#But I'm terrified for the day he realises that I am too much to handle and inevitably leaves

[truth-for-lies]

I'm honestly the worst fucking girlfriend in existence I swear to god

[umbracirrus]

Here is the start of a little oneshot which is based within the same verse as The Perfect Storm, my Balgruuf/Dragonborn OC Elyse fanfic, but can also be seen as standalone - I'm not involving any of the plot elements from that or writing anything which spoils that beyond the fact that the Elyse is a temporary resident of Dragonsreach instead of Breezehome (though she still uses it for storage!).

It's inspired by an in-game conversation in which Irileth gives Balgruuf a telling off.

The sun was beginning its descent in the skies above Whiterun at the time that the doors to the Dragonreach palace creaked open, its aging hinges clearly indicating that they needed tending to sooner rather than later as a figure confidently walked in with shoulders held high with what appeared to be a slight spring in their step.

In the bright oranges of the dimming light, the woman’s steel armour was clearly covered in grime, mud, and blood (whether it was her own blood was a question for another time). She also had a triumphant smile across her face, the blue in her eyes looking as though it were the Sea of Ghosts set ablaze. The look would have been almost terrifying and disconcerting for those who were unfamiliar with the behaviour of the Dragonborn, however, the denizens of Dragonsreach very much were used to her ways and knew not to think much of it.

Of those in the palace, however, it was the Jarl himself who was most pleased to see her return. She had been gone for little over two days, but that in itself felt an awfully long time given how used he was to seeing her dotted about the palace doing this, that, and the other. The reason for her absence was a simple one – a report had come in from a guard who had been assigned to patrol along the road between the Whiterun proper and Rorikstead to keep an eye out for any attempts from either the Stormcloaks or the Imperials to take claim to any land in the hold for their own purposes. Instead of news on the civil war, however, the guard had reported back on a dragon which had been terrorising the hamlet.

Elyse had overheard the report, and within minutes, she had been armoured up and declared that she would handle the dragon. Balgruuf had been planning on asking her whether she would be able to do so, but clearly it would have been redundant if he had done so. So she had left, in the mid-afternoon of the just gone Middas, to defeat the dragon. It was now early evening of Fredas, an awfully quick time to get to complete such a task, leading to the presumption that she had saved time through travelling on horseback.

A quiet humming could be heard as she made her way up the stairs before the throne, skipping every other step. That humming stopped as she found herself before him. “The dragon which has been hassling the residents of Rorikstead is now dead, you will be happy to know,” she grinned as she addressed him, though her attention was quickly diverted upon the sight of the steward. “Proventus, you’re just the person I was wanting to see - do you know when Adrianne and Ulfberth will be back in town? I promised them that I would bring them some dragon bones and scales a few weeks back, but their store was shut.”

Without so much as a chance to acknowledge her initial statement, Proventus had already started responding to her question before he could talk himself.

“I do not know, I am afraid… I may be Adrianne’s father, but she does not tell me of her every coming and going. All that I know is that both she and her husband will be away in Solitude for a time – take of that what you will.”

“Ah. That’s a shame. I’ll keep them stored at Breezehome for now then, and wait for their return.”

Before there could be too much of a distraction, he stood up from his seat as he cleared his throat, she let out an audible gasp which came with the realisation that she had been distracted, and turned her attention back to him. Proventus took this opportunity to back away, and return to looking through some documents which he had put aside earlier.

“It is good to see you safe and well after your task, Elyse. I presume that the dragon was not too difficult to handle, given that you neglected to take even Lydia along with you?”

With a contemplative hum, she brought her hand up to her chin as she thought. “Well, it was definitely one of the easier dragons which I have handled, though I did need some help with taking it down. I must admit that I forgot to even mention it to Lydia and only realised once I was halfway there. Luckily, there were some people on hand who were willing to help,” she explained, tapping her foot in the process. “The town guards helped quite a lot, but the surprising hero of the day was the son of the Frostfruit Inn’s innkeeper – his name is Erik, and he really could hold his own in battle. It’s a shame that he didn’t have the best equipment for handling a dragon, but his heart was really in there – I’d say he might even have the potential to join the ranks of the guard or become a sword for hire if he managed to get the right equipment.”

That was certainly food for thought, though something which he would certainly consider in the near future – a commendation from the Dragonborn was not something to be taken lightly after all. Right now, he was focussed purely on the fact that she was back and had done something of great import for his hold and seemed to be ignoring her own role in it all – after all, had she not been there to take in its soul, the dragon would simply have returned and sought to destroy Rorikstead once more.

“No matter who was involved, you have the gratitude of both myself and Whiterun for keeping the hold safe yet again. I will ensure that you are appropriately compensated as soon as possible.” He then approached her, and placed a hand on her shoulder as he leaned into her ear. “Meet me alone in the kitchens about an hour after sundown. I would like to personally thank you for all that you have done – particularly with defeating that dragon and returning to the city so hastily,” he stated with a smile, before returning to a much more respectable and decorous distance and nodding at her. “Now, why don’t you go and clean yourself up and take a rest – I don’t doubt that dragon slaying is a tiresome task.”

Returning his nod, she let out a surprised “O-Okay, I will,” before taking a deep breath and heading towards the stairs leading to the Dragonsreach private quarters, letting her hair loose from its tightly coiled updo as she did so. The previous confidence which she had been giving off had all but melted away, it clearly having been a façade which she had put on for when she was ‘on duty’ as Dragonborn, as opposed to simply being herself. That… was a feeling which he could greatly relate to, and in a way, he was glad that she was able to start winding down there, in front of him and everyone else present in the main hall of Dragonsreach, as opposed to waiting until she was in privacy to do so.

Now… he simply had to wait until nightfall, and find a way to get Irileth off his back for a few hours.

[miss-smutty]

Forbidden

Chapter 3

A/N- Evey couple of chapters you will get Professor Hemsworth's POV and this is the first one 🥵 I really wanted to write his story and hear his thoughts too.

Summary- He can't get her out of his mind, the girl in the coffee shop. Will fate bring them together again?

Word count- 2.9K

Pairing- Prof!Hems X Reader

Warnings- Age gap (OC is 20) student/professor relationship, swearing, dirty talk

18+ Only!

Disclaimer: This is an entire work of fiction/AU and has no affiliation to real life what so ever! This is a fictional story about fictional characters who happen to share names and faces with some real people.

Posted: 5th Sept 2021

Taglist:- @innerpaperexpertcloud @pandaxnienke @chickensarentcheap @jjpogueprincess @longlostinanotherworld @mostly-marvel-musings @darklydeliciousdesires @monet-belle @help2700 @presidentpotts

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chris Pov

My Apartment was silent as usual, empty like always when I arrived home from work, throwing my coat and bag on to the sofa and slumping down next to them.

I couldn't stand the silence, it taunted me and brought back memories I'd rather not remember. I'd thought about getting a roommate but still hadn't gotten around to posting out an ad, the idea made me nervous. Although I hated being alone, living with a stranger would be even worse. I turned on the TV to fill the expanse of the large empty room that I'd work so hard for but ultimately meant absolutely nothing to me.

My mind began to wander back to this morning and the chance meeting with the most beautiful woman I'd ever laid eyes on. She'd taken my breath away and made me so nervous that I'd used some cheesy chat up line. I'd known at the time it would come back to haunt me tonight, no wonder she ran out of there as soon as she could. Thats why I hesitated, my hand brushed against the small of her back when I was about to ask her for her number and it took away my sensibility. I leaned in like I was about to kiss her, thank god I stopped myself though, how ridiculous would that have been?

I'd spoke to her for no more than ten minutes but somehow felt like I'd known her all my life. Asking for her number wouldn't have been the most unusual thing but she was in such a rush and I didn't want to make her late. There's absolutely nothing more I hate than tardiness.

I still couldn't get her off of my mind, she was beautiful, long dark hair that flowed down her back and the most piercing green eyes I'd ever seen. I couldn't stop looking into them, framed by dark eyelashes that made the emerald green pop even more. It's been a long time since I'd met a woman that made me feel as nervous as she did. The only thing is, she was young, much younger than me and I'd be fooling myself to think I'd actually stand a chance with her. Even if by some miracle I did, she deserved more than what I could give her, I was a mess, even after all this time I was still living in the past.

**********

I woke up feeling like a teenage boy again, a tent of my erection in the cotton sheets sprawled across my middle. I'd dreamt about the girl all night and honestly nothing about it was innocent. I rubbed at my eyes and stretched my muscles before finally getting out of bed, I had my first Junior Comms class to teach today and of course, I couldn't be late.

To say I was dreading today would be an understatement, I'd made a deal with the Dean to teach the Comms class because none of the other professors were willing and I was desperate for a job. I was hoping that if I exceeded expectations during my first semester I would finally get to teach psychology like I'd planned in the first place. Of course that meant being on my best behaviour and a lot of arse kissing, which I would do, albeit reluctantly.

The air was crisp this morning as I set off walking towards the university, luckily for me I didn't live to far away from the campus and the walk would help distract my thoughts because God knows they needed distracting. They always did.

Before I knew it, I'd arrived at the halls, looking up at the architecture of the building and realising my idea to walk obviously hadn't worked. I'd barely paid attention the entire time and it was only muscle memory that had gotten me to my required destination.

I held onto the door handle of the lecture hall and took a deep breath before stepping in, the room erupting into wolf whistles was not what I expected but admittedly better than what I was thinking. I scanned the room and my students, rolling my eyes at the girls lining the front row, their eager faces taking me in. 

The class was full of typical students, the usual cliques you see at every educational institution. The jocks and cheerleaders, the nerds and oh fuck. The air was almost knocked from my lungs when I spotted her sat at the back of class. The girl I'd been talking to in the coffee shop yesterday, the girl that had been on my mind and in my dreams ever since. She was here, right in front of me which meant she was my student and younger than I'd actually thought. Fuck.

Even though she was now out of bounds I couldn't take my goddamn eyes off of her, the way her wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders. I could feel my cock tingling when my eyes fell to her low cut top and that unreal cleavage. I pulled my eyes away from her so as not to draw attention and focused on preparing for the lesson, leaving the students to whisper for a while longer while I recovered my composure.

Like a magnet, my eyes unwillingly kept finding their way back to her and she looked uncomfortable, squirming in her seat. I was making her uncomfortable and I still couldn't stop myself, I frowned as I subtly watched her cheeks blush and realised she's probably embarrassed because she'd been flirting with her Professor. Of course she'd be embarrassed, I was so much older than her but was it wrong that I didn't feel one ounce of awkwardness at the fact I had been flirting with a student?

All I could think about as I watched her tits bounce as she moved In her seat, was burying my face in her cleavage and I knew I had to look away before my dick reacted. The last thing I needed in a class full of students was to be walking around with a fucking erection.

I could stand there and watch her all day but certain students had stopped talking and they were waiting for me to speak and I'd almost forgotten why I was here In the first place. I really needed to get my head in the game, being infatuated with a student would definitely not get me the promotion I was looking for.

I pushed my hands in my tight pockets, hoping to stretch the fabric a little so my semi-hard dick wasn't so apparent, then my eyes were drawn to her again and she was talking to Jake. That pissed me off and I could feel my jaw tensing as I cleared my throat rather forcibly, hoping to get the attention of the whole class at the same time as distracting her from the rather friendly conversation she was having with another guy. A guy her age at that.

"Now I've got your attention, we're going to use our first session to get to know each other a little better. You'll be doing quite a lot of speeches so it's best if you feel comfortable with one another. I'll start by introducing myself." I looked at her again, gulping hard when I saw her with the end of her pen in her mouth and the way her lips wrapped around it. Fuck. "So, I'm Professor Hemsworth and I'm originally from Melbourne in Australia." I looked to her and she smiled, remembering what we spoke about yesterday.

A student started with the typical Australian stereotypes although I'm actually surprised no one told me to throw another shrimp on the Barbie. I laughed along anyway, I'd been expecting it, it's literally the first thing anyone who isn't Australian says when they first meet me. So when I told him it wasn't very original I meant it, I'd heard it a thousand times before and I'll hear it a thousand times again.

I told the class a little about myself before informing them they would do the same, it didn't go down well, the room filled with groans. I looked to her and she looked downright terrified, I sympathized for her, it wasn't easy speaking in front of a room full of people but was the best way to break the ice.

"Claire Abbott." I called, watching the blonde at the front stand, nervously. She giggled and twirled her hair around her finger as she smiled at me, I knew what she was doing. I quickly glanced at the girl from the coffee shop as she rolled her eyes at the blonde at the front, I smirked back at her, amused at her tolerance for predictable girls.

"I erm… I don't know what to say?" The blonde said, looking at me questioningly.

"Just anything about yourself that we might find interesting, the first thing that comes to mind."

"Well I own four horses and I'm the cheer captain." I had to stop myself from laughing when she rolled her eyes again but the smile soon disappeared when I saw Jake lean over to speak to her and the way she laughed at him made my blood boil. I was seething, not because they were speaking instead of listening but because she was speaking to him instead of me.

"You two at the back, we'll wait for you shall we?" I called them out, my voice more stern than I expected. I was pissed off that Jake would easily be able to get to know her and I couldn't. She stared at me, her eyes wide, she was surprised I'd called them out in front of everyone which made me even more pissed off because that probably blew my chances even more. What the hell am I thinking? What chances, I need to remember I'm her fucking Professor.

She sat silently through the rest of the class, I still couldn't keep my eyes off of her and thankfully neither could she. She looked flustered and I liked it, I liked that I could make her feel that way without even touching her. She was so goddamn hot I could hardly concentrate on what the other students were saying.

When I glanced down at the sheet of names in front of me and saw Jake's name my jaw clenched.

"Jake Hudson." I couldn't help narrowing my eyes as he stood up, I just knew he'd say something cocky and I was so fucking jealous of him right now. I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath, I needed to keep my cool, especially in a room full of students and her. If she knew what I was really like she wouldn't look at me the way she did.

"Hi, I'm Jake." I bit onto the inside of my gum, that bit of pain keeping me grounded. "I'm also from Australia." He gave me that fucking cocky half arsed smile I'd been waiting for and the adrenaline shot through me. I was thankful no one noticed apart from maybe the one person in here I didn't want to notice. She was watching me carefully. I had to loosen my tie a little as he continued to speak, I was burning up with rage.

I'm glad class was almost over, I needed a stiff drink and I needed it now. I looked at my sheet of names again and there were only a couple left, I wondered which one was hers. I needed to know her name. Fuck. I needed to know everything about her.

"Jessica Watson." She stood up. Fuck, Jessica, it was a cute name and fit her perfectly. I was mesmerized with her and the way she spoke as she tucked her long hair behind her ears. "These last couple of days have been pretty eventful for me." She looked right at me, what was she going to say? "I'm living the life of a romance novels heroine and I'm excited to see what the next couple of days bring." Oh fuck. Was she talking about meeting me? Or Jake? I like to think by the way she studied me as she spoke, she was talking about me. This was wrong, so wrong but why did it feel so right? I forgot there was anybody else in the room, my cock twinging as I pictured myself fucking her on this desk. I needed to stop thinking like this, it's unprofessional and completely immoral. I shook my head and turned back to the class.

"I hope we all feel a bit more comfortable with each other now, some of you shared some pretty revealing things." I looked at Jessica. "Some of you, not so much." Then raised my eyebrows at a group of guys in the middle of class that had used thier time to inform everyone about the party at their frat house this weekend. "I'll have a schedule for you all next time I see you, anybody that has any questions can see me after class, everyone else is free to leave." I looked at her one last time, hoping she'd use this opportunity to come and speak to me.

I sighed when I sat back at my desk and a group of girls took their opportunity, I wasn't in the mood for it but answered their questions anyway. I didn't take my eyes from Jessica, especially when Jake started speaking to her again. The girls in front of me were taking up my time, trying to flirt with me instead of asking relevant questions and I was over it.

"Do you actually have any questions about the course ladies? I have other things to be getting on with if not." I was a little short with them without actually meaning to be. I just wanted them out of my goddamn way so I could see what was going on with Jessica and Jake.

The girls finally left, more like stormed off but I couldn't care less right now. She was still sat at her desk which means she waited until I was alone which has got to be a good sign. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, the silence driving me insane so I cleared my throat and she blinked like I'd woken her from a daydream. What was she thinking about?

She packed up her things into her bag slowly, I could tell she was buying herself time but I felt relaxed now we were alone, in fact I felt excited which was completely ridiculous. I felt like a damn teenager.

"Did you need to talk Miss Watson?" I was amused and I needed to break the ice before the silence got the better of me. I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest.

"I erm…" She walked towards me, down the stairs, looking at her feet. She was unsteady and looked nervous as hell, was she going to tell me to back off? "I wanted to apologise, I had no idea you were a Professor." She stood at the bottom of the stairs, I was glad she wasn't too close. I don't know if I'd be able to control myself around her and lord knows I had to. The atmosphere was tense, neither of us really knowing what to say or do, all I could think about was ripping off her clothes.

"There's no need to apologise Miss Watson, I also had no idea you were a student but I was hoping to bump into you again. Funny how things work out isn't it?" I cocked my eyebrow at her, testing her, seeing how she would react to my comment. Something changed and she didn't look quite so nervous anymore.

"I think fate can be rather cruel Professor Hemsworth." The way she called me Professor stirred something deep inside me, a hunger I didn't know I had and when she moved closer to me I began to feel nervous.

"Oh really? Why is that Miss Watson?" She was so close now, I could smell her sweet scent of coconut shampoo. I wanted to touch her badly, I didn't though. I didn't dare because I knew if I did I wouldn't be able to stop myself and I must restrain, she's my student after all. It's wrong. It's forbidden.

I still couldn't stop myself from flirting, like an uncontrollable impulse and as soon as I opened my mouth to try and be professional I would just go right ahead and flirt. She was so outrageously attractive but the kind of attractive where she didn't know it and didn't flaunt it, which I found even more endearing.

"I was hoping to bump into you again too, only now the thought of what could've happened will have to remain a fantasy." My restraint was really being tested now, she was teasing me, egging me on and the fact she'd also been fantasising about me made it extra difficult to resist. I had to loosen my tie again, I needed my fingers to be busy so I didn't touch her. I had an internal conflict going on inside my mind and it was like torture, if this was day one of class how the hell was I meant to survive the whole semester?

"I better get to my next class, we can't have anyone thinking I'm your favourite now can we?" Fuck sake. I ground my teeth together, I was glad she was leaving, I couldn't take the tension any longer but at the same time I knew, with distance the desire would only intensify. She turned to leave and I couldn't stop myself watching her hips sway as she walked, her ass was so round and bouncy, it hypnotised me and that's when I knew I was in deep trouble.

[corysmiles]

Could you believe I actually am back with some Runnaway Experiment WRITING??? :D

This takes place very early on in the story, and gives some more insight into Tommy's life before they escaped (in the comics). Enjoy :D

-------

The experiment was growing years after years, to everyone’s delight. It seemed the first laboratorial human had a decent enough lifespan so that it could be studied in the long run. And so, 14 years, it has been since T0M saw the light of day, and it acted in a similar fashion a 14 year old human would. .

Of course, the many researchers failed to take in consideration an alteration of the most cumbersome. T0M looked human, could understand the english language, followed orders and didn’t complain, asked some questions but the specimen…. was big.

Too big to fit in a human bed.

Too big to fit comfortably in a room.

It went in spurts, which was terrifying the first time. It kept on growing and growing, as scientists hoped it wouldn't take long for it to stop, otherwise, it might lead to a lot of problems. But for the past 2 years, no noticeable change really occurred, which was a relief when the thing was already 25 ft tall. It never seemed to be challenging personality wise, which was a relief, but they still needed to keep him in line.

Hopefully, the Doctor Soot, as well as Doctor Puff took part in daily check ups and made sure he didn’t rebel.

So, every 2 day, they took turns to visit T0M in the room accustomed to its needs.

And both’s reports were excellent! T0M learned more while being as obedient and compliant as ever. Phil couldn’t be more happy with those results.

However, as time went on…. Wilbur failed to mention another kind of teaching he had going on with the subject for the past months.

“And this is called ‘Sadness’.” He held an A3 size paper with a moody smiley drawn on it, the word being written below. “It’s that feeling when our sessions are over and I have to go and you say ‘oh noooo’ in that voice.”

T0M was sitting on his knees in front of him, paying the utmost attention to what Wilbur was showing and saying.

“I hate that one.” He pouted.

“I know,” Wilbur chuckled. “No one likes to feel sad. But it’s a part of life.”

A single hum. Wilbur’s smile turned more sympathetic.

“Do you remember the other ones?” He stood up from his place and put the sheet in one of the dark grey metallic drawers.

T0M nodded, excitedly. He took his hand and poked his fingers as he counted. “ there’s “Happiness”, it’s the good one. And “Disgust”, it’s when I have to eat the weird green stuff.”

“Brocoli”

“That. And then there’s excitement, it’s when I smile real big because you come early.”

Wilbur clapped “Wonderful!” T0M’s eyes were shining stars at every approval from Doctor Soot. Even though T0M’s enjoyment was very appreciated and contagious, but it could be a bit… much, to handle at times.

“Since you understand the basics, I think it’s time for us to start a whole new lesson.” He clapped.

T0M gasped and cheered from the top of his lungs “YEAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!”, throwing his arms in the air and effectively making the room shake from the sheer volume of his voice. When he looked back at the scientist, his eyebrows were pinched and the brunette was covering his ears and curled up, almost in pain.

“...Doctor?” He brought his head close to the man who, after making eye contact, scrambled back until he hit the same drawer he put the papers in earlier. T0M looked at him confused, face still too big in Wilbur’s peripheral.

“I… Tom, I appreciate your enthusiasm when we do our lessons, but if you could prevent yourself from screaming, it would be nice.” He tried in the most gentle voice he could muster without it shaking.

“What’s screaming?” T0M asked, crouched so his face was almost on the ground at eye level with him. He brought a hand closer to the doctor who was still breathing heavily. When his head shot to look at the hand, his body on alert, he froze before saying.

“... Is it a moment when I can’t touch you?”

Wilbur’s eyes were locked on the now frozen hand for a good second before returning to T0M, nodding. “Uh, yeah.”

“... Okay.”

The hand retracted in the following seconds, and soon, he was back in his initial position.

The doctor thanked before regaining his composure. He looked back at T0M, and his expression held remorse. A guilt twisted Wilbur's guts at the view. Thing is, as T0M grew up, people quickly realised he was the equivalent of clingy. He would constantly grab people into hugs and had a hard time keeping his voice down which resulted in a large noise blocker investment. And so they had a rule. T0M couldn’t make any sort of physical contact with anyone without being given explicit permission first. Obviously, most workers considered T0M as a test subject and therefore, wouldn’t give him that pleasure.

Wilbur, though, was not in the same vein. Once he realised how empathic and emotional and human T0M was, he started teaching him things a human teen should need, and started giving him a sort of affection a human teen should have. Which included some sort of physical affection.

When T0M was sad, he would sit next to him or pat his back. It quickly evolved as Wilbur accepted being held by the boy and brought to eye level as long as he was careful when doing so, and ever later, they would hug and wilbur would try to brush his hair at times.

Still, that didn’t make him immune to any of T0M’s carelessness which’s consequences were amplified ten fold due to his scale.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked pitifully.

“I- no, it’s not your fault. It can just be a bit overwhelming is all.” Wilbur explained.

“... what does that mean?”

“It means… when something is ‘too much’. Like when you want to bring Techno very close, but he keeps reminding you about the rule.”

“Oh.” T0M let his head fall. “... I don’t like that.” Wilbur scratched his head. “I want to be so close and show that I’m very happy and it’s all inside and I can’t let it out.”

“Well, here, it’s a bit more of the opposite. When outside, there is a lot and you’re incapable of letting it in.”

“... I’m sorry Wilbur” he mumbled.

“It’s okay, I’m not angry.” reassured the brunette. “I just have sensitive ears.”

“...Everyone has sensitive ears.”

“Well, when you’re a small guy like me, you’re sensitive on pretty much all fronts.”

“... It’s not fair.”

“What’s that?” Wilbur perked.

“When I stop getting big and strong, I want to hug you with all of my will. Like you do with me. It feels nice. I want you to feel nice just like that. I want you to be overwhelmed with happiness. I want to hug you so, so bad but I can't and it's shit. I don't want to be strong, I hurt you if I’m strong. I want to hug you."

Tommy vented, more to himself, and when he looked at Wilbur, his eyes shined, not with joy.

"Oh Tommy…."

It ached. It ached Wilbur to his core that something as simple as a hug was something he craved and still couldn't get. Because he knew. He knew all of the things T0M was missing out on. All the life he could have lived if he was granted freedom. How much he could live and appreciate. It kept him awake at night.

But he was here. Trapped. In a room barely tall enough to contain him, treated like a circus monster. And the worst thing was, T0M wasn't aware of it. Of all the life he wasn't living. How his life was no life and how he thinks this absence of everything is what life should be.

Plato would probably laugh in his grave.

"I promise you. One day, you will be able to do that. I promise you that I'll find a way for you to hug me just like you are a small man too. I promise you that I'll make you discover all of those joys of life, Tom. I Promise you. I will help you. And I'm sorry for not being able to provide it sooner. And I'll apologize for all the years it took for me to get it."

They stared at each other, and Tommy nodded, throat tight and eyes wet.

"And a promise makes sure that it's gonna happen." T0M croaked.

"Exactly, tom." Wilbur smiled. "You are going to live many more things."

The bell rang, and both faces fell a bit.

"I'll see you in 4 days, Tom. We're gonna have a little recap over the emotions you learned and then I'll teach you about relationships."

"Oohh, that sounds nice! What is it?"

As Wilbur packed his little bag, he looked at T0M and simply replied "it's all around you. But I'm not gonna spoil the next session. On that note, I wish you a nice week, Tom."

"Have a nice week, Wilbur! " T0M waved with a smile. "It's nice talking to you."

"It is my absolute pleasure, Tom."

And thus, they parted. As Wilbur walked down the immense corridor (just tall enough Tom could run through them.) He wore a satisfied smile. His small steps resonated, the only sound in the room, yet peaceful enough for his ears to listen to them as carefully as silence. Halfway through, the sound was doubled.

"Helloooo."

"Oh, hey techno! How are you?"

"Doing fine. You seem very happy."

"I am. I made some good progress with T-he subject. I feel like he's learning well. The next tests should have fabulous results."

"Ahh, wonderful. Let's make sure it doesn't learn too much though." He joked.

And at that, Wilbur chuckled, his hand on the man's shoulder. "Oh don't you worry about that, my friend. I can assure you that'll never happen"

"Amazing" techno replied, deadpan. Both nodded their conversation away and walked the rest of their ways.

As he got further away, the doctor's smile turned to an amused grin. His steps resonated, so much smaller than what could be, in a corridor in which the boy just next door should walk through.

"Don't you worry about a single thing."

MEL YES I ADORE THIS AU SO MUCH ITS SO GOOD!!!!!!!!

Poor Tommy but at least Wilbur is helping him :”]

[morganaspendragonss]

so so many thanks to everyone who read even one of these stories. i am forever grateful for all the support i've received; every comment, every kudos, every reblog, every like - they all mean so much. i'm overwhelmed, honestly, but in the very best way. ily all 🥰

day one: against all odds (we're still here) for @trkstrnd

Carlos will hate himself for it later, but he’s so focused on his task that the screech of tires coming around the corner barely registers as a blip on his radar. He doesn’t notice anything until TK suddenly barrels into him, throwing Carlos to the side just before something else, something heavy, crashes into them with a blinding flash of pain, and then—

Nothing.

*

a simple trip to the grocery store quickly turns to disaster for tk and carlos

day two: out, damned spot for anon

TK wakes up gasping, choking on air. The sheets are suffocating him and, when he tries to free himself, they only seem to get tighter. The hands reaching out for him, trying to calm him, are the final straw; TK throws himself from bed and sprints to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him as he collapses against the sink.

On some level, he is aware that the hands were Carlos’s, that the sheets were theirs, that his hands are clean, and that the dream was just a dream.

But they weren't always that way.

day three: the meetings for those in my wake for @freddieholic

For years after the divorce, Gwyn came to learn that any call from Owen was almost certainly bad news, and almost always about their son. Things have been better in the three years since her time in Texas, which is why she thinks nothing of it when he calls just after she’s put Isaac to bed for the night.

“Owen, hey,” she greets. “What’s up?”

The silence she’s answered with is the first sign that something’s wrong.

The sob that follows is the second.

“Gwyn, it’s TK. He's... They think we should say goodbye."

day four: a friend in me for 📍 anon

Carlos has come to see Nancy as a force of nature, a woman who will let nothing and no-one stand in her way, whether that’s out on the field or during a game of Monopoly. But, right now, as she sits hunched over in one of the interrogation rooms, shock blanket around her shoulders, he's never seen her look so small.

or

the story of how nancy and carlos become the new champions of 126 games nights

day five: truth is heavier than fiction for anon

Carlos pauses with his hand on the doorknob, taking a moment to prepare himself before going inside. TK’s shift finished an hour ago and he’d texted to let Carlos know he was home, which means Carlos is going to be walking right into a conversation he’d rather avoid.

Not that he’d have much choice either way; he might be able to cover his cracked and bruised ribs for a little while, but the arm in a sling will tell on him as soon as the door opens. Carlos doesn’t want to hide his injuries—they’ve had enough conversations in reverse on that theme to make him a hypocrite if he did—but he may have made some choices that he doesn’t particularly want to go into right now. Not while he’s tired and aching and just wants to cuddle with his boyfriend.

He blows out a breath, then opens the door, bracing himself for TK’s reaction.

“Hey— Shit!”

day six: slowly, and then all at once for @pragmaticoptimist34

The realisation that he loves Carlos hits him like a bolt out of the blue.

And at the worst possible moment.

We are getting updates on the active shooter situation at the Four Seasons Hotel. Austin Police Department have closed off the area and officers are currently preparing to enter the building to detain the suspect. It is as yet unknown if there have been any civilian casualties, but—

“Paul, turn the damn TV back on.”

“No.”

*

five times tk can't admit his feelings about carlos, and one time he finally does

day seven: the promise of tomorrow for anon

Up until five minutes ago, Carlos had been terrified of never having TK in his arms again. Now, the thought of letting him go scares him just as much, and TK seems to feel the same, if the way he’s clutching at Carlos’s jacket and pulling it tight across his back is any indication.

Carlos hugs him close, sinking down to his knees as TK falls into the chair behind him, letting the rest of the room fade away to nothing as he realises that they weren’t too late—that TK is here, with him, alive and mostly whole.

day eight: we'll hold each other soon for @221bsunsettowers

“Be careful, please,” TK said, smoothing down the lapels of Carlos’s shirt. “Whatever happens out there, whatever you have to do, just promise me one thing. Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Carlos knew better than to promise something like that, and TK knew better than to ask it. But because it was him, and because it was TK, Carlos just nodded and leaned in to press a kiss to TK’s temple.

“I promise,” he whispered, pulling away.

It's the last good memory Carlos has, and he's going to hold onto it for as long as he has left. If he's going to die, then the last thing he wants to see is TK's smile.

day nine: now i am just but the wayward man for anon

Ben is glaring at him again.

Klaus is very familiar with this specific glare—it’s the one Ben breaks out when Klaus is being ‘stubborn’ and ‘stupid’ and ‘a fucking asshole junkie with no self-respect who only cares about the next high and, really, it’s a fucking miracle you haven’t gotten yourself killed yet, Klaus’.

He has to hand it to him. Ben really does have him down to a tee.

*

winter is approaching and klaus has nowhere to go. his siblings are his only option—meaning he effectively has no options.

day ten: i can't imagine my life without you for 📍 anon

It had come completely out of left field—one minute everything was fine, the next Carlos had turned to him with guarded eyes and a clenched jaw, and said six words that sent TK’s whole world crashing down.

“I think we need a break.”

*

nobody likes to be asked 'trouble in paradise?', particularly when the answer is yes.

day eleven: start again from the beginning for anon

Owen trusts his son. He’s watched TK fight his addiction and stay sober for the last six years, and he has faith that he can handle himself.

But when TK doesn’t show up for work the night after proposing to Alex, Owen knows that something is wrong. After all, they've been here before.

day twelve: let me love you when your heart is tired for anon

TK knows it’s going to be a bad day from the moment he opens his eyes. Slowly, slowly, each twitch like he’s moving mountains, he inches his hand blindly across the bed to reach out for Carlos. If he can just feel his boyfriend, if he can just see him—

But, of course. Carlos has a shift today. TK has a vague recollection of him getting out of bed at five this morning, rousing him with a shift to the mattress and a gentle kiss on the forehead.

If this were a normal day, he might smile at the memory.

day thirteen: couldn't utter my love when it counted for 📍 anon

TK takes his time in the bathroom, stopping to stare at his reflection in the mirror for several minutes and trying to talk himself down from any more-than-friendly feelings towards Carlos.

Later, they’ll tell him that this saved his life.

But that won’t be for a long time, until after the smoke has cleared and the dead have been counted and the statements have been taken. For now, TK steels his resolve and nods at himself, then turns to the door, a hand reaching out for the handle.

That’s when the explosion rips through the building.

*

after the boba date, tk lets carlos go. they're friends, which is working just fine, until a horrific accident threatens to take even that away from them.

day fourteen: if i walk out the door (a thousand eyes) for anon

TK gets this feeling sometimes, a sort of prickling at his back, like someone’s behind him, breathing down his neck. At first, it was only a once-in-a-while situation, so he thinks nothing of it; when it becomes an everyday occurrence, he starts to wonder, but he’s probably just being paranoid. The shooting, kidnapping, firehouse explosion, and the fire at his and Carlos’s house had all taken their toll, and TK’s just generally more on edge these days.

He doesn’t tell anyone about the feeling, not even Carlos. There’s no reason to fuck up everyone else’s peace with something so stupid. It’ll go away eventually; TK’s sure of it.

That is, until one of the lots just down from the firehouse gets occupied.

day fifteen: find you here inside the dark for @fanfic-corner

Yaz has walked this room too many times to count now; she’s traced her fingertips over the walls, searching for any cracks or crevices to indicate where there might be a door.

If the Doctor were here, she’d have her sonic out by now, spitting out words, only half of which Yaz could understand. She’d find a way out in no time. Or, if not, at least she’d be here. Talking a mile a minute, probably annoying the hell out of their captors. Yaz can almost hear her now—

Wait.

She can hear her now.

day sixteen: accidents happen for @ilovemosss

So, Jason reflects, it may not have been the best idea to take Pythagoras out training while they’re all suffering from a severe lack of sleep. Being the more logical of them, Pythagoras, to his credit, had attempted to talk him out of it, but Jason ignored him.

He very much regrets that decision now.

day seventeen: you and me (moving through this world as a two-man team) for @laelipoo

TK does not have a crush on the 126's latest hire.

Carlos Reyes: an Austin local, an incredible firefighter, and—objectively speaking—the most beautiful man TK has ever laid eyes on. Which is, in fact, the entire point; TK has eyes and, yes, he will use them to sneak a look or two when he’s suddenly sharing space with a man who looks like a Greek god.

That does not mean he has a crush, Paul.

(and, sure, maybe he does sometimes dream about how soft Carlos’s lips look and the little blush he gets when he laughs and those little flecks of gold in his eyes, but he’s only human)

(how TK knows about the gold in Carlos’s eyes is none of anybody’s business)

day eighteen: in perfect harmony for @anyotherheartwilldo

Here’s the thing—Carlos doesn’t believe in signs. He used to when he was younger, raised on his abuela’s stories, but as he’d gotten older his father had taught him that what mattered was the choices he made. He’s the only one who has a say in the way his life turns out, and if he wants something, he has to put in the work to get it.

But there comes a point—namely, after his fifth thwarted attempt to propose to TK—when he begins to wonder if the universe really does have something against him.

*

proposing to tk proves far more complicated than carlos had first thought.

day nineteen: whatever here that's left of me (is yours) for anon

“Are you…” TK leans closer, peering at the hoodie Carlos is wearing, and—yep. “Why are you wearing my hoodie? Was there nothing in your size from the crew? You should have said something. We can fix this, you don’t need to be uncomfortable.”

There’s a beat, and then Carlos, studiously avoiding TK’s gaze, clears his throat. “It smells like you.”

*

post-2.12, carlos finds comfort in tk's hoodies.

day twenty: can't smile without you for anon

Carlos would be lying to himself if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him before. He has always worried for TK’s safety, and the knowledge that a serial killer is on the loose in Austin has sent that worry skyrocketing. Especially because he’s the lead detective on the case; he’s spent hours poring over horrific crime scenes, examining all the facts until they’re burned into his brain.

Admittedly, the killers seem to be mostly indiscriminate in who they take, meaning the chances of it being TK are slim.

But there’s still a chance.

*

a before, during, and after of tk's kidnapping in a hole where your memory goes

day twenty-one: lately you've been searching for a darker place to hide for @freddieholic

“Can I ask you something else?”

TK stiffens at the sound of Mateo’s voice, a nervous note to it that wasn’t there last time. Something tells him he knows exactly what Mateo wants to ask; still, he turns to lean against the counter, crossing his arms as casually as he can manage. “Sure.”

“Are you…” Mateo trails off, biting his lip and avoiding TK’s gaze. “I mean, do you… I mean—”

“You can say it, you know,” he interrupts, not unkindly. “If you want to know if I’m thinking about heading out and getting high, then just ask.”

*

five times tk turns to unhealthy coping mechanisms when he wants to use + one time he finally asks for help

day twenty-two: know me crazy, soothe me daily for anon

It had freaked Carlos out the first time it happened.

“It was a seizure,” TK explained, after Carlos had finished telling him about it. TK had been disoriented and confused for about ten minutes after, and couldn’t even remember half of their earlier conversation. “I… It’s because of the drugs. They fucked something up in my brain, especially after my first overdose, and now I get seizures occasionally."

*

in which carlos gets a little over-protective and tk is mildly exasperated

day twenty-three: lover, be good to me for anon

Carlos holds his arms out, and TK comes willingly, setting what Carlos now recognises as a tray of food carefully on the bed. “What’s this?”

TK stares as if it’s obvious. “Date night.”

“What?”

TK pauses, then gasps. “You’re right.” He pats himself down frantically, then pulls an object out of his pocket with a dramatic flourish. It’s a little electric tea light—real candles long since banned from the bedroom—and Carlos watches in bemusement as TK flicks it on and sets it down on the tray. “Now it’s date night.”

*

his fiancé being bed-bound isn't going to keep tk from date night

day twenty-four: bring you in from the cold for anon

As a cop, Carlos has always been uncomfortably aware of his own mortality. He’s considered his own death more than is probably healthy, but when you’re facing down the barrel of a gun almost every single day, it’s kind of forced on you.

He’s imagined himself being shot, stabbed, strangled, and everything in between.

But he’s not sure he ever pictured dying in a walk-in freezer after getting trapped there by mistake.

day twenty-five: heaving through corrupted lungs for anon

TK is itching to go home and check on Carlos, to make sure he’s still breathing and actually resting like he’s supposed to be. On the other hand, Carlos would probably kill him if he left work, illness be damned. It’s just… Carlos had looked so ill that morning, skin ashen and voice all but gone, and it had taken a lot of convincing for TK to still go to his own shift. He’d insisted on making sure Carlos had all the blankets and water and snacks and anything else he could possibly want, but even so, he’s still uneasy.

His gut is telling him that something’s wrong, and TK doesn’t think he can ignore it for much longer.

*

when carlos falls ill, they think it's just a bad cold. but when tk goes to check on him, he's in for a nasty shock.

day twenty-six: slowly becoming lovers for @pragmaticoptimist34

Things don’t get fixed overnight. They agree to give them a shot, but that doesn’t change the fact that TK is still reeling from his break-up and overdose, nor that Carlos is still hesitant and afraid of pushing too hard at once.

But, slowly, they get to know each other. And, slowly, they start to fall in love.

*

tk and carlos, getting to know each other and falling in love

day twenty-seven: and curse the gods for @girlwhowasntthere

Jason knows what it is to be cursed.

day twenty-eight: ignoring every warning for @moviegeek03

TK is fine.

He is absolutely, 100% fine.

And, sure, maybe he’s not supposed to be at work right now, and maybe his hand hasn’t fully healed yet, but it’s nothing. His doctor cleared him to go back to work, which means it’s healed enough, and TK is certainly not going to admit defeat no matter how much he's hurting.

day twenty-nine: can you beat back the night? for @girlwhowasntthere

He misses the bard. Geralt won’t admit it, not even to Roach, but he misses him. After months—years��of Jaskier’s constant chatter and the sound of his lute, the silence, once valued above all else, is too much.

It’s been months since the dragon, since Geralt lost both Yennefer and Jaskier in one fell swoop. He’s cursed himself many times over for the words he said—to both of them—and cursed himself more for the mistakes he made to get in this position in the first place.

*

this is the lot of witchers, to be alone.

day thirty: ease my mind for @silvarafael

Briefly, Carlos considers calling TK and telling him about the accident. But… He only broke two of his fingers and it barely even classifies as a minor injury in his book, so there’s really no reason to bother his fiancé while he’s still on shift himself. He pockets his phone then looks around to figure out where the exit is.

Only, an all-too familiar laugh distracts him from his task, drawing his attention to the nurses station.

Where TK is standing, smiling as a nurse swats at him for stealing one of their lollipops.

Carlos is, beyond doubt, fucked.

day thirty-one: scars turn to memories for anon

Their front door is open. It’s wide open, and the wood of the door frame is broken, splinters littering the driveway and the floor of the front room. TK’s heart stops in his chest as he surveys the scene, his brain going blank, struggling to comprehend what he’s seeing.

Everything is quiet in the front room, not even a table setting out of place. TK creeps further into their home, his every nerve on edge as he barely breathes for fear of alerting whoever’s here of his presence.

And then, he remembers.

Carlos was off shift tonight. He was here. Alone.

[jaskiersvalley]

AAA I loved that Jaskier attacking Stregobor -fic. I have re-read your fics multiple times and the centaur ones are my favorite (jaskier is my fav..) . I'm going on a 4 hour train trip the day after tomorrow (I'm terrified of trains and travel), so I'm probably going to use reading your blog as a distraction from anxiety heh. Thanks for doing what you do!

Wishing you safe travels on the train, Nonnie! For what it’s worth, I’m super proud of you for doing it despite being terrified of trains and travel. Will definitely be keeping you in my thoughts today as you make your journey (hopefully you’re off to do something nice !). To keep you well supplied with distractions, have a whole new AU just for you!

Witchers were an abomination but they were a necessary creation. Wingless and half wild with blood lust, society feared them, shied away from their unnatural looks even if they were created and not born like that. The trials and mutations stripped them of their wings, left them grounded and unreadable. Society was too used to reading social cues from wings, someone without them was a blank, emotionless figure.

However, they were an unwanted necessity. Airborne monsters were easy enough to deal with, there were teams and departments celebrated for their heroics in dealing with harpies and griffins. But things like arachasae, nekkers and drowners needed to be controlled and taken down. However, wings were too vulnerable and delicate to be subjected to being dunked in filthy water or crawling into dark, damp caves with. It was how witchers came into existence. They were given strength, stamina and healing power in exchange for their wings and their worth in the eyes of society. Needed but universally loathed, if a witcher was in town, people held their wings tight to their bodies for fear of a witcher getting jealous and tearing it off, fashioning fake wings for themselves out of them.

Jaskier’s wings were large, brown with white tips. He was especially proud of how the whites sparkled in the sunshine. It led to him preening, rubbing oils into the feathers to keep them perfect. He also spoke a lot with his wings, lifting them, flaring for dramatics, fluttering when excited and puffing up to flirt with anyone who gave him the time of day. Spotting a witcher in the corner of a tavern, his wings flared out, showing off and flirting out of habit. He wasn’t deterred by the lack of a wing twitch of dismissal or an answering fluffing of acceptance. Instead, Jaskier sat down at the table with a wide smile.

As far as first meetings went, it wasn’t Jaskier’s finest but Geralt didn’t verbally (or physically) eviscerate him for approaching which was as good as accepting the propositions as far as Jaskier was concerned. He was working with limited information so he had to do his best and hope.

The more he trailed after Geralt, the more he learned to read the smaller nuances of his body. When his shoulders tightened, Jaskier knew Geralt was worried. But a small raise of the corner of his lips meant mirth or fondness. Not to mention the tick of a jaw muscle which only ever came about when Geralt was engaging some horrible creature. As much as he denied it, Jaskier knew it meant worry, maybe even fear. No matter what anybody said, Jaskier knew that witchers felt emotions as deeply as anyone else, they just didn’t have the means to express them in the same way.

Life on the road was not an easy one. Jaskier soon became glad his wings were mostly brown, the whites were dust stained and less than glamorous. Oils and cleaning products had to be used sparingly because they ran out sooner than they got to a town that stocked Jaskier’s preferred brands. It was a worthwhile trade off, oils in exchange of inspiration and a muse for his art.

They were sat in another clearing, perched on logs and Jaskier was trying to reach the base of his wing where a few feathers were tangled and in desperate need of a tidy. One of them was probably loose but there was no way for Jaskier to see what he was doing. From the side, Geralt was pretending not to watch him struggle.

“You could help rather than gawk,” Jaskier huffed, annoyed that his arm wouldn’t bend exactly as he needed it. What use were good, strong bones when they stopped him from reaching the base of his wing?

Silently, Geralt stared at him before grunting. “You don’t want me help.”

“I think you’ll find I blood well do. Come and make yourself useful.”

Jaskier thrust the oil towards Geralt and huffed to hurry him along. He watched as Geralt’s eyes widened and he stood up, the most hesitant Jaskier had ever seen him. Steady hands took the proffered oil and Geralt settled on his knees behind Jaskier.

“See the feathers at the base? They’re giving me such trouble and itch like crazy.”

Careful hands reached to untangle them and Jaskier heard Geralt gasp.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt murmured. Without seeing him, Jaskier could read him so much easier. “I didn’t mean to.”

Not quite sure what had happened, Jaskier hummed and twisted to look back at Geralt who had a brown feather between his fingers and was staring down at it in horror.

“I’m too brutish for something as delicate as your wings.” Geralt made to stand up but Jaskier flared his wing, trapping him.

“It was loose. You need to pull a lot harder than that.” A suspicion was swirling in the darkness of Jaskier’s mind. “Have you ever touched wings before.”

Never before had Geralt looked so timid. Eyes wide, he looked up at Jaskier before his gaze skittered away. A small shake of his head told Jaskier everything.

“Well then,” he said and stretched his wings out wide in invitation, “have your fill.”

At first, nothing happened and Jaskier almost started worrying that he’d gone too far. Usually only mates and family groomed each other. Though he doubted Geralt knew that, having spent so long without wings. So he tried to tamp down on the emotions bubbling away in his chest. They were all driven from his mind with the first, hesitant touch that skimmed across the ridge of a wing.

Each touch was light, barely there and Jaskier could hear how gently Geralt was breathing, barely making any noise.

“You can touch all you want,” he reassured. Gradually, the touches got braver, after a few more loose feathers dropped thanks to Geralt, he settled into the moment.

Fingers buried themselves into each wing and Jaskier gasped at the touch. Geralt growled a little. “You’re so soft.”

As Geralt’s hands dug into the feathers, a thumb brushed against an oil gland at the base of a wing and Jaskier stifled a groan. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him there. Though he was free with his body and affections, there were some taboos even he didn’t break with a stranger. But Geralt was no stranger. They had been travelling together for so long now.

“Am I hurting you?” Geralt asked, frozen.

“Quite the opposite.” The admission didn’t fluster Jaskier as much as he had expected. “Your touch is very intimate.” The hand moved though Jaskier could feel the reluctance in it. “It’s a welcome touch, if you’re interested.”

A soft, quiet “yes” was barely audible but the touch returned and Jaskier bit his lip when Geralt mirrored his touch on the other wing too.

He didn’t last too long without begging. “I want to touch you too.”

Hesitant, Geralt moved from behind Jaskier. It was all too easy to tug him down to straddle Jaskier’s lap and his arms wound under Jaskier’s, returning to playing with the bast of his wings.

Instinctively, Jaskier’s hands wrapped around Geralt, hands splayed flat on his back. For all the scars he had, there wasn’t even that much to remind them of the fact he had been human once. Exploring the expanse of a smooth back, Jaskier shuddered. He was a little disappointed Geralt’ back wasn’t as sensitive as his but all it meant was that he got to explore and try new things.

Jaskier was delighted to find that nipping along Geralt’s jaw and kissing down his neck were met with favourable reactions. It emboldened him until their lips were pressed together, tongues licking against each other playfully.

It was a first that was definitely worth remembering. Geralt was so careful until Jaskier all but growled at him to grip his wings better. While lovers had done that before, none compared to Geralt and his raw power. There was no doubt in Jaskier that if he wanted to, Geralt could rip his wings off without even exerting himself. Instead, he was so careful and gentle with them, cherishing each touch, nuzzling under Jaskier’s chin and mouthing at the skin there as they fucked. While Geralt didn’t have wings that flew out to full span to shake and quiver with pleasure, there was no missing his enjoyment. Soft words, half lost murmurs dipping into growls and whines. Never before had Jaskier felt so worshipped and pampered.

They didn’t really mention it the next morning. Jaskier would have almost worried but, a few days later, he was unpacking bags from Roach for the night. At the bottom of the satchel for the bedrolls, he saw a handful of carefully stored feathers he recognised. They were the ones Geralt had loosened and pulled. Jaskier hadn’t realised they had been gathered up, cleaned of any dust and stashed away. There was nothing for it, Jaskier was going to have to keep adding to the collection. Maybe Geralt would appreciate a couple of white ones added to them when the time came.

However, the first white feather Jaskier shed didn’t end up in the bag. Instead, Jaskier brushed Geralt’s hair out of his face and pushed the quill through the bun he’d managed to put it up into. The fact they were in the middle of a tavern and Jaskier was declaring in a very public setting his claim on Geralt was only a secondary motive. As much as Jaskier wanted Geralt to be his, he also wanted to be Geralt’s. What he didn’t expect was for Geralt to smile, touch the feather now in his hair and then hold a hand up.

From a bag, he pulled a dagger, ornate with flowers and a wolf on the handle. Understanding the gesture, Jaskier accepted the offered dagger and tucked it into his waistband. With a stroke over Geralt’s cheek, he got up, slinging his lute across his chest, staring up the strumming for the first song of his set. If there was a slight swagger to his steps, a proud smile, nobody would have picked up on it because all eyes were on his puffed up wings as he showed off for Geralt and nobody else.

[impulsivelycontentious]

No one reads this or connects it with my other online identities but since I've removed personals involvement from my other social media stuff, and I feel like bitching, I am jsut gonna go ahead and do it.

So I have brain damage. Yeaaaaars ago I threw up so hard I actually ripped open the inside of an artery in my neck, and it threw a clot, and that clot did some nasty shit on its way on through and out.

No doctor noticed for two weeks.

Everyone else did.

Good times.

Anyway.

So now I have a damaged brain. Brains don't grow back. Some areas can regenerate a few cells - notably the prefrontal lobe - but mostly brains fix themselves not by regenerating like skin does, but by rearranging the cells we have to fire to fancy new configurations.

This has been quite the ride. Because shit, it changes things.

I don't even know how much of my personality is consistent. No idea. Let alone everything else.

I have memory loss my nurologist won't akowledge because it falls short of dementia. That was the bar. "You don't have dementia, you know what year it is." Gee thanks there chief.

Anyway.

My brain wasn't too stable to begin with. I have always been prone to logic leaps that occur very quickly and not necessarily in ways other people would make them. My mind is jumbled and a little random and things collide all the time that probably shouldn't.

This has become much worse since the brain damage. See, my brain keeps wiring shit together. Shit it really shouldn't. It changes who I am, what I think, what I can think.

It's actually quite terrifying to realise you're a sack of geletine misfiring lighting at itself.

So anyway. To the point. Yes - I have one of those. Probably. It's somewhere in here.

Oh right, no, another detour. I'm autistic. "Oh yeah, they definatly didn't screen girls when I was a kid because how the fuck did they miss this otherwise" autistic.

Back to the point.

Recently I had this sensory processing ... Whatever the fuck that was. I call them.idssocistive episodes. I don't know how accurate that is. But my mind unhooks from my sensory data. Everything feels muted and unreal - sound, sight, touch, heat. Name it. It's wrong.

I hate these.

It gets particularly nasty because there are nurologicsl consequences. See, my concious mind ramps up it's interpretation of sensory data. It goes all in and leaves the rest of my existence stuffed in this tiny little box without enough space to do dick.

One effect of this is I suddenly become highly obsessive. I think it's a comfort mechanism, I require the same stimulus over and over again or to somehow mentally connect it to the same element. Of course, it could also jsut be that obsessive behaviour towards interests is part of who I am. I am autistic. I DEFIANTLY go all in when something fascinates me. But not... Not like this.

Do you have ANY IDEA how many times I watched starwars 8 in 72 hours? Any clue? Holy fricking ... Something. I watched it fast. I watched it slow. I watched it skipping ahead 10 seconds every 10 seconds. I dissected that thing in micrscopic detail.

It gets better. Because mere hours before I got hit with this episode... I was not a starwars fan.

Nope. I watched it. It was ok. I wasn't going out of my way for it.

And suddenly. Wham. Episode 8. All the time. I watched some 7 and 9 as well but it was like it was entierly because eit was connected to 8.

I cannot even.

And while this is happening, *I know*. I know. I really do. I know this isn't my normal behaviour. I know this isn't my wheelhouse. I know something is deeply, deeply wrong in my brain.

I think it might actually be an ok movie, honestly. But not THAT good. And now it's one of my favourite things. Forever. I have no idea if it's actually good. Did I not give eit a chance the first time? Is my obsessive brain simply emotionally hooked up how? Fuck, I don't know.

So that's why I'm posting today. On this day. May 4th.

I'm seeing a lot of star wars today and it's making my brain tickle with it's own ridiculousness.

Not the whole point though. Because it lasted 72 hours (I watched dit one more time after that and if wasn't near as intense).

But what happened AFTER my 72 hours as an obsessive raylo (oh yeah. I went there. I'm not even ashamed. I am also compeltely content with the end they got, because I do not see that shit working out).

Brains don't regrow. They rewire.

And suddenly, I'm drawing. Like... A lot. I filled pages of doodles. Sketches. I redrew a peice I'd been working on for about a month in a few hours and damnit, it was good. It's not professional quality but I'd never down anything that well before. This goes on for another day. And then I started a story, and I wrote 2000 words all at once.

I'm dyslexic. And words are severely impacted by my brain damage to the point it can cause me phsycial pain to force my thoughts in to words.

And here I am. Going nuts on my phone. The words just spilling out and again - damnit, it was good shit.

My brain was abstracting. Where the concious sort had been shunted, it wasn't directing the abstracting aspect of my mind.

And I was making cognative leaps. My brain was wiring itself together for creativity.

For another 24 hours.

And now, dear reader, we get to now.

I have written 200 words in the last 2 days. They feel wrong.

I started and stopped a dozen images. None of them feel right. And there are objective quality differences.

I can still draw a bit. If I'm not tired. I'm almost always tired - it's neural fatigue, it comes with surviving a brain damage.

I have somehow brain damaged my way in to better skills.

And it's... It's not a good feeling.

Doing it the first time and watching something take place in front of my eyes I don't recognise was like magic. It was euphoric. Amazing. Exciting.

Realising as time wears on that the ability to do this is intrinsically tied in to the way ones brain handles brain damage and sensory processing issues?

Not a great feeling cats. Not at all.

I find myself staring at a document willing words on tot he page that just aren't there anymore and feeling so frustrated I could scream.

Whose idea was this anyway? Why can't I keep my rewiring?

It's so hard dto explain the feeling of loss.

It's not me who did these things. A version of me, yes. But not the one we are keeping.

The one we keep struggles to hold a narrarive in her head and the narrator's tone took 3 rewritten to preserve for a single paragraph.

I don't want to stop. But how do I keep going? I'm not the author anymore and I've always struggled with adopting the tone of others.

So yeah. That's where I'm at. And I wanna talk about it. Because I don't want to be alone. But I can't escape the feeling I'm being dramatic. Terribly dramatic. And so talking about it is hard. How much is my own spin and perception and how much is real?

Did this really happen?

I think it did. But like every story I tell, I don't know. Memory loss. Cognetive issues.

I just wanna tell stories and draw. But the words hurt and the art makes me tired.

It's frustrating is all.

I hate being lighting geletine.

In case you're wondering what kind of cognative leap happened:

That one is april 4th.

And that one April 28th.

🤷‍♀️

Fucked if I know, really.

[fictional-worlds-are-exquisite]

thank you! i think you're genuinely the only person that has ever said they actually like the fact that my bathrobe is obnoxiously pink. and you're absolutely right, one of the things i like most about it is that it hurts people's eyes. i love it actually. if you ever celebrate halloween you should absolutely add your bathrobe to your costume. an amazing idea. since it has a mouse face on the hood it could be two costumes rolled into one - both a vampire and a mouse (if in the middle of the evening you get bored of one), which i think would be awesome. and you probably wouldn't get cold (is it cold in nz during halloween? because here it almost always is). we don't celebrate halloween in lithuania either though. which i'm a bit bummed about, because halloween sounds super fun. mostly because of the dressing up! but i did celebrate it once, when i was 11 or 12 maybe? me and a couple of friends decided it would be fun even if it's not really celebrated here. so we dressed up, even went trick ir treating (half the houses had no idea what was happening and also i pretty much froze to death because i was dressed as a dead bride and refused to put a coat on because then you couldn't see my dress) and also watched horror movies. 12 (or 11) year old me thought it was amazing.

oh yeah! i've broken a knife on 2 separate occasions i think. once i tried to get something out of between the blender's blades, used a knife and then accidentally turned the blender on (i'm so fucking glad it was a knife and not my fingers). so the tip of the knife broke off (the blender was ok tho). and the second time i have no idea how it happened. i was cutting up broccoli and the knife just fell apart??? i was so confused, because one second i'm holding a knife and the next it's just two pieces of a handle and the metal part, all separate. had fun explaining that to my dad. you sound pretty unlucky too! i mean, a cut every time you use a knife, but you don't even notice it at the time? i think it's just that knives are out to get us (it's my newest conspiracy theory). i actually get double vision too sometimes! mostly when i'm tired, but i just figured that it was because i have really bad eyesight

they definitely SHOULD teach about gender and sexuality in school. it's a really big problem that in a lot of places it's either not compulsory or not even in the curriculum. honestly, everything i know about sex ed or lgbtq+ i had to learn myself on the internet, because we only had one class when we were like 13 years old with a guest speaker and it was mostly biology and then a little bit about menstruation and pads for girls (i have no idea what they told boys because we were also separated). so sex ed definitely sucks a lot in my country and i bet it's the same in a lot of others, which makes me really mad

exactly!! it's so hard to tell whether i'm feeling romantic or platonic love sometimes! it's confusing. also i remember one time me and a couple of friends had a sleepover and the friend's, who was hosting, parents weren't home so we watched romance movies (scandalous i know). again we were maybe 12. and they kept going "oh he's so hot" and intensely watching the sex scenes. while i was looking away from the tv whenever sexy times were going on and commenting on how much i loved the house design and the garden. gee i wonder what that means. (still can't believe it took me this long to figure out i was ace)

the breakfast went very well though! it's so interesting how different traditions are everywhere. i hope your lunch and the rest of christmas day went well too! (also i forgot to ask last time, but what is boxing day? google says it's mostly a shopping holiday, is it that? we just call it the second day of christmas and it's pretty much the same as christmas day but there's no presents!) but yeah i hope you had fun with your extended family on boxing day!

having acid reflux sounds like it sucks. i love breakfast, it's my favourite meal of the day (when i don't have to rush that is) and i skip lunch a lot because i usually have no time for it (my schedule kinda sucks), so i usually try to have a bigger breakfast. but hey, peanut butter is good! so at least you can have something that tastes good for breakfast!

aaand i feel like this ask got away from me. sorry it's so long!

it’s because i have t a s t e. it may not be GOOD taste but it sure is...taste...and i am proud of it. and yes, i love the idea of adding my dressing gown to my costume specifically because it means i’m basically in my PJ’s. minimal effort. comfort to the max. living the dream. halfway through the night i’m tired of being the vampire no one invites in so i drop to my knees and start the mouse act. mice are good at getting in houses and getting to chocolate and such. the dream. also i absolutely would get bored of one costume within the space of a few hours knowing me, so that’s a plus. uhhhh halloween is october which is. mid-late spring so it really depends on the day. it might be a little cold, might be shorts weather. I rarely leave my house at night so I’m not an expert on nighttime temperatures sdflsdfjsd. 

I used to wish we did Halloween here but that was mostly because I wanted lollies. Although I also liked playing dress up as a young kid so maybe very young me would’ve vibed with the costume aspect. I know there’s a photo of me when I was like, 5 and my best friend of the time dressed up as witches at some point, maybe we had our own little halloween. I also possibly had a halloween themed birthday party once as a kid? I remember the little gift bags having spooky things in them and also possibly a bat cake but my memory is too bad to remember for sure. aha that’s the problem here too, no one locally would ever think to buy lollies to give out so it’d just be like um. you can have an apple I guess? at least you had fun though! i respect the commitment to the costume despite the cold. 

that is such a stressful story to read, i fear for your life. although i understand the knife breaking in that first scenario. that would be terrifying though. what if the blender launched it,,, nOPE. i’m very glad it wasn’t your fingers, that’s some horror movie shit. the second time is just,, it be like that sometimes. it was probably just waiting to happen. my parents have a cheese grater with a loose handle and it. falls off. every time. i dry it. with the dishes. and every time i fear for my life as the grating bit drops off towards my feet as i’m left holding the handle. i should expect it by now but i never do. I get scared every time it happens. knives are definitely out to get us, i fully support this conspiracy theory. oh yeah, tiredness doesn’t help with double vision. i kind of need bifocal glasses by now but I also don’t want bifocal glasses so i just suffer but I suspect having them would reduce the double vision. maybe. maybe not.

yup! i remember someone handing out tampons and pads at primary school, i assume after giving a talk about periods, idk. i do also remember a teacher pulling the girls aside and being like yo, this is what a period is, here’s a horror story about my daughter and a tampon, enjoy the trauma, go back to class. good times. we did actually get really comprehensive sex ed concerning most things at my high school but that is faaaarrr from the norm around here, clearly. although teenage boys are good at filling in gaps, in my experience. they’re like little sex encyclopedias that offer up information without you asking. i didn’t ACTUALLY want to know that but i do now, i guess, thanks michael. 

dude. the ‘oh he’s so hot’ comments are so confusing. ‘hot’ is like a category of attractiveness that I’ve never understood. ‘isn’t he hot?’ what does that MEAN rebecca. i think i asked once if it meant like, attractive or good looking. and the person i asked was like, you know, hot. you just look at them and, you know- no i don’t know. what is this. i don’t think i’ve ever watched a sex scene with people my age though, generally i just zone out for them sdkfhskdfh. i feel like there’s definitely all these indicators when you look back like oh yeah, should’ve realised i was ace then, but it’s just. such a hard sexuality to figure out. not that other sexualities aren’t but you’ve got to figure out an absence of something when you don’t even know what the something feels like- it’s a challenge.

I’m glad it did! It is interesting, for sure. I’ve always been interested in how winter Christmas’s work. As a young kid I didn’t understand hemispheres...obviously...i was like 5...and i’d go out on Christmas morning to see if there was snow. and sometimes it’d be a bit chilly in the morning and I’d be like damn. we almost had some this year. it’s a shame our climate tends to be too hot for snow on christmas :// like no you tiny dumbass it’s summer you little idiot there will be no snow no matter what. everything ended up going super well here :). boxing day is basically just a shopping holiday, i don’t know if it has any significance in any other way, i’m sure it did at one point, but i know there’s always boxing day sales everywhere. I think it’s also a public holiday (?) to give people another day off work and that, but I could be wrong there. I know I also used to regularly go to the races (horse races) nearby that were always held on boxing day, it was like a 150 year old tradition or something until people in attendance started dropping and I think they finally shut it down a couple years back. I didn’t care all that much about the horses but they also had food and carnival-type rides and such for the kids which is why I loved it. also we tended to meet extended family there for a picnic lunch.

acid reflux is like the least of my problems sdfkjshdkf. it’s annoying but it’s pretty managed with medication, I have to watch certain foods and drinks but I’m used to it by now. I think it’s also what causes me to not be able to eat large amounts normally so I survive a lot on snacks and a reasonable sized dinner. works for me. but peanut butter is good! i’m glad i can have that! I used to also have vegemite but that’s a bit more of a push, it’s easier to stick with peanut butter.

also it’s fine!! my responses are always very long too sdfjhskdf.

[jeanandthedreamofhorses]

You're into ASOIAF too? Oh wow. You certainly made the right call dropping this shitshow -and yeah, looking back, I didn't think it possible to have a worse season than S5 but hooo boy, was I wrong-. Knowing its abomination of an ending now, I'm trying hard not to let it ruin the books for me, too, so take this as a cautionary tale, lol. And bc some positivity would be nice and I do always enjoy reading your opinions, if it's okay, could I ask you about your fave ASOIAF characters and such? thx!

Frick yeah, the question I’ve been waiting for! I can gush about pretty much every character since they’re all so amazingly well written, but for a brief list of the top contenders… (TWOW spoilers ahead!) 

5. Asha Greyjoy

“If there are rocks to starboard and a storm to port, a wise captain steers a third course.”

Irreverent, cynical, mocking, confident and dangerous, what’s not to love about Asha? She immediately made an impact with such scenes as her “sweet suckling babe” quip and was one of my favourite side characters in ACOK.

AFFC, however, was when she really got to shine, where to my elation she got a POV chapter, and more in ADWD. Despite her seemingly Ironborn-to-the-core personality, we discover she’s actually one of the least zealous of the Ironborn, sympathetic to the New Ways and those influenced by the culture of the ‘greenlanders’ like Rodrik the Reader. As one of the few reading Ironborn, she’s clearly one of the most intelligent of the Ironborn and certainly more open-minded, which leads to her down-to-earth sales pitch for the Kingsmoot, a sensible, realistic policy which would be genuinely best for her people - while still, of course, maintaining some elements of conquest: she is the kraken’s daughter, after all.

This side to her personality that sympathises with the fringe elements of her society and is able to make realistic assessments of the possibilities of success comes largely from the difficult position of being a prominent woman in the hypermasculine, heavily patriarchal Ironborn culture. Being raised as Balon’s substitute son has landed her more freedom than most Iron women, but in a complicated position nonetheless. She manages to handle it to the best of her ability, however with Balon gone she comes to realise just how precarious her position always was.

Now, like many other characters in ADWD, she is dealing with the hardship of broken dreams. Disaster piles upon disaster for Asha, from the failed kingsmoot to the loss of Deepwood Motte to becoming captive to Stannis (a dynamic I can’t wait to see more of btw, what an interesting clash of personalities!). Like Tyrion, her bravado serves to mask her insecurity, and her sense of powerlessness from recent events - both in commanding her own destiny and the heartache from the ruinous state of her family - really comes out in her inner monologue during ADWD.

How fitting, then, that this is when she reunites with Theon, another character whose lofty ambitions were torn brutally to the ground. Asha lorded it over him in Winterfell, but perhaps now she can relate. Mock as she may, Asha genuinely loves her family, and it’s another appealing aspect of this lonely character navigating her way through her unusual existence on the tightrope of social norms.

4. Tyrion Lannister

“You poor stupid blind crippled fool. Must I spell out every little thing for you? Very well. Cersei is a lying whore, she’s been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and probably Moon Boy for all I know. And I am the monster they all say I am. Yes, I killed your vile son.”

Everyone loves Tyrion, and how can they not? He’s one of the wittiest and most intelligent characters in the series, and the first stumbling block when it comes to which side we should root for. While he was always one of my favourite characters from the start, factoring in his complex family life and struggles on account of his dwarfism (and later the maiming of his already ugly face), my favourite part of Tyrion as a character is how all the things we love about him are flipped on their head in ADWD.

Tyrion tells us in AGOT to wear your shame like “armor and it can never be used to hurt you”. It’s an empowering statement, but throughout ASOS we see how insecure Tyrion still is inside, and his ignoble treatment at the hands of his father and the people as a whole in the kangaroo court for Joffrey’s murder, can, ultimately, be boiled down to his being a dwarf. His armour fails him, and he is still utterly unable to be loved, appreciated, or respected by anyone. Only by Tysha, as he finds out, who is now lost to him - ripped from his hands by the machinations of his father and the one family member that Tyrion still loved, his brother.

It’s at this point that Tyrion is never the same again. He murders Shae in cold blood, and he murders his father, and he regrets none of it. He is becoming the monster they said he was.

When we see him in ADWD, the dark side of Tyrion that had always been hidden behind the hope he had clung onto creeps all too shockingly for the surface. His jokes are now too cynical to laugh at, dark and disturbing and cruel. He uses his intellect for no greater good beyond his own personal amusement, deliberately influencing Young Griff to attack Westeros prematurely just in the hopes that his sister might get the axe. He is on no side but his own, acting brazenly irresponsibly as he has no interest in the grand schemes others have set out for him, or even in his own life. The chips on his shoulder are now genuine murderous intent, daydreaming about raping and killing Cersei and mounting Jaime’s head on a spike next to her. Where Tyrion’s whoring habits had seemed roguish and humorous before, in Essos he is depicted raping clearly reluctant sex slaves.

What makes this all the more disturbing, and all the more literarily brilliant, is that it casts aside the biased curtain we had seen Tyrion through before, and the result is shocking. How much more free to consent is a Westerosi prostitute than a Pentoshi sex slave? How worthwhile were the barbed comments he made so frequently when they ultimately led to a litany of testimonies against him as soon as he lost his privileged position? The worse devils of Tyrion’s nature come out in full force, and we see much more of the black of the character Martin described as “the grayest of the gray”. Perhaps the difference now is that Tyrion’s POV lacks a single element of self-love. The readers are repulsed by him in the same way he repulses himself.

Nonetheless, Tyrion seems to be rekindling something of a purpose in ADWD, as characters nurture themselves back up from the wreckage in the aftermath of the War of the Five Kings. He has lost the Lannister’s golden influence, but his silver tongue still serves him well. However, we may never see the old Tyrion again. This Tyrion has not repented for the vile things he has done, or the vile things he intends to do. He was caricatured by the citizens of King’s Landing as an evil advisor whispering into the monarch’s ear - this may become something closer to the truth when he at last meets with Daenerys.

3. Jaime Lannister

“Does my lord wish to answer?” The maester asked, after a long silence. A snowflake landed on the letter. As it melted, the ink began to blur. Jaime rolled the parchment up again, as tight as one hand would allow, and handed it to Peck. “No,” he said. “Put this in the fire.”

Who saw a Jaime POV coming? What an incredible way to open ASOS after the prologue, to see things from the eyes of one of the series’ most notorious villains. I don’t think I need to explain at length how impactful it was to gently peel off the layers of Jaime’s character, revealing the true reason he killed Aerys, his growth in his interactions with Brienne, the embodiment of the chivalric values he abandoned, and most significantly, losing the hand that was his entire identity and vanity. Anyone who has read the book or watched the show can relate.

Since then, he continues to fascinate. He is discovering talents beyond swordsmanship, entering into a negotiation even Tywin could have been proud of. He has learned how to use his bad reputation for nobler ends, scaring Edmure Tully silly enough to end the siege of Riverrun without shedding a single drop of blood. He is still fighting for a Lannister king, true, but that is only staying true to his role as Kingsguard: now that he has lost his sword hand, he is discovering what it means to be a knight again, in an unconventional and thrilling way.

I chose the above quote because it captures the beauty of AFFC Jaime, breaking away from the sister he fought so hard to return to and decisively cutting out her influence for good. In Jaime’s reverse knight’s fable, refusing the call of the damsel in distress is one of the most upright things he has ever done. How fitting that he should then meet up with the woman who influenced him to take the other path - only she seems about to betray him, too…

It will be so interesting to see Stoneheart’s perverted justice on a character whose head we once wanted on a chopping block but now want to survive at all costs. I don’t think Brienne will be able to follow through with it to the end. After all, Jaime must live on to fulfil a certain prophecy…

2. Euron Greyjoy

“The bleeding star bespoke the end,” he said to Aeron. “These are the last days, when the world shall be broken and remade. A new god shall be born from the graves and charnel pits.”

It’s common enough to hear writers and critics talk about how your villain can’t simply be evil, and that they need to have sympathetic motivations or else they’re badly written. I think that’s true sometimes, but only when your evil villains fail to capture the raw horror of what evil really is - that’s when they feel wooden or cartoonish. To successfully capture that heart of darkness, however…

That is what George R.R. Martin achieved with Euron Greyjoy, the most terrifying character I have ever read.

Everyone underestimates Euron. They know he’s mad, but they don’t know how mad he is. They think they can outmanoeuvre him, like Asha, or betray him, like Victarion. They think he’s lying when he says he’s sailed to Valyria and means to conquer Westeros with dragons. Only Aeron knew. Only Aeron knew the depths of Euron’s depravity, and how far he means to fly. Because he’s the only one who heard the scream of the rusted iron hinge.

The Forsaken showed that it was all true, that Aeron was right all along - that he, like the oracle Cassandra, warned the Ironborn but was condemned to be ignored. Euron has an ambition unparalleled by any other character in the series - he means to turn himself into a god. He’s the only one depraved enough to go to the lengths it would take to make that dream a reality.

We should fear Euron, we should fear him very much. And yet, I think his dreams of godhood can never fully come to pass. He is, after all, still a man - still fallible, as we saw him shrink away at the Reader’s reprimand in The Reaver and change his tactics accordingly. His humanity will be the death of him - not any goodness in his heart, but a weakness common to the human creature. The dragons he means to dance with, and potentially the Others too as some theories go, will move at a pace beyond those mortal legs.

His attempt to fly will inevitably end with a fall. But that headfirst plunge will take the Seven Kingdoms with him.

1. Stannis Baratheon

“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning… burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?“

Here is a man so totally dedicated to his duty that he is willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish it, even if it means his own destruction.

He is a character that believes in justice and the word of law more strongly than any other, and watching his dogged persistence to put a corrupt world to rights no matter the odds has always struck a chord with me, especially in this world teeming with such selfish and barbarous characters.

He is not such a performer as other characters, not as openly humorous as Tyrion (though lowkey he has an incredible dry wit), nor as pretty as Renly, nor as lighthearted as Littlefinger. He’s a dour person, hard and unpopular. But if you listen to the conversations he has with Davos, there is an incredible heart to this man who has placed all the troubles of the world on his own shoulders, and strives through cold and stormy weather to make the best, most just decision he can for no other reason than that - because it is just. Justice is hard, sharp and unyielding, not pretty, not humorous, not lighthearted - but necessary. In a king more than anywhere else. That’s why those who do follow Stannis, like Davos, follow him with such faith and loyalty.

He often proceeds about this goal in questionable ways, compensating for the imperfections of his forces and of his own personality. This is the rickety bridge Stannis walks on, as a man who will go to any means necessary to accomplish what he feels must be done. Sometimes this might mean unleashing dark forces better left locked up, sometimes it might mean committing so terrible a sin as kinslaying, sometimes it might mean sacrificing a child to awaken stone dragons - and sometimes it will mean rescuing the realm from a wildling incursion when no other king cared.

Moments like that unforgettable “STANNIS! STANNIS! STANNIS” stick so powerfully in my memory because, much like Jaime, the real virtue of this character had yet to shine so brightly as it eventually would in ASOS. Something which had always been there takes us unawares. And he is evolving, too, ever becoming more flexible, more willing to compromise, more hesitant to burnings, more dedicated to the good of the realm over himself.

And there is a whole other layer of tragic pathos that lies behind his character. Try as hard as Stannis might, and God does he try, he is not Azor Ahai, and every reader knows he will not sit the throne at the end. Even Stannis knows where this road will leave him. But he persists anyway, in the face of death. The courage of that, the self-sacrifice - how can one not be moved by it?

One of the finer points of Stannis that often goes missed in (understandably) overzealous attempts to correct the show’s butchering of his character, is that there is a part of him that does want to be king. He’s lived in Robert’s shadow his entire life, as Asha thinks to herself in ADWD, and there is a part of him that does yearn for recognition. Quotes like “Robert could piss in a cup and men would call it wine, but I offer them cold clear water and they squint in suspicion and mutter to each other about how queer it tastes.” reveal that, I think.

So this is a whole other internal battle within Stannis - he must be careful not to allow his judgement to falter against the part of him that is jealous of Robert, of Renly, that wants to be the hero Melisandre says he is. This very human aspect complicates further the already complicated war between deontological and utilitarian ethics that wages in his head, with Davos and Melisandre as their respective spokesmen. Much as he may want to be a perfect king and avatar of justice - he is still human.

The depth and tragedy of Stannis Baratheon is Shakespearean. My heart shatters in advance for the moment Stannis has made his greatest sacrifice of all to halt the advance of the Others (not the Boltons, he’ll flatten them like pancakes), and for it to do nothing, nothing at all. For him to realise he was never the hero of this story, and that now he has gathered all this blood on his hands where there is no spring to wash them in.

A man so just as Stannis could never forgive himself. But we, the readers, shall never forget the battles he fought as an axle of this universe striving to be something greater.

Honourable Mentions to Aeron, Victarion, Barristan, Jon (Snow and Connington), Cersei and Brienne. Yes, I really like the Greyjoys 🦑.

[fallout-snippets]

Oh my gosh your writing is so good - I'm loving that ask about companions realising they're in love! If it's ok, could I ask for you to expand it with X6 and the robots? If it's not too much trouble 💕

(I assumed the robots in question, if I missed one please let me know. also thank you!!!)

Ada has the capacity to love; so’s she been told. And she can certainly detect a certain favoritism in her programming towards her companions. When they die, she feels empty.

She appriciates the stranger who helps her get revenge and although dissapointed the villain wasn’t as villainous, she remains satisfied that it’s now over. Her future is now unclear and she expects that she might be left behind as Sole seems more than capable to handle things on their own; this quest they were on were for Adas benefit, not theirs.

But they offer her a new home, a new family. They ask her to come with them, because they like her. Like? Her programming IS pretty special and she is designed to be approachable but when Sole says it it feels different. It feels… warm. It’s an unusual feeling and she has to check her cooling system to see if it’s failing. It’s not.

They travel together some more and Ada is more than happy to help carry the scrap Sole spots with eagle eyes. They express gratitude that she doesn’t complain and she doesn’t understand why anyone would complain if they got to travel with Sole.

The warmth she experiences, that apparently has nothing to do with her hardware, grows day by day until one day they’re in a settlement. The settlers don’t mistreat her but she’s nothing but a robot to them. The difference in how Sole approaches her and how everyone else does is vast and she begins to remember her original companions talk to themselves about their feelings.

Sole treats her like a person, like an individual. Not just scraps put together to pull a heavy load, but like a friend. More than friends. Family. Or…?

Ada does have the capacity for love, it was programmed into her, but it was never specified which kind of love.

Codsworth immediately cares for the family he’s been designated to help. And how easy it is to care for them! They’re a picture perfect family and even though he is only a helper, they invite him in to become a part of it. It is such a shame when the bombs fall but luckily the vault is nearby and the family appears to make it. He checks the area afterwards, once the dust settles, so to speak, and doesn’t find them.

Some charred remains are difficult to identify but he takes his time and determines that his precious family must be safe. If he had lungs he’d sigh with relief. Instead he takes it upon himself to clean up the house to the best of his ability until their return.

Years go by but he doesn’t falter. It’s only reasonable to assume that the family would live out their lives in the vault, safe from the radiation outside (though he does begin to loathe his solitude) and perhaps their descendants will instead emerge, ready to resume living.

Instead two centuries pass and he’s hanging on by a thread. The house never gets clean enough, he hasn’t spoken to anyone for too long and he misses them. His family. When a figure finally returns to the house he’s shocked but finally things will return to normal.

Well, as normal as it can get. Their better half is dead and their precious child has been taken but he sees something new in them, a fire in their eyes. He expects them to clean up the world! And in the meantime he’ll make them a new home to come back to but instead they ask him to come along.

“Codsworth, I need you.”

He feels electricity spark inside his chassis and how could he deny? His beloved Sole finally returned to him, he’ll do anything they ask. And they’ll need protection out there! He sees an entirely new person grow from the ruins and yet they remain true to who they’ve been all along. The new radiation-filled world seems to turn people into demons, but not Sole.

They still carry themselves with dignity, still treat him with respect. They grow a reputation in the world as a hero and he agrees but they still come home. To him. It makes him… feel different. Not that he’s supposed to. But it’s hard not to grow excited when he hears them approaching home, when he sees them in one piece. When he sees them smiling at him, as if they were coming back home to their better half.

Nick has been around for a long time. Too long, probably. He’s seen things that makes your skin crawl and heard things that’d make you nauseous. So when this vault-dweller rolls around with an unbelievable story, he believes them. When they ask for his help, he helps them. That’s what he does.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is for this unhardened pre-war stranger to turn out to be braver and kinder than anyone else who grew up in this disadvantageous world. You’d think someone who lived comfortably up until now would have a harder time adjusting, of fitting in. You’d think they’d try to find another place to be comfortable in.

But Sole fits in this world like a glove and it’s beautiful to watch them perform. It’s even a pleasure to travel with them, despite all the horrors he has to see them experience for the first time, although they don’t always get discouraged by what you’d think. The first time they saw him they were surprised, to say the least, but immediately accepting. Maybe it was the trauma of having their world turned upside down but not once did Sole ever question his loyalty or integrity.

They even go to him for comfort, leaning on his shoulder and crying into his coat. It’s been a long time since anyone’s bothered to get close to him and he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it but he knows what he is. He’s a robot with a human personality, a human past, and he doesn’t dare imagine a future with them.

Until that’s all he does.

It’s an early morning in Diamond City when he hears papers shuffling in his office. It’s too early for Ellie to be there but he isn’t too surprised to find Sole looking through some files.

“I already solved those.” he tells them, leaning on the doorframe.

“Oh yeah? Bet the butler did it.” they say with a smirk and he feels the fans kick on, hoping they don’t make too much noise.

He knows then and there that resistance is futile but he also knows that he’s too complicated and he wouldn’t wish that mess on anyone. But Nick has been around for a long time. Maybe it’s time to get some closure on some things.

“Actually, I could use your help on a case. Been working on it for a while. It’s kind of personal, though.”

X6-88 is not supposed to feel anything. It’s not a part of his programming, his training or job description. When he first meets Sole he’s unfazed, although curious, and he can see straight away that they don’t trust him. That’s okay. He doesn’t need their trust.

He escorts them through a mission that’s standard for him but ends up on a different note than what he’d done. That’s also okay, he was not leading the mission. He expects to return to his duties as Sole is a capable survivor topside but they ask him to come with them. He doesn’t question it, because why would he, but his curiousity grows. He smothers it with logic.

They ask him all sorts of things, about the Institute, its people and history, but also about him. There’s nothing to tell about him. He’s a courser designed to retrieve runaway synths. That’s who he is, what he is.

He can tell they’re dissapointed by his answer but there’s really nothing else to say. They ask if he’s really okay with it, to be told what to do and treated like a tool. He tells them it’s not up to him to decide what he’s used for but he is built to be used.

“You’re born.” they correct him, touching his hand.

“I am not human.” he replies and attempts to withdraw but is surprised at how warm they feel. He finds himself unwilling to withdraw despite their current breach of conduct.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“I am… sentient.” he says, unable to smother the whirlpool of confusion. “A Mister Handy is sentient but not human. It does what it’s told.” he says trying to convince himself more than Sole.

He likes the way they look at him, even if their eyes are currently sad. He’s used to people looking at him with fear or anger but Sole looks at him with… affection. Why?

Sole withdraws their hand, assuming the conversation ended nowhere. They sit in silence for a while, taking a break from the burning sun above.

“You don’t owe them anything. They may have created you but they created an individual. They don’t get to control you like this.”

X6-88 feels mostly confusion and turmoil for a long time after that. They treat him like an equal and it’s hard not to revel in it compared to the coldness he faces in the Institute. They ask for his opinion, about his expertise, and they care for him when he’s wounded.

His training tells him to ignore any and all “feelings” but Sole makes him feel appriciated, happy, and he likes how it feels. Why is something that makes him feel good bad? When Sole talks to him he makes more of an effort to reply, when they tells him a story he tries to react appropriately. They smile at his attempts and it causes his gut to drop but not in a terrifying I-have-made-a-huge-mistake kind of way but a pleasant one.

One night back at the Institute where he waits outside Fathers room he hears them arguing. They are clearly disagreeing about something and it’s none of his business but Sole is upset when they leave and he finds himself mad on their behalf. Mad at Father.

It shakes him to his core to realize that he can feel that way but it doesn’t take more than a second for him to decide that Sole is more important than the Institute and Father and if needed he will take their side.

[im-a-goner-foryou]

Sorry guys, I haven't been in the mood to write (or do anything really) these past few days, but i promise once i do i'll make up for it ♡ In the meantime an anon asked for this old mafia boss! Tony drabble that got lost in the snap, so here's the repost:

"Where is he?" the man snarls, rumbling bellow of rage resounding throughout the room, masking even the deafening slam of the door thrown against its hinges. Striding up to one of his men, the mafia boss fists harshly at the quivering fool's collar, murderous eyes burning into deathly frightened ones. God, what a coward-- with the sparks of anger alive in his blood, Tony has to resist the overwhelming urge to swing his fist into the guy's nose just for the fun of it, he's so goddamn pissed. Fortunately for the man however, he has something far more urgent to tend to at the moment. "Where's the fucking brat? Where is he?"

Evidently too terrified to even speak, his mobster points over to the large oak table at the far corner of the room; and sure enough that's where little minx lounges, at the very head of the table and sprawled on Tony's chair no less, in a tangled mess of gangly limbs. Gritting his teeth so forcefully Tony hears it in his ears, he shoves the man away from him; stalks over to the unknowing boy in steady strides across the room, his men scurrying out of the way for fear of facing the wrath of the Mafia Boss and his notorious outbursts of anger. And yet, the very prey he corners now still remains unwary-- the sole low-hanging lamp above the table shines dimly onto the seated figure, yellow hue spilling over those long bare legs, propped up ever so casually on the table; attached to Peter, who's tapping away at his phone and looking, for all intents an purposes, wrecked. The tight-fitting clothes he always dons rumpled beyond recognition and clearly had been torn off his body; normally porcelain pale skin now littered with bruises unmistakable of teeth marks and finger imprints.

"You fucking whore," Tony spits, fury boiling in his veins and making his limbs tremor as he advances upon the boy, reaching down to grab at a skinny wrist and twist it cruelly. Startling with surprise, Peter nearly drops the little device in his hand; then seemingly collects his bearings not a second after, tensed muscles loosening as he glances up almost boredly up at the older man. There's a piece of candy in his mouth, Tony realises only now-- Peter rolls the translucent pink ball around his tongue, sliding it halfway out between those plump, slick lips of his.

"Hi daddy," Peter says mildly in greeting, voice lilted naturally sweet and marginally raspier than usual. Tony's grip on his wrist tightens even harder; relishing darkly at the wince of pain this draws from the boy.

"Don't you dare 'hi daddy' me," Tony hisses. "You don't get to say that after what you did earlier, you fucking brat."

"I don't know what you're talking about," is the reply, delivered softly and laced with innocence that could almost be believable if Tony hadn't known any better, hadn't dealt with his boy's antics for this long.

"Is that so? Because from what I've heard you sure knew what you were doing in that back alley just hours ago-- especially when you humped Mr Strange like a horny little bitch in heat," the older man spits hatefully, fit of rage threatening to overtake him yet again just from saying those words. "The moans you made were so loud, know that? So desperate and shrill my men thought a cheap harlot was being fucked there; but no, it was just you, though I wouldn't say there's much of a difference."

Even the well practiced mask of impassivity on Peter's face wavers at those humiliatingly stinging words, slipping away as the boy's face flushes with obvious mortification; the very tips of his ears burning red, he glares down wordlessly at the concrete floor. "What's wrong? Little slut can't even defend himself now, huh?" Tony chuckles cruelly. "Just as I had thought... you're nothing more than a pitiable fuck, constantly begging for something to fill that greedy hole of yours."

That strikes a nerve in Peter; he sets his jaw, chin raising in palpable defiance as he fires back, "Yeah? Maybe I was just tired of you not giving me what I need. At least Stephen knows how to fuck me right-- he satisfied me more than you ever have."

The whole room falls silent. Tony inhales sharply, livid anger boiling in his veins; tense apprehension hangs heavy in the air, even his men seemingly frozen with dread of what was about to happen next. Peter, to his credit, appears to quicky realise his mistake-- the challenge lit in his eyes melting away to dawning horror, regretful fright flashing across his paled features as he fully internalizes the words he had spoken to the dangerously unpredictable man. "I--"

Tony doesn't give him the chance to finish, hand diving into his side pocket of his slacks even as his vision turns red. Curling his fingers around the familiar smooth metal that is the handle of his hand gun, he slides it out and points it straight at Peter in one fluid movement. Glassy brown eyes widen with panic; all other emotions on the boy's face blanching to one of distinct fear as he flinches away from the aimed weapon.

"Now now, you're just hurting your old man's feelings... what am I going to do with you?" Sighing heavily, Tony tuts condescendingly down at the trembling boy, pursing his lips as though in deep thought. "'Cause we both know that what you said isn't true, don't we? I would say that all those times I fucked you so hard you were a sobbing, incoherent mess is more than enough evidence for just how much I can satisfy a bratty slut." The Mob Boss slides the tip of gun across Peter's quivering bottom lip, traces along red-rimmed eyes up to brush away the curled tendril of sweat matted hair almost lovingly. Peter shivers fearfully under him the whole time; breaths falling erratically from his parted mouth. "Look at me," Tony grits out, nudging his gun threateningly against the boy's forehead-- when his command is blatantly ignored, Tony feels the last frays of self-control snapping, torrent of anger surging forth.

The room reverberates with the sharp ringing from the barrel of Tony's gun colliding across Peter's cheek, slapping him so violently the boy cries out in pain. "I said, look at me when I'm fucking talking to you, bitch," the older man spits coldly, simmering anger giving way to the perverse feeling of pleasure rushing through his body as he stares down at the boy's cheek, the blooming mark of crimson red the unforgiving metal had left behind stark against the pale skin there. Finally the brat listens, he observes with satisfaction--peering up at him through tear-clumped lashes, Peter's hunched shoulders now tremble with sobs; regardless he obeys, honey-sweet eyes blinking away shining tears-- he should have known a little rough treatment was all the brat needed all along.

"You're very pretty when you cry, you know that?" Tony purrs softly. "I could never get tired of those huge doe eyes of yours, so sweet for me when you want to be..." Sliding the gun down tear-streaked cheeks to hook under and lift Peter's chin, he examines the boy's angelic face with a dark, hungry gaze. "But just being my little slut doesn't mean I can allow such naughty behavior, princess. You know daddy doesn't like it when you disobey him."

"I-I know, 'm sorry," Peter whimpers, sniffling ever so sweetly; Tony watches a falling teardrop with sick fascination, the beginnings of arousal stirring deep in him at the sight. "I'm sorry daddy, I, I promise I'll never do it again-- just, please," the boy's face crumples, bottom lip wobbling as though to stifle a sob.

"Oh, of course not. I bet you wouldn't," the Mafia Boss coos. "After all, this is just what you've wanted all along isn't it? Daddy wasn't paying enough attention to his princess. Well, you've certainly got it now." With that, he cocks the barrel of his gun-- pushes the tip of it into Peter's mouth, forcing those obscenely plush pink lips open and gagging the boy's cry. "Shh, it's okay. You can't expect me not to punish you after that stunt you pulled and all that bratty attitude, do you baby? You know what they say, give a whore too much freedom and they forget their place."

Peter stares up at him, fear etched clearly onto his face; his chest rises and falls in staccato with hitched breaths, drool beginning to dribble past his stretched lips and coating the metal. Tony slides his gun deeper into his baby boy's small mouth, pulls it out wetly; fabricating a thrusting motion. "All this, just because you needed daddy to fuck you. Could have saved both of us to trouble if you just asked me, princess-- I'd have ruined you the way you wanted." Lips splitting into an almost wolfish grin, the man finally removes his now spit-slick gun fully from Peter's mouth. "Now, let's go to my room, hmm? I'll make you obey your daddy."

With that, Tony straightens and turns to stride towards his office; not having to look back to be sure Peter is hot on his heels-- free hand moving to unbuckle his belt as he prepares to teach his baby brat a lesson he won't forget.

[imagine-loki]

I'm still breathing, Chapter 6

TITLE: I’m still breathing CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 6 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine a mutant has been living on the streets for years, until she is picked up by the Avengers. She’s taken to live with them so they can help her to discover what her powers are. Loki especially, takes an interest in her. The two become very fond of one another as they discover what her power is. RATING: M 

‘Have you revealed her powers yet?’ Fury asked Natasha. He’d called her and Tony into his office for an update on the young mutant.

‘Not yet, no.’ She shook her head.

‘Why not? It’s been almost 4 months now. It shouldn’t take this long.’ He frowned.

‘Why is it such a rush?’ Tony asked.

Fury sighed and ran a hand down his face. ‘SHIELD have been pressuring me to find out.’

‘Why are they so desperate to know? They aren’t going to use her for experiments, are they?’ Natasha glared at her boss.

‘No… I don’t know. All I do know, is that they are pushing me for an answer.’

Natasha and Tony shared an uneasy look.

‘Well, if they dare try to use her for some experimental crap, they will have to go through us first. She’s family now.’ Tony growled and stormed from the room, with Natasha quickly following behind.

Loki was in the lab with Tony and Bruce again later that day. They were working on a new machine that was supposed to show any abnormalities within humans, to show any mutations forming. They hoped it would help Sophie.

‘She’s really starting to freak out about being a mutant of late.’ Loki sighed.

‘It must be annoying, not knowing what her powers are. It could be anything.’ Bruce said as he tightened up a screw.

‘Am I right in saying that there was a period where the mutants were seen as parasites? And used for experimentations?’ Loki asked.

‘Yes. Not that long ago, actually. It was only three years ago that a new law was passed in favour of them. Claiming that unless they broke the law, they were to be treated the same as all humans.’ Bruce nodded.

‘No wonder she’s freaking out. Three years? That’s still pretty fresh. And you mortals aren’t exactly known for sticking to the law.’

‘Says the god that killed hundreds of people.’ Bruce countered.

‘Touché!’

Loki looked over at Tony, who was sat at one of the desks drumming his fingers repeatedly. He frowned and called out to him. ‘Oi. Stark. You could be helping us instead of sitting on your backside doing nothing.’ He snarled.

‘Yeah, you are awfully quiet. Is everything ok?’ Bruce asked.

‘Yes, fine. Let’s just get this finished.’ Tony stood up and went to join them.

‘Liar.’

‘Excuse me?’ Tony turned to Loki and glared at him.

‘You are forgetting who you are talking with, Stark.’ Loki said in warning, folding his arms over his chest.

Bruce looked between them both, but had to side with Loki on this one. ‘Come on, Tony. If there’s something up we need to know. We are supposed to be a team.’

Tony sighed. ‘Fury pulled me and Nat in to give him a briefing on Sophie’s progress.’

‘So?’ Bruce frowned, not getting it yet.

‘He said that SHIELD are putting pressure on him to find out what her mutation is. But he doesn’t know why. Natasha and I just find that a bit… Worrying.’

Loki felt his stomach swirl, not in the good way. ‘They are planning to experiment, aren’t they?’ He snapped.

‘We don’t know yet. But we won’t let that happen, I already warned Fury of that.’

‘I don’t get it. There are plenty of mutants out there, some even work for SHIELD. Why would they want Sophie?’ Bruce asked.

‘I don’t know. Not to mention it is illegal now, as you said.’ Tony shrugged and grabbed the spanner from him.

‘I don’t like this.’ Loki said.

‘Neither do I. But there isn’t anything we can do until we know more.’

As if on cue, Sophie entered the lab. The three looked at each other and silently agreed to keep quiet for the meantime.

‘Hello, poppet. Just in time, look what we are working on.’ Loki said with a grin as he went over to greet her. He reached out and took her hand in his, giving her a squeeze and leading her over to join them.

Tony smirked and he shared a knowing look with Bruce. They didn’t realise that Sophie was now ok with Loki’s touch. Though it wasn’t exactly surprising to them, what with how close the two were becoming.

Sophie often reached for Loki’s hand, just for some comfort. Often if they were in the living room, having been talked into watching a film with the rest of the group, Sophie would seek out Loki’s hand secretly to hold.

The three showed Sophie what they’d done so far with the machine. She was impressed, and also warmed that they were putting so much effort into something to try and help her.

The four of them all went for breakfast afterwards. Loki and Sophie sat alone at the table nearest the door, which was becoming their spot.

‘I’m thinking of going out later.’ Sophie blurted out.

‘Oh? Where are you going?’ Loki asked.

‘Well, I don’t really know. But I feel I’m ready. I just need to push myself a little… I was kind of wondering if you would like to come with me?’ She asked quietly, unsure on what his answer would be.

‘I would love to.’

‘Are you sure? Only if you aren’t busy. I mean, I’m sure you have better’  

Loki cut her off from saying anything else. ‘Even if I was busy, I’d much rather spend time with you.’ He smiled assuringly at her. ‘What do you fancy doing?’

‘Uhm, I hadn’t thought of that. I don’t know, actually.’

Loki said nothing for a moment as he had a think. ‘We could just go for lunch? Then see where that takes us.’

‘Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.’ Sophie nodded.

When lunch time came around, Sophie was feeling really nervous. She didn’t want to go anymore. Her brave moment that morning had completely passed and now she just wanted to hide in her room. But unluckily for her, Loki went to seek her out.

He knocked on her door but when there was no response from her, he tried the handle but it was locked. So he just let himself in by teleporting into her room. He found her sat on her bed with her knees tucked up under her chin. She looked slightly startled at Loki appearing in her room, more so at the suit he was wearing.

‘Loki.’ She said quietly and sat up straight.

‘Come on, poppet. I know it’s scary, but you really need to do this. We will just go to the suburbs of the city, I know a nice quiet little café we can have lunch at.’ He said softly and walked over towards her.

‘I… I don’t know if I can.’

‘Surely having lunch with me isn’t so terrifying. I don’t bite, promise.’ Loki grinned and sat down on the edge of the bed next to her.

She smiled. ‘No, I don’t think you do… You know it’s not you. I’m just being silly. I know I need to take this step.’ She took a deep breath and slid over so she was sat next to Loki.

‘It’s a big step, I know. But I will be right at your side the entire time.’ Loki took a chance and he put his arm around her and gently pulled her into his side.

Sophie tensed up to start with, but then she relaxed in his embrace and leaned into him more. Loki gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and then slid his hand up to cradle the back of her head. He started to slide his fingers softly through her hair, the pads of his fingers massaged her scalp and it felt heavenly.

‘We don’t have to go to a café if you don’t wish to. We could simply go for a walk in the park. Or go shopping. Whatever you will find easiest, we shall do.’ Loki whispered.

Sophie closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the hug. It was like her body was hyper sensitive of every little thing. His breathing, his soft touch, the warmth from his body. It made her feel something she had never felt before, it made her feel wanted. Her heart felt complete. She didn’t feel like she was a burden upon Loki. 

‘A walk sounds nice.’ She said quietly after a while, though she didn’t particularly want to move.

But eventually, Loki managed to coax her out from her room and then, after more hesitation, out of the base. It wasn’t too far to the local park, Sophie was slightly surprised that Loki could drive. So it saved them having to be escorted.

‘You look surprised.’ Loki grinned knowingly.

‘I just didn’t think about people from space knowing how to drive.’ She shrugged.

‘In Asgard, we ride horses where we need to go. We do have some spaceships too. But our technology is much more advanced than here on earth, so something such as operating a car is easy.’ He said as he pulled out from the garage.

‘What is Asgard like, is it similar to here?’

‘It’s a beautiful golden city. We also have forests and mountains too. Far more scenic than here though. The bifrost is rather beautiful too, most mortals seem to love it.’

‘Bifrost?’

‘It’s a rainbow bridge.’ Loki smiled.

‘It sounds amazing… What about where you came from, you said about your heritage being a Jotun?’ Sophie asked carefully.

‘Jotunheim is… Well, it’s a dump really. Constantly snows, cold.’

‘Sounds like it was a good thing you were adopted then. I couldn’t imagine living somewhere where it constantly snows. Winter was always the worst here.’

‘How did you keep warm?’ Loki asked.

‘Through the day I would try and stay inside places, such as the library. But the problem with that was where to keep all of my things, somewhere safe and where it wouldn’t get wet.’

‘Did you not have a bag to take with you?’

‘Yes, I had a rucksack. But if you look homeless, that can be more of a hindrance than anything. If you’re in a shop, library, anywhere public really it is best to blend in. Not stick out like a sore thumb looking homeless. People call you all the names under the sun, try to harm you, chuck you out of places even if you genuinely have a little money to buy something with. I was once going into a shop when I was new to the streets, to buy a drink with some change I’d managed to save up. As soon as I stepped into the shop the security escorted me out and wouldn’t let me back in. Even though I showed them the money I had. The police half the time don’t like you and move you on. So it was best to hide my belongings somewhere safe for the day until I needed them. Obviously when you’re begging for money then you can’t not look homeless, that’s the exception.’ Sophie sighed and looked out of the window at the passing countryside.

‘I had no idea…’

‘So, there’s no homelessness on Asgard?’ Sophie turned back to look at Loki.

‘There isn’t. There is poverty, but they all have a house at least. Even if it is not much aside from a roof over their head. Odin tends to turn his blind eye to all the poverty.’

The two arrived at the park, when they got out of the car Sophie felt relieved in a way. She was glad she had been able to leave her new home, it was like a hurdle she had overcome. They had a gentle stroll through the park, talking about anything and everything.

Sophie took an interest in Loki’s Seidr, so intrigued with how he could manipulate energy to his advantage and his illusions. She loved how he spoke about his mother teaching him with such fondness, it was obvious that he loved her dearly.  

‘Do you go back to Asgard often to visit?’

Loki’s face dropped at that question and he looked down as they walked. ‘No, I don’t. Thor often goes back to visit, but Odin banished me. Thor asks when I can return to visit, but Odin never responds. I think so long as The Avengers are a team, I am stuck here.’

Sophie could tell that hurt him. It made her own heart hurt for him.

‘I’m sorry… Odin sounds like an asshole.’

Loki chuckled. ‘He is. I don’t understand his reasoning for sending me back here, to the realm that I almost destroyed. Thor says he always has good reason for his actions, but I think he just a senile old fool.’

‘Well, I am kind of glad he banished you here. I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.’ Sophie smiled.

‘I am too.’ Loki smiled back at her.

He reached out and took her hand, giving her a squeeze. The two continued their walk through the park, it was nice just to talk freely as they walked. They didn’t have to worry about anyone eavesdropping on them.

Sophie was feeling very refreshed and almost like a new person when they eventually returned to base. Loki was happy to see the glow on her face. He was also proud that she managed to go out, considering how terrifying she found the thought previously.

‘Thank you so much for today, Loki. I really enjoyed it.’

‘So did I. Perhaps next time you wish to go out, we can try the café.’ Loki suggested.

‘That would be nice.’ Sophie nodded.

Loki leaned in and kissed her forehead, making her heart soar at his tenderness.

[not-that-blog]

So sometimes the weirdest impacts from DV happen a long time after you're free of them. But also, sometimes the realisation that a lot of your relationships were just getting more and more unhealthy until you landed in the relationship that was DV is also really really hard and you start questioning how long you'd been ignoring abuse.

And the thing is, I didn't realise how much I'd been holding onto the lie that them hurting me, physically hurting me and not caring, didn't mean they didn't love me, because while I'd never do that, maybe their trauma just meant different and they needed help and etc.

Until my current partner stopped and instantly looked after me and was way more concerned with the fact that I was in pain than what had been happening.

And my survival narrative broke. I couldn't pretend that I hadn't been enough to overcome my ex's traumas and that they maybe somehow loved me. Because they couldn't have. I knew some of my kinder ex's didn't fully love me we were just young and not mentally ready to love and last... but I didn't realise how much the ex fiancé who assaulted me specifically, really stuck in my head. And I just broke down sobbing because what else could I do and he just held me.

This man loves me, like without a doubt, loves and adores me and has for a while. Not just because he's so loving that he breaks my survival narrative around my ex (which was my ex's 'reasons') that I clung onto to cope with the abuse because I couldn't handle it... but because this man holds me in his sleep and snuggles into me and clings to me gently. He gives me forehead kisses and looks at me like the most beautiful person in the world. This man had a crisis of sexuality and ended up coming out because he loves me. He puts effort into making sure he sees me and that I feel safe showing all of myself to him. He is genuinely kind and caring and wonderful and I am so so in love with him.

And yeah, a lot of the things that break my brain after DV are not the big romantic gestures, because *redacted name of abusive ex's at any random pick* would do those too. It's what as he very lovingly points out sometimes are the things that are the bare minimum in relationships. That basic love and respect for your partner and their safety and autonomy. Because you don't get that in DV, your safety doesn't matter to them unless they're able to yell at you for how you do or don't prioritise it.

Realising that I'm loved and respected and appreciated and cared for and safe is such a blessing and also something that I wasn't prepared for how it would shatter my entire world a little bit because I could no longer pretend everything that I experienced was somewhat justified because it happened to me and I just wasn't enough (because after hearing that for long enough you do start to internalise it) and suddenly I realised there's no way they ever loved me, because my partner loves and adores me fully, they couldn't even hate me to do that to me because neither of us would wish that pain even on those we hate most... but they genuinely had to not care at all, not even a little bit, because you can't care and do that. You have to see someone as human and care about them a bit to hate them over indifference... and it can't even be indifference... they just really don't care about anything but themselves and it's terrifying af.

Like literally kills me to realise how long I spent trying to love someone who never ever was going to love me back and in all honesty would've gotten bored eventually and killed me. And they almost did. And I am realising that I did in fact date someone who I will not be surprised when I one day see she murdered someone because she tried and would have killed me if she had the chance and I think my ex fiancé, I think he would've too.

I dated people who are almost absolutely going to end up being murderers and I was almost their victim and I am absolutely terrified of how much I let their version of events into mine.

And my partner broke that illusion and I am so so grateful for him and glad that I finally get to be loved.

[dogmatic255]

I finally walk into the abandoned house I have been looking at from my window. I always wondered what its story was, how it came to be in such a state. I believe it looked majestic in its younger days, big and beautiful, now, not so much, having started to fall apart.

I often see a humanoid shape moving around in the building through its shattered windows, acting out some sort of domestic scene, but without furniture and without other people. At first, it terrified me, knowing something was alive in there, but gradually it started to fascinate me. I became more and more curious, wandering closer and closer to the house. Today, I finally reached the run down door, slowly grabbing the handle and turning it.

Immediately as the door opened a gust of rotten and moldy air hit my face, making me cringe and breath through my mouth. Nobody was here for a long time, I think, as I enter further into the house and see the cracked, mossy walls with bits of what once was furniture scattered around. It looked most like some sort of crime scene. I remember with a startle that, some 100 years ago, there was a mansion in which the billionaire's kid snapped and murdered his family in cold blood before killing himself as well. Nobody heard of the mansion again, it slowly being forgotten and rotting away in some place where man doesn't come anymore. I connect the dots and realise that this old, abandoned house is, in fact, that mansion. A chill passes through me, understanding what horrendous crimes were committed at the very place I'm standing in right now.

I see something flash past through a doorway in the corner of my eye. I quickly turn around, trying to see what is in here with me. I hear faint giggling, almost like a memory, a memory of what once was. I slowly crept towards the doorway, not knowing what to expect. As I look through the doorway, I see a grand hall of sorts with a spiraling staircase leading upwards, and a yellowish child running around that looks to be made of some sort of sponge, or insulation, if you will. It's running around with its arms stretched out horizontally, imitating an airplane.

I stare dumbfounded at the scene before me, terrified and mesmerised all at once. It starts running towards me and asks,

"Will you take over my burden?"

The mansion's child looks up at me expectantly, clearly hoping I say yes.

"What is your burden?", I ask skeptically, not wanting to agree to anything yet.

"The house, it needs an inhabitant. I am just a memory of Damien Shaw."

He, or rather it, is the ten year old boy who had killed his family, I recall. I take a step back, not wanting to be too close to the memory of a murderer.

"I want to move on, but the house won't let me, will you help me?"

I consider my options. One, I run, which will probably result in Damien catching me. Two, I help him and move into the mansion where a murder was committed. Three, I attack Damien, after all, he is made of insulation. Four, I stall for more information. I choose option four.

"What happened to your family, Damien? Why can't they help you?"

"They have moved on, after I helped them."

"And how did you help them?" I ask, slightly afraid of the answer.

"They were constantly fighting, so I ended it. I made them stop breathing. I've seen them do it, so I knew how. Then I wanted to see where they went, so I stopped breathing as well..."

As he says the answer I have been dreading, I hear what I think are the begging voices of his parents in their last moments. I shiver, this was a mistake. How could this innocent looking boy have killed his parents. Wait, he has seen them kill as well? Just what went on here?

"How long have you been here, Damien?"

"Mmm, I don't know. A long time."

"Well, I'll help you, if you promise the house will continue to talk to me, in whatever form." I say, feeling a strange sort of pull to find out exactly what transpired here a hundred years ago. If the house has made inhabitants with only memories and insulation, which is very weird but I decide not to dwell on it, who knows what more the house might reveal.

"Thank you, thank you!!", the memory yells.

The boy suddenly starts falling apart, the insulation becoming insulation once more. I take a step back unsure of what is happening.

Suddenly, insulation starts getting pulled out of the cracked walls by a seemingly invisible force and brought together to form a much, much bigger human form. I always considered myself to be pretty tall, but even I have to look up to be able to properly see it.

//soooo, idk what this is, honestly. If anybody actually reads this, I'll maybe continue it...

Somebody said to tag you so

@deepwaterwritingprompts

Text: If a house is left empty for a very long time, it will grow an inhabitant, out of memories and insulation. 

[scripturienss]

Deuces

Disclaimer: Digimon does not belong to me and neither do the X-Men. Might be completely ooc from the superheroes you may know and expect.

Title: Deuces on FF.net. Rating: G Genre: Drama/Romance Prompt: Superheroes AU Word Count: 2,202

I don't gamble but if I did, I would bet on us.

"Dead Sea", The Lumineers

The first time they meet, a bomb sets off to her right, nearly deafening her.

The first time they meet, a bomb sets off to her right, nearly deafening her.

"Out of the way!"

It's a full-blown battle and her teammates are running, flying around her and tearing the city to the ground. She grabs hold of the first non-friend near her; there is a flash of light, so many images, so much anger and passion, and so much cold. Then there is nothing. She stands, eyes glowing white and creates a snowstorm around them that steals the air from everyone's lungs, all warmth gone from their limbs. Sora joins in and together, they manage to subdue the chaos around them just long enough to draw back.

The professor says it's important to know when to pull back from a battle already won, but Mimi resents not being able to finish it once and for all. They don't deserve this momentary peace.

.

.

Sora doesn't like anything about him. From the way he walks, too quietly, always brooding, to the way he talks in that low, sweet voice and how his French slips in every now and then. Mimi watches him from a safe distance in the library while he sits under her favourite oak tree, seemingly harmless. From here, he looks just like any other guy in the academy, he could be anyone and do anything. Perhaps, from here, he isn't the assassin she knows him to be though that possibility doesn't stop her from being angry, too.

The object of her current irritation enters the room and Mimi doesn't turn around when he asks, "Are you going to keep ignoring me?"

She can hear the anger in the way he's breathing so heavily through his nostrils. The thought brings her immense pleasure.

"Mimi, he's a friend."

"He tried to kill us," she tells him, fixing him with a stare. "Nearly damn succeeded, too."

Ryo frowns and she can almost believe him to be flustered. The years and scars have hardened his face and he hasn't shaved in a while. Sometimes she wonders how she could ever find him attractive but then, there are so few men that don't run away when met with her...

"He's not a bad guy," is the only thing he says. Mimi stands quietly and slips by him, half-waiting for him to flinch away from her touch. He doesn't, but then again, she doesn't touch him either.

.

.

"I have the strangest feeling you don't like me much."

"I didn't know you were telepathic, too. Mimi, did you know?"

Mimi glances uneasily at Sora, frowning. She's usually much nicer, the sweetest person Mimi has ever met but old habits die hard and this guy had a very good shot at blowing Sora's boyfriend to bits and pieces. You don't forget a thing like that so easily, no matter whose side you say you're on.

"I'm sorry," he says, sneering. "You weren't giving me much of a choice, you know."

"I'm going to find Taichi. You're staying?"

Mimi looks alarmed. "I'll be there in a minute." Sora leaves without another word and Mimi sighs. "She'll come around," she offers, despite not entirely believing her own words. "You did shoot at him."

He considers her for a moment and Mimi struggles not to break eye contact. He's handsome, not like Taichi, who is rugged and a bit rough; his features are delicate, would be almost too pretty if it weren't for the scars and the eerie, unnatural blue of his eyes. Mimi thinks it must be hard, having people always avert your eyes.

"What about you?"

She pouts. It's not his fault, she thinks, that Ryo thought it was a good idea to bring him in. His instincts are almost always right, even if the way he handles things is completely wrong. "I'm angrier at someone else at the moment, so you're good."

.

.

"So what's your power?" he asks, settling on the grass near her. He eyes her carefully, from her closed toe shoes to the pants and long sleeves, the gloves she's begun to put on the moment he approached her. "Hypersensitivity to the sunlight?"

"I'm—," she pauses, taking a small breath. He's toying with a playing card between his fingers, doing all sorts of ridiculous little tricks; it's the queen of hearts. Mimi smiles ruefully. "I'm a thief."

Gambit—that's what he calls himself these days—stops twirling the card and looks at her, smiling and she's sure she has never seen him smile before. He throws the card with scary precision into the sky and it blows up in tiny pieces, the cardboard falling around them like dry snow. "That's funny," he says, though he isn't smiling anymore. "So am I."

.

.

During the next few months, they spend a lot more time together. They train and eat together and sometimes he helps her study. Most of the time he's off on his own while Mimi attends her lessons and then he shows her a few nifty little tricks he's been working on. Sora doesn't hate him anymore and though Taichi still grumbles every now and then, she's sure he likes him more than he lets on. It's hard not to. He's quiet and polite, charming when he wants to be, clever even without trying. The professor values his input and experience and much of their success can be owed to the things he has brought and taught them.

The word 'mercenary' lingers in the air, still too raw to forget. Mimi tries not to think too much about it but sometimes she wonders, too, what kind of story he drags behind.

"Why do they call you Rogue?"

The light in the greenhouse casts a strange look on him, like a wraith or some other dream-demon of old.

"I ran away from home, left this place a couple of times," she sticks her tongue out at him. "I guess, there aren't many other things you could call me."

"I could think of a few," he says, and it's so rare to see him joke, Mimi doesn't know how to respond. So she tosses her hair over her shoulder and gives him a nonchalant shrug.

"Why'd they call you Gambit?"

"It's a trick move," he answers, tilting the waterpot into the cacti she's been looking after. "And an unfortunate nickname."

.

.

A new group of students arrives late that autumn, and Mimi greets them as happily as she can. Some of them are orphans, others are runaways, like her. A few were sent in by understanding parents who figure out it's better for them to be with their kind. These are always the most miserable kids. She does her best to help them adjust to life at the institute, figure out the rules and generally keep out of harm's way. At the end of the day, despite their powers, they're still mostly children and are sometimes treated as such.

Because she's kind and rather beautiful, every now and then some boy who thinks he's too clever will try to make a pass at her. Mimi brushes them all off easily, light-heartedly; none must come to harm. But every once in a while someone will grow too bold and won't pay heed to the warnings. Accidents have happened before, it's how the rumors started.

"Hey, Rogue, check it out!"

It all happens so fast. The kid reaches out and holds fast to her wrist and suddenly Mimi's entire body is on fire. Someone screams and it takes a moment for her to realise it's her, she's screaming and Takuya is on the floor and she can see the whites in his eyes. She's so sorry but she can't stay, not here, not with him looking all but dead while flames melt down her limbs.

"Move!" she bellows and she runs, fast, away and out into the woods that surround the property. She can see flashes of his life, his family, the scent of baking bread mixes unpleasantly with the smell of charred hair, clothes and skin. Mimi stops, doubles over and throws up until her stomach is empty.

.

.

He finds her sitting on a rock, near the small pond on the eastern field of the property.

"They were all looking for you."

"How is he?"

He scratches his jaw, solemn. "A bit dazed, but he'll live. I think he's mostly embarrassed though."

"I didn't mean to do it," she murmurs, hiding her face in her arms. "He caught me off guard, I couldn't—,"

"He shouldn't have touched you," he says, so fiercely that Mimi looks up and nearly misses his expression, fogged as her eyes are. He seems to notice and runs a hand through his hair; when he turns to her all traces of it are gone and he's smiling good-naturedly. "You really are something, aren't you, chére?"

.

.

They hadn't been expecting it. One moment they were together, having dinner and the next their intercoms were buzzing and the Blackbird was loaded and ready to go. Mimi hesitates briefly but Taichi (sweet Taichi) holds on to her hand and tugs on it. "We're a team," he says, then smiles that half-smile that irritates her so much. "And you're coming with us."

They drop down on ground zero and the fight that ensues is exhausting, both terrifying and exhilarating. She's never had free range with her powers before but this time she doesn't have time to think, to plan; she takes what she needs and gives them what they deserve. She's fought Magneto before, she's not afraid to do it again and the multiple explosions that seem to follow (but never touch her) are all the reassurance she needs.

Smoke chokes her lungs and she dives away from the blast, covering her face with her arms. He's gliding towards her, so close that she can touch him so she does, she dives for him and clutches his face, there's a huge blast behind her and the rest is all dark.

.

.

His eyes are the first thing she sees when she awakes. His face, usually composed, is a mess of dirt and sweat. There's blood trickling from his left brow and his eye is completely shut. He's devastating nonetheless and she's never been happier to see him.

"Rogue?" His voice is hoarse, like he's been screaming. She's drifting back into unconsciousness and desperate, he kisses her. She gasps and falls into his outstretched arms.

Things are never the same between them again.

.

.

"You could've died," she says bitterly, sitting in the hospital ward. The harsh bright lights make him look sickly pale and this makes her heart shrink. Because she's absorbed Ryo's powers on more than one occassion, Mimi heals rather fast and is already looking a lot like her former self. He's not as lucky, still a bit mangled and wearing an eye-patch over his left eye. The other one shines as startlingly blue as the first time they met.

"But I didn't," he sighs. "I thought you'd be happier about it."

"You shouldn't have!"

"You were on the ground—!"

"I don't mean the bomb," her voice has gone uncharacteristically quiet and he hesitates only a moment before moving, carefully, to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. The usual rose gold of her hair is framed by locks of silver, brighter than ever before. She flinches a little and her eyes fill with tears.

"I don't regret it. I would only hope you don't, either."

.

.

It feels so good to be touched again. His fingers (gloved, almost always gloved), lightly brush her cheeks and Mimi leans in to his touch. He bends down to place his lips on her shoulder; the kiss lingers soft and sweet and she shudders underneath his touch. They lay together like this, with him resting on her breast and tracing circles on her skin. She sighs, curling into him and placing her hand on his hair, kissing the backs of her fingers.

The psyonic imprint of his mind lingers somewhere in the back of hers, a cruel reminder of a moment that was stolen from them. He's louder than others, trembling with the sort of intensity that threatens to be overwhelming.

"What else did you see?"

"Your house, friends you have lost. The family you grew up with." She's crying again. "I'm sorry."

He rolls over to lay beside her, taking a deep breath and looking up into the ceiling. When he turns, both eyes are focused on her. "Call me by my name."

So she smiles, breathless, and he kisses her open palm. "Okay, Yamato."

.

.

"I want to kiss you."

A breathless laugh escapes her, ending in a sob that shakes her to her core. "I thought I had lost you."

"You could never lose me, chére. I couldn't bear it."

This time she does laugh and it's almost infectious, like something from his childhood he thought he had lost. His lips curl against the cloth that covers her neck and he kisses her pulse. If this moment is all they'll have, then—

"You're a prince, Ishida Yamato."

"Prince of thieves. Let's steal one more from Fate, hm?"

Notes: Part two of #digiOTPweek2k17 and a couple of observations.

1. I was already halfway done when someone pointed out this could've worked with Yamato as Rogue and Mimi as Gambit. I was tempted but upon the rewrite, I realised there were a few traits I wanted to keep and decided not to do it. I may or may not regret this decision.

2. In chess, a 'gambit' is an opening where you move a pawn that requires a sacrifice.

3. I regret so much about this piece but didn't want to miss out on the superhero fun! I'm trash.

4. The last lines are are from an actual panel from the comics and were originally what inspired me to write about them.

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

Hi, I'm the same person that send you the sick Bones request (it was great!) and I had another idea... I really like the idea of Bones losing his voice, he's always shouting and making sarcastic comments. Kirk making fun of him before realising how ill and miserable his CMO is and forcing him to rest. Thank you, you're awesome!

(Hey anon! I’m so glad you liked your first fic, and this came in the inbox great timing as I just rewatched all three of the JJ Abrams ST movies and I’m in the mood for some Star Trek! I’ve completely forgotten how much I love these characters, and if anyone wants any more ST, hit up the ask!! ^^ also so sorry I’m taking so long with prompts!! Im currently busy with acting things, so I haven’t had the time!!)

The five year mission had been quite slow the past month, and Bones had been relaxed, doing nothing but performing random experiments on new plants and other resources they had found on their expedition.

However one day, a bunch of the crew had been rushed in with injuries, apparently upsetting some species because of some culture thing they weren’t aware of.

It had been hectic, a shock to his system of idleness, and suddenly being thrown into a high stake, stressful situation.

A huge wave of bleeding bodies and broken bones came in, the whole situation distressing. While Bones didn’t like to be too prideful, it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Of course, he had his trusty crew with him.

However, Bones was a human, who got stressed. And lost his temper.

“YOU! What’s so interesting about the ceiling? Does the ceiling have a broken bone?! Well, does it?! No? Well this man over here does, so get your ass over here!”

“Get me the hypospray–no, no dear, that is not a hypospray! This isn’t a guessing game!”

“Oh my god, look at that supreme speed right there, wow, have you seen anyone move with such agility? Hurry up and get me the damn hypospray!!”

Sarcastic comments were also not an odd occurrence for the doctor.

“Doctor McCoy, he appears to be bleeding..”

“OH REALLY?! I was wondering what this sorcery leaking out of his skin was..bleeding you say?! What is this alien process?! How fascinating!”

“Doctor McCoy, this person has a broken arm,”

“That’s great! How about we go dance around it and worship it!”

“Doctor McCoy, this guy has a small cut on their–”

“Welp, they’re gone. What a tragedy. They’re dead. Rest in peace, what a fine life they lead.”

Needless to say, at the end of the day, McCoy was exhausted.

He was suffering from a splitting headache from overworking and stressing, felt weak to the bones (a pun Kirk would make, and he’d yell at him) and his voice was beginning to go.

Just before the end of the day, he received a message from the captain.

“Bones, my dearest friend, how’s everything going down there? Is my crew still alive?” Kirk chirped, knowing fully that there wasn’t anything too serious happening, and even if there was, his doctor was more than capable of making things okay again. He had much faith in their CMO, even if he would never say it to his face.

Bones rolled his eyes, groaning, “No Jimmy boy, you’ve managed to kill them all this time. I’m surprised they’ve lasted this long anyway, I’ve already prepared the funeral arrangements.”

He groaned louder and flopped on his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, “No, they’re fine, Jim!! Of course they’re fine, I’ve managed to bring you back from the dead, so of course a few broken bones can be healed!”

He could practically hear the captain raising his eyebrow.

“You said I was barely dead..”

“Oh, shut up!” Bones groaned fondly, and turned off the message.

From up at the bridge, Captain Kirk burst into laughter, slapping his knee and all sorts. He stretched on his chair, and yawned, “Well, let’s call it a day folks, tomorrows another day. We’ll see you all tomorrow.”

Gradually, the people on the bridge began to clear out, leaving Pavel Chekov to himself, looking rather worried.

Many of the crew, including Spock and Bones, had developed a slight parental instinct towards their youngest throughout the years. So naturally, when Kirk spotted the teen unmoving and worried he approached him, giving his hair a little shake.

“What’s up, Pasha?”

Chekov blinked, a little startled and smiled sheepishly, “I’m sorry Keptin’–it’s just zat..Ze Doctor seemed wery..his voice was wery hoarse..I wonder if he is becoming ill?”

Kirk blinked, not even realising how hoarse Bones had sounded until Chekov had pointed it out. The kid was really good at detecting and analysing things; and he wasn’t even sure why he was surprised when he was the youngest ever to be put on the enterprise.

He smiled softly,  giving the teen a pat on the back, “Doctor McCoy will be just fine. He always does, he’s..really a trooper. C'mon Pav, it’s been a long day, go and get some rest.”

The Russian nodded, and got up to leave but still wasn’t so sure.

“Doktor?” Chekov’s voice rang out, waking Bones from his half nap. By half nap, he meant that he was half asleep, not quite asleep and not quite awake.

“Mr.Chekov, I swear to god if you’ve broken anything..”

“No! I just..I brought you some tea,” Chekov said shyly, holding the steaming mug in front of him, looking far too adorable for it to be legal.

Bones’s heart burst with the sight before him, wanting to hug the boy for all of eternity but he could not let him know that he was a massive softie. No way.

“Is this your thing, now, kid? Givin’ up your boy genius thing to become a professional..tea guy?”

Chekov blinked, not knowing what to say.

Bones softened, “I’m joking, kid. I appreciate all this, it’s really sweet and all.”

Chekov’s face lit up with a bright, cheerful smile that made Bones momentarily forget about his splitting headache.

“It’s just zat you sounded sick on the message just there–I waz worried, iz all..Doktor, you must rest..”

Bones rolled his eyes at the kid fondly, “I’ll be fine, Mr Chekov. You should too, I promise I’ll head to my quarters too, in just a bit.”

Chekov frowned and crossed his arms, “Last time we had zis conversation you didn’t. It is now my duty to ensure zat you do.”

Bones groaned and huffed, unable to say no to this actual marshmallow fluff child and then got up, “Fine, lets go.”

Chekov’s frown disappeared and instantly resumed the cheery smile as the two walked out, with the Russian whiz kid dropping him off at his quarters. Much to Bones’s disapproval of course, he did not like being treated like a child.

The last time Bones had gotten sick, he had lied to Chekov and didn’t rest like he said he would. So naturally, when Bones actually did, he expected he wouldn’t be sick like the last time.

But of course, he was sick anyway.

Bones walked into the Medbay hacking, coughing his lungs out onto his sleeve. He felt awful, like he was about to collapse into a million pieces and that any second from now, his legs would betray him.

However, he would use his remaining time before his inevitable collapse to look after the patients from yesterday, who needed follow-up treatment and checkups.

The moment Nurse Chapel laid her eyes on Bones, she was off in a hurry, strutting away to send a message to the bridge. She didn’t even attempt to reason with the doctor, knowing full well how annoying and stubborn the man was, and that he’d never in a thousand years listen to her.

There were 3 people Leonard McCoy would give in to, Nyota Uhura, James Tiberius Kirk and Pavel Chekov, all three of which were at the bridge, and she knew at least one of them would come down and deal with this for her. She could not afford to waste time dragging him away!

Just as Bones continued to cough his way through the medbay, through examinations–to which the injured patients were more worried about him than their own injuries–James Kirk decided to make his presence known.

“Goooood morning Medbay! I have learned that your very own CMO sounds like a dying cat on acid at this very moment, and I am here to witness such an event!” He quipped as he strutted in, looking around for Bones.

It didn’t take him long to spot the doctor, and before he could even come 5 feet to him Bones hissed, quite literally like a cat.

Kirk blinked, “Woah shit, the cat on acid is still alive!”

“James, if you come any closer to me I will actually end your life,” Bones said harshly, although there was no real threat to his words. At least that’s what Kirk thought anyway, because he was more focused on how scratchy and hoarse Bones sounded.

“Oh, I will actually end your life,” Kirk mimicked in a silly, raspy voice to mock Bones.

Bones groaned loudly and continued to scan a patients wounds from yesterday, the patient looking awfully terrified of Bones, afraid he would snap and murder someone.

“What’re you gonna do anyway?” Kirk laughed, “Croak me to death? The sound of your nails on a chalkboard voice rupturing my eardrum as I die a long, painful death?”

Bones whipped around to face him for the first time, glaring daggers, “I will, James, watch me. In fact, I really want to right now.”

Upon seeing the doctor’s face, Kirk felt a sudden change in mood. He looked awful, pale, with dark bags hollowing his eyes. In fact, Kirk was beginning to feel a bit bad for being a shit. Bones must’ve felt horrible.

“Woah–uh, you can do that dude, but uh, after you go get rest and stuff. That is why I’m actually here–”

Kirk was cut off by a sudden harsh fit coming from Bones, as the doctor abruptly pulled away from the patient and turned away from both of them, coughing harshly into his fist. Kirk winced at the awfully chesty and painful sounding coughs, watching as his friend convulsed and shaken by the coughs. His entire frame was racked by them, and in fact, it looked like he could no longer support himself and was about to succumb to the illness and faint.

Kirk was at his side in an instant, wrapping a strong, caring arm around the doctor so he wouldn’t fall, steadying his entire frame. He lightly and gently patted his friend’s back, to help with the release of his coughs.

When Bones finished, he was gasping for air, taking a hot minute to recover himself and regain his breathing. Kirk sighed and gave Bones a pat on the shoulder.

“We’re out of here, you can’t be working now. Jesus, I should’ve listened to Pav last night..I know he got you tea and stuff and he got you to rest, but the kid’s too soft. He can’t force you like I can, his hearts too pure for that. I however can fight you tooth and nail,” Kirk smirked.

“You know what else I can do? Take care of you! Not that Pav can’t do that, it’s just his immune system isn’t the greatest and we need our navigator!”

Bones groaned, “You are not taking care of me, Jim! I will not allow it!”

“Who’s the captain here, hmm?” Kirk challenged, raising an eyebrow as he began to walk the doctor back to his quarters.

To his surprise, Bones didn’t say a word, and the journey there was quiet.

When they finally reached their destination, Bones slowly collapsed onto his bed. He instantaneously pulled his covers up and closed his eyes, face scrunching in a headache. Jim frowned at the sight, he looked so weak and sick. He wished he had realised earlier.

“..Ya really are sick, aren’t you?”

Bones opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Jim widened his eyes, “Shit, should I get Chapel–”

Bones shook his head and took out his PADD, typing out,

“It’s fine. It will come back as I recover. Don’t worry about it.”

Jim relaxed, and gave him a smirk, “Y'know what? I really like this! You not talking..it’s so peaceful..OW!” He pouted as he rubbed the spot on his arm that had been whacked  by the PADD.

Jim glared, “It makes you more violent than usual though.”

Bones typed out: “You don’t have to take care of me, you know.”

Jim rolled his eyes fondly, “Well I am, to show how great I am.”

Bones typed out, “You’ll get sick.”

Jim laughed heartily, “I don’t get sick!”

Bones rolled his eyes and sighed, watching as Jim walked around to find and watch some kind of programme to keep them both occupied, enjoying this company with his best friend. He felt awful all over, and he couldn’t even shout at Jim (one of life’s greatest pleasures), but he felt happy like this, in silent company.