#Day Seventeen: Brain Fog/Spaced Out

[monaisme]

Sicktember: Day 17

#17- Brain Fog/Spaced Out

Peter Parker was that kid, the type who always smiled, got amazing grades, played video games not to an excess and visited museums with his best friends, tutored his classmates in need, had lab days with one of the smartest people on the planet, loved his Aunt May more than just about anything, and volunteered at the animal shelter. Peter even walked little, old ladies across the street- with their consent, of course—both in and out of the Spider-Man uniform.

The time in uniform was another level entirely—All of New York knew about Spider-Man, but Queens held a special place for him in its heart. After all, he was always the first to arrive on the scene to help anyone—between the hours of 5pm and 11pm on weeknights, 5pm to midnight on Fridays, and 11am to 4pm then 6pm to midnight on Saturday and Sunday, unless it was a school break or around exams, not that anyone would say they’d definitely noticed the pattern—and the best superhero have around to help when the situation involved anyone under the age of twenty-one. That didn’t mean the bodegas and food cart owners didn’t love him. No, it was universal. Spider-Man was like a light in the darkness. He was a one of them—and Queens took care of their own. Crime had gone down in the borough, community engagement had gone up, and people were sitting on their stoops into the evening, visiting with friends while kids played on the sidewalks. Spider-Man was a blessing to anyone who knew him.

As an Avenger, Peter was the great unifier. The battle at the airport had been rough, Siberia had been worst, not that Peter was supposed to know about that, but the snaps—yes, all of them—had changed all of them. Losing to Thanos and being dusted for five years had been devastating to everyone. Dr. Banner getting injured and then almost losing Vision, Natasha, and Mr. Stark had been an unsurprisingly difficult time for everyone. With the compound destroyed in the final battle, Mrs. Stark had invited everyone who had gathered to recover and heal back at the tower—which had been gratefully sold back to the Starks shortly after the first snap all that time ago. Peter suddenly had unfettered access to all of his heroes, and they all loved him—for his chattiness, and humour, and kindness, and optimism—and because they all loved him, an effort like none before was made to ensure that everyone was kind to everyone. The Avengers called it the ‘Peter Effect.’ 

But Peter, in his apparent perfection, chose to never speak of his other half—

Because Peter knew—he knew that the perceptions other people had of him were so positive and wonderful and so, so wrong, that Peter could only pray to whatever god would listen to him that no one would around to see his imperfections when he inevitably fell from grace.

/-/-/

The funny thing was that it had started even before the world had gone to shit.

Peter knew there was a family history. Yes, his parents had been killed in the plane crash when Peter was four years old, but he could still recall his father sitting in his armchair, looking out at absolutely nothing.

Peter sometimes wondered if he was still breathing.

His mother would flutter around the house, doing whatever it was that super secret scientists do, but upon seeing her Richard there, she’d scuttle Peter off to his room telling him only that, “Daddy’s just having a bad brain day,” and, “Give him some privacy, love.”

And Peter had wondered.

Then, one day, Peter felt the inklings of a bad brain day himself, but only after he was old enough to know that people didn’t talk about stuff like that if they wanted to have friends to hang out with once they hit middle school... and especially high school. It was better to put on a mask, hope it didn’t crack—

Just like Uncle Ben. He had recognized the signs as he shifted into his new reality after... with Ben growing quiet, disappearing into himself, and then into his own room. Peter was never scuttled away to his room. No, Peter just had to pretend that it was important to be quiet while his uncle took a days long nap...

He was familiar with it all.

But sometimes it wasn’t about bad brain days.

No.

Sometimes, the world sucked ‘just because’ and it was too easy to explain away the darkness when the world was still in chaos after Thanos, or Flash was still a dick at school, or Spider-Man had failed to save someone even though he’d never tried harder to save someone in his entire life.

/-/-/

Peter looked down at his useless hands.

He’d failed.

/-/-/

“Peter?” Ned gave Peter a gentle poke in the shoulder, bringing him back into focus. “Are you gonna pass those back for the rest of us?”

Peter blinked as he turned to Ned and tried to figure out what he’d missed, but Ned was the greatest and, with a subtle nod over Peter’s shoulder, he realized. “Sorry, man.” Peter mumbled, and turned back to take the stack of new papers from Abe sitting in front of him. “Here you go.” He passed the stack back.

Ned grabbed two sheets and passed the rest back behind him then smiled kindly at Peter. “You forgot to grab one, too, Pete.” Ned whispered and handed the extra back to his best friend. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

Peter smiled softly, and almost thanked him, but was interrupted by Mr. Harrington. “Alright, everyone, please pay attention. I want eyes forward and pens and pencils out. I know how excited you are for your first pop quiz of the semester! You have twenty minutes. Let’s see how much you’ve retained since the start of term, people. You can start—” Mr. Harrington glanced at his watch, then announced, “NOW.”

Peter blinked again, this time Mr. Harrington pressed a firm hand on Peter’s forearm. “Are you doing okay there, Peter?” His eyes looked a little sad.

Peter nodded. “I’m good,” he answered like it was a promise.

“Perfect,” Mr. Harrington replied. “How would you feel about heading over to the nurse’s office, Peter? I’d like to speak with your guardian while you’re there. Is that alright with you?”   

Peter didn’t answer. He simply stood, gathered his bag and pen, and wondered where his paper had gone. It couldn’t have been important because the thought was gone before he could turn around to follow behind his favourite teacher.

He wasn’t surprised to hear the whispers as he made his way to the door, though. People had treated him differently since... well, he couldn’t bring himself to complain. He knew exactly how bad it had been since this all started. If this was a consequence of his mental instability, then Peter was going to suck it up and deal.

/-/-/

“I do not want to hear you tell me how difficult it is to find a way to formulate the physicochemical properties of an antidepressant suitable for a fucking Avenger. I do not pay what I do for you to complain about how hard it is to do your job!” Mr. Stark hollered at his phone. “You’ve managed harder shit, Gary! Get this done now!” He promptly disconnected the call and dropped his shout-reddened face into this empty hand.

Peter remembered a time when a phone call with Aunt May meant her sitting at the kitchen table, keeping half an eye on a giggling Peter as he zigged and zagged around their tiny apartment while she tried to avoid garrotting the boy. Every so often, May would be on a call with someone—her own Aunt Selma, if Peter remembered correctly—and there’d inevitably come a point in their conversation where Aunt May would start sounding a little like Mr. Stark right now. She’d tell her aunt that she was staying in Queens—that she didn’t mind working doubles—and that she didn’t mind being guardian to one Peter Benjamin Parker at all. Peter was a blessing, and nothing Aunt Selma could say would convince her otherwise.

And when that didn’t stop her Aunt Selma from pushing?

SLAM! Even knowing it was coming, Peter had always flinched.

It seemed strange to Peter that the ending of Mr. Stark’s phone call, without that slam, left him unsatisfied.

And then Peter wondered if Aunt Selma had been at the—

“Hey,” Mr. Stark’s form swam into view. He sat himself on the edge of the coffee table, close enough to Peter to reach out and ruffle his lifeless curls. “I’m sorry about that, Roo. They’re still trying—but for now, how’s about we talk to Dr. Cho about weaning you off of this particular med so you’re ready for the next one, okay?”

Peter smiled small and nodded. There really was no point in complaining. He knew exactly how bad it had been since this all started. If this was a consequence of his mental instability, then Peter was going to suck it up and deal.

/-/-/

“Peter?” Mr. Stark whispered close to his ear. “If you think you’re done, I’m going to carry you back to your bed now, okay?”

Peter blinked awake and tried to figure out what had happened. Why was he on the— And then Peter remembered the sudden rush of nausea, the panic to get to the bathroom before he ended up making a mess no one should have to deal with, and then vomiting—vomiting—vomiting. His stomach and chest still ached from all of the spasms and the heaving.

“No.” He pushed Mr. Stark’s hands away. “I can do it,” he slurred in his exhaustion, only to stumble into the vanity as he tried to stand, Mr. Stark’s strong arms around his waist being the only thing between him and a concussion.

“I know you can, buddy. Just let me help, okay?”

 Eyes filled with tears, Peter could only beg for respite, “I’m so tired of this, Mr. Stark. Please. My head... I can’t do this anymore... I can’t...” Peter was on the verge of hyperventilating.

Those strong arms tightened around him, lifting him up. “Yes, you can, Peter. You’re so strong, and you’re so brave, and you’ve come so far. Please, let us try one more time. We’re so close, sweetheart. I can feel it!”

Peter felt a wetness falling against his neck.

He wouldn’t allow himself to complain. He knew exactly how bad it had been since this all started. If this was a consequence of his mental instability, then Peter was going to suck it up and deal.

/-/-/

“Hi, Peter. I’m glad you decided to be here today.” Ms. Rosa said, just like every other Monday, Thursday, and sometimes Saturday if the week had been particularly rough. “Tony was telling me that the latest attempt at a medication was a wash. I’m sorry to hear that. Did you want to talk about it?”

Peter sat silent.

“Those side effects can be a real pain,” she offered. “How is the weaning off going?”

Ms. Rosa waited, just like every other Monday, Thursday, and sometimes Saturday if the week had been particularly rough.

“Tony told me that you’ve also decided to take a step back from in-person schooling for a bit. That’s got to be hard. How do you feel about that?”

Peter picked at the cuticles of his chewed down fingernails.

“Have you made plans for Ned to keep coming by? My niece was just showing me a Lord of the Rings Lego set she’s saving for. I’ve heard rumours you’re a Star Wars guy. Have you seen any of the new sets from the new movies?”

Ms. Rosa waited, just like every other Monday, Thursday, and sometimes Saturday if the week had been particularly rough.

But then, Ms. Rosa cleared her throat—sat up straighter.

“And Tony mentioned that today is your Aunt May’s birthday.”

What?

Peter’s mind blanked.

Not really, but it was so close—on the cusp of it.

No.

He would not—could not—

Peter closed his eyes.

For the first time in a long time, since all of this began, Peter felt a hint of... something.

He knew exactly what she was doing. Ms. Rosa had mentioned once that she thought Peter needed to push himself more. Yes, there’d been no success with the medications so far, but talk therapy, cognitive behavioural therapy—hell, even art therapy was on the table and yet, Peter chose to do nothing—at least for her.

Bad brain days and all that...

Peter wondered briefly, if she’d just seen something in him to try this now because, for the first time since Mr. Stark had arrived at her door when this all started with a non-disclosure agreement in one hand and a catatonic teenager in the other, she tried again.

“Peter? You must be having a lot of feelings around today. Do you have plans to do anything special to commemorate the day? You’re guardian mentioned something about ordering Thai for dinner?”

Peter had unintentionally heard that plan already today as Tony’d had his customary pre-session conversation with Mr. Rosa. They both knew that he’d hear it, Peter’s spidey-hearing made having even the most secret conversations difficult. It was simply a courtesy that they not discuss him in front of him.

But suddenly, a memory of the recent past popped into his head, his eyes opened, and Peter spoke. “Larb.”

Ms. Rosa crooked a brow. “I’m hoping that’s a dish and not you having a medical emergency?”

The tiniest huff of a laugh escaped from Peter’s mouth.

Then he slapped a hand over it to keep more from escaping.

He would not—could not—

Ms. Rosa leaned forward in her seat, clasped her hands together, and heaved a sigh.

And Peter braced himself. There was no point to complaining. He knew exactly how bad it had been since—

“Peter, I need you to stay with me, okay? I’m about to drop some serious wisdom here and I need you to be present, okay?”

Peter furrowed his brow in confusion.

This wasn’t how the session was supposed to go.

“I think what we have here is a cataclysmic collision of awful events happening here and we’ve been trying to manage everything all at once instead of just eating the elephant.”

Peter blinked rapidly as he tried to translate what she’d said.

“Oh, come on. Tell me you’ve heard that before. ‘How do you eat an elephant?’ ‘One bite at a time?’”

Nothing.

She sighed again, “Okay, not the time. Got it.” She adjusted in her seat, leaning back and crossing her legs. “So—you are aware that Tony and I have been having conversations outside of our normal session time. Yes?” She paused, “Of course. Well, I have been given permission by Tony to share some of the things we’ve discussed, but only with relation to your treatment and treatment plan—just the same as for you... unless I fear for your safety and all.”

Peter waited.

“It seems, that while going through some of your Aunt’s paperwork yesterday, the Starks have come across some information that suggests we may also be dealing with a previously unknown family medical history and not only the grief disorder and CPTSD.”

His stomach sank. His secret was out.

“Peter? Did you know about your uncle’s depression?”

Peter shrugged, “Bad brain days,” he spoke softly.

Ms. Rosa stayed relaxed. “Is that what your aunt called his episodes?”

A head shake, ‘no.’ “My mom.”

“You’re mom called your uncle’s episodes bad brain days?”

Once more, a head shake, ‘no.’ “My dad’s.”

She stared at him a moment, then exhaled slowly. “And they were brothers?”

Cheeks pinked in shame, Peter nodded a ‘yes.’

He wanted to curl up into a ball and die. He should have been better- stronger! He had the spider bite and it had fixed everything that was wrong with him—the asthma! The eyesight! The weakness!

Why couldn’t it have fixed this, too?

He’d been quiet long enough that Ms. Rosa spoke up again. “Alright, then. I need you to listen to me, Peter-- actually hear my words.” She paused, assessing his current state.

Peter tried not to squirm.

Despite his discomfort, she must have been satisfied with what she saw, so she continued. “This is not your fault... just like all of the other horrible things that have happened in your life. And again, so you know that I’m serious. Your aunt’s death was not your fault.”

“But—”

She knew where he was going. “There is a police report that details the events of the accident, Peter—and that’s exactly what it was—a terrible, meaningless accident. The report also details the efforts you made to save your aunt once you arrived at the scene. There was nothing more you could have done to prevent this outcome. This was not your fault.”

They both sat with her words, then, “Do you believe me when I tell you that, Peter? Can you tell me that the accident wasn’t your fault and mean it?”   

His throat tightened.

“You’re alright, Peter. Just breathe,” she coached.

Peter nodded but couldn’t speak.

“And the depression? – not your fault either. Can you allow yourself believe that?”

His chin quivered.

“Peter? What do you need, my friend?” Ms. Rosa was leaned forward again, his hands suddenly grasped firmly in hers.

And Peter knew, as clear as anything, exactly what he wanted, but he couldn’t have her so he would take what he could... “Mr. Stark? Please?”

The tears were falling before she could reach the door, not that he bothered to brush them away. How had he not wept for her? How had he let himself disappear into—

“Pete? Hey, bud,” He was there. Mr. Stark was there, knelt in front of him, solid and present and brushing his curls away from his wet face. “What do you need, sweetheart? What can I do?”

[And Peter didn’t deserve to complain.] “Oh, god, she’s gone, Mr. Stark! I tried to get to her, I swear, and I wasn’t good enough. I’m never good enough! But I swear I tried so hard!” His words were barely comprehensible through the sobs. [He knew exactly how bad it had been since this all started.] “I miss her. Every single day,” he moaned as he clutched at his stomach, trying to pull closed the giant hole she’d left. “I don’t know what to do. Please tell me what to do?”

Mr. Stark pulled Peter to his chest, fast and firm and holding on like both their lives depended on it. “We’re going to get you through this, is what we’re going to do, kid. Whatever it takes, you hear me? Me and Pepper and everyone who loves you—we are all here. You have all of us. We’ll get you through it, I swear.” [And if this was a consequence of his mental instability, then Peter was going to suck it up and deal...]

[darl-ingfics]

Sicktember Days 17 "Brain Fog/Spaced Out" and 22: "You didn't use my cup, did you?"

Fandom: Seventeen

Sickie: Woozi, Jun, ??

Caregiver(s): Seventeen

Word Count: 1,433

Notes: Coming in late on the 22nd with a double-hit Sicktember fill! There's less exposition here, which feels weird to me, but I think it's a good exercise for me to tell a story without belaboring every little detail. Let me know if you agree/disagree! Also, this scene is an elaboration of a one-off comment made in a longer Seventeen piece I have in the works.

To say that Jihoon didn’t feel good was actually a gross misrepresentation of the facts. Jihoon felt horrible. His throat was on fire, his head was pounding, his limbs were heavy and achy and he wanted to separate them from his body until they could get their act together. But deadlines couldn’t wait for his immune system to throw a bitch fit. 

“Jihoon, I think you might have strep,” Seungcheol said, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. This was the third time the leader had interrupted him in the past hour, and Jihoon was personally over it. 

“Sucks.” Jihoon continued to click around on his computer. Admittedly, he wasn’t doing anything: his head had started hurting god knows how long ago, and he hadn’t been able to write or compose anything of substance. But Seungcheol didn’t need to know that. 

“Hyung, come on.” When had Vernon arrived?! “You’re not weaseling out of this. Channie and I could hear you coughing all night.”

“Jihoon, you need to go with a manager to get tested for strep and other things cause if you do have that and stay here and infect us all, the comeback will be postponed,” Seungcheol added. Jihoon snapped his chair around to face them. Did his best not to fall over from the dizziness that resulted from such a dramatic choice. 

“Fine.” Jihoon spun back around, clicked the necessary ‘save’ buttons, and powered off his computer. The third spin back towards his members was what he would later say did him in, when in fact it was the combination of all the spins, lack of water, and the fever. 

As he stood up, Jihoon stumbled forward. Vernon caught him instantly. Could the kid teleport now? When the fuck did he get so close? 

“You good?”

“I’m just… I feel…”

Vernon smirked. “Woozy?” His lips pressed tightly together to hold back a laugh at his own joke, especially when under the scrutiny of Jihoon’s sharpest glare. 

“Be nice, Nonie,” Seunghceol chided, but his smile said otherwise. Jihoon suddenly wished he wasn’t already wearing a mask to potentially infect both of them with this demon virus and wipe those stupid smirks off of their faces. But almost as instantly as he’d had that thought, he realized just how mean it was, and nearly apologized aloud to Seungcheol and Vernon as the two of them so kindly gathered up his things and accompanied him to the company van. Maybe this really was a demon virus… 

Tests at the hospital revealed it was, in fact, strep throat. 

Seungcheol smirked at his phone when Jihoon texted him immediately upon receiving the results: “I am setting a timer and will be back in the studio exactly 24 hours after I take that first dose of medication.” 

“I would expect nothing less,” the leader texted back. He then set about quickly alerting the members to Jihoon’s condition, warning them to leave the producer alone (partially to avoid contagion, mostly to protect them from the wrath of a Jihoon barred from his work). 

*

Jihoon was not back in the studio 24 hours later. Even though he technically wasn’t contagious anymore, he still felt terrible. His fever didn’t budge for two days despite the antibiotics and the attempted ministrations of the members. He was dizzy, disoriented, and breathless from coughing so much. The sore throat was the worst, though, too painful for him to even speak the day after his diagnosis. Jihoon had spent a good part of that day in tears, unable to explain anything or ask for help, both of which he hated on a regular basis. 

But on the third day, something clicked. His body finally got its shit together, and by day four, he was up and about, ready to return to his regularly scheduled programming, albeit with eleven worried pairs of eyes constantly checking up on him. 

Said worried eyes were the reason he wasn’t dancing today. The vocal and hip hop units were gathered together in the main practice room, the performance unit called early to clarify some choreography notes in a smaller studio before joining them. Seungcheol had insisted that Jihoon not push himself too hard yet, take at least a day to simply watch, observe, and critique the new routines they’d been working on. Jihoon hadn’t complained; dancing tired him out on a good day, and he certainly didn’t want to risk the brain fog making a comeback. So here he was, sat on a chair, legs crossed as he watched his members’ tomfoolery. 

Jihoon’s vantage point from the front of the room also meant he saw the performance unit members before the rest. Which meant that he saw Junhei before Seungcheol. Which meant that Jihoon’s stomach dropped to the floor in a way that had nothing to do with his prior illness. 

It was Joshua would noticed the performance unit next, clocking the mask and tired eyes the eldest dancer was sporting. “Junnie, you good?” All eyes moved towards the doorway. 

Jun shrunk a bit from the attention, but he smiled disarmingly. Minghao’s hand rubbed soothingly at his lower back. “Yeah, just have a bit of a sore throat. Could be overuse or just a one off thing, but I know Jihoonie just had strep so… we’re wearing the mask and chilling to the side, and I’ll tell you the second it gets worse.” 

Soonyoung clapped the dancer on the back, and pointed dramatically at him, eyes locked on Jihoon. “Now that’s what you call responsible.” Jihoon rolled his eyes. With a quick look at Seungcheol and Jeonghan, Joshua stood and pressed a gentle hand to Jun’s forehead. Worry etched on his face, Joshua’s hands moved to Jun’s neck, softly probing his lymph nodes. 

“Yeah, they’re swollen, alright,” the older man commented, lips pouting sympathetically. “I’m definitely not a doctor, but I think it’s safe to assume strep.”

“You didn’t use Woozi’s cup, did you?” Jeonghan asked. “Cause… how on earth could he have even gotten you sick?” Junhei shrugged, looking slightly just as lost as the rest of them. “We’ve had Jihoonie quarantined for like, four days. I mean, except for the bathroom, I guess, but we were so diligent about cleaning…”

“Right, he hasn’t been anywhere near you this-“ Seungcheol was cut off by an apocalyptic gasp from Jihoon. “What?!”

The leader had never seen Jihoon’s eyes so wide. “That wasn’t my toothbrush.” 

“What?”

“I was super dizzy the other night.” He pinched the spot between his eyes. “It was so late, I turned on the wrong light. I just grabbed the first green toothbrush I saw. It wasn’t my fucking toothbrush. It was Junhei’s.” 

Seungcheol felt his entire body deflate as his mind ran in several conflicting circles. His confusion wasn’t helped when Mingyu burst out laughing. And then Vernon. And then Seungcheol couldn’t tell who, cause several members were falling into hysterics. 

“Guys, this isn’t funny!” the leader exclaimed. 

“Actually, hyung, this is comedy gold,” Soonyoung replied, wiping a tear from his eye. “Like… this would only happen to us.”

“Contagion by toothbrush? I mean, come on!” Seungkwan shook his head. “That’s a sitcom scene right there. How is this our real life?”

“It would only happen to us, that’s for sure,” Minghao nodded. His hand hadn’t left Junhei’s back this entire time, and he now shifted so that that arm was around the older dancer’s shoulders. “I’m sorry it’s at your expense though…”

Jun shrugged. “Honestly, I’m just happy to have provided you all some joy today.”

“Stop!” Jihoon cried from across the room. He hid his face in his hands for a moment before glaring up at Jun. “Don’t be all cute and fine with this. Be angry with me.”

Jun shook his head. “I’m not mad at you, Jihoonie-ah. It was an accident, and antibiotics and popsicles exist, so I’m not super worried about that, but…”

“You should yell at him for the fun of it, though,” Soonyoung interrupted. 

“Yeah, I’d rather not yell at all.” Jun’s fingers touched at the base of his throat. “But, I do feel it’s important to say that… umm, my toothbrush was in the wrong spot again this morning.”

“Wait… what?” Minghao blinked, along with the rest of the members. They could see Jun blushing behind his mask. 

“My toothbrush was in the wrong spot again this morning,” he repeated cautiously. 

“Well, who else has a green toothbrush?” Jihoon asked, eyes darting around the room. 

Mingyu, who’d been sitting on the floor, flung himself onto his back, hands pressed over his eyes. “OH FUCK!” 

[coyotescribbles]

Like A House On Fire

Hahah, oh no. It's happening again...

-----

Z67521 was never meant to exist, and no one ever let her forget it.

The illegal offspring of parents she'd never met, from whom she'd been taken within minutes of being born, she had been unceremoniously dumped into The System and raised as a ward of the state. She was given the bare minimum of everything - food, education, comfort - and was shamed for needing even those meager scraps.

She was a burden.

She was troublesome.

She was criminal.

Simply for existing.

And she never understood why. Never understood why nothing she did was ever good enough, why she was never good enough, no matter how hard she tried to be a Good Girl. She did her work without complaint, never asked for extra food even when she was hungry, never asked for warmer clothes or an extra blanket even when she was cold, and none of it mattered. The things she craved - things she didn't even understand, couldn't conceptualize in her child mind, but which the small hungry animal lurking in the depths of her brain knew were missing - never materialized.

And still she swallowed her misery, like a Good Girl, and put on a smile, like a Good Girl, and did everything she was asked, like a Good Girl, until those desires solidified around her neck like a heavy collar, weighing her down until she thought they would crush her.

(Or a noose, slowly strangling the life from her.)

And that was how Z grew up - as a piece of government property, denied a name, denied her personhood, shoved down into the cracks where the Good People of Super Earth would never be troubled to see her, or anyone like her.

When she turned seventeen, and the warden put the SEAF contract in front of her, she signed it without argument.

She knew nothing good would come of it; she knew worse things would happen if she refused.

After all, property wasn't allowed to say "no," and tools that didn't do their jobs weren't given space in the toolbox.

Long, cold, lonely nights spent in the ward were replaced by long, cold, lonely nights spent in the barracks, surrounded by countless other conscripts. No one turned to anyone else for comfort - they knew they wouldn't find any, not here. This was where those destined for culling were sent, to "pull their weight" and "contribute to society" until their inglorious deaths.

And yet…

And yet, while her comrades died by the thousands, Z persisted. Years of being made to be small and unobtrusive had made her stealthy, and years of being made to subsist on scraps had made her sharp, and she quickly turned both of those things to her advantage on the battlefield. She became a killing machine, slaughtering Terminids by the hundreds, and always crawling back for extraction, drenched in bug gore.

She could see the frustration in the tightness of her COs' smiles and hear it in their choked congratulations, and it stoked a bitter, spiteful fire in her chest. If they wanted her dead so badly, she thought, then let them try.

Let them try, and let them twist and choke every time they failed.

Over time, that bitterness and spite solidified, crystallizing into hate. Something pure and raw and rich in her mouth, like hot blood from a fresh kill. It sustained her, drove her on, made her sharper like a finely-honed knife. She hid it beneath a demure smile and a rigid veneer of patriotism, but she drank deeply of it every time she was deployed into another fray, imagining that every damned Terminid had the face of every man and woman who had ever made her feel less than human.

Every victory she dragged back to the extraction point made them crack a little more.

Eventually, though, her luck had to give out.

And give out, it did.

One day, the battlefield she and her unit were deployed to wasn't a simple bug hunt.

The place was cold and barren and gray, wrapped in dense fog that froze into a fine hoary frost on their armor as they picked their way across the landscape. The position they'd been directed to was nestled in the midst of an outcropping of sandy black boulders, some ten meters tall or taller. And the objective they'd been given was…

"Oh, fuck me running," Z muttered.

…An Automaton encampment.

She knew all about the Automatons - how they were the most ruthless, most vicious, most bloodthirsty enemies of Super Earth (well, "freedom and managed democracy," but she'd been able to see through that line of bullshit since she was a child.) They butchered SEAF and Helldivers alike, and showed no mercy even to civilians; the rumor was that they used them to make more Automatons, and processed the remaining corpses for raw materials and trophies.

Rumor even had it that they stole children, though no one could agree on why.

(Some part of her ached at that, and discreetly wished that she'd been stolen away, too… Surely growing up under the watchful red eyes of the Automatons couldn't have been that much worse than growing up under the grinding thumb of the government.)

(She kept that train of thought to herself.)

But seeing them now, in person… Z felt her composure crack.

"Fuck this!" She hissed, "I'm not getting paid enough to deal with bots-!"

"You're not getting paid at all," someone muttered behind her, and she whipped around to glare through her visor at them.

"Exactly!"

"Z67521, stand down and return to your position," her CO ordered coldly, "or I'll be forced to-"

"To what?" She rounded on him next, yanking her helmet off and throwing it with as much force as she could muster; it ricocheted off his own with a loud CLANG that echoed off the surrounding rocks. "To kill me? Well, come on, big man!"

The next object to be thrown was her rifle.

"All I've ever heard from you people is how worthless I am! How much of a burden I am! No matter how hard I worked, all I ever was to you was trash-"

"-Z67521, stand. Down-!"

"-fit only to be disposed of! You all took every opportunity to remind me that I had nothing to give and so I was worth nothing!"

Her voice pitched up into a throaty roar as a lifetime of repressed rage came boiling over.

And she was aware that their little conflict was drawing unwanted attention now.

Good, let them come.

"So why don't you stop trying to get the xenos to do your dirty work and just DO IT YOURSELF! GO ON, DISPOSE OF ME!"

If I'm going to die here, I won't be dying alone.

Her CO reached for his gun - and, with an animalistic snarl, Z lunged for him, tackling him to the ground.

The man's own helmet came loose in the fray, rolling across the gravel as she began pummeling his head and face. He was bigger, and stronger, but she was wild with rage, and even her own teammates had trouble getting a grip on her.

After an agonizingly long minute of violence, though, her CO managed to shove her away just long enough to roll back to his feet and draw his sidearm. She just crouched in the gravel like a beast, eyes wild as she stared down the barrel of the gun.

"Z67521, I find you guilty of treason," he snarled, his voice icy; "and the punishment for treason is-"

He never finished his sentence.

Red light flashed overhead, and Z heard one of her squadmates drop like a bag of stones, gurgling out his final breaths, and the remainder of them panicked - and she took advantage of the CO's momentary distraction to dive for his legs. Off-balance, the man flailed wildly as he began to fall…

…Straight into the line of another barrage of laser fire. An agonized scream escaped him as his upper arm was vaporized, and he lost his gun. His loss was Z's gain, however; yanking the firearm from the dismembered limb's grasp, she put two rounds neatly through his head. And then she turned it on her unit, deftly avoiding hostile fire and friendly fire alike as she slaughtered them all. By the time the Automatons reached their position, Z was the only soldier still standing, covered in the blood of her fallen squadron and staring them down defiantly, upper lip curled in a feral snarl. She expected them to cut her down where she stood - and, if they had, she would have died happy, knowing that she'd been able to get some meager shred of revenge for a lifetime of misery. She hadn't expected them to pause. Hadn't expected them to lower their weapons a fraction and converse amongst themselves. Taking a half-step back, she shouldered her rifle once more.

[sneezyminniejo]

Hello

i dont know if this is something you would be willing to do and its ok if not but sick niki (cold/ fever) and he gets found by Seventeen members or txt members, like in the company building

thank you :)

Here it is, hope you enjoy

Side Effects of a Fever

Riki was tired. Which both made sense and didn’t make any sense at the same time. The group has had a pretty packed schedule seeing as they were in the middle of promoting their most recent comeback, so Riki being tired made perfect sense. However, he had also been getting a full night’s rest the past couple of days, unlike his hungs, so him being tired when he’s the only one who’s been sleeping a full eight hours doesn’t fully check out.

As the final alarm on his phone went off, Riki sluggishly got out of bed and made his way to the common area where breakfast should be ready. He was too tired to get dressed before eating. Besides, chances of him getting put in different clothes at the venue was highly likely, so it didn’t really matter anyway. Riki sat down at the table and began eating the food that was placed in front of him.

“You feeling okay Riki?” Riki startled a little bit at the question. He looked towards Heeseung before answering “I feel fine, hyung. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been scooping air into your mouth for the past three minutes. Your plate is empty.” Riki glanced down to his plate and sure enough it was clean

“I guess I’m just a bit tired and my throat hurts a little.” He admitted reluctantly. He didn’t want to admit to being so tired but if he’s spacing out to the point of not realizing he finished eating, he might as well tell the truth. After a moment, Riki felt a hand rest on the back of his neck and another one being placed on his forehead. He couldn’t help but instinctively lean in to the touch.

“Can whoever’s in the bathroom bring me the thermometer please?!” Heeseung called through the dorm. The slamming of drawers and cabinets could be heard before Sunoo came out of the bathroom holding the requested device. It didn’t take more than a second for Sunoo to figure out that Heeseung wanted to take Riki’s temperature. He scanned the younger’s forehead and the reading came back as 38.3C (101F).

“Ok Riki, you’re going back to bed. There’s no way you’re going to be able to perform with a fever that’s making you this spacey. Riki nodded and went back to his room. Jungwon was in the room getting dressed and was confused when Riki crawled into his bed and closed his eyes.

Riki heard his members finish getting ready to go. Sunghoon had checked in with him before leaving asking if he needed anything. Riki felt like there was something he needed to tell his members, but couldn’t remember what it was. The brain fog from the fever clouding his thought process too much. So he just responded with a sleepy groan before drifting off to sleep fully.

“Riki, what are you doing? We have to leave in half an hour.”

“Heeseung hyung said bed.” Riki responded already half asleep. Jungwon knew that there was probably a reason that Riki was sent back to bed so he shrugged it off until he finished getting dressed. Upon finding out that Riki had a fever, Jungwon was quick to text their manager so a statement could me made making Engene aware that they’d be performing as six instead of seven for the next couple of stages. 

Jihoon had been in his studio for the past two hours working on tracks for Seventeen’s next album. He started to feel hungry and looked at the time. It had been around four hours since he had last eaten, so he decided to save his progress and head back to the dorm for lunch.  He was walking down the hallway towards the elevator when he saw who he was pretty sure was the maknae of Enhypen staring at one of the practice room doors. This confused him because he knew that the group was currently promoting.

Jihoon approached the younger man and as he got closer noticed that his gaze didn’t seem to be focused in any sense of the word. “Hey you’re Niki right. How’s your comeback promotions going?” 

“The room isn’t there.” Riki responded in a mix of Korean and Japanese. It took a minute for Jihoon to fully process what the younger had said, and he was even more confused by the fact that the younger wasn’t making any sense. Riki then said a few more nonsensical things in a mix of Japanese and Korean before Jihoon heard a snore coming from him. Jihoon swore as he realized the younger must be sleep walking.

Jihoon had no idea where the Enhypen dorms were and hoped that they were close seeing as the group’s maknae must have walked all the way here. The producer now took notice that Riki was clearly wearing pajamas and seemed to be sweating a bit.The producer didn’t feel comfortable going back to his dorm and leave Niki here alone. He was pretty sure the younger was sleep walking and sick. His members were likely at a schedule, so he decided to take Niki with him so he could be looked after. Jihoon knew that it was supposedly not safe to wake a sleep walker, so he decided to just ask Niki to come with him and hope that he would follow. 

“So Niki, some of my members have been wanting to get to know you a bit more. Why don’t you come back to the Seventeen dorm for lunch?” Riki just hummed in response, but thankfully followed Jihoon out of the building and to his car. Before he pulled out of the parking lot Jihoon texted Seungcheol to let him know that he was bringing a guest over for lunch. By the time the leader had responded Riki was fully back asleep and softly snoring in the passenger seat of the car. Jihoon took the opportunity to feel the younger’s forehead and frowned at the warmth. He quickly texted Seungcheol to get the thermometer and fever reducers out as well before he started driving to his dorm.

Jihoon parked his car and sighed. He would either need to wake up the Enhypen member or get a couple of his own members to help carry him inside. He decided to try to wake Niki first. He gently nudged the younger’s shoulder. “Hey Niki, I need you to wake up. We’re here.”  Jihoon was fully prepared to call one or two of his members out to help him, but thankfully Riki stirred awake. Although it was questionable as to how awake he was.

“Hmmmn, five more minutes hyung.” Riki moaned. “Niki, it's time to wake up. We’re at the dorm and lunch is ready.” Jihoon received a grunt in response, but Riki did open his eyes and get out of the car. Jihoon led Riki into the Seventeen dorm. Almost immediately after opening the door, Jihoon was met with the very concerned looks of both Seungcheol and Jeonghan.

Jihoon ignored his hyungs’ concerned glances as he led Riki to the couch. He grabbed the thermometer that had been placed on the coffee table and immediately stuck it in the younger’s mouth. He then turned to the two older members who were now also looking a bit confused.

“I was on my way out of the building when I came across Enhypen’s maknae. I’m pretty sure he was sleep walking and I think he’s sick.” At that moment the thermometer beeped and Jihoon removed the device. “Definitely sick. He’s got a fever of 38.7 (101.6). I also assumed that his members are all at schedules since they’re in the middle of a comeback and I didn’t feel comfortable leaving him alone, so I brought him here.”  Jihoon poured out a dose of the fever reducer and handed it to his sick hoobae.

“Here, drink this. It’ll help you feel better.” Jihoon said as he handed the medicine cup to Riki. Riki drank the medicine, and the nasty fake cherry flavor seemed to fully wake the sick Enhypen member. Riki coughed a little bit and unintentionally spat out the medicine. 

“Gross hyung, what is this?” Riki glared at the medicine cup that was still in his hand. Jihoon took the medicine cup and refilled it. “Relax Niki-ssi, it’s just some medicine to lower your fever.” He handed the cup back to Riki, who successfully drank it.  Jihoo turned on the tv and sat down. He wanted to wait until the younger’s fever. was a bit lower before trying to talk to him about why he was at the company instead of his dorm. Seungcheol and Jeonghan joined him.

Over the course of the next forty five minutes, the other members came out of their own rooms. Minghao and Wonwoo both went to the kitchen to make lunch for everyone. Seungcheol made sure to let them know to make enough food for their guest. The rest of the members joined the group in the living room. They each gave a questioning glance towards Niki, but didn’t actually verbalize their question.

“Lunch is ready.” Called Minghao. All of the members got up and began moving to the kitchen to grab their food. Jihoon stopped Riki from getting up and stuck the thermometer in his mouth again. They waited a minute for it to beep and Jihoon was glad that his temp had lowered to 38 degrees (100.4C). “Ok Niki-ssi let’s go get some food.” Jihoon said as he stood up.

The group of fourteen had decided to just fill their plates and go back to the living room to continue watching the show that had been airing. The fever reducers having fully kicked in, coupled with eating lunch, allowed Riki’s brain fog to mostly leave. It still took him a solid minute before he fully realized that, one, he wasn’t in his dorm, and two, he was with Seventeen sunbaenims instead of his members.

Due in part to the realization, and in part from still having a fever, Riki abruptly stood up, accidentally spilling his food all over the floor. Just as quickly as he had stood up, Riki tried to bow, but wound up falling backwards onto the couch.

“Woah there Niki. You stood up a bit too fast there I think. Wonwoo, Chan, can you both grab some towels to clean this up?” Niki wasn’t entirely sure which member had spoken but it didn’t really matter. He was sick and now he had food all over his clothes and on the floor. “I’m so sorry sunbaenim. I didn’t mean to make a mess of your home.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get everything cleaned up. By the way, would you like some clean clothes? Maybe a shower too?” Riki distinctly recognized the member talking as Hoshi. Riki nodded to both and Hoshi left the room as well. It wasn’t long before Hoshi returned with a change of clothes and motioning for Riki to follow him to the bathroom.

“Since we’re about the same height, I just grabbed some of my pajamas. Ok?” Riki nodded his head. “Also judging by the fever medicine that was on the table, I’m assuming you’re the one that’s sick, since as far as I know no one else is. Anyway, we’ve had some incidents in the past involving fevers and bathing, so I’m going to wait right outside the bathroom just in case.” Once again, Riki nodded in response before going into the bathroom to clean himself up.

Around ten minutes later, Riki came out of the bathroom holding his dirty pajamas. Hoshi smiled while grabbing them and the duo walked back to the living room. The mess he had unintentionally made was cleaned up and there was also a fresh plate of food waiting for him. Riki sat down and accepted the new food, thanking his sunbaenims.

“Sunbaenims, out of sheer curiosity, when did my hyungs ask you to check on me?” Riki asked when he finished eating. Everyone stared at Jihoon because he was the one who had brought Riki over and he hadn’t yet explained anything. Jihoon sighed before he started speaking.

“Ok, first off you can call us hyungs. Secondly, your members never contacted any of us. I found you staring at the door to one of the practice rooms and you seemed to be asleep.” Riki visibly paled when he heard that and groaned.

“I knew I forgot something. Hyungs don’t know I’m prone to sleepwalking when I have a fever.”

“That’s not good Niki. Sleepwalking can be very dangerous, especially since you left your dorm. How far away from the company is your dorm anyway?” Seungcheol asked

“Not far, hyung. Only like three blocks. Also Niki’s just my stage name. You can call me Riki.” All the members of Seventeen seemed to deflate in relief in finding out he hadn’t walked far. Riki broke into a mini coughing fit as all the talking he just did, even though it wasn’t a whole lot, had irritated his throat. One of the members handed him a glass of water in response.

“I suggest the plan of action is that you stay here for the day and rest. One of us will contact your members telling them that you’re here, and then you can go home with them when they pick you up.” Riki wanted to protest, he really did. However, it didn’t take him long to realized that because he had left the dorm while sleeping he didn’t have his keys or his phone. There was also the fact that he was probably going to continue sleepwalking and probably shouldn’t be left alone just in case.

Riki found himself getting comfortable on the couch to settle in for the rest of the day. The members of Seventeen introduced themselves because it became very apparent that in his fevered state, Riki just couldn’t remember who was who.

Once lunch was completely cleaned up Chan approached the sick Enhypen member. “Riki, do you know any of your hyungs’ phone numbers or maybe your manager’s so we can let them know where you are?” Riki shook his head. “Never needed to know them, I just put them in my contacts.” Chan nodded in understanding then turned to the others in the room.

“Hyungs, do any of you have the phone number for any of the Enhypen members?” Seungkwan and Joshua both raised their hands. Riki wound up coughing into his fist as he told them that his group was likely still filming whatever schedule they were currently at and they should just send a text to Jay or Sunoo hyungs. Seungkwan and Joshua did as suggested and texted the two members.

After Enhypen was contacted, Mingyu grabbed the remote and changed the tv’s input. “Do you want to play any games, we’ve got a bunch.” Mingyu held up a bunch of multiplayer games and a few single player games for Riki to see. One of the games that Mingyu held up was Ribbit King, which instantly excited Riki as he hasn’t seen that game since he was a kid.

“Can I play Ribbit King please?” He asked while pointing towards the game. Mingyu looked confused for a moment as he looked at the game Riki was gesturing to. “Hey Dokyeom, any chance you know where either our Wii or Gamecube are?” He yelled since the member had temporarily left the room. “Check the second hall closet. It's probably in the electronics box from when we last moved.” Mingyu replied with a thanks before running off down the hallway.

Riki found himself dozing off in the few minutes that Mingyu was off searching for the semi forgotten gaming console. “Let’s hold off on the gaming until after you’ve taken another nap.” Mingyu said. Riki startled slightly, but ultimately nodded as he was feeling exhausted again. He settled down on the couch as one of the other members covered him up with a blanket. It was a matter of minutes before Riki was fast asleep. The Seventeen members decided to do some quiet activities, but decided that they weren’t going to fully leave the sick man alone, in fear that he would sleepwalk again.

The hunch that Riki would sleepwalk again was correct, as about an hour later the sick man suddenly got off the couch and walked to the kitchen. The Seventeen members watched as he opened up the fridge and pulled a bottle of salad dressing out and placed it on the floor. Riki then returned to the living room and grabbed the remote and then just stood there as he pointed it at the tv without pressing any buttons. It only lasted another minute before he sat down on the floor and fell back asleep. The others were quick to shrug the experience off and decided to just let Riki continue sleeping.

Riki woke up around forty five minutes later. He coughed a bit and was given a glass of water. “Can I play Ribbit King now?” He asked. The others nodded their heads and Mingyu set up the console. For some reason Seventeen had an empty data cartridge, so Riki was able to start the game from scratch. He wound up playing the game for a couple of hours, actually getting pretty far in the story. He had several mini coughing fits and Seungcheol gave him a cough drop at one point.

Riki was in the middle of the industrial world when Minghao and Jun announced that dinner was ready. The game was paused and he was given a plate of food from one of the members. Riki glanced at the clock and his eyes widened a little in surprise at the time. He accidentally aspirated and started coughing again. Jihoon hit his back a couple of times until he recovered.

“Sorry hyungs, but I’m pretty sure my hyungs should be done with schedules by now. Can one of you call them?” Joshua nodded and pulled out his phone to dial Jay’s number. The first time it went to voicemail. The second time Jay picked up on the third ring.

“Josh, now is not the time. Our maknae is missing. He’s sick and not here and he left his wallet and phone behind.” Joshua let the younger American rant until he was finished. “Jay, I know, but Riki’s perfectly fine. He’s in our dorm right now.” 

“What do you mean he’s in your dorm? Hold on, I'm putting you on speaker.” Joshua rolled his eyes, but put his phone on speaker as well. “Let me get this straight hyung, Riki’s with you, but he doesn’t have his phone, wallet, or anything?” 

“About that hyung,” Riki started. Multiple sighs of relief could be heard over the speaker. “I somehow forgot to tell you guys that I’m prone to sleepwalking when I have a fever.” Riki turned to the side and coughed into his fist.

“What does sleepwalking have to do with anything?” Jungwon asked.

“I was working on some track at the company and I found him wandering the halls as I was leaving. He was completely asleep. Meaning he left your dorm and walked to the company while asleep.” Silence fell over the phone line until Jake could be heard swearing in English.

“As soon as I realized what was happening, I brought him to our dorms and we’ve been taking care of him. He did sleepwalk one more time, but all he did was take the salad dressing out of the fridge and place it on the floor.” Jihoon continued to explain

“Thank you for looking after our maknae hyungs. Heeseung will be there in a bit to bring him home.” Jungwon said. The two groups then said their goodbyes before hanging up the phone.

A short while later Heeseung was at the dorm to collect the maknae. Vernon answered the door and let him in. They all chatted for a little bit and Vernon told Heeseung that if Riki still has a fever tomorrow, at least one of them is free to watch him to make sure he doesn’t have any dangerous sleepwalking spells. Heeseung and Riki thanked Seventeen before they left for their own dorm.

[missskzbiased]

The Three Lessons

Genre: Angst, Romance, Fluff (Hm…), Witch! Au, Love Triangle

Pairing: Chan X Fem! Reader X Seungmin

Word Count: ~5,1K

(The First) (The Second) (The Third)

Warnings: (Mild) Mentions of [Death, Burned Witches, Torture, Poisoning]

Reminder: I’m not a witch and do not have knowledge of any kind about the matter in modern days. It’s mere fantasy writing. It’s not intended to reflect Neopaganism since I’m not versed in it.

Notes:  Reference to Songs:  “The River Is Flowing” (Lindie Lila) [I modified the lyrics to fit my need] and “The Ghost of Pagan Song” (Donovan)

Updates: I’m writing the 2nd Chap yet. As soon as I finish it and review it, I’ll post it.

Tagging: Please, send me an ask/DM me if you wish to be tagged

                                                 ////

CHAPTER 1: The First Lesson

   There are only three lessons you should never forget, kiddo…

    The voice faded away like a thin fog vanishing from your view, and you couldn’t help but wonder why your sub-conscience felt the urge to remind you about it every single day of your life. You fluttered your fingers ─intertwined on top of your chest─ beginning to regain your consciousness over your body, feeling every inch of your form wake up along with your mind before you slowly opened your eyes to fix your gaze on the ceiling.

    At the age of seventeen, you should be used to have this same dream over and over again ─ as if your brain was some kind of broken parrot, who couldn’t stop replaying it on your mind every night ─ but you weren’t, and you didn’t really feel like you would ever be.

   The ceiling looked like the usual: Woody and leafy, as you liked to define.

   You didn’t need to look around to know exactly what it looked like because, for seventeen years of your life, you woke up in the exact same spot. You lived in the exact same place. You interacted with the exact same people. You lived the exact same life. You had the exact same dream. You heard the exact same voice. You learned exactly… Well, at least you learned different things over your life.

  And again, none of those answered your questions.

   You felt your sweat dripping slowly from your forehead; all your body burnt as if you were baking something all day long ─ except you weren’t ─, and at this point, you weren’t even surprised anymore. Every day you woke up like this: Dripping sweat and burning fever.

  The Coven swore to you that you weren’t sick.

   It was just Nature manifesting itself.

   You never saw Nature manifesting like this on any of your fellow members.

   You knew it had something to do with your dream but you couldn’t completely understand it. The scenes were blurry ─just like when you’re crying and the tears make it impossible to discern anything before your eyes ─, and the voices that surrounded you were loud and incomprehensive enough to confuse you to the core. The only thing you could really point out was that at the center of whatever place it was and surrounded by the crowd, something was consumed by the flames.

   It was easy enough to assume that something had a name…

   It was only logical to assume that the voices resumed the existence of that something ─ who was indeed a someone ─ in the only thing they could understand; chanting it in a tone filled with hatred and fear… You could only assume that the nameless figure who was engulfed by the flames ─ the only discernable thing in your dream, a bright orange-ish dance that emanated all the warmth that you felt burn your body at night─ was being called a witch.

   Just like you.

   You couldn’t even count the times you woke up afraid of being that nameless figure burning down on that stake… You couldn’t even count the times that you prayed for Nature to protect you like She had protected so many of yours… You couldn’t even count the times that you wished your undiscovered power wasn’t premonitory… You couldn’t even count the times you asked for The Elders to take this away from you.

   Yet, They couldn’t.

   Nature wants you to live with it, They said.

   Pretty convenient.

   “Do you need me to throw cold water on you or will you raise that butt by yourself?” The door shoot open as the old lady ─ also known as your grandma─ opened all the windows with a flick of her hand. The wood slammed on more wood, sounding loud and clear into your head, and all the brightness of the day got to your eyes, hurting them “I’ll give you three seconds!” She chanted, walking around the space, and picking up things around.

   She was loud as hell.

   You would expect an old lady like her to be really slow and quiet, maybe feel a lot of pain and complain a lot.

   Actually, one of those could be checked.

   She complained a whole lot.

   “And three!” She snapped her fingers.

   You felt the mattress whip under you ─ twitching in a way that projected your body out of it─, making you yelp as your body raised in the air, limbs floundering around as you waited for her to do something to prevent you from falling to the ground. You raised your voice as you yelled, eyes widening and heart bursting out in your chest, feeling despair wash over you as your body began to make its way to the ground.

   “And two!” She snapped her fingers again, sounding giggly as she did it, and you made a mental note to make a hell out of her life by the end of the day.

  The vines that hung from your ceiling came to life, tangling over your limbs to pick you up right before you hit the ground. They lifted your body enough to get you to her eye level, and she grinned at you, looking harmless as her eyes molded into crescents. You shot her a scorn grimace, waiting for her to give the order, so the vines would peacefully place you to the ground. She took one step back, taking the bucket she had under her arms and smiling brightly at you before snapping her finger, a coil of fluids forming of thin air to fill it up.

   Oh, boy.

   “And one!” She sang before jolting the bucket and hitting your face with cold water. You shut your eyes, mouth agape as you felt the drops rolling down your face, the cold feeling penetrating your skull and waking you up completely “Let’s go, we have a lot to do today!” She dropped the bucket with a loud thud before clapping her hands twice, turning her back to you and heading to the door.    

  “A little hand here?!” You yelled as she disappeared from your view, and her head came back into your view, peeking over the doorframe slyly. You waved your arms in the air, gesticulating to yourself and tightening your lips, suggestively looking at her, so she would realize you were still stuck on there.

   “Oh, right!” She chuckled dismissively “Vivi, let her go, Sweetheart!” She said friendly, and the vines ─ Vivi, as they were called─ promptly dropped you to the ground. You hit the floor with a loud thud, arms preventing your face to smash on the floor, raising your head to glare at your grandmother.

   “Really?!” You whined, yelling so she could hear you after disappearing again behind the doorframe. You rolled over your back, watching as the vines retracted to the ceiling, adorning the wooden beam there “Well, thank you, Vivi!” You sneered but they didn’t give you any attention, tangling over the wood and resting peacefully.

   “What is all that commotion?” You tilted your head back, taking into your view an upside down Chan framed by the door “Again?” He giggled, dimples digging his face as he approached you, extending his hand for you to take. You took it gratefully, standing up with his help and dusting off your clothes, trying to look presentable enough.

   The blond warlock didn’t seem to mind your soaked self or your sticky hair to your face, keeping his smile as if he didn’t even notice the mess you looked like right now. He ruffled your wet hair, chuckling as you shrank embarrassed, before he raised his index finger, spinning it around. The warm and soft air jet that twirled from his fingertip slowly dried out your hair and clothes, and you took the opportunity to fix them once again.

   “This is so cool!” He chirped “I never thought I would have this honor” He sighed, satisfied.

    Chan was an expert among the few Warlocks you had at The Coven. It was general knowledge that magic manifestation in natural forms ─ such as elemental spells ─ was uncommon for Warlocks but there he was, playing with the warm air. No one believed him when ─ at the age of nineteen, only halfway through his witchcraft studies ─ Chan said he learned to use some basic air spells.

   It had been a week and he had yet to grow used to the idea.

   Although some of the others related his abilities to the fact that he was the grandson of The Airy Elder, you didn’t agree with them. None of the others could make spells, and some of the Warlocks, such as Changbin, were grandsons of other Founders too. The fact was that Chan had a pure soul; pure enough for Nature herself to grant him the honor to hold her power.

   You may be a little biased, though.  

    “First, stop flattering yourself!” You joked, pushing him lightly, getting a giggle out of him “Second, I was totally going to get up!” You defended yourself, which he dismissed with a knowing look that made you blush. You cleared your throat ─ a vain attempt to hide how your heart drummed inside your chest ─, feeling embarrassment wash over you at the mere thought of your painfully obvious crush being there for anyone to see.

   It was especially uncomfortable to know that Chan had a great hearing.

   The young Warlock specialty was to hear the soul and heart’s voices.

   At this point, you could just deafen him just by your heartbeat.

   “Oh?” He blurted out, arching his brows as he shot a look to the ceiling. You followed his gaze to meet a small bird flying around in a spiral right on top of you two. He extended his finger in a twig-like gesture that invited the tiny creature to approach him, which it did. The bird landed on his finger, fleeting and tilting its head to glance at both of you, blinking rapidly. You stared at it curiously, tilting your head to the side, and it funnily mimicked you.

  Stop flirting around and come help me, you ungrateful child!

  You rolled your eyes when your Grandma’s voice sounded through its opened beak, embarrassed. Chan seemed to find it funny enough, though, because soon he was in stitches, holding his stomach as his laughter sounded like jingling bells. The bird flew off right after, startled by his sudden motion, letting you and the amused boy by yourselves once more.

   He recomposed himself, wiping a tear from his eyes and chuckling before looking softly at you and gesture to the door, accompanying you out of the cottage. You closed the door behind you ─ rubbing your arm awkwardly as you averted your eyes ─, trying to figure something cool to say that could cover up all the embarrassing moments before. He took it in the wrong way, though, taking off his coat and covering your shoulders with it, throwing you a warm smile.

   “Oh, no! There is no need for such a thing!” You rushed to say, trying to take out his clothes. He grabbed your shoulders, squeezing them lightly before chuckling. You glanced at him coyly and he patted your shoulders, fixing his gaze somewhere behind you before leaning closer to your ear, his breathy giggle fluttering some hair strands on your temples.

     “Keep it… Who knows how many surprises she holds for you?” He whispered, turning you around to look at your impatient Grandma, tapping her foot on the ground. He pushed you lightly, waving goodbye when you threw a look over your shoulder before picking up your pace to reach the upset Elder.

                                                                       /////

 The trees' crown rustled, allowing the thin light beams to dance on the ground.

  The gleam caught your eyes for a split of a second, bringing a content smile to your face as you felt the warmth of the woods impregnate your body; the blowing wind inciting you to spin around with the dancing trees. You fluttered your limbs in a dainty motion ─ spiraling once while feeling the breeze dance along with you ─, connecting yourself with every single living creature around for just a brief moment, enough to bring you to tears.

   The moment was overwhelming and you felt your heart swell before the gentle breeze and calming tune that came from the deepest parts of the woods shattered in small pieces right before you. The silence that came along was overbearing. It was like every single one of the creatures mourned and yet gloated, choosing to retire themselves for a while; a suffocating hollowness falling to the woods.

    The sudden gale hit you like a slap, pushing your body backward before spiraling around you ─ and you around ─, bringing altogether thousands of voices that didn’t seem to belong to anyone, and yet seemed to belong to everything. You shot your head up, eyes roaming around the woods as you tried to spot whoever was the source of such powers, but meeting no one to the sight. The whispers resounded in your mind, bewildering you, and the mix of voices buzzed to your ears before dying out gradually.

    Nature allows you to be who you truly are… Never turn your back on her

   The First Lesson was chanted by a soft voice brought by the wind, a voice that soon enough fell silent again; just like the woods. You roamed your eyes around ─ urging to make sense out of the suspicious situation ─, noticing how the animals hid far from the sight, a less than best-case-scenario for your hunting.

   The silence was broken once more by the wind itself, a sourceless yowling blown into your ears, making you snap your eyes to the side, startled. Once again, no one was in sight. You had this odd feeling in your gut, like an intruder just came into your home, and the bitterness that grew on your tongue prompted you to grunt, sharp eyes darting between the trees.

   “Reveal yourself!” You demanded, head swiveling but meeting nothing but the forest before you. The wind blew again, whispering through the leaves, and this time you followed its flow cautiously, eyes attentive to every single flutter you caught in the way. It faded away just like this, without a path for you to follow, and you groaned in frustration.

   What ─ in the name of the Goddess ─ was happening here?

    “H-Help…” Your ears perked up, eyes shooting to your left “P-please…” It was a small voice, undoubtedly owned by a human, and the realization made you shiver. You closed your eyes for a few seconds, sighing as you pondered what to do. Should you pretend you didn’t hear it?

  The wind blew again, violent, as a not so silent warning.

   You tsked, sighing before slinking through the trees for a few minutes until you spotted the boy on the ground, curled up. He seemed to be young ─maybe around your age─, dark hair stuck to his sweaty skin and eyes unfocused, roaming around. There was no doubt that his intoxicated figure ─pale skin, delusional eyes, and dry lips─ were caused by the one thing that had your hands tied: The River.

   As much as you pitied his agonizing end, he deserved it.

   You would never forget the day when all of the younger ones ─ such as yourself─ joined to ask The Elders why you couldn’t go into the woods like the older witches and warlocks, upset that you couldn’t do anything for The Coven.

   You would never forget the way your Grandma looked at you ─ letting the pain wash over her features right in front of your eyes─ before averting her gaze to the horizon, a stern and distant self that seemed to look directly to the past as if she could see everything unraveling right before her eyes.

  “The Humans… They were cruel to us” You remembered her saying “They tortured us over the years in ways that I wouldn’t dare to tell you kids in details… The Coven is protecting you from them and you should listen to us because no one else out there will care for you as we do” Her answer wasn’t satisfactory for any of you, so you whined, prepared to make a commotion. She stomped the ground ─a loud roar echoing from under her foot─ and looked at each of you with a steel-cold gaze.

   “Take a look at those” She raised her feet, exposing burn scars all over the sole, making all of you gasp in unison “I was captured by The Humans ages ago… Before The Coven was even founded... I and tons of other witches were tortured for being what we are… Women. They hate us and persecute us. They wanted us dead…”

  “They restrained us to the point we couldn’t feel our own blood running through our veins… The blood that connects us to this Nature… Some of us lost our hands or our feet… Some of us lost our lives at this point… It didn’t really matter to them” The pause revealed a suffocating silence but none of you dared to interrupt her rewind, keeping your breaths withhold “The ones who survived were already deprived of water, food, or light… We had only ourselves, our voices, our hope, and our faith with us. We didn’t even have clothes, as they stripped us and let us freeze to death. Some of us did. Some of us didn’t”

   “The ones that still survived all that were beaten up to the ground… Battered to the point they couldn’t even bear to stand up and fell dead right there, in front of our eyes… I wish I could say it was just it… Just once… They selected some of us to go to the woods, to let us have the chance to survive” She scoffed, looking away “The ones that weren’t selected were allowed to drink some water before going through all that over again… And again… And again… They had us for about three weeks” Her eyes teared up, and you still had the urge to cry until today whenever you remembered her broken voice.

    “When my time to go to the woods came, I discovered we weren’t simply thrown in the woods… No, we had to bear with our bare feet the red-hot soil under tender skin… Dehydrated… Starved… Ruined… I almost wished they could only burn me down at the stake. They didn’t. All of the survivors were marked for their lives… Not only here” She pointed out to her temples “But in a way that they could identify us in the future…” She raised her feet.

    “They said the ones who survived were witches and the ones who didn’t weren’t… So we couldn’t have any winners. It didn’t matter if you survived or not. It didn’t matter if we were witches or not. All of us somehow deserved to be dead…” She looked at you filled with sadness and regret before she averted her eyes, ashamed “They even poisoned the river… They knew the first thing we would do was to look for water, drink to relieve the dryness of our soul and body… And so did tons of us… Especially the younger or the least experienced ones… The exhausted souls that couldn’t think of purifying the water anymore… Who couldn’t handle it” She sighed, lowering her head “All dead”

   It wasn’t out of vanity that The Coven enchanted the river.

   The first thing they thought you at the age of fourteen was how to purify water so it would be safe to drink from the river; so you wouldn’t be killed by the cruelness that flowed through its waters if they ever did it again. The enchantments and spells threw all around the place were the only way to protect all of you from them… The only way you could afford to have somewhere to survive. The only way that you could be yourselves.  

   If it meant the death of some meddling humans… Let it be.

   They killed you enough for regret to wash over your souls.

   The River now was a symbol of your rebellion, of your power and urges to live… It was also the symbol of all the deceased witches you had because of their cruelties. It was the blood that ran through your veins. It was the magic that imbued your souls and body.

    The magic that ran through the body of this unaware guy struggling right in front of your eyes… The magic you couldn’t undo even if you wanted to…. He was a lost cause. You turned your back to him, ready to go back to your hunting and leave him behind, but one broken sentence was enough to make you stumble over your feet.

    “I don’t want to die all alone…” He cried, holding his throat tightly in despair.

    Never turn your back on her…

    You sighed before approaching him, sitting right beside him before taking his hand into yours. He shot his eyes at you, startled at the sudden presence, and you made your best to throw him a gentle smile even though you could see his face slowly swelling up as he suffocated right in front of your eyes.

    “The river is flowing… Flowing and growing… The river is flowing down to the sea…” You chanted, caressing his hair gently “Mother, carry him… Your child He’ll always be… Mother, carry him… Down to the sea…” You wiped his sweat, opening your canteen to give him some water to placate his thirst, wetting your hand before carefully rubbing your palms over his face.

   You could feel how the woods sang along with you, the soft rustles of the leaves following your tune, and birds tweeting to the rhythm. You felt your heart swelling, connecting to your surroundings once again, and even his heartbeat seemed to sing along with Nature for a split of a second.

    The attuned orchestra was interrupted by his muttering ─ soft voice under his breath─, something impossible to comprehend that made you nod anyway. You kept your smile firm on your lips to reassure him in his last moments, hoping that Nature could have some mercy on him. He tried to hum along with you ─ like he was tempted to pray before his end but could only follow your lead ─, and even though his rattling lungs couldn’t keep up with your chant, you slowed down a bit, getting a single grateful tear from his eyes.

    The emotional moment was broken by his strangled gasps ─a desperate attempt to breathe normally─, and you made sure to avert your eyes to look straight ahead. You shouldn’t witness his moment of weakness like this. You squeezed his hand to reassure him, to remind him that he wouldn’t die by himself, and as soon as he squeezed back ─ as strong as he could, trying to get your attention─, you obliged yourself to return your gaze to him.

   “K-Kim Seungmin” He struggled to say, sharp intakes of breath hinting he wouldn’t last much longer.

   “I’ll let your family know” You lied, bringing his head to your lap so he could feel more comfortable, allowing a little bit of air to get to his lungs. He tried to nod, and you averted your eyes again, looking into the woods to distract yourself.

   And distracted you got.

   The scene that met your eyes was, to say the least, amusing; your Grandma strode in your way, staff floundering in the air as she approached the guy in a rush. She took a look at him, musing before shoving some herbs inside his mouth out of nowhere, gripping his jaw in a way to force him to munch it.

   You looked at her startled but utterly ignored as she snapped her fingers over and over again.

   “Come on, young man” She said in her best elder lady voice you had ever heard “Gulp it down so you won’t die” She instructed, snapping her fingers to get his attention. Except it wasn’t the case. You could almost feel the frisson around his body as she kept snapping it over and over again, drawing circles in the air. The heavy layer of magic covered him like a blanket.

   He gulped down before you heard a sharp intake of breath ─ one that signalized he could really breathe right now─ and he gasped, again and again, feeling the air burn his lungs as he coughed for dear life. His torso snapped up, hand meeting his throat as he tried to recompose himself, practically back from the dead, eyes roaming around the place.

   The purple that once painted his face dissolved into a more healthy color and flushed cheeks. You took a better look at his face, warm brown hair hiding his forehead and dark eyes that were big as saucers for the moment, completely taken aback by his luck. He had just survived. He opened his mouth a couple of times, and you couldn’t help but notice how red his lips were right now, and also exceptionally well-shaped.

   “Don’t talk right now” She advised, taking the canteen from your hand “Drink this… You must be thirsty” She said kindly, adjusting the object so she could allow him to drink some of the water inside it. He took large gulps, eyes overflowing with relief before he had enough strength to raise his hand to the canteen and stop her motions.

   “I don’t know how to express my gratefulness for both of you” He said sincerely “I own you my life” He was quick to kneel, lowering his head in respect, one arm bending on his back and the other one rested on top of his knee. You extended your hand, ready to dismiss the unnecessary formality, but your Grandma seemed to think otherwise.

   “You do” She agreed, standing up and supporting herself on her wood staff, like an elder. You almost scoffed at her antics but a single twist of her feet made you shut your mouth, the hard inaudible pang on your ass making you think twice before disrespecting her “Unfortunately, I may have to take some of it from you” She smiled apologetically.

   She acted before you could even understand what she had just said.

   The staff was raised to strike his stomach in a quick motion ─ so quick that he couldn’t help but hunch his back, hands over his stomach as he huffed in astonishment ─ before her hand covered his face to push his head to the ground, tipping him over.

   “What strings are plucked beneath the mound? Awake the seeds to break the ground” She chanted, hand gripping his head firmly. You could see his right eye widen, peeking between her long fingers, mouth opening to scream for help. She jerked his head once, the sudden movement silenced him, and as you watched the scene with your mouth agape ─ utterly startled─, you noticed how his eyelashes fluttered close, hinting he was under a sleeping spell.

   “Grandma, what are you doing?” You hissed, looking around the woods as if Nature herself would come to punish both of you.

   She raised her other hand in a sharp movement, signalizing that you should keep quiet. You shut your mouth, pursing your lips to make sure not a sound would drop from you. It didn’t prevent you from stretching your neck, trying to get a better look at whatever was happening right in front of your eyes.

   The scene before your eyes had your head tilting.

   You never saw an enchantment like this.

   You watched as strings of translucent energy oozed from his ears, slowly drenching the ground underneath his head in a spiral that seemed to fuzz the grass. The delicate flutters of her free hand seemed to hasten the energy flow, and soon enough she released his head, fluttering her fingers as if she was seasoning him. The mere thought of the unconscious boy being treated like a roasted chicken made you chuckle, and she shot you a glare to keep you quiet.

    “No question asked… No answer found” She continued, and the energy coiled to the ground, knotting there before a small flower gradually sprouted, “Young man, now list to me…” She snapped her fingers, and all the fuzzing you felt around vanished. She caressed his head, thumbs running through his cheeks “It’s all a strange dream; don’t worry too much about this… It was really dangerous to fall asleep in the woods, wasn’t it? They should be worried about you by now…” She sighed, getting up and gesticulating for you to follow her.

   You straightened up, prepared to obey without a question.

   A sudden breeze made you shiver and you stared at the boy on the ground, musing for a second before taking Chan’s coat from your shoulders and covering him up. You threw a look over your shoulder to check up on him as you rushed to your Grandma, watching his asleep form snoring peacefully in the middle of the woods, resting next to a tree as if he was in a secure field. When you finally got on her tracks, you threw her a look, clearing your throat before voicing your thoughts.

   “Shouldn’t we wake him up? He could be eaten by a wolf…” You pointed out but she kept her pace, waving her hand dismissively.

   “He’s not our problem anymore” She shrugged, walking fast “Furthermore, it’s not the time for his death yet…” You narrowed your eyes at her, humming in wonder.

   “Was that why you meddled?” You asked curiously, and she finally glanced at you over her shoulder, pursing her lips “I never thought you would save a human” You admitted.

   “My mission is to respect Nature… If Nature herself wants this young man alive, I’m not the one to go against her wishes” She declared, intending to drop the subject. You hummed again, and before you could open your mouth, she cleared her throat “I thought it was clear that neither of you should approach a human until the age of eighteen” She stated matter-of-factly.

   “I’m just a few months away…” You rolled your eyes before grinning “Also, I thought the first lesson of The Coven was to never turn our back to Nature… As you said, Nature herself didn’t want the young man to die” She scoffed, amused by your retort “Who am I to go against her wishes?” You chuckled, noticing how she shook her head in disbelief, though it was clear she found it funny.

   “Don’t forget the other ones” She muttered seriously before snapping her fingers twice, probably releasing the poor boy from the sleeping spell.

                                                    ////

I won’t lie to you all, I’m really excited about this SUHAHUSAHUSASHUAUS It’s the first time I’ll be writing any kind of fantasy stuff. I have the general plot in my mind and I may be dropping some hints to make some kind of spin off if people like it or if I feel like it in the future lol

I really hope you guys like it!

Any feedback is more than welcomed, especially vocabulary and stuff like this. Feel free to criticize me (just do this in a constructive way, please LOL)

[trashyeggroll]

Alex Danvers/Samantha Arias - train like an actual 🚂 please and thank you!

ahaha i appreciate that you specified 🤣 and thank you for the prompt!

#4 Train

trashy’s note: west wing fans will recognize this final exchange. i think about it all the time.

2022

Alex Danvers jerked out of sleep, instinctively putting out a hand to steady herself. Her palm landed on a table, and a half-second later, her brain caught up with reality: She’d nodded off while sitting up, the pull of gravity on her head having woken her back up. And no wonder she’d fallen asleep—the Amtrak train zooming from Seattle to Portland was rocking gently, their compartment pleasantly warmed by the sun. In the seat next to her, her wife, Sam Arias, had had a better plan, with her jacket tucked between her head and the window as she slept.

And their daughter Ruby, the reason for this trip, wasn’t in her seat, likely in the dining car with the crisp twenty Sam had handed to her that morning. They were on the West Coast leg of a grand college tour for their seventeen-year-old, who was angling her life towards med school and, as of the last six months, neurology. How much of that career path was related to the time Lena Luthor had had to drag Sam back out of her own mind… unconfirmed.

Whatever the root of Ruby’s motivations, the teenager was relentlessly dedicated to her goals, acting with the same integrity and decisiveness as Sam while speaking to a board of a directors with billions of dollars in weath between them. She was the president of her student council and played defender in a competitive soccer league, and her grades were near-perfect, like her SAT scores. But, she was still a seventeen-year-old, including all the hormones and emotions that went along with that age range, and Alex and Sam had been weathering the growing pains of young adulthood in addition to their unending pride in Ruby’s accomplishments.

Another passenger shuffling past their seats had Sam squirming out of sleep, her forehead momentarily wrinkling in a confused, cranky fog, but then her eyes found Alex, and the lines relaxed with Sam’s smile. “Are we there yet?”

“Still another hour.” The redhead leaned across the seats for a kiss, then decided against straightening up and instead dropped her cheek to Sam’s shoulder, snuggling closer and prompting a soft chuckle over her head. “Where’s our little thunderstorm?”

“Probably telling some poor barkeep all about her struggles,” yawned Alex, smiling when Sam’s arm curled over her shoulders and gave a squeeze. Truth be told, the college tours were like the vacations the family had never had time to take, and she knew that one day, Ruby would be appreciative of all the family photos they took in bucket-list locations: the top of the Space Needle, the Chihuly museum, the Fremont Troll. Sam’s high-pace executive world and Alex’s constant world-saving battles certainly hadn’t given them much free time over the years, but the flattened multiverses had helped; Alex could leave National City with a modicum of comfort, knowing that the Pierce family was there to help Kara in case any crises arose. Which they would, inevitably.

Sam’s phone buzzed, as if the real world sensed Alex’s reflection, and she craned her neck up to look at her wife’s face as she checked the message. To her credit, though, she set the phone back down immediately, albeit with a wistful sigh.

“Something on fire?” prodded Alex, sitting up a little.

“Something is always on fire when you have shareholders.” Sam met her eyes, lips shifting into a small grin, and the little laugh lines at the corner of her eyes were so endearing that Alex had to reach up and tug her chin down for a kiss. Soft brown hair fell over their faces like a curtain, and Alex took advantage to indulge. The years together felt simultaneously too short and like a lifetime, but the passage of time had done nothing to dull the shine of her love for Sam Arias, despite what movies and TV shows seemed to suggest. Alex flattened her hand on Sam’s stomach, reveling in familiar warmth, and let the kiss deepen, sighing as Sam’s tongue slid between her lips and—

“Gross.”

Alex was used to this impeccable timing, by now. Neither women startled, but simply sat up straight again as Ruby slid into her seat across the table, her brows knitted in the typical teenaged withering stare.

“There are other people in this car, you know.”

“Oh dear, sweet summer child,” teased Sam. “Please keep that attitude about PDA when you go to school.”

Ruby didn’t seem to appreciate the humor, offering a wan smile that looked so much like Sam’s, and then returning her attention to her phone. True to Alex’s suspicions, Ruby had returned with an armful of likely-overpriced snacks, chips and soda and candy.

“So…” began Alex, ignoring the suspicious grin Sam flashed at her. “Excited to check out nephrology at OHSU?”

“That’s kidneys. I want to study neurology,” Ruby corrected her without looking up from her phone.

“No, I thought neurology was your bones, like the skull.”

“That’s orthopedics.”

“Then what’s obstetrics?”

Finally, Ruby looked up from her phone, sighing. “Mom, you’re not gonna make me laugh. I’m trying to study.”

Alex nodded, and she put one hand on her wife’s knee, then extended the other one, open with her palm up, to their daughter. “You know, no matter what you do… We’re proud of you. And we know you’ll achieve whatever you set your mind to, okay?”

Sam squeezed her hand, nodding her agreement, as some of the tension melted from Ruby’s posture. She didn’t put her phone down, but she did extend her other hand to Alex’s for a quick squeeze. “You want some Cheetos?”

Of course she wanted some of those price-gouged Cheetos, and Alex knew that that response was more than it seemed. “Yeah, sure. We can split it.”

With that small family victory under their belts, the trio sat in companionable silence for awhile, munching on the puffy orange snacks.

[ohmytheon]

title: fired up

summary: Uraraka's hero costume definitely isn't made for snow, but lucky for her, Todoroki spots her in need and offers to help out. Too bad it strikes a nerve with someone in their class.

notes: It's my birthday so I decided to write a one-shot of whatever the hell I wanted and what I wanted was to write something for Sven from the Kacchako Discord. Thanks for the birthday surprise! I can't wait to get my DailyKrumbs Kacchako tote. Now here's one for you from your official crack fic dealer. This was supposed to just be a cute, fluffy Todochako one-shot, but then my brain was like, "You know what's better than Todochako? Todokacchako." Like shit, you right.

When Uraraka woke up to almost a foot of snow, she got excited. She loved the snow. Not only was it pretty, but it was fun to play in as well. Wearing gloves meant that she never accidentally activated her quirk - a blessing when she had been younger and didn’t always remember to not touch things with all five of her fingers. As she got older, she figured out unique ways to use her quirk with the snow. Needless to say, she was not only the best snowball fighter, but she could also make some pretty cool snowmen.

Uraraka’s thrill over the snow quickly turned to dismay when Aizawa decided to use the large amount of snow as an opportunity to do hero training outside. They all had their winter costumes, but hers still didn’t provide a lot of warmth. At least she was completely covered up. Both Momo and Hagakure were forced to improvise and add to their hero costumes for extreme conditions like this. That still left her shivering during the training exercises.

At this rate, they were all going to catch colds, but like Aizawa said, it wasn’t like villains took snow days. They had to prepare for every possibility, including a villain attack during winter.

The only one who seemed more peeved by this whole thing was Bakugou. Of course his quirk relied on his sweat. In this frigid conditions, it was harder for him to produce sweat, which meant that he was forced to constantly move. His anger over the situation alone could probably create some, but he didn’t let up. When Bakugou’s team was up, he kicked it into high gear, using his explosions to heat himself up so that he’d sweat more. He would have to learn how to work through his quirk’s struggle in times like these.

Uraraka’s team had already fought, which meant she was left to watch as Bakugou, Mina, and Shoji  went up against Iida, Kirishima, and Aoyama. Bakugou seemed to be using his quirk half out of spite. Luckily they were the last fight in class. It was a good thing too since she’d worked up a sweat herself and was now suffering for it. She had put a coat, gloves, and hat on, but it still wasn’t enough to make up for the lack of layers. With her arms wrapped around herself, she shivered and tried to keep her teeth from chattering noisily as she watched the fight. Normally, she did her best to stay away from Bakugou’s explosions, but the heat from them looked awfully inviting right now. She bet he was warm.

“Are you alright?”

Uraraka nearly jumped out of her skin. However, when she spun around, she saw Todoroki looking at her with his typical impassive expression. He wore a light jacket, but didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by the snow. With half his body resistant to ice and the other half to heat him up, this weather probably didn’t phase him one bit. Must have been nice. She would fight someone for that kind of comfort.

A smile tugged at Uraraka’s lips. “Oh, yeah, I’ll be fine.” Her body betrayed her, an almost violent shiver going through her. She would’ve blushed at the knowing look that Todoroki gave her if her cheeks weren’t already red from the cold. Her face warmed, but didn’t look much different.

“Cold?” Todoroki asked.

“Is it that obvious?” Uraraka laughed lightly and curled in further on herself.  “I love the snow, but my hero costume could definitely use some upgrading for winter.”

Todoroki’s eyes flicked over her in a quick examination. She was wearing a puffy coat so not much could be seen and it wasn’t some salacious lookover by any means, but for some reason it went right to her head. This wasn’t the time for it at all, but he was handsome and his eyes roving over her for any reason always made her blush. Sometimes she really wished that she wasn’t so silly. Sure, she was seventeen, but she was at UA for a reason. After getting over her crush on Deku, she’d really wanted to focus on becoming a hero.

She didn’t have time for distractions like that. Certainly Todoroki didn’t either. He didn’t seem focused on anything but becoming a top pro hero.

“Here,” Todoroki said, tugging on her arm and moving so that she was up against his left side.

Uraraka didn’t even have time to insist that she was fine before warmth began to bloom over her. Todoroki must have activated the left side of his quirk, heat spreading from him to her. Even though it would embarrass her later, she practically melted against him. He didn’t protest when she wrapped her arms around his left arm and pressed her face into his shoulder. No one seemed to notice her basically becoming an octopus to absorb his warmth and he had been the one to pull her close first, so she stayed like that, perfectly content.

“Better?” Todoroki asked.

“You feel amazing,” Uraraka replied, her voice muffled against his jacket.

Todoroki coughed and stiffened for a second before relaxing again. She lifted her face away from his arm to peer at him and make sure he was okay, but he gave her a tiny reassuring smile and shook his head. He was fine. She rested her cheek against him again.

While half of her was basking in the warmth of his quirk, the other sane part of her mind knew that this was a pretty big deal. Even after being in Class A for almost two years, Todoroki still wasn’t physical. He typically refrained from touching people or getting touched. He liked his space and Uraraka, who had learned to be careful with her quirk, learned to be careful with him. She’d always been big on hugs, friendly touches, and stuff like that. Deku was as well. Still, they respected Todoroki’s preference and let him initiate anything first.

The fact that he had opened himself up to her and was using the side of his quirk that he’d once refused to use spoke volumes about his personal growth. This wasn’t just a touch on the arm or a brief hug. This was prolonged physical contact and he didn’t seem bothered about this as little as he did the snow. Besides that one second, he appeared perfectly at ease with her attaching herself at his side.

“Do you even need a jacket?” Uraraka asked.

“I can still get cold on my left if I don’t use my quirk,” Todoroki explained, “but not really.”

Uraraka snorted at the amused tone in his voice. He had really started to show more of his personality in the past few months. It had taken him a while to thaw out, but she was happy that he’d started to trust them more. It meant a lot to her that he’d crack something of a joke or let her use him as a human heater. Within minutes, the cold faded from her, leaving her in a pleasant, warm fog. It was nice. He was nice.

“What the fuck are you two doing?” Bakugou snapped as he stomped back into the group.

Uraraka blinked. “What?”

“You look like you’re glued to him,” Bakugou scoffed, utter disdain in his voice. Mini explosions crackled in his palms, maybe in an attempt to keep himself warm or make sure he had sweat to activate his quirk. His fight was over though so there wasn’t any reason for him to use it. “Get a fucking room.”

Todoroki considered the other boy for a moment before coolly asking, “Jealous?”

Bakugou exploded, both physically and verbally. “Are you kidding me right now, Icy Hot?” he demanded, much larger explosions bursting from his hands and his face flushing red with anger. Uraraka reared back, still clinging onto Todoroki, as Bakugou moved to snatch him by the collar of his jacket. Provoking Bakugou after a fight was always dangerous, but Todoroki’s tried and true sense of humor did seem to run that way. “I will knock that smug look right off your face.”

“Hey!” Uraraka regrettably detached herself from Todoroki so she could jump in front of him, effectively blocking Bakugou from him. However, she was too slow with Bakugou already on them and ended up getting squashed between them, yelping when Bakugou’s chest smashed against her nose. All of them stumbled in the snow before she grabbed one of his straps to steady herself and pushed him back.

Wow, Bakugou was hot . Did he have a fever from using his explosions so much?

“Let’s not fight, okay?” Uraraka said with a sigh. She let go of Bakugou, who had been glaring at her hand like it had personally offended him. She didn’t even know what they were fighting about. Todoroki’s half-hearted joke couldn’t have pissed Bakugou off enough to get into a fight right in front of Aizawa. It didn’t make sense.

Bakugou dropped his gaze to her before returning to glare at Todoroki. “Tch. We’re in class. Act like it. Do your cuddly gross shit elsewhere.”

“We weren’t cuddling,” Uraraka protested, although… Okay she kind of had been, but she hadn’t meant for it to come off that way. She had really been cold and he’d offered to help, like a good friend. Why that got under Bakugou’s skin so much, she didn’t know, but then he’d been irritated with Todoroki after they’d fought each other a few weeks ago during a combat scenario. He’d lost. It hadn’t been pretty. Maybe anything to do with Todoroki peeved him right now.

Literally getting in the middle of that argument was a bad idea. Her nose was a bit sore.

“Whatever,” Bakugou huffed before blowing away from them like a furious storm. Behind him, Kirishima helplessly shrugged his shoulders at Uraraka, who shook her head. She wasn’t mad at Bakugou, just a little bemused. There were days when it really felt like he’d matured a lot and other days where he right back to fighting everyone about everything.

“Honestly,” Uraraka grumbled as she hugged herself again, “I don’t know what his problem is sometimes.”

“Does anyone?” Todoroki asked idly.

Uraraka snickered. “Maybe Deku or Kirishima. They’re pretty fluent in Bakugou.”

“Whatever it is, he’ll get over it,” Todoroki said. “I think he’s still mad about what happened.”

Nodding her head, Uraraka looked around and realized Aizawa had ended the class as the others started to head back to the main campus building to get their things. Besides Kirishima, no one else seemed to have noticed the near fight between Todoroki and Bakugou. It had been so brief that it was almost like it hadn’t happened. Technically it didn’t since the fight had sizzled before it had actually started.

That had been weird and random. Unfortunately, she was too busy dreaming about bundling up under a warm blanket and drinking hot cocoa to think about it any deeper.

Uraraka turned to follow everyone else with Todoroki walking silently at her side. Despite the almost fight, he didn’t look perturbed in the slightest. They’d all gotten used to Bakugou’s explosive nature though. She wasn’t even rattled. Todoroki was right anyway. He would get over it and then move on to show that he was better. That was what they did in the hero course.

She stumbled in the mound of snow, bumping into Todoroki, but when she mumbled an apology out of habit, he said, “You’re fine,” and that was that. She should’ve moved away to give him some space, but when he didn’t press the matter or look at her again, she stuck close to him. As if on cue, she felt the warmth as he activated his quirk again and the corner of her lips pulled up into a smile. Well, if he was offering, it’d be rude to say no, right? She didn’t hold onto him again, but they walked close enough to occasionally brush against one another.

It was quite cozy, kind of like sitting in front of a fireplace. She should stand closer to him more often, as long as he didn’t mind.

[waitingtobeimpressed]

LowLives (1/?)

Kohl Carpenter was rudely awoken when she was ripped out of the prison cot and forced to the floor with one quick movement. Kohl shot her head up from off the floor where she landed to glare at her disruptors. At a sudden instant, an unexpected force weighted itself down onto her back expelling the oxygen from her lungs. These encounters weren’t uncommon, most of the time guards will cause unnecessary havoc with sky box prisoners just for the hell of it. That’s the reason alarms didn’t go off in Kohl’s mind straight away.

However, that didn’t mean that she was a saint. “Fucking get off me you fat oaf” she wheezed as she struggled relentlessly, trying to escape the large hands that kept her plastered to the ground. Kohl managed to turn her head to see Marcus Kane smiling down at her, shaking his head with his hands clasped together behind his back. Wow what a treat, Councilman Kane himself.

“Ah, Carpenter.” He stated as one of the Ark guards handed him a large silver box. “You caused me a lot of trouble, young lady.” Kane smiled, ducking his head slightly. “Made me look like a fool during your manhunt, and your poor father, he may never live it down” he smiled sickly, his expression filling Kohl with anxious butterflies. “and now you won’t ever cause us trouble again.”

What the fuck did that mean? Dad wouldn’t allow me to be floated, would he?

A panicked look flashed over Kohl’s ironically soft features and she began to violently flail about again. “No, you giant imbecile! I’m still seventeen. I still have two more days!” She shouted, bile rising in her throat and leaving a scorching trail its wake. “I still have two days”. She said a little more weakly, the strain from her exhausting ‘workout’ finally taking hold of her.

Even in her tired state more guards piled onto her as they pride her right hand from underneath her, where she had put it to make their lives as difficult as possible. If they were going to send her off into space, she wasn’t going to go peacefully. Kohl wanted to take down as many people as it took if it meant that it was going to take longer to float her. She wanted the whole Ark to hear her screams because she hoped that maybe they would see sense and get rid of this barbaric method of punishment.

It then hit her that she was never going to see her friends again. That they wouldn’t even know that she was dead. Dread began to pull down on her bones once again. She was never going to see nan again.

Even though that Kohl was no longer looking in his direction she knew Kane was the one that had crouched down next to her head, placing the large box on the ground. “No Darling we’re not floating you, not yet.” The smirk he was no doubtably wearing as evident in his sickly tone. He opened the box and grabbed a chunky metal wrist band, clasping it tightly around her arm.

“You’re going home” Kohl turned to question what he meant when she was pulled from the ground by at least 3 guards and escorted up and out of the cell. Kane clamped the wristband around her, and Kohl let out a hiss and tried desperately to snap her hand away and little metal talons sunk their teeth into her flesh.

As soon as we’re on the landing of the skybox Kohl Carpenter saw one of her best chances to escape. To be perfectly honest, there was literally no place to go. Kohl no longer had a home, no longer had a family and with a reputation like hers, she would not find refuge in one of the more ‘kind-hearted’ members of the Ark. Everyone had her face etched into their brains so trying to subtly move around the ship would be impossible.

Still, it was relatively open in the skybox and at this moment in time, only two guards were holding her underarms, practically dragging her to their intended destination. Kohl dug her heels into the metal grate below her forcing the men to halt their actions momentarily. She began to thrash about again and when she finally got one of her hands-free, she used it to whack the guy on her left straight in the jaw causing him to drop her in an instant.

Kohl began to run down the narrow hallway until she stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes came in contact with her sweet, innocent best friend being dragged out of her cell in the same manner she was, and it utterly confused her more than it angered her. Ember was still sixteen. She still had two horrible years of living in that cell before they even trialled her. Kohl saw movement in her peripheral vision and panned to see this exact situation happening with all of the other prisoners. They couldn’t possibly be floating us all, could they? Maybe they need the space? Or maybe they’re just fucking heartless.

“Kohl? Kohl is that you?” She heard the voice of her friend calling her. Kohl turned to see Ember being pushed forwards in the direction everyone else was headed. Her face twisted in panic but instantly stopped struggling.

Kohl went to follow behind her when a sharp pain pinched on her lower back. She turned to see a small dart protruding out from there. The effects of the tranquilliser were almost instantaneous. A rhythmic pounding against her skull caused her legs to buckle beneath, knees bruised and bleeding against the sharp texture of the floor. No. No. No Fuck!

Kane came storming down the same hallway, his feet stopping dangerously close to her face, the vibrations almost being painful. “where’s that fighting spirit now?” His face seemed to be melting, liquefying even until everything plunged into darkness.

-

“Kohl?!”

Pain and fatigue filled the Carpenter girl like a thick fog as her head hung lowly, her mass of long, blonde hair smothering her. She was acutely aware of various bodies surrounding her and also a relentless shaking coming from her right side. Kohl groaned as she lifted her head slowly, wincing slightly as she allowed her eyes to open and let the light penetrate her already fuzzy vision.

“Kohl? Are you okay?” Ember, who was still shaking Kohl, asked filled with worry. “where are your glasses?”

Kohl intended to throw a witty, slightly mean comment to her best friend but found she either didn’t have the heart at that moment in time or just couldn’t be bothered. Instead she shook her head and leaned back, which is when she realised that she was strapped to a chair. Kohl patted down her worn down bomber jacket until she felt the familiar lump in her pocket. She pulled the thin frames out and placed them upon her nose. Her blurred vision slightly cleared up, but it wasn’t perfect. However, it wasn’t likely going to be as there wasn’t an extensive amount a glasses on the Ark so it was almost impossible to get an exact prescription.

Kohl looked down to see a red seatbelt clasping her down not allowing her to move. At this moment in time, kids were still being forced into the room by guards one of these being A tall boy with longish hair, struggling to shrug the men off of his arms. He wasn’t looking where he was trending and before he knew it his foot had connected with Embers outstretched leg and he fell onto the floor. Laughs erupted from the whole room followed by the boy being yanked back up by the guards.

Kohl turned to see venom in his glare directed at Ember. However, a dark crimson blush plagued her cheeks as she tried to squirm out of his gaze.

“Watch yourself, privileged bitch” He seethed and allowed himself to be ushered into his seat just opposite from kohl. Before Ember could tell her no, Kohl erupted into a fit of laughter, shaking her head again. How fucking dare he?

“How about you fucking watch yourself, dick-for-brains,” Kohl barked, making the boy look up in surprise. Not many people dared speak back to him. Looks like things are changing. He clenches his jaw before looking away.

Kohl looked back to Ember who had promptly folded her legs beneath her and was glancing around nervously. “Kohl, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know, I just…” Kohl let her hard-exterior melt for a brief second in front of her best friend, “I thought I was being floated.” She whispered, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

This could have possibly been the first time Kohl had shown any emotion remotely resembling fear since she was a young girl and Ember knew this. Ember knew that Kohl simply saw emotions as a distraction, as a nuisance and as quickly as they emerged, they disappeared.

“it doesn’t matter” she muttered as she sank back into her chair. Just as she did so Chancellor Jaha came up onto the screen. Kohl blocked it out like white noise until the words earth came up. The whole dropship became silent with only a few people talking between themselves.

“your all being sent back to earth, good luck”

[monaisme]

You know when you're excited to try something a little different with your writing but you're terrified that no one will read it, and then you get exactly one comment and it makes you giddy with joy? Yeah. That.

[darl-ingfics]

Sicktember 2024 Masterlist

Updating daily, but I've filled in previews for Day 1-5, as well as groups for a few more days!

Full Word Count: 38,941

ATEEZ - BTS - EXO -Seventeen - SHINee

“I’m not hungover, I’m just sick” - D.O. (stomach bug)

Too Much of a Good Thing - S.Coups, Joshua (cold)

Campus/Con Crud - Seonghwa (cold)

“Great. I Got a Cold for My Birthday.” - Minho, Onew (cold)

Rogue Organ - DK (tonsilitis)

Dizziness/Vertigo - J-Hope (exhaustion)

Borrowed Hoodie - EXO (flu)

ALT - Hospital - Taemin (exhaustion)

Overdramatic Patient/Caretaker - Dino (fever)

The Sniffles ™ - Hongjoong (cold)

ALT - “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” - Vernon, Joshua, Dino~ (flu, both varieties)

“You’re not fine, you’re throwing up”- Yunho (stomach bug)

Mononucleosis - Wooyoung, Yeosang (mono)

Claean Sheets/Fresh Pajamas - Xiumin (flu)

"Who decided __ is ‘sick people food?’" - Mingyu (cold)

Toxin/Poison - Taehyung (fever)

Brain Fog/Spaced Out - Woozi

“My body is one big ache” - Seungkwan (flu)

ALT - First Aid Kit - Wonwoo (cold)

Medication Bribery - Yeosang (flu)

ALT - Flushed Cheeks - Key (fever)

“You didn’t use my cup, did you?” - Woozi, Jun, Mingyu (strep throat)

Under a Spell - Jun (cold)

Tales From the Waiting Room - Yeosang, Mingi (flu)

Summer Flu - Dino (flu)

ALT - Doctor's Note - Taehyung (lost voice)

“This is non-negotiable" - Suho (general illness)

Pulling a ‘Ferris Bueller’ - Taemin, Jonghyun, Onew (flu)

29. Sick on a Road Trip - Jeonghan

30. Past Prompt of Your Choice! - Joshua (cold) Jun (injury) DK (voice loss)

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Waking Up in Vegas--Ch. 6

Chapter 6: Shake the Glitter Out Your Clothes

Mera, Afternoon, 12:02 PM

           Dean and I made our way back to the hotel in a companionable silence. There was something peaceful about being beside him. It was in the way that he looked at me with those mesmerizing blue eyes or how his dimples showed when he smiled. It was how he appeared so open when we sat side-by-side, his arm stretched out on the seat behind me in the cab so I could lean against him.

           We split up when we entered the lobby. I was headed toward my room on the fourth floor, he was headed further up. A shower was calling me—something to drown out the desert heat that had settled in my skin.

           I rounded the corner to my room, stopped dead in my tracks when I saw Seth leaning against the wall. He caught sight of me before I could slip back out of view. I took a deep breath and steeled myself to meet him.

           Seth glared as I pulled my keycard from my pocket. “Surprising. You aren’t sharing a room with Dean.”

           My jaw flexed as I clenched my teeth. “What do you want, Seth?”

           He chuckled darkly. “An explanation. And maybe an apology.”

           I fought down the urge to slap him. “I don’t owe you an explanation for what I do with my time. And I think I’m the one owed an apology around here.”

           “We’re going back to that, huh?” He leaned his shoulder against the wall, physically blocking me into the end of the hallway. “I apologized a long time ago, Mera. You just refuse to give up on it.”

           “You apologized for getting caught.” I balled my fists, trying desperately to calm the fury and fear that spread through me. “I did everything you asked of me, Seth. Every choice I’ve made since I was seventeen has been because of you. I followed you around on the indies, I picked my career to be close to you. And you threw it all away by sleeping with every girl who gave you the time of day.”

           He sighed, stood up straighter. “Look, I get it. We weren’t right for each other. But you’ve got a good job with WWE now, right? And as long as I don’t get hurt, we don’t have to have anything to do with one another. But… you can’t date Ambrose.”

           “You gave up the right to tell me what to do when you broke my heart, Rollins.”

           Seth rolled his eyes. “Mera, there are other guys on the roster who are single and who aren’t shit to me. Go fuck one of them. Hell, marry them for all I care. Just not Ambrose.”

           My eyes burned. I teetered on the edge of tears, fought to keep them back. “Fuck off, Seth. And stay out of my life.”

           I slipped into my room, making sure to shut and lock the door behind me. Only then did I let myself break down into sobs.

 Dean, The Night Before, 3:15 AM

           Mera burrowed against my chest as the breeze turned colder. Her arms slipped around my waist beneath my jacket. I settled my chin against the top of her head and held her, burning with warmth from the inside out.

           “It’s time to get you back to the hotel,” I said, a little melancholy. “You’re freezing.”

           She nuzzled her cheek against me, letting out a little hum of happiness that made my blood run like lava in my veins. I was overcome with the desire to hear that sound again—for the rest of my life. Somewhere, deep inside, I sent a wish out to the universe. That when morning came, she would let me stay at her side.

           “No, I’m not,” she murmured, snuggling closer. “You’re keeping me warm.”

           I couldn’t help but laugh softly and hold her tighter. “I can keep you warm on the way back.”

           When she looked at me, a pout turned her mouth. She batted her eyelashes. It made her look so innocent and fragile. And, God help me, it stirred something inside me—something deep and primal that made want to protect her and ravage her at once. My brain fogged with images of her pale skin beneath my fingertips.

           “Do you love me, Dean?” Mera asked softly.

           The words tore my heart from my chest. “Yes.”

           She smiled, and fire burned in the amber of her eyes. It was as if her heart and her soul had opened themselves up, and I could see the entirety of it in her gaze. I knew in that moment that I was hers in every way. I would do anything to see her smile like that again.

           “Let’s get married.” She said it as if it was the natural conclusion of the conversation.

           My lips parted to answer, but I reined my eagerness in. I had to remind myself that she had been drinking, that she might not remember this night when she woke up in the morning. But she was looking at me like I was the center of the universe.

           “You’re still tipsy, Mera,” I replied carefully.

           She shook her head. “I’m not.”

           I closed my eyes, fought down the urge to kiss her, to give in to everything she ever asked. It was a herculean effort to keep my deepest wishes under control.

           “Ask me again in an hour. For now, let’s go somewhere warm.”

 Dean, Afternoon, 12:20 PM

           I knocked on Mera’s door for the third time. “Mera?” I called through the metal.

           There was a faint rustling on the inside. Locks disengaged. The handle turned. When she appeared, my heart sank to my toes.

           Her hair was damp, knotted up on top of her head. It looked more like caramel just then. Her eyes were red and puffy, cheeks blotchy. She was dressed in a pair of stretchy black pants and a tank top.

           “May I?” I asked softly, gesturing toward the inside of the hotel room.

           She shrugged, stepped out of the way. I passed close by her, feeling every cell of my body yearn toward her. She closed the door behind me, snapping the locks back into place.

           I waited until she turned toward me. Without a thought, I closed the space between us and tucked her into my arms. She hooked her arms around me, palms settling on my shoulder blades. The moment her cheek touched my chest, she succumbed to tears.

           My fingers stroked her back, cradled her head. That primal thing awoke in my chest again. I wanted nothing more than to soothe her, to take away the pain that was driving her to sobs. Every instinct screamed at me to fix it, to stop her tears, to make her smile again.

           “What can I do?” I asked.

           She sniffled. “Nothing. There’s nothing you can do, Dean.”

           I pressed my lips to her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. I’d never felt this kind of ache before, this burning and desperate desire to be the joy of someone’s life. Mera’s tears broke my heart into pieces.

           “Hey,” I whispered, brushing my thumb along her jaw. “We’re in this together now, Mera. It’s you and me against the world.”

           She turned those eyes up at me and, I swear, I could see the universe in them. I watched as she wiped away tears, the band still glinting on her finger.

           I took her hand in mine, kissed the knuckles of her left hand, turned her palm and held it against my cheek. She was there, solid and warm and beautiful in my arms. I loved her with every fiber of my being, with every breath in my body.

           “Do you love me, Mera?” The words came out a murmured prayer. I hadn’t meant to say them, but now that they were out in the world, I was desperate for her answer.

           Her fingers curled against my cheek. Soft skin brushed along my beard, touched the spot where a dimple showed when I smiled. The laws of the universe stood still. Time stretched to infinity and compressed into a singularity.

           “Yes,” she said at last.

           Everything exploded into being with that one word. It was the Big Bang all over again, but inside my heart and my soul. She loved me, and she was mine.

           “Good,” I growled, lowering my mouth to hers, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss.

Tag List

@bethany99stuff-blog @houndsofjxstice

[galaxystony]

call me by your name; p.p

peter parker x reader

A/N: new series very loosely based off of the film Call Me By Your Name because I just can’t get the story out of my mind

requested: no

Words: 900+

Warnings: swearing

summary: she can speak three languages, has been swimming in the lake and navigating the town since she could walk, and can play piano and guitar like a regular maestro, but when it comes to telling peter, her father’s older, american intern how she feels, she’s completely clueless. or: the one summer that completely changes her life forever

let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list!

requests are open!

Part 1 | Part 2

masterlist

-

It started the summer after she turned seventeen, in a small villa on the Italian countryside where bees came and went as they pleased and honeysuckle sweetened the air, a thick, cloying scent that muddled every moment at the sun-soaked orchard that sang with the melodious sounds of thin, delicate fingers on piano keys. That was the summer when everything changed.

“He’s taking my class at the university. I’ve chosen him to assist me this summer,” her father said. “He’ll be here for six weeks. Be welcoming, please.”

And that was that. Someone would be staying at their home, asserting themselves into her family’s personal moments, interrupting a routine that had been in place every summer for the past seventeen years.

The day he came, right on the cusp of the hottest month, was like any other. She was sitting across her bed, legs hanging out the open window when she heard the rolling of thick tires over the gravel, her father’s small car sputtering as it came to a stop in the sprawling driveway.

“Grazie, Alessandro,” she could hear her father say to the driver, an old, wizened man, skin dark and leathery from the relentless sun. His deep grunt in reply signaled the end of their conversation.

The slamming of the car door- it was the only way to make sure it was shut tight- was her indication that he was finally here. Peter. The graduate student her father had recruited for the summer.

American, she noted when she heard him thank Alessandro, then greet her father with a charming “hello”.

Her father’s past interns usually tended to be European, most from Italy or France, but sometimes, in rare occasions, from the United Kingdom. Americans were the rarest of all. They hadn’t had an American guest in at least ten years.

“Ciao, come stai?” she heard her mother ask, probably just coming in from the orchard with Aunt Sofia who was not her real aunt, but her mother’s best friend.

“Bene, grazie,” he responded. “You have a beautiful home.”

“Oh Peter! You’re too kind,” her mother said. “Come on, come in. It’s sweltering out here today. I’ll call Y/N down and she can help with your bags.”

“Ah, yes. Where’d she run off to today, mon amour? I don’t think I saw her come back in after she went off to the lake with Matteo,” her father spoke, and she could hear their voices drifting as they moved into the cool house.

“I don’t know, but her bike is in its spot. She must be home. Y/N? Ma chérie, our guest is here. Come down, please!” her mother called up the stairs.

Get up now, her brain supplied as she pulled her unwilling body up off of the bed, moving as slow as molasses dripping through the narrow opening of a glass bottle. “Coming, maman.”

She rushed down the cold marble steps, passing the housekeeper as she went; she offered a quick “buongiorno, Natalia,” before continuing down.

When she reached the living room, she could see an unfamiliar head of flat brown curls that were pressed down against a damp forehead, skin just slightly flushed as he watched her skid around the corner and into the room with an amused smile.

“Hello there. Peter,” he grinned, reaching a hand out to her.

“Y/N,” she supplied, leaning over to shake his hand. “Can I take your bags upstairs?”

“Oh, sure. Thank you,” he responded, his eyes shifting to two big, leather duffle bags set by the door.

“My room, papa?” she asked her father who stood with his hands in his pockets, glasses slipping down his sloped nose as his sweat started to fog them over.

“Oui, ma chérie. Merci beaucoup,” her father smiled, gesturing for Peter to follow him into his office. “Let’s speak for a moment and then I’ll let you head to your quarters for the summer, eh?”

“Of course,” Peter agreed, trailing after the older man while she dragged the bags towards the stairs, hefting one onto her shoulder as she gripped the other with both hands, taking calculated but halting steps up the steps.

She deposited the bags into her room which would serve as Peter’s home for the next few weeks then pushed the two twin beds together to make them resemble something closer to what would be large enough for a grown man as opposed to a small teenage girl.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she heard Peter say before his steps echoed up the stairs despite being barefoot. When he entered the room, she smiled and went to shut the boudoir so he could maneuver the space with ease.

“So you’ll be staying in my room. I’ll be next door, but we share a bathroom. Oh, and I’ll be in and out of here because the only door to my room is through yours. Make yourself at home, and let me know if there’s anything I can do for you-” she cut herself off when she saw his collapsed body on the bed, already snoring away, each puffing breath moving a thin strand of hair that fell over his forehead.

“Okay, then. Nice to meet you, Peter,” she murmured, stealing away to her own room and shutting the door, but not before sneaking one last look at the boy- no, man- that they’d be spending so much time with all summer, a fluttering thrill sending her stomach in knots. 

Yes, this certainly was the summer when everything would change.

Tags: @multi-parker @cutie1365 @cersei-lannister @oswald-1998 @fairydustparker @lionfart @mrsdoradominguez-barnes @nonewmessage @co0kies08 @dec-snowy @sunshine-little-miss @cubedtriangle @triggerfingerfunction​ @dailygubler​ @dianadawson @frickflop @sparkle-dinosaur @theholyholland @hayleyygrace @flyingfry @quackmom @rileywrites-parker @tomhollandxreader @augurydemon @pillow223 @jediparkers @spidergirlwanab @stephanie-senpai-blog

[petshopfox]

Pet Shop Boys - West End Girls

Unreal City, under the brown fog of a winter dawn. Earth hath not anything to show more fair. Dirty old river, must you keep rolling, flowing on into the night. London – the lifeblood of the country and the vampire that sucks it back up.

Among other teenage favourites such as George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty Four and the Guinness Book of British Hit Singles, the Eyewitness Guide to London was a library staple. Before the age of seventeen I never made the trip on the route of the Flying Scotsman down to King’s Cross; in fact, bar a school coach trip to Dover en route to France, I’d never been further south than Matlock. But there I was, lying on my bed, fitting Monopoly streets into the A to Z, memorising the names of the boroughs and their railway stations. I was doing what probably thousands if not millions of ‘provincial’ Britons had done before me, embarking on a love-hate relationship with a city I’d never seen.

I finally made the journey on a school trip in 1998. The A-level art students headed off to the National Gallery; I visited UCL with a friend, had a slice of overpriced pizza for lunch in Leicester Square, then reconvened with the English lit students to see Othello at the National. It was sticky hot, and I felt disappointed for most of the time. It was almost worse to come to London for one day, and not get to do or see any of the things on my list, than never go at all. The schedule was so overdetermined I had no time to gawp at the tube posters or read the blue plaques, no time to catch myself realising I’d jumped through the rabbit hole into Wonderland.  But then, post-play, we had to cross Waterloo Bridge. The skyline shimmered into focus, St Paul’s ghostly with floodlight, the river lapping against the Embankment. I’ll be back, I said to myself, and a blood-rush flushed me all over. London isn’t a city of instant epiphanies. You don’t see it and die; it can be ugly and gawky, ill-assembled and unphotogenic. But there are always clicks; joints snapping into place; gear shifts. That moment on the bridge was one such: like a photographic print gradually darkening in the developing fluid, London was emerging.

Listen carefully to the opening of ‘West End Girls’ and this is exactly what you hear: London flickering into life, beginning to glitter through the fog. It’s morning, and someone walks into the light from the Paddington concourse. Their heels take to the wet pavement, and their heart beats faster as they scour the street for a taxi. The pulse begins to assert itself, and then the synth string chords – those chords – dark, cool and grand, clean and sleek as a black cab. And a pause, ever so slight, before the new arrival decides to walk; to take in the rush on foot, buoyed airily by the Pet Shop Boys’ smooth minimalism, slinking through the crowds. It’s all there in the video, as a rapid montage of random faces gives way to Neil and Chris, who take to their heels in a vaporous, ghostly Soho, like sombre night-watchmen coming off shift. ‘West End Girls’ is the sound of London settling into focus. Eight million people waking up to the distant rumble of tubes and screech of buses; eight million people rubbing their eyes as the greatest synth bassline in eighties pop music rings out from their clock radios. 

It must have been quite an awakening, back then in 1985. It seemed to arrive fully-formed; not just a song, but an aesthetic (though the original Bobby Orlando version from the previous year proves how crucial Stephen Hague was in realising the song’s latent atmospheres). This was not the barroom and dog-track London of Ian Dury, nor was it the hazy, romanticised cityscape of The Kinks. Tennant and Lowe are, of course, northerners, and thus outsiders, though they don’t so much crash the party as float spectrally in a corner with a martini and a raised eyebrow. When the Boys first broke into the charts, much was made of Tennant’s former career at Smash Hits, the foremost evidence cited for his apparently ‘ironic’ take on pop. But I’ve often thought that the beautiful balance they strike between the knowing and the credulous is the product of northern eyes surveying southern landscapes. They are detached, perhaps even sceptical at times; but there’s also that Eyewitness Guide in the bedroom, a city learned and loved, an excitement at having gone through the portals at King’s Cross and slipped into the anonymity of the throng. Despite Tennant having said on more than one occasion that ‘West End Girls’ was inspired by The Waste Land – ‘too many shadows, whispering voices’ is a true summary of Eliot’s fractured epic indeed – the song is too stimulated by what’s going on around it to be either a lament for the lost or a prophecy of doom. It does sound dangerous – there’s something dark and doleful in that bass – but it’s the kind of danger that makes you feel alive and adrenalized. It’s determined to keep its cool, determined not to spend its money all at once; but despite this caution, it’s still the sound of two northerners who will never quite fail to wonder at their adopted home.

It’s a dichotomy embodied by the Boys themselves: arty, askance Tennant, asking questions and pondering significances, and hedonistic Lowe (you can take the lad out of Blackpool!), disappearing into the massed bodies of the rave or shopping incognito at the record exchanges (check out the 1989 B-side, ‘One of the crowd’, Chris’s very own credo). It’s why their songs at their finest have such cross-cultural appeal; the Guardianista manifesto of ‘Che Guevara and Debussy to a disco beat’ (‘Left to my own devices’) can coexist quite happily with the football terrace reworking of gay utopianism (their definitive cover of ‘Go West’, which was taken on in earnest by Arsenal supporters). It’s what makes them so English, yes (another epithet interviewers and critics find impossible to avoid), but more than that, it’s what makes them so London, and more specifically Northern and London. In no other city in the world do you get quite so many disparate people rubbing shoulders in the crush; underfunded social housing and potholes on one side of the street, while the opposite side gleams with stucco and swept pavements. This is the world the Boys both celebrate and lament, and often with an emphasis on the relationship between regionalism and metropolitanism. It’s mourned in ‘King’s Cross’ (the station from which Geordies spill out into the city like foaming brown ale from a broken bottle), and especially ‘The Theatre’, which again makes specific reference to  expats from beyond the Watford Gap (‘Boys and girls come to roost / From Northern parts and Scottish towns / Will we catch your eye?’) But then there’s the funny B-side ‘Sexy Northerner’, about a guy who takes the capital by the scruff and recasts it in his own image. London is always up for grabs, and the Boys will be there as the daybreak traffic hits, on through lunch at the office, then dinner, pub, club, and into the demimonde of the dead hours. You always wanted a lover, I only wanted a job. You wait till later, till later tonight…

You see, London is all about almost unlikely juxtapositions, and the Pet Shop Boys pull off some of the unlikeliest. The astonishing ‘Dreaming of the Queen’ (perhaps the most moving song they have ever written) is the most surreal. It’s an elegy for the AIDS dead (‘there are no more lovers left alive’) sung by ‘Lady Di’, whose own marriage is failing; the ‘Queen’ of the title is both the monarch Neil visualizes in his dream, chastising him for being in the nude, and, perhaps, the patron saint of all ‘queens’ everywhere who are traumatized by the epidemic. It’s timely – on release in 1993, all these events were highly topical – and timeless, commenting on the ways in which our subconscious finds its own warped logic to deal with the crushing events of history. And then that heartbreaking line, ‘Yes, it’s true / Look, it’s happened to me and you’ (a rejoinder to an earlier AIDS lament, ‘It couldn’t happen here’). London is a place in which ‘big’ history is made all around us, in which we constantly rub up against grand monuments and memorials; it’s also a place that can find space for the ‘me and you’. At its best, Tennant and Lowe’s songwriting focuses through both of these lenses. Remember ‘Shopping’, seemingly a deadpanned celebration of the personal benefits of the credit boom, but actually a broadside against Thatcher’s privatisations? No eighties band was better at defining the emptiness of consumerist luxury than the Pet Shop Boys, and I’m not just talking about the immortal ‘I’ve got the brains, you’ve got the looks, let’s make lots of money’. Stick on the original version of ‘I want a dog’, and marvel at the boredom of desire; the blank-eyed intonation of ‘oh, you can get lonely’; the killer couplet ‘Don’t want a cat / Scratching its claws all over my habitat’, expressing withering disdain for any mog that ruins Terence Conran’s finest.

In ‘West End Girls’, of course, there are cats and dogs, paws and claws. The greyhounds of Walthamstow (east end boys) and the Persian princesses of Kensington (the girls of the title). Another great juxtaposition, and one that makes London sexy in a constantly surprising way. All sorts of mythologies catch each other’s eyes on the escalators. The Kray brothers lock stares with Charlotte Rampling; there’s a frisson of sexual danger, a possibility of pugilism. But London has to brook its own contradictions in order to survive. It surfs breezily above them, just as the track itself is both shiny and seamy, dark and light. The song is all tensions: African and European (the jazzy trumpet and rich gospel backing vocalist knocking against Tennant’s high white plaint), passive and active, dispassionate and yet full of deep, deep yearning; yet it’s miraculous how these coexist with such effortless panache. These are the frictions of all great British pop, but seldom do they ever sound so exotic and lush. The Pet Shop Boys really did change the game; this is a London both real and imagined, both as good as the real thing and somehow even better. It’s not surprising that it was number one all over the world, including America, and no accident that it even featured prominently in the Olympic shebang last year.

You see, for all the expert satire, it’s easy to forget that the Pet Shop Boys are still actually in love with London, and that its allure will never pall. ‘We’ve got no future, we’ve got no past’, intones Neil in the last verse. In London, you can be someone different every day, ventriloquizing the people around you, learning to walk to their gait; only the present, and your presence matter. Just to be there at all; to be swimming in the tide. East End boys will always chase West End girls, and perhaps vice versa. Northerners and foreigners will always be both repelled and fascinated by the Unreal City. As long as London exists, so will ‘West End Girls’; so will a thousand teenagers from elsewhere dreaming in their bedrooms about ‘running down, underground, to a dive bar in a West End town’. As T.S. Eliot would have it, we shore these fragments against our ruin. Or else, we save ourselves with the power of a synth bass, a crunchy snare and the ecstasy of urban romance.

[ravenwritesstuff]

Wandering Hearts (16/?)

Fandom: Frozen AU. Set after shipwreck but before coronation day. 17th Century. Pairing: Kristanna (Kristoff/Anna) Rating: M (this part, all in all, is not too bad but this fic as a whole is horrible so please use caution) A/N: I made a separate sidebar thing on my page that is specifically for Wandering Hearts content to make it all easy to find since this thing just keeps growing. xoxo.

RAZOR BLADES IN CANDY NOT FOR BABIES

[ part one ] [ part two ] [ part three ] [ part four ] [ part five ] [ part six ] [ part seven ] [ part eight ] [ part nine ] [ part ten ] [ part eleven ] [ part twelve ] [ part thirteen ] [ part fourteen ] [ part fifteen ] [ part sixteen ] [ part seventeen ]

She wakes with knives in her throat, drums pounding in her head, and the burn on her hand pulsating a sickening rhythm. She is shaky, weak, but she needs to relieve herself. She needs a drink of water. She needs to stoke the fire.

She rolls to sit on the edge of the pallet and blinks blurry eyes with teeth chattering. Yes. The fire need to be stoked, to be certain. She is freezing despite the fact that her body is wrapped in sweat. She needs to revive it before the coals go cold. Bjarg is gone till the morrow so she must do it. She must do it.

With concerted effort she stands and goes to the waste bucket to relieve herself. She’ll need to empty it to the nightsoil container off of the garden, but the idea alone is exhausting. She will do it when she wakes again.

When she finishes so goes to the barrel by the door filled with drinking water from the stream. She opens it and uses the ladle hanging from it to take long, greedy gulps. It is simultaneous agony and ecstasy for her throat. She drinks till her belly is bursting but fire still remains.

She looks back to the hearth, so certain she has that final task to complete, but sees that it is stoked already. She doesn’t understand. She was so certain it had been dormant. Hadn’t it? Why else would she be so cold?

Her stomach cramps around the water.

What time is it?

She goes to the door and cracks it open. Clouds have rolled in, but the light seems to indicate mid-morning. She has not slept in this late since she lived in the palace and she knows he is long gone by now. She thinks him wiser for it. If she could go - she would. A fuzzy part of her brain tells her that now may be her last chance to run, that she should because her wound has turned and she will either die trying to escape or by fire, but she is too tired to heed it.

She closes the door.

She will run, but she must rest first.

She needs her strength - has none right now - is so, so tired.

Two steps away from the door she collapses to the straw covered floor and does not get up.

….

It is dark in her dreams at first. She sees Elsa but at a distance. She calls and calls but her sister only grows further away. The one time she manages to catch Elsa, grabbing one willowy arm, she vanishes into icy smoke. After that, Anna sits in the darkness and wonders if there why she even tried.

….

There is a hill in the garden at the palace. It is not large, but large enough that Anna proclaims it a mountain and hosts tea parties upon its summit. She is there now, tea party in full swing, and the ducklings are there because she feeds them crumbs. They are her most constant and only companions in such adventures, but today’s event is different than the others.

Lightning splits the sky and her mountain collapses in on itself, swallowing Anna whole beneath the earth.

She screams, but no one hears her.

….

She is drowning. Water gulps her down whole and she fights but it is not enough. The last thing she sees is a pair of skeletons on the ocean floor wearing her parent’s crowns, fish nibbling at their bones.

….

The trees have faces as she trips through the woods.

Alva, Nadir, Elsa, her parents, the guards from the road outside of Arendelle, Large Leader, her governess, the officer she cut on the ship… and they are all screaming - branches reaching for her. The sound makes her brain bounce around in her skull until it feels like it is exploding. She cannot understand what they are saying, cannot get anywhere quiet enough to hope to understand.

She smashes the heels of her hands against her ears and stumbles to try any find someone, anyone, who can tell her what is happening. She tries to find Bjarg, to find a tree with his face on it, but she never does no matter how long she scours the screaming forest.

She is lost.

He is gone.

….

Shadows grab at her clothes and tear. She tries to escape, but cannot fight them off. There are too many. They are too strong. Her body refuses to move as the shadows tear her limb from limb.

….

She is back in the bed of his sleigh. Her body is bundled and wrapped and she cannot move, but she is moving. She feels the motion of the sleigh as sky, dark and wrapped in moonlight, flashes across her blurred vision.

She swears the branches above are reaching for her too, and she tries to cry out - to warn him - but the sounds don’t come. They are cut to ribbons in her razor blade throat and she chokes on them until the darkness envelopes her once more.

….

A giant holds her to his chest. His arms are too tight, too hard, and he is ugly. Or at least she thinks he is ugly. She cannot be certain in the starlight. He has hands made of crystals and they are sharp where they hold her. She can smell moss and minerals and there are others moving around them. She thinks she has seen shadows like this before and she wonders just how many dreams she will have before she wakes, before she leaves.

The giant is cold. The air around them is cold. He takes her from his chest and lays her on a bed of black and snow quartz. The pieces are fitted together in swirls and turns and she has seen these patterns before but she cannot remember where. She isn’t sure it is important when the giant touches the bed with his crystal hand and there is an explosion of light.

She can see nothing but the purest white, but it does not blind her. She accepts the light, bathes in it.

She feels the light course through her. She had not known light could do that, but the brilliance pours through her body and she can feel it spread like quicksilver through her blood. Pain comes as she feels her very essence shifting. She squeezes her eyes shut against it but still all she sees it light.

As the lights ebb, her eyes crack back open. The quartz still glows around her though not with the same blinding intensity. She sees steam and geysers and mountains with crystal hands shifting along the treeline and out of the corner of her eye she sees a flash of long golden hair. Bjarg?

Then one long crystal finger touches her temple and in a voice like a distant clap of thunder commands her:

“Sleep.”

Isn’t she already? She does not have time to answer her own question before her mind goes dark.

….

She is floating on clouds made of silk and gossamer.

Clouds strip into ribbons and wrap her weightless form.

She is transforming, cocooned in warmth and air, but the world changes again before she ever sees her final form.

….

She is walking through a field of grain, ripe for harvest. She looks to the distance and sees Arendelle but the palace is not there. It has crumbled to nothing. She looks back across the field and sees him waiting for her.

She runs to him but the space between the rows stretches and stretches adding three strides for every one she takes.

She never reaches him.

….

He is cutting down the screaming forest, using his axe to silence the noise so she can sleep. He hears him murmuring that she should sleep, but she does not see him. A thick fog has settled. She lays down among the stumps and tries to do as he says.

….

The first thing she sees is gold. Fine yellow strands of every shade fall across his arm where his forehead rests in the crook of his elbow. His head and arm rest on the pallet inches from where she sleeps. The rest of him is out of sight, presumably draped down onto the ground next to them, but she cannot assume anything. Not in this dream world.

She looks around from where she lies. The cabin is dark. She waits for the shadows to move, to attack, but they don’t. She waits for the ground to open up and swallow her, but it stays firm beneath her. She waits for him to disappear or rise up as some sort of spook, but he stays unmoved, unchanged. Everything remains as it is.

She realizes then that she is awake and it is he who slumbers. Her mind feels as thick as porridge, but she knows that if he has returned she has slept a day and night. She knows that he has moved her to the pallet from the floor, but that is all she knows. Her fever dreams leave her exhausted in a completely foreign way.

The thought of fever sparks a new realization in her mind. She is ill, or at least she had been. She takes a mental inventory of condition to find all that has ailed her before sleep now is restored unto her. She is well. Not even her burn -

She startles upright and he jerks his head from his arm, blinking heavily, awoken by her sudden movement.

“You are awake.” His voice is thick and low, but she can hear his relief.

“My hand.” She pulls at the bandages. “My hand does not pain me.”

He shakes off whatever of sleep lingered when he sees her tear at the cloth covering her wound. His large hands enclose over hers to still them.

“Easy now. You’ve a fever. Your mind is troubled.” He tries to repair the damage she has done in her hasty unwrapping.

“The fever is gone.” She takes his hand and presses it against the cool skin of her forehead. “See?”

She can tell he sees but not only that her fever has broken. What he sees is her, and no matter how many time she realizes this it always catches her by surprise. She snatches her hand away, but his remains on her face, slipping down to her cheek. His unbandaged palm rests along her jaw, the pad of his thumb sweeps the length of her cheekbone. She looks down at him and sees the wild thing stirring behind his eyes. Her face heats with an entirely different kind of fever.

“My hand.” She whispers, unable to raise her voice any further. “It is whole again. I can feel it.”

She lowers her face to escape his touch, to bring attention back down to her bandages. He lets his hand fall away from her face, but not without letting his fingers brush the side of her neck in a way that sends a shiver down her spine. With that same hand he finds the end of her wraps and begins the careful process of unwinding them.

This is not the wrapping Alva had done, Anna realizes. Alva’s wraps had been looped and crossed in a much different way. This was Bjarg’s handiwork which means he tended her as she slept. The idea flusters her. She knows he would not take advantage, did not, but the thought of him caring for her in such a way makes her heart speed ahead of itself.

He arrives at her wrist. The skin on her forearm is no longer red or blistered. The sticky coat of honey makes it difficult to assess any more than that. He takes his time unraveling her hand, careful to not pull too hard and rip or tear anything in the process, and she again finds herself transfixed by the gentleness of large hands.

When at last his is finished she cannot believe her eyes. Despite the honey and dim light she can see whatever infection had held her before is gone. Moreover, the skin is already healing over in dark pink patches. There are no open sores or oozing places, no blisters or ruptures to be seen. She closes her hand and brushes fingertips to the sticky center of her palm, but there is no pain - only pressure.

She does not know how this is possible.

“Can it be?” She examines every angle. “I’ve slept but a day. It could not have healed so quickly.”

She looks at Bjarg to see him frowning.

“You did not sleep a day, Logi.” He shakes his head. “This is the fifth night you have slept.”

She hears the words, but she cannot make sense of them. Fifth night?

“That’s not possible.” She looks to him with wide eyes. “Is it?”

“You woke at times for thirst or to cry out, but not beyond that.” He looks at her hand. “It seems to have done you a great service for at dawn they will come to take you to the hollow.”

She has no experience with healing, with medicine, but she thinks still this is miraculous. Surely sleep and honey alone could not have mended her with such expedience. Could it? She frowns.

“I dreamt as I slept. I dreamt a great many things.” She says.

“You spoke in your sleep and I knew you were dreaming.” He says and she remembers that he has told her so much before, that it seems to be a habit of hers.

“You were in my dreams. I saw you many times and when I couldn’t see you I looked for you.” She looks to him and meets his eyes. Her mind is still muddled with remnants of illness and prolonged sleep and so she asks: “Were you there? Did you heal my hand?”

He looks at her like he understands, but wishes he did not. It is an expression she cannot begin to fathom.

“No. No it wasn’t me.” He cradles her wrist in his hand.

“Then how?”

He does not answer immediately, but when it does it is with a question of his own.

“Do you believe in magic?” He asks, but she cannot reconcile his question to hers. Perhaps she misheard for sleep and heat.

“Pardon?” She recalls in her hazy state tales of the draugen, dwarves, and nisse that had regaled her throughout childhood, but had never been given a second thought.

“Magic. Do you believe in it?”

She looks for humor, for teasing, but there is none. There is something in his tone: leading, wanting, that sends a dizzy nervousness through her blood. Her mind circles in on itself. What did this have to do with anything?

“I confess I do not know much about magic.”

“I care not what you know.” His tone comes out more harsh and urgent than she expected. It catches her off guard in this quiet space, eyes full of intent. “I want to know if you believe in it.”

He looks up at her and he is leaning, but not on her walls, on his. The intensity of his eyes draw her towards the truth, but it is dangerous ground for both of them and her eyes shoot down towards her hand, the bed, his shoulder. She remembers light and shadows and her mind cannot draw any conclusions. She can barely think past the idea that she has slept away near a week of her life. She can barely think.

She curls her fingers back into her burned palm, calloused fingertips touching new scar tissue and:

“No. No I don’t.”

She is not sure if that is the truth. She does not know what she believes any more, has not known what the truth is for a long time, but she cannot give him any more false hope than she already has.

“It is better that way.” He says, but she is not certain she believes him.

He withdraws then, but not physically. No, he captures her hand and begins to rebind it in sticky bandages, but she can tell he is far away by how decisive he is in his wrapping.

“It is a few hours yet till dawn.” He says as he finishes. “Best to lay back and settle your mind, min navnløse. There is not left to do till the light shows what we need to see.”

He finishes his task and moves over to his bed on the other side of the fire. She feel his absence as if she had known he had been with her as she slept, but that was nonsense and he was right. Her sleep addled state was no way to meet her judgement. She will rest now, wake refreshed, and absolutely not spend more time than she should worrying about just what truths would come with the light of the sun.

….

They wake just as the sun peeks above the horizon. He offers her bread and water to revive her. After days of not eating her stomach demands more but he does not supply it.

“Best to do this is measures, min lille ven.” He says as he finishes his portion. “Those awoken from sleeping sickness all too often gorge themselves to more damage than good.”

He speaks as if he knows and she trusts him. He has no need to lie, and she will eat again soon enough he assures her, but first the hollow.

He goes out to wait at the first sound of footsteps in the forest, his ear acutely trained for such a thing, and waits. She stays inside but dresses for the cold trek, taking extra care when pulling on the fur-lined, leather mittens he had provided her so as not to skew her bandages. She stays inside and thinks of magic and how she wishes she could ask him just what he meant when he asked those things in the middle of the night.

Had he even asked them or had her addled brain imagined it? She cannot be certain, but she can certainly mull over it. She does not have long for such thoughts however.

The door opens and Bjarg stand there. He nods and she understands. It is time.

Cold anticipation sits like a rock in her stomach, and she tries to tell herself she has nothing to fear. Her hand is healing. That was the stipulation of the trial, but as she comes out of the small cabin to an assembly of surly faces she cannot be certain. Some of the group are familiar: Large Leader and Sigfrid looking bleak, Gunnar and Nadir looking irritable, and Eerie Blonde - well Anna prefers not to look at him and his strange, watchful eyes.

These are the men that will take her to the hollow. These are the men who will pass judgement upon her. She never had to fear the judgement of men when she lived in the palace, but she is not sure this is a worse fate.

When she appears in front of them, Large Leader only nods before turning and heading in what she assumes is the direction of the hollow. Everyone else follows his lead except Nadir. Nadir steps towards her with gruff intent and she shrinks from his steps. A steady hand cups her elbow.

“I will deliver her to the hollow. You needn’t trouble yourself.” It is Bjarg, and the skin around Nadir’s mouth tightens in response to the challenge.

“Ye weren’t called.” The bite in Nadir’s voice stings her skin.

“I need not be called. We share a blood bond.” He holds up his palm, unbandaged, where the deep score mark rests as proof of his claim.

The sight of it, the legitimacy of whatever claim Bjarg has, is enough to leave Nadir to spit at their feet.

“The only bond that matters to ye, on all counts.” He speaks with enough bile to burn Anna anew, but the words are not directed at her. They are aimed straight at Bjarg’s heart. She tenses at the attack, is compelled to deflect it, but Bjarg’s hand tighten on her elbow and she stills.

“She is enough.” He says, and does not wait for Nadir’s response.

Instead he propels her through the snow (which has grown in depth while she slept) in the path left behind by the men who came for her. His hand stays firm on her elbow, his eyes straight ahead. The strength of him, of his presence at her side, bolsters her spirits even as the crunch of Nadir’s boots behind them dampens them.

She glances up at Bjarg’s face whenever she dares, drawing courage from his steadfastness. The dawn light cuts through the trees giving his cheeks a tawny glow, adding warmth to the whiskey color of his eyes, and she does not know how she can ever be enough for such a man. She does not know how, but she knows she will try. At least for as long as she can.

But she cannot entertain the thoughts of freedom, of running, just yet. There will be a time for that, but not today. No. Not today. Today she will finish what was started. Today she will face the hollow.

[ previous part ] [ next part ]

[darl-ingfics]

Alright friends! I know I don't have too many followers here yet, but I’ve seen others asking and I would LOVE your input on Sicktember. I have the first 13 days planned/in progress, but I want to know what YOU want to read for prompts 14-29! (with one exception, you can see below).

I am comfortable writing for any members of Seventeen, EXO, SHINee, and BTS.

For ATEEZ, I'm feeling more and more comfortable with them, but I find that I favor the hyung line, (I say when there is a Wooyoung-centric fic planned...). Basically, go for it, and I'll let you know.

For NCT, I will only write for 127, and even then, I will write for: Taeil, Johnny, Taeyong, Doyoung, and Jaehyun. The others can be there, but these are the members I favor and feel most comfortable with. Similar to ATEEZ, go for it, and I'll let you know!

You can see my pinned post for what I will/won't write. Be as specific or general as you want. :)

I've already selected some ALT prompts below. And there is a dialogue exchange for 18 that is non-negotiable...

14. Clean Sheets/Fresh Pajamas

15. "Who decided __ is ‘sick people food?’"

16. Toxin/Poison

17. Brain Fog/Spaced Out 

18. “My body is one big ache” - PLUS DIALOGUE:

Sickie: Maybe I shouldn’t have dropped it low so many times last night. Caretaker: Or maybe you shouldn’t have performed on stage with the flu.

19. Hypochondriac Tendencies 

20. Medication Bribery

21. Anaphylactic Response Flushed Cheeks

22. NOT AVAILABLE! THIS IS ALREADY PLANNED FOR SEVENTEEN. (For a scenario briefly mentioned in a monster-length Seventeen fic I have in the works and will hopefully publish one day.)

23. Under a Spell

24. Tales From the Waiting Room

25. Summer Flu

26. Heart Condition/Cardiac Arrest Doctor's Note

27. “This is non-negotiable"

28. Pulling a ‘Ferris Bueller’

29. Sick on a Road Trip