings, tables, and finally, Denian. A guard pulls him off of her, but he doesn’t stop embracing her.

“Deni! How long it’s been! You look beautiful, did you get a haircut? New hairdresser? New seamstress or seamster? Corifael let’s go of her, crossing his arms, “You’re so short now! Did you lose… height…?”

“You’re taller, Corifael. And yes to all of those, how’ve you been?”

“Pretty good, been a bit sad since mom and dad died. Bor hasn’t been that well since you left, this is the first time he’s done his hair! Where’s Jerry?”

“I’m sorry, Cori. What’s been wrong Bor? And I left him at home, he’s being taken care of. I think he’s gonna she’d soon.”

I stare at Cori for a moment, that brat didn’t need to say anything about me. “I’m fine, Denian. My lungs just haven’t been the same since I was ill, you know?”

“Sure. So, who was that guy? He seemed sweet.”

“Arseli. He’s an inventor, makes stuff for me. Good kid, he’s about Cori’s age. He’s just anxious way too much.”

“Reminds me of you when you were younger, Bor.”

“I wasn’t that bad. You should go to your room, put your suitcase and everything in there. Your guards can sleep in the room next to you, it has multitudes of beds.” I wave her off, and she quickly walks up the stairs. I walk over to my throne again and sit down. Corifael follows her and continues speaking to her. He’s twenty and still acts like a child. Since Deni said something of it, I do now see how pale I’ve gotten. When was the last time I went outside?

A sound interrupts my thoughts as a pop goes across the castle. An explosion? A gunshot? Corifael playing around. I get up, but standing in front of me is a tall, thin, smiling man. He shoves me back onto my throne and sits on the armrest. His feathered coat hits the side of my face, and he ruffles my hair.

“Now, now, no need to be jumpy, King. We have much to discuss!” He jumps up off the chair and disappears into a shadow, the shadow moves and his glowing smile appears on the top of the throne. He then appears, dropping his hat on my head. “You seem to have quite the visitor! Princess still, isn’t she? Denian? Aren’t her parents dead though? Odd that she’s still a ‘princess’ but, hey, she likes to be called that, doesn’t she? Makes her think there’s actually someone else ‘round!” He chuckles slightly, his bright green eyes shining in the dark above me.

“What is it, Jœnjér?” I stand and turn around to look at him. He’s gone. I spin around and he’s directly behind me, now inches from my face.

“Calm down, Bor. I’m here for our… deal. Denians people haven’t stopped. And now Ruby and Damion have met Therion. Do you know how much trouble we could be in?”

“Well, it’s not us who did anything, so why would we have any trouble?”

“Oh… you know… they could find out about our deal. Maybe find out about, oh, I don’t know, what I am. And we can’t have that, now, can we?”

“No. We can’t.”

“Then keep Denian from leaving. I will deal with them. Don’t let her find o ur about anything with them. If they come here, you kill them. Alright?”

“Yes.” He disappears the moment I say it, his glowing smile disappearing with him. I sit back down and lean back on my thrown. Marcelina, a maid, walks past the room. She’s holding a bottle of wine and a glass. “Marcelina, come.” She walks over to me sheepishly.

“Yes, sire?”

“Hand me that bottle and go get another one for Denian or Corifael or whoever wants it. And bring me a cigarette, alright?”

“Yes sir.” She hands me the wine bottle and glass, I push the glass away and take the bottle. She looks down and walks away. I pop the cap off of the bottle and drink to my hearts content.

[ambrosiasaladofthebrain]

Chapter 4: If you’ve found the cure to aging could you share that please

Jake chuckled, “No.” he shook his head slightly, “Not possible.”

“I’m not lying, it is 3169.” The boy pushed.

“No no no no no, cause that would make me, 24? No?” Jake did the math again, holding out his fingers to double check then shaking them aggressively when it came out the same. “No, that’s wrong, I’m 13, not, not 24!” He started to shake his hands him as he tried to process the possible whys and hows.

“Oh, um, no, I don’t think you look 24? I mean, you're really small for a 24 year old,” the boy tried, straightening his back but slouching when his attempt only maybe Jake give a small whine of misery, “Uh, ok, uh,” the boy held out a hand to seemingly touch Jake’s shoulder then seemed to think better as he brought his hand back. 

“I’m not 24,” Jake tried again, as if saying this again would magically make his hair shorten and his clothes grow and his sister reappear; “An’, an’ that would make Zoey, oh stars, is she even goin’ to be alive? Did she wake up? When, when she woke up did they ‘ave to tell ‘er I went missin? Did she think I ran away?”

“Hey, hey wait, no, listen. Just take a second, look at me,” the stranger waved his hand to gather Jake’s watering eyes, “You still have to breath, please breath.”

Jake tried to listen, inhaling like a broken vacuum with holes riddling the tube and screws jittering in the container, choking on his attempt he tried to release what he had caught but it came out too fast and now he needed more oxygen.

“Oh,’ the stranger mumbled, “No, uh, follow me ok, just, do what I do.”

He started to inhale, his left hand tapping a beat in the dirt. Jake tried to follow along, but how had he gotten outside? How had he forgotten so much? His whole personality revolve around remembering, he couldn’t just forget, what if- “Hey,” the boy knocked on the ground gathering Jake’s attention again, inhaling and nodding for Jake to do the same;

“In,” Jake tried to breath in but couldn’t copy the boy’s fluid breath, “one, two, three, four. Hold,” Jake could feel the air caught in his tired lungs burn and he was about to cough it up like a liquid when the boy continued.

“Out, two, three, four, five.”

Jake released his breath as it clung to his throat, he started to tap his fingers together, what if Zoey was also out here? 

“In,” the boys said a bit louder, when had he gotten so close to Jake? They were practically sitting with their knees touching now, but he listened, breathing in and collecting the aciding air as the face mask folded inwards. It had gotten so hot and moist and he wanted to rip it off but then he’d be breathing the normal air and that was possibly worse. Was Zoey breathing this air?

“Out,” the boy instructed again, he was tapping the ground right next to Jake’s foot now and if Jake focused he could feel it reverberating through the dirt just slightly. “There you go, just like that, yep,” The boy encouraged, like Jake was actually following along and not imitating a dying fish.

“I ha- I have’ta find my sister,” Jake weezed.

“And I’ll help you, promise.”

“R-realy?”

“Sure, I have got nothing better to do. Tell you what, once you calm down a bit more we’ll leave, right away, no waiting until morning. I’ll take you back to my place, which, by the way, has filtered air and we can get your injuries really taken care of, then we can look for your sister.”

“Yer- yer place?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not close to here, wich was why I thought I’d wait until morning, but we can make it before the sun sets if we really try I guess. We’d have to move fast.”

His gaze flicked to Jake’s ankle.

“But, I don’t- yer a stranger. Stru-stranger danger says to not follow a person you don- don’t know.

“Uh, well, I gues you could stay here but I have a laptop and, well, resources, plus there will be others.” Jake made a face that hopefully portrayed that that didn’t mean anything to him. “Uh, ok, what if I give you something sentimental of mine. That way if I do turn out to be a bad person you can threaten to break it.”

Jake made another face. Who would put their own personal item in danger like that? But the boy was already reaching for his neck and pulling out a silver chain followed by a small silver dog tag stung through it. He handed it to Jake who took it in somewhat shaky hands.

“Why w-”

“Insurance. Now I can’t try anything without hurting myself too, see?”

Jake looked down at the small tag that had nothing but the number 1 engraved on it in the smallest font in the top left corner.

“H-how, do I knu-know this isn’t some prop? There's nothin’ on it?” Jake questioned.

“Oh, uh,” the boy tilted his head, rubbing the back of his neck, “It does have sentimental value to me, even if it is not too flashy or anything.”

Jake squinted at the strange boy, he seemed hesitant to share the sentiments but he did seem honest, his hand kept slightly twitching towards the pile of silver in Jake’s hand and it seemed like he wasn't even aware of it as he talked.

“Fine,” Jake shrugged, unclasping the clip and slipping it around his neck, “but, this doesn’t mean I trust those other people, I can’t expect everyone ta give me an ‘insurance item’,” Jake lazily held his finger quotes up, then seeing that his hands were still shaking, shoved them into his lap.

“Well, I will just never leave your side,” the boy shrugged.

“Ever?”

“I mean, in limitation, obviously. I’m not gonna go to the bathroom and get changed with you.”

“Yeah, I figured that's what ya ment.”

“Here,” the boy held up his pink, “I promsie to never leave your side and protect you from anyone who does try anything.”

Jake squinted at the outstretched pinky; “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why help? What do you want in return?”

The boy lowered his pinky an inch, “Uh. I wanted to help since it looked like you could use it.”

“Yeah right.”

“Uh well, I want to help you because it makes me feel better. Does that not count for something?”

“So yer doin it t’feel better about yerself?”

“Sure. I help people to feel like a good person, that is what I want out of it.”

Jake squinted at him a moment longer; “You can’t leave my side; and you have to keep me safe; and help me find my sister.” He restated.

“I promise,” the stranger lifted his pinky again.

Jake lifted his hand, extended his pinky, and after a moment of hesitation, wrapped it around the stranger’s. 

Pinky promises were so childish yet Jake felt a sense of security with the lock of their pinkies. 

The boy’s was bigger than his, slender and cold. Unlike Jake’s hands he didn’t shake. It was like touching marble.

It wasn’t much but he had the dog tag as well and sitting here wasn’t going to help him anyways.

“Alrighty, let’s  get out of here before the sun sets on us,” the boy smiled as he stood, lifting Jake with their still connected pinkies. Jake wobbled as he stood, wincing when he put too much weight against his ankle. “Thats gonna be our biggest problem.” The boy snapped a pointed finger to Jake’s ankle.

“Sorry,” Jake mumbled, pulling his hand out of the boy's grip to lean against the wall.

“Nah, it’s not your fault you got hurt. Not like you did it on purpose.” The boy shrugged, “I think if I leave first I can pull you up so you don’t have to put any excess weight on your ankle.” 

He wasn’t planing on leaving Jake behind was he? If he left first he could just walk away and Jake would have to find some other way out. Maybe he’d had enough of Jake. One of Jake’s foster parents had done that, left him in a pit he’d fallen into so he’d learn to ‘fend for himself’. He’d been in there two days when a random passerby helped him out then robbed him.

“No, I- I think,” Jake’s eyes scanned the small area, looking for a different solution, “If you give me a step up by clasping your hands together I can use my good ankle to jump out. “

“You sure?” The boy tilted his head, but Jake was already wobbling to the exit, “Ok, yeah, hold on,” the boy hurried, quickly locking his hands together for Jake to step up.

The part Jake hadn’t considered was needing to put all his weight on his bad ankle first to then jump off with his good one. He inhaled as he leaned further on his weight and felt fire stab up his leg but it was better than being left so he quickly planted his foot into the boys clasped hands and jumped.

The dirt wall honestly wasn’t that tall, if Jake hadn’t been hurt he’d have been able to get out by himself with no trouble. As it was now, he jumped out and landed face first in the grass, dragging the rest of himself up and out then turning in time to see the boy jump out with ease.

“You good?” He asked, lended Jake a hand up.

Jake ignored it, pushing himself up and leaning into his good leg; “M’fine. We should get goin before the sun sets, like ya said.” He pointed to the sky that had already darkened a shade since he’d climbed out of the hole.

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah, let’s go, here,” the boy made to lend his shoulder to Jake to lean on but Jake shuffled away.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I think it would be faster if-“

“I’ll be fine.”

“It’s gonna be a long walk, and we are trying to hurry.”

Jake stared at him a moment, going through the possible outcomes. The boy could suddenly punch or push him but that would only slow them down and he seems to genuinely not want to be out in the dark.

He could be trying to pick pocket Jake but Jake didn’t think he even have pockets, the only object he had was the lighter, still tucked behind his ear and hidden by hair.

For a moment Jake toyed with the idea of an attempted kidnapping but the boy would have had better luck subduing him back in the hole first. 

None of the outcomes seemed worse than wasting time right now so he sighed; “Fine.”

He hooked his arm around the boy’s shoulder as the boy smiled like he’d won an argument of some kind. 

“Alrighty, let’s get this show on the road,” the boy began as they started to walk into the wood, “For the most part we can walk like this, I think there’s an entrance to a place around here. When we get close though, you’re gonna have to wear a blind fold-“

“What? Why would I do that?”

“Well, the people I live around are very secretive, they don’t like anyone knowing where they live, and I mean anyone.”

“You do realize how suspicious that soun’s right?”

“Yeah, I’m really sorry, really, but they are all a bit paranoid. They are scared of getting attacked so they hide underground.”

“What’re they scared’a attackin ‘em?”

“The normal things I guess.” He shrugged, “Other groups, animals, one of Akuno’s little groups.”

“Akuno’s lill groups?”

“Yeah, ever since this one time, everyone’s been absolutely terrified of the idea of Akuno finding us.”

“What’re you guys doin?”

“What do you mean?”

“Only people breakin the law would hide from the government.”

“Well that depends on your version of the law.”

“I’m not goin anywhere that could get me in trouble with the law.”

“I hate to break it to you but by being here you already broke it. If Akuno found out you had been out here he wouldn’t let you back in.”

“No, people used to leave and return all the time.”

“Was that, earlier?”

Jake scrunched his brows at that and hummed.

“The only illegal thing we’re doing is living out here. Besides, if we don’t live in the cages how can their rules apply to us.”

“Akuno would let me it. Once he hears my story he’ll agree this was all one big mistake. Honestly, I’m sure my story won’t even make it up the chain ta him. I’ll just go to the door and talk to the guard there and if anythin it’ll be a local issue, at most I’ll talk to a district representative.”

“I don’t know, I haven’t heard of those doors opening for anybody unauthorized in ages, even before the closing.”

“It’ll work.”

“Sure, I’ll take you to the doors as soon as you heal enough to stand on your own. Deal?”

“Fine. A sprained ankle should take 3 to 4 weeks to heal to the point of being able to walk on them again. In that time, you’ll help me find clues some other way.” Jake paused, realizing he’d just demanded instead of asked, technically this was the deal they had already come to  but he should be nicer about asking in case the boy became angry at being bossed around. “I mean, that is what we discussed earlier at least. If yer still ok with- I mean you can’t take that back now, right?”

“Course, I’ll help you in the mean time.” The boy’s mouth flicked somewhat up into what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile.

“Anyways,” the boy said, looking up at the sky and re-adjusting his shoulder, “you’ll have to wear a blind fold until we get to a holding room. Basically we’re going to enter this room we’re I’ll talk to the guards, if they talk to you you can talk back if you want. After that the room gets scanned to make sure you’re not hiding a tracker or a chip or a bomb or something. I don’t really know what they’re looking for honestly. If they find something they don't like they send someone in to A: get rid of the item or B: investigate the item. The scan also checks you for illness so you’ll know if you do have stardust pretty soon I guess. Depending on what they find they put you in a specific room. I’m guessing since your not sick but your wearing uh, something often worn by, um, test, subjects, they’ll put you in a quarantined room. This would probably be where they’ll try to separate us but don’t worry, I wont let them.”

“But what if I need to be quarantined?”

“Well, I’m already sort of in contact with you, so if you did have something I probably already caught it. Besides we’ll know that bit when they scan us.”

“What did you mean by I’m wearing test subject stuff?”

The boy was silent a moment, tilting his head and squinting his left eye. For a moment Jake thought he wasn’t going to answer but then he tilted his head the other way and opened his mouth;

“Just that, I mean, have you looked at your, cloth? Your, outfit? Your, hospital gown?”

Jake looked down at his breezy outfit as if verifying the cloth was still in tact. 

“Yeah, it’s sorta gross. I thought I was wearin it because I was a hospital patient, maybe I caught stardust and fell asleep like my sister, ‘sept somehow I got tossed in the woods.”

The boy chuckled, “What, the hospital was just like, ‘oh no, no more room, gues we’ll let Mother Nature deal with them’?”

“Well when you put it like that,” Jake grumbled.

They stepped in silence a moment longer before the boy spoke again.

“Test subjects, varying from the ages of 5 to 20 somethings, actually no wait, babies? I think the animas can be found younger than 5. Anyway, young, people, who are found wearing hospital gown aren’t usually hospital patients. All over the forest are hidden facilities that use humans as, well, test subjects. So, accounting for the memory loss and adding the hospital gown, they’ll most likely think you were a test subject.”

Jake didn’t know how to respond to that. What was he even supposed to say? 'Wow that sucks that people are being tested on, anyways i want to go home because I'm sure that wasn’t me.' That wouldn’t fly. Maybe he should show compassion, but saying “oh that sucks” didn’t really feel sincere enough.

There was also the insinuation that Jake had been a test subject or other but he thought asking about himself seemed too self centered at the moment. Before he could say decide on what to say the boy moved on.

“So depending if the scan finds anything they might send you to a doctor, we need to get you to one anyways so it works. If they don't think it's urgent they'll send you to an interview room during the interview we can ask them to see if you sister ever came to one of our cities. If she did she’ll be in the system, if not they’ll try to find her online for you.”

“So basically just put up with answerin questions ‘n bein poked ‘n prodded?”

“Yep,” the boy pointed at Jake, drawling out the e before popping the p. “Anyway, I think it’s blindfold time.”

He untangled his arm from Jake to start digging in his bag again.

“Here we are,” with a dramatic wish of his wrist he displayed the purple cloth.

“Feel that?” He held the end out for Jake. “That is the good blind fold material right there, none of that amateur, scratchy stuff.”

“Do you normally carry a blind fold on you or...” Jake chuckled nervously.

“Nah, this is the one that group used on my, I stole it cause I’m petty. Ready?”

Jake exhaled, looking at the sky that had deepened to a red, “Yeah.”

The cloth was soft, a silky textured that Jake could imagine being used to coat District 1’s eye masks. Jake had seen those on a tv show once and had tried to make one with one of his foster parents. They’d used an old pillow they’d found in the road but when Jake tried to use it he’d hated the texture of it rubbing against his eyes and hadn’t gotten any sleep that night. 

They’d ended up burning it and roasting hot dogs in the fire. That guardian had been arrested for arson not so coincidentally.

“Ok, can you see anything?” The boy asked. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Could I just lie to you and tell you the wrong number in purpose?”

“Oh yeah. Hold on.”

Jake listened to the sound of  shuffling a moment, then it stopped, followed by the swish click of a switchblade. 

“Is that a switchblade? Oh, I knew it! I’m gonna die! Yer tryin t’kill me! Why didn’t y’jus’do it earlier? Issit a game? Issit a game fer ya?”

“What- what are you? You can see!”

“I can’t!”

“Then how’d you know I had a knife!”

“I heard you open it!”

“That could have been anything!”

“No! It sounded like a switchblade opening!”

“What does that even sound like!”

“Like, like, I don’t know! A switchblade! Opening!”

“Ok, yeah, I did pull out a switchblade!”

“T'stab me with?”

“No! I was gonna pretend to stab you.”

“That doesn’t sound any better!”

“If you flinched or pulled away it would be because you could see!”

“Why didn’t y'jus pretend t'punch me like a normal person!”

“You could have  felt the air change!”

“Really, I promise, I can’t see.”

There was silence for a moment;

“Ok, I believe you.”

“You jus pretended t'stab me didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Jake sighed, lifting his arm in an invitation for the boy to lean back in and re-start the walk. A moment later he felt the boys arm re-wrap around his back.

“Ready?” The boy asked, and Jake hadn’t realized he could feel the vibration of the boy’s voice in his own chest until now. He hummed a confirmation, letting his own voice vibrate back.

With the loss of his vision the rest of his senses oddly heightened. The trees were rustling in the softest breeze above their heads. What he could only gues where animals made odd calls among the foliage. Each step he took rustled the grass and thumped in an unnatural fashion.

He listened for the boy’s footsteps that he could feel from the way they moved and huffed when there a barely audible step. Jake focused on the boys breathing, in, out. Steady, confident breaths that only made Jake more aware of the cloth covering his lower face and the way it was hotter than the rest of his face.

Jake listened again. Trying to imagine the boys feet hitting the ground to the rhythm of his movements. Left right, left right. Suddenly they were ducking and Jake could feel the sun slip off his face for a second before splashing onto his face once more.

“Sorry, fallen tree.” The boys explained.

And there was that odd fact again. Without any facial expressions Jake really couldn’t tell anything by the boys odd sleepy voice. But his shoulders hadn’t tense and he hadn’t unintentionally turned away from Jake as he said it so he probably wasn’t lying.

“So weird.” Jake grumbled, turning his face away from the boy.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Ok. Anyway, we’re almost there, remember to just answer their questions to the best of your ability and stay calm and you should be fine.”

Jake hummed a confirmation. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea actually. What if they locked him up for some reason. If they hated Akuno and all then maybe they’d hold him hostage or kill him as some kind of warning. But this boy had said he’d protect him. But he could easily have been lying. Then why the necklace, unless it was a false pacifier.

No he’s already decided it wasn’t. 

But how could he know, he hadn’t even known the boy that long. On that note he didn’t even know the guys name. How could he trust someone if he didn’t even know their name. 

Fine then, he’s just make sure he knew this guy before any-

“And, here we are.” The boy said, the sound of a door creaking following his declaration.

Jake froze at how fast that was. He hadn’t even gotten to ask for a name yet!

The boy either didn’t notice Jake’s freeze or didn’t care because he dragged Jake along. Jake’s foot met a hard floor as the sound of a door echoed shut behind him and he realized it was far to late for any of his icebreakers.

The boy jiggled his shoulder, squeezed his shoulder as the sound of a static click echoed from somewhere.

“Hello?” A new voice filled with grain and static and electric annoyance filtered in.

“Hello Camp Rivestone, I’m requesting entrance with a new party of one in need of assistance.” The boys voice followed, echoes of voices chasing each other round the room for a moment before being cut down by the next static question.

“Assistance?”

“Medical and physical.”

“Hold for a scan.”

Something clicked to life and began to wir and hiss a moment before shutting down again.

“Black hair, what’s your name?”

Jake straighted his back and drew in a breath; “Jake Lunes.”

“Middle name?”

Jake paused, a sliver of panic sliding under his nails. A middle name? Was that really necessary? Legally speaking he supposed so, but- he scanned through his memoirs, trying to remember any birth certificates or official paperwork he’d seen before.

Surely with all the foster parent transfers he’d had to have seen his legal name somewhere. He couldn’t remember it, no one had ever told him. How had he never realized that.

“Middle name?” The voice asked again in, was that annoyance? A lull to the end of the words. A tilt in vowels, that’s what annoyance sounded like, right?

“Uh, E.” He muttered.

“E?”

“That’s, all I can remember. Sorry”

It was silent a moment before the voice spoke again.

“Please present your watam to the scanner.”

There was another click hiss and the boy shifted for a moment before a beep that sounded like confirmation and the hiss click disappeared.

“You-“ the static began in confusion before clearing its throat and continuing in the professional yet annoyed voice. “I’ll contact your guardian.”

“You really don’t have to do that.” The boy said in what was almost a pleading voice.

“He’s already in town anyways.”

“What? No.” The boy whined. “Why?”

“Ask him when he gets here Wonbe.”

The boy exhaled in a controlled manner before inhaling as if drawing confidence from the air, “Fine. Thank you.”

There was another pregnant pause and Jake started to worry they weren’t going to let him in but then the voice clicked on again.

“Entrance appeal accepted, please follow the escorts to a holding room.”

“Hey hey!” The boy, was it Wonbe? Shook Jake’s shoulder softly. “We’re in.”

As the last word left his lips a grand hiss and grind rumbled the room and Wonbe quickly straightened out.

“Please follow us.” A woman’s soft voice joined the echoes and Jake took a shuffle to what was hopefully a good decision.

Chapter 1 / Chapter4 / Chapter 5

⭐️I'm a day late but shhh, anyways we finally made it into the tunnels raaa, I'm excited to write more Wonbe and other characters and flesh out the story now that the introduction is kinda endin 🌙

[bellysoupset]

This maybe extreme but what about Vince randomly having a vomiting episode and then seizure while at work?

This was meant to be short, but uh... Wendy/Vin have me on a chokehold.

His job might not be heroic like being a doctor or fun like coding or even extremely challenging, like interning at a law firm, but Vince genuinely loved it nonetheless. He was a tour guide to the local museum and, since he had college classes in the morning, he normally ended up with the evening tours.

It didn't pay super well and forced him to work part time during Saturdays too, but he loved it. He got to ramble about his favorite topic - roman history - and to impress the little kids who came in by teaching them tidbits of Latin and woo a bunch of girls and guys and yeah... He loved it.

Not today though.

He wasn't even sure of what was wrong, because he felt fine. A little thirsty, sure, and like his feet weren't quite touching the floor, but otherwise fine.

"Vincenzo!" His manager glared at him, "don't just stand there, your next tour has already started!"

Uh. He could swear he had just gotten his little break.

Vince groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, which felt weirdly stiff and moved to the main entrance. His group was a tall woman - the teacher - with a dozen of 10 years old.

"Hi everyone!" Vince plastered his brightest smile, "are you ready to get started with the tour?"

Somehow, when there were children involved, he always ended up being adopted by a kid. This time it was a shy 10 year old who kept grabbing his shirt.

He smiled, blinking heavily when glancing down to her freckled face made a bunch of colorful worms explode in his vision. Uh... It felt like he was drugged.

"Mr. Vinny?" she called in a little squeaky voice and Vince brushed his hand through her ginger pin straight hair.

"So, as I was saying, Caesars were na..." he paused again. The colorful worms were still in his vision, but most importantly, a hiccup sent a gush of stomach acid up in his throat. Less like puking, more like refl-

He heard a yell, a childish scream and then the floor came rushing down towards his face.

Vince woke up flat on his back, surrounded by a group of horrified 10 year olds, the teacher from before was on the phone, damn close to hysterics, and his supervisor was crouched down next to him too.

"Vince?" Troy called gently and Vince groaned loudly.

He heard some rushing around now that he was awake. It felt like he couldn't move any of his limbs, not his mouth, not his hands, definitely not his head.

"Vince?" Troy sounded a lot more urgent now and Vince realized he had closed his eyes again.

He forced them open again, "eeeine."

"...What?" Troy's voice trembled dangerously, "oh god, did he have a stroke? Tell them he's not speaking!"

"Oooy," Vince forced out, focusing on his tongue, "T-troy."

"Yes, yes, yes," Troy breathed out in relief, "It's me. Are you okay? What happened?"

"Troy," Vince stressed again, trying to put on his voice just how frantic he was starting to feel, as his throat closed up. He was going to suffocate, "gon'sick."

"What?"

"Gon'be sick," Vince choked out and then acid and his lunch shot up his throat, his stomach violently rejecting it. He coughed, hard and heard more frantic noise, before Troy and the poor teacher rolled him on his side.

Hot, disgusting vomit rushed out of his mouth without him even gagging and forming a small puddle of orange on the floor. Vince coughed, his nose burned from the nearly aspirated sick.

"Shishtishit-" Troy was completely losing his shit, cradling him, even if Vince was pretty much twice his size, "please tell them to hurry!" he cried out to the teacher.

"no'spital."

"Vince, shh-"

"No-" he coughed again, burped up more vomit and finally started to feel his arms and legs again, "I don't need a hospita-"

"Vincenzo," his boss practically spat the word, "you're going to a hospital."

Vince groaned, let his head hang in defeat and shame and tried not to feel even worse as he heard the little children cry out in fear.

By the time he arrived at the hospital, practically manhandled by the paramedics who were having none of his bullshit, Vince was exhausted. His shirt was humid from where the paramedics had cleaned it, after he head grunted and complained about the vomit making him sicker.

His hair was a mess from people running their fingers through his curls, trying to find a bump on his head, and he was sure he looked insane.

To make matters worse, they took him to the university's hospital. He wasn't sure what was the worst outcome: Lucas hearing he was being forced to get an MRI done after a seizure or Jonah finding out he was in his hospital or-

"We have to stop meeting like this, Vin," Wendy scoffed as she walked to the bed he had been practically tied to.

Oh yeah, this was the worst outcome, he thought. He looked disgusting and she looked like she had just floated into the room. Tired, yes, but so beautiful.

"I did my best not to come," he said hoarsely and she snorted.

"Oh yeah, I heard the entire story. The paramedics are furious with you," her smile was easy, gentle, but not overly concerned and it was the first thing to make him actually calm down.

"...Did they tell you what happened?"

"Vince, there are a dozen children wailing in my waiting room, a man who had to be given tranquilizers to chill the fuck down and a woman who's pretty much in shock," Wendy raised her eyebrows, "I think I know what happened by now. The question is, do you?"

He cringed at the image she was picturing and nodded gingerly, "I passed out-"

"You had a seizure," she corrected him immediately and Vince ignored her.

"And then I threw up everywhere."

"Happens when you have a seizure for the first time," she shrugged, moving closer, "were you feeling anything before?"

"No," Vince shook his head and then regretted it when it made the room twirl. He waited until Wendy became just one again, instead of two, "...no. Just thirsty."

"And dizzy? Like you are now?" she asked, jolting something down on his file.

"No. Just thirsty and a little... Fuzzy."

"Uhm," Wendy looked up, her hazel eyes piercing on his, "have you ever had a seizure before?"

"Nope."

"Someone in your family? Dad? Mom?"

"Nope," Vince pouted, "I'm fine."

"That's for me to say, not you," she scoffed, then sighed and put her file down, moving closer and pushing his hair back, "I'm glad you're alright."

"I'm fine," he stressed and Wendy rolled her eyes, opening a smile.

"We'll see when your MRI comes back clean."

"It's going to be clean, because I'm fine," he stressed, before pausing, "did you- Does Jonah know I'm here?"

"Nope. You're my patient, I can't tell him anything you don't want him to know," she bit down her lip, "...you're a tough guy," Wendy said slowly, less like she was trying to comfort him and more herself, "you'll be fine."

"I know," Vince said valiantly, but listening to the sudden change in her tone, he felt a lot less invincible. He hated the fact he was the cause her voice wavered just slightly at the end.

Wendy forced another smile, squeeze his hand and pulled back, "alright, I'm going to call the nurses to wheel you to MRI."

Vince was twitching nervously as the nurses - Jess and Chris, who were all well humored and chatty, something he felt was very purposeful on Wendy's part - wheeled him into the MRI center.

"I'm going to put ear protectors on you, alright Vince?" said Chris, holding two spongey ear protectors. Vince gulped down, much more panicked than before.

"Uhm- What if... What if I get another one? In there?" he pointed the tub. The prospect of being trapped inside that thing made him panic.

"I'm going to be here the entire time," Jess promised, squeezing his arm, "if you feel anything, just say it and we'll pull you out immediately."

"O-okay..." he really wanted the people whom he actually trusted with him. He glanced up, to the MRI station, separated from the rest of the chamber by a black glass. Wondered if Wendy was inside, "is We- Dr. Marshall there? Can she see me?"

"Yes," Jessica nodded, reaching to remove his silver cross and Vince jerked away from her. He wasn't particularly superstitious, but this had been gifted to him by his bisnonna and he wore it always, "Vince, you can't go in with metals-"

"I..." Vince hesitated, then undid the clasp and clutched the necklace in his fist, "please, just be fast."

"It'll be fast," Jess promised, but he was sure she promised that to everyone.

Vince tried, really hard, not to panic inside that goddamn box. He really didn't want to get all worked up again, specially not when he wasn't feeling his best, but the experience was nerve wrecking.

By the time they pulled him out, he had tears clinging to his long lashes and was sucking in shallow breaths, practically hyperventilating.

"Hey..." Wendy said softly, stepping into the room, "you did amazing."

"Don't-" he muffled a queasy burp on his hand, "don't baby me."

She sighed, moving closer and planting a hand on his back, "stop pushing me away," Wendy said quietly, "I know it's scary, trust me."

"You've done one of these before?" Vince asked bitterly, though he leaned into her touch.

"More often than you think," Wendy sighed, running her nails over his back, slowly getting him to relax, "no we just wait until it's pri-"

"Can't you just tell me?" Vince asked in a pitiful voice, "I'm sick, I'm worried, I'm scared, please just fucking tell me."

She pouted, "I need to take it to my supervis-"

"Wendy," he grabbed her hand, "please."

"It's clear," she said in a little voice, "I could be wrong!" she jumped when he opened a big, relieved smile, "I still need for my supervisor to check, Vince-"

"But..."

"...But I think it's all clear. Honestly, I think you might've caught some infection, which caused the seizure. We're gonna ask for your blood work."

He wrinkled his nose at being poked, but the relief was too strong, "I'm so happy, I could kiss you."

"Not with that puke breath you won't," she retorted immediately, cheeks a delicious shade of pink that reminded him of strawberry ice cream and Vince's heart raced for a completely different reason.

"If it turns out I'm not dying," he said slowly, much more confident now, "dinner tomorrow?"

"Only if it turns out you're not dying," Wendy squinted at him, "so you better not be."

He smiled, a huge, cheeks-painful smile, "deal."