#Like way harder than over any of the traumatic eye injury stuff

[pokemonblack3white3]

Little headcanon of mine: Cynthia tells people that her garchomp once clawed somebody's eye out. Quite a few people actually believe her- the truth is that as a gible she scratched Cynthia's eye and it got infected. There's been a prosthetic eye under those bangs since she was a kid.

[erwinsvow]

𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞.

summary: he wasn't always alone. in fact, there was a time when levi had you.

warnings: angst, fluff, mentions/description of injury and patching up, levi needs sleep

author's note: been in the works for a while because i couldn't figure out what i wanted to do, but this takes place after levi & zeke's conversation and there will be an angsty part two, i hope everyone likes it! it doesn't really make much sense but bear with me :)

listening to: don't let me go

“I bet you’re not popular with the ladies. Don’t act like you know about someone’s feelings.”

He pauses, feeling his heart skip a beat.

“I know. And I was… popular enough.”

He lets his mind take him back, back a time before everything in the world was so messed up. When he knew what his responsibilities were, and when there were clear orders to follow. He can’t seem to recall when everything went straight to shit. It feels like it’s been a long time coming.

He knew he was screwed years ago, when he was trying to stitch up the deep gash on his shoulder by himself, sitting in his quarters with a bowl of warm water and bloody bandages. You had been helping the others, a traumatized recruit with a concussion and broken leg, courtesy of the fifteen meter that had overwhelmed him.

There were a few others too, especially a familiar face that seemingly always needed your assistance after a mission. He wondered just how many times the boy—because that’s all he is, a boy, and that’s all you are, a girl—could get away with the same old ruse.

Regardless, he wouldn’t be visiting you tonight. Never mind that the cut he’s trying to nurse by himself is nearly impossible to properly reach, and that he feels dizzy from consistent bleeding and lack of energy in his body. The alcohol he ingested to calm his nerves doesn’t really do anything, either, since there isn’t nearly enough of the stuff in his room to actually have an impact.

He’s going to crash soon, he knows, and even though sleep always evades him, he just wanted to get this wrapped up and lay down without making a bloody mess everywhere. He releases a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding. The very thought of you is enough to tense up every muscle in his body, and the idea of you being alone with that idiotic, improper recruit makes his fist tighten around the needle. Sewing himself up tonight is a lost cause. He finally decides a bandage, no matter how bloody it might become, will have to do.

He stands up, slowly because he doesn’t want to pass out from a head rush, when there’s a knock on the door. He groans a little too loudly at the sound of it. He doesn’t feel like talking to anyone tonight, especially in this condition, wearing a torn scrap of a shirt and blood trapped underneath his nails.

“Who is it?” he calls out harshly, wondering if maybe they’ll just leave if he sounds scary. The other scouts knew he didn’t like to be bothered, and wouldn’t have come unless there was an emergency. If it was Hange she would have barged in already, and he would have recognized Erwin’s heavy footsteps from down the hall. No, he knows who it is. He just wishes that he’s wrong.

“It- It’s me. Petra said you were hurt earlier and that it looked bad. I just wanted to make sure it was okay…” Your soft, hesitant voice trails off, and he knows how much courage it took for you to knock on his door.

What he doesn’t know is that there was no way you were falling asleep tonight without making sure Levi was okay, no matter how angry he would get at you for bothering him at night.

You’re bracing for that reaction when the door opens, but when your wide eyes meet his tired grey ones, you feel yourself melt and all the words in your head disappear. There’s only one fragment of a thought left, the fact that Levi’s bleeding, and a lot, at that. You don’t even wait for his permission to step inside, suddenly energized by anger and mumbling to yourself as you set down your supplies and rummage through them.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” he questions quietly. He tries to line his voice with steel like he always does, but the facade is fading with every passing minute.

“I have to clean out your wound, captain, before something festers. If you had told me about this, say, right when we got back, it would have been fine by now, but now I have to rush because you’re too proud to ask for help-” You still and silence yourself.

It was out of line to enter without permission, but this is something else all together. Caring too much is one thing, you know, but insubordination is not tolerated, especially not by Levi.

You pick up a clean needle and thin silk thread that you need to patch up the wound, while searching for the jar of boiled water you need to clean it out first. Alcohol would work too, and you can smell it in the air, but you can’t find the words to ask for it.

Levi’s hands are unusually still, you know because you always notice them, and it’s a stark contrast to the way you’re shaking right now. It’s strange, because you stitched up a handful of others earlier today, and you were completely fine. Even Gunther, who you had always thought was handsome and could make you blush with an off-hand smile, never incited this kind of reaction from you.

You’re silently praying that Levi doesn’t comment on the tremor, but since you’re about to dig a sharp point into his shoulder to tie the skin back together, it would be idiotic if he didn’t say something. You turn to look at him, but it feels like he’s not even there.

His head is hanging down, propped up by the single functional arm, as the other one continues to bleed. You know it’s painful and that he should be saying something, something that makes you stutter and stumble over your words like he always makes you, but he’s just silent.

“Well, get on with it then. If that’s really why you came here this late.” His voice makes you tremble even harder.

There’s so much you try hard at. You try to be the best soldier you can be, even though both you and your superiors know you weren’t meant for this. Sometimes you can fool your fellow soldiers, and the handful of people you can call your friends, and with a few years under your belt, it seems like it’s getting easier to live this life. But you know deep down that it’s not. The one person who always sees right through it is Levi, though.

It’s part of the reason why you’re such a damn mess around him, because there’s no reason to present a false veneer if he knows the truth. You’re not a real soldier, not a real fighter, and you’re more useful as a medic stitching people up than anything else.

And yet, it’s always him who saves you. Him, who makes sure that any threat in between you and the scout you’re trying to rescue from the brink of death is eliminated. Him, that keeps one eye on the target and one eye on your back just in case. And every time, every goddamn time you need to be rescued, he rescues you.

But now, with his head hanging low and any semblance of not knowing why he always saves you gone, it feels your chance to repay him has finally arrived. The shaking stops when you go to sit down near him. Maybe it’s the sudden rush of energy in your body, but you find yourself unbuttoning his shirt to remove whatever remains of the cloth.

His body tenses further, but he doesn’t stop you, and he doesn’t say anything. You’re as gentle and careful as you can be, and once you’re successful, you drop the mangled shirt on the floor. Taking the water, you pour it over the wound as Levi releases a soft hiss at the feeling, for which you’re apologizing before you can even realize the words have left your mouth. He doesn’t say anything, but his shoulder relaxing encourages you to keep going.

You take your time, trying to clean off all the blood you can. You think he’ll protest when you pick up his hands, and wash those too, but he doesn’t. It’s not until you run your own hand over his softly, squeezing the top of it because you don’t have any words to express the thoughts going through your mind, that he finally speaks up.

“Thank you.”

It’s so quiet, you could swear that you had imagined it. He doesn’t look up to meet your eyes like you wish he would, but a smile forces its way onto your face regardless. You focus on the hard part now; stitching up your captain and making sure your work doesn’t leave him with any scars. You focus on your technique, fingers working nimbly and mind focused on this, and for a short time, it doesn’t feel like you’re with your captain, your superior. It just feels like being there with Levi.

All the while, his brain is working overtime to figure out why you’re like this. Why you’re treating him so carefully and gently, when you have no reason to. He doesn’t pick favorites, and even if he did, you wouldn’t be anywhere near that list. You’re not the fastest, you’re not the most lethal, and in fact, he could count on one hand your titan kills and assists. You help people. You save people. But most of the time, you’re just recovering a half-dead soldier so that their body can be buried at home and not forced to remain out there, alone. You’re just there so that parents can have a grave to mourn at, instead of an empty tomb.

He doesn’t treat you better than anyone else, and most of the time assigns you more cleaning duties than the others. You always take it and never complain, something else that he always wonders about. He had come to the conclusion it was because he’s saved your life countless times, and the fact that he isn’t going to let up soon. So you take everything he gives you with a polite smile. And for some goddamn reason, he can’t get that smile out of his head, no matter how hard he tries. You don’t even know how you make him feel; like he’s special and that he deserves these attentions.

A particularly painful turn of the needle makes him flinch, and brings him back to reality. You’re apologizing again, murmuring how you’re almost done, but he doesn’t want you to leave yet. He lets his mind flicker over how you’re always apologizing, and how much he just wants to tell you that you don’t have to, not for anything. Not for having to come and save you, not for stitching him up, not for trying to fix him.

You let out a sharp breath once you finish, getting back up to fetch a dressing, but his hand grabs yours before you can get too far. Levi looks up, grey eyes full of an emotion you can’t exactly pinpoint, one you have never seen before from him.

“Will you stay a little longer?” And just like that, everything in the world seems to fall into place.

“Of course. Let me just wrap it up, first. I’ll stay as long as you want.” You’re surprised at yourself for finding the words so quickly, because your heart has never pounded so fast in your life. You fumble around, trying to find the right thing, hands shaking again, and you can’t seem to get them to stop.

You go back to Levi, wrapping the cloth around his shoulder and securing it around his arm, suddenly hyper aware of the feel of his skin. It’s softer than you had imagined it would be. Both of you sit in the silence for a while, your hand finding a place over his and rubbing soft circles on his knuckles with your thumb.

You want to say something, anything, but there aren’t any words that seem right. His fingers deftly work their way around yours, and you honestly wonder if he can hear your heartbeat or the blood rushing to your cheeks. It’s past midnight now, and you have a feeling dawn will be approaching before long.

“You should really sleep now. It won’t get better until you rest a little.” You’re speaking because his actions gave you a little bit of confidence, but he interprets it wrong almost immediately.

“Of course. You’d like to go now?”

“N-no! No, I just thought that, that you would be tired now. I can go if you want, I-”

“I don’t get much sleep anyways.” He doesn’t even mean to sound so dejected, but it comes out before he can stop himself. He’s spent too, too many nights laying awake, sleep ever-evading him, wondering how it might be to sleep besides you. Would he get some rest? Would he be able to close his eyes and not open them an hour later with a pounding chest? He can’t remember the last time he was able to fall asleep, and stay asleep. You don’t make any movement to get away, and he notices your hand twitch and wonders why.

You have to fight yourself internally to keep your hand down, and not wrap your arms around your captain as you process his words. Your heart feels strangely heavy at the thought of Levi laying awake, all alone, exhausted but unable to succumb to the ease of rest. He’s on guard, all the time, every minute of every day, and half the time he’s expending his energy on saving you.

You’re not confident, like some of the others. You never have been. But in this moment, you feel something rushing into your body and coursing through your veins, something close to confidence but slightly different. The feeling makes you release Levi’s hand and shed your sweater, and crawl into his bed. It’s almost exactly as you expected, and not nearly as soft or warm as your own. But you think about Levi sleeping soundly beside you, him peaceful and content, and it doesn’t matter how comfortable his bed is. You just want him to fall asleep.

He looks at you with a mix of emotions, surprise being mixed in with them. He hadn’t been expecting that, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate it.

You’re sitting under the covers now, waiting expectedly for something. A part of you fears that this wasn’t what he meant, or wanted, but your racing heart calms down a little at the sight of him coming in to get settled beside you. He releases a sigh when his shoulder hits the mattress, at ease finally, and so exhausted that every muscle in his body is about to give out.

He sleeps on his back, you note, before shifting your gaze to the ceiling quickly. You certainly don’t want him to notice that you’re staring, or that you keep fingering the soft sheets between your fingers to remind yourself this is real and really happening.

“Stop fidgeting.” His voice is quiet, and even, and stills you instantly. You finally lift your head to look at him, letting out a breath at how he looks. Eyes closed, almost peaceful, laying on his back with his hand resting right near you.

You’re not sure if it’s the confidence from earlier, or something new entirely, but you adjust the sheets to cover him more, pulling them and letting them rest on his chest. He doesn’t open his eyes, but you notice the way he jerks a little at the motion.

“Sorry, Levi,” you whisper, trying to remain as quiet as possible. You lay your hand on top of his, intertwining your fingers and letting your own eyes close. You can hear his every breath, the scent of his skin taking over and clouding your mind as every sense slowly focused on one thing; him. “Let’s sleep now.”

[pi-cat000]

BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (3)

Summary: Kakashi gets dumbed into the My Hero Academia universe through random plot devise.

Characters:  Kakashi Hatake

Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury

START  / PREV  /  NEXT

...

There was no latent natural chakra here. The air and environment were dry as a bone, meaning the only chakra he had access to was the stuff produced on his own. Kakashi is not entirely sure what impact this will have on the 1000 or so ninjutsu he has memorised. He suspects it might increase the chakra cost of external and area affecting ninjutsu. Any jutsu that relied on there being natural chakra present in the environment to supplement the user’s own chakra would be harder.  So, no large destructive or transformative ninjutsu. No earthquakes or earth walls, no freezing large bodies of water or creating whirlpools, most wind techniques would be out. Fireballs should be okay as they relied primarily on the shinobi’s chakra pool, but controlling large quantities of fire would be tricker. The same reasoning applied to lighting techniques, chidori would work fine but anything bigger might cause some strain. As long as he wasn’t aiming to wipe out a Division’s worth of enemies, he probably wouldn’t notice the limitation. Large-scale destructive ninjutsu had never been a specialty of his anyway. And he still has chakra to reinforce his body alongside genjutsu, taijutsu and the sharingan.

Well, he is pretty sure he still has the sharingan …

The only way to confirm his theories was to do some field testing.

Thus, Kakashi waits for Iori to do her final rounds and, just before the night shift starts, he ducks out of his room. It is at this time that the nurses would be at their most unobservant, tired out by ten hours of work. It is late in the evening, meaning most of the hospital staff  have left the building. It makes it ridiculously easy to steal down the halls, unnoticeable even in spaces lit by bight florescence.

After discovering that a Quirk Registry was a literal list of bloodline abilities stored on a digital database accessible to any medical professional, Kakashi has decided to stop applying Konoha’s information security standards to the hospital.  He is still a little weirded out by his execution of what was probably the easiest heist of medical information he had ever carried out. 

A few days of stalking Doctor Wada around the hospital at opportune intervals led to him discovering the man’s office. After that Kakashi hides in a corner and watches the man work. Because no one here had any sense of environment/spatial awareness, he has no trouble keeping in the man’s blind spot even with a limp. Thus, he can memories how the doctor goes about updating his patient information, which is all digital and stored on the computer, involving a passcode, a name and navigating through several screens worth of readouts and icons; all of which were infinity easier to understand when compared with the readouts produced by the computers in Konoha’s research division, encoded as they all were.  Three days later and he has access to all his medical files and the files of every one of Wada’s other patients.

Tonight, Kakashi has the time to properly read them. Hopefully, there would be no complications with his eye, and he could clear himself for experimentation. His chakra levels were good enough for it.

‘Name: ‘Kakashi [no surname]’/ Address: ‘[n/a]’ / Sex: ‘M’ / Blood type: ‘O’ / DOB: [n/a] /

No family or medical proxy located. Hospital billing to be covered under City of Hosu Villain/Hero Collateral Damage Register.

Quirk Factor: ‘Sharingan’ [Primary Effect: n/a]; [Activation: n/a] [Type: emitter] [Secondary Effect: passive regeneration]’

Kakashi scrolls through his report, committing the information to memory, eyeing the many notes on his physical and mental wellbeing, listing his various broken bones, sprains, and other injuries, most of which Kakashi is aware of, all of which were well on their way to recovery.

'...Early concerns expressed over collapse of right lung and damage to respiratory system are being reassessed due to passive accelerated regeneration....'

Ah yes, he vaguely remembers something going straight through his chest during the fight. He examines the surgeon's notes which recommend close monitoring and an extended hospital stay alongside various medications.

'...Additional concerns over potential complications due to prior injuries/scarring (see attached report)....’

Hmm, he skims over a note describing older scaring around his chest. The report has flagged quite a few of his past scars and bone breaks as concerning and evidence of past physical stress involving combat. Not too far off the truth. Something to keep in mind if they ever asked him about his past. Honestly, he is somewhat impressed by the thoroughness of the report and the efforts gone through to keep him healthy. Linked is to medical notes are details of the two surgeries he had undergone while unconscious alongside various other actions the hospital had taken in their bid to keep him alive.

‘Primary quirk factor confirmed by the patient as single-ocular quirk ‘sharingan’ located in the left eye. Quirk most likely to be a passive emitter type with line of sight or eye contact as an activation requirement. Quirk effect is unknown. ‘Sharingun’ was restored during surgy under the supervision of Sueno Manzo and predicted to retain its function upon recovery barring further complication.’

‘Patient exhibits the symptoms of memory loss, apathy, and confusion suggesting a case of post-traumatic amnesia. If quirk has a memory storage function as is typical of ocular quirks then there may be a link between the quirk effect, damage to eye, and memory loss symptoms. Diagnosis requires a second opinion. Requested consolation with Neurologist and Ocular-Quirk Specialist still pending.'

‘Secondary quirk or mutation factor ‘regeneration’ increases patient’s metabolism and bodily functions, resulting in increased cell repair and recovery. Without a baseline for recovery speed predicted recovery timeframe is unknown.’ 

Well, ‘predicted to retain its function’ was good enough. All the major concerns raised by the doctor were linked to memory loss that didn’t exist. Kakashi ducks out of the office, heading back to his room. It was interesting to know that his recovery rate was considered abnormally fast. Fast enough to be considered a ‘quirk’ in its own right. No doubt a side effect of chakra use. It was a well-known fact that shinobi with developed coils recovered from injuries faster than civilians.

He would have to keep this in mind when engaging the locals in combat. The people here would have slower recovery rates when compared with Konoha’s civilians, who still had chakra even if their coils were underdeveloped. He wouldn’t want to accidentally kill someone misjudging their ability to heal from an injury.

…

...

With patience born from his many years of field experience, Kakashi waits for the next shift change before sneaking out once more. His destination is the hospital’s roof. Guarded by one solitary security camera- which he had disabled two days ago and had yet to be fixed- it is the only place he can go and be reasonably sure not to be disturbed for any length of time. Generally, cameras were pretty useless against any shinobi who could pull off an academy level transformation or a basic genjutsu. Even when the cameras were hidden, most shinobi moved too fast to be reliably picked up on film. He is not sure if that reasoning applied here, seeing as the technology was significantly more advanced.  Regardless, as he was recovering and conserving both energy and chakra, avoiding them is his best bet. Most of the cameras he notes are on the outside of the building, placed in plain sight with no care taken to keep them hidden. He wonders if there is a purpose to that. Enforcement of compliance through a display of observation? Are they decoys and there is additional security hidden somewhere he wouldn’t think to look? Is he falling into some sort of trap sneaking around so obviously and gathering information? It was hard to answer these questions when he has no baseline to draw from. As he had yet to see evidence of extensive security or traps in the building he is proceeding with his plan.  

It is early morning when he ducks out onto an empty roof, having stolen the key from what he thinks are the hospital's maintenance lockers the day prior. The air outside is cool, devoid of the stench of disinfectant that had been clogging his nose for the last few weeks. He hated how smell played havoc on his sensitive nose, blocking his sinuses.

Shielded on one side by a taller, windowless section of the building he has a good view of a wide two-lane road where the occasional vehicle would enter or exit the building. At night the area is quiet save for the hum of a distant activity, probably more of the engine-run vehicles, which were irritatingly noisy and commonly used by the people here.

The sky above him begins to lighten. Soon the sun would peak between the tall glass-covered buildings opposite the hospital. The artificial structures shimmer, reflecting the whitening sky. A trip into the busier sections of the ‘city’ is still impending, all his attention being focused on scouting the hospital and absorbing as much information about the place as possible first.

The first test he does is an attempt at summoning his nin-dogs. He has a few ideas on how he might reverse summon himself between worlds or, at the very least, send a message to let people know he was still alive.

Quickly, he bites his thumb, crouches, touching the roof with his palm and pumping in the required amount of chakra. For a second, he thinks it might work. Lines of inked fuinjutsu characters blossom under his palm, spiralling outward, absorbing the chakra. However, instead of activating in a puff of summoning smoke, the energy disperses, sinking into the dead, chakra-less concrete, the seal failing. Frowning, he uses the remaining blood on his thump to sketch out a simple storage array. It activates, sealing in a loose piece of brick without a problem. No, it wasn’t the fuinjutsu that had failed but the nin-dog summoning specifically. There went that plan.

Somewhat disheartened, he begins unbandaging the left side of his head. Just as the sunlight begins to peak between the buildings opposite, he opens the sharingan.

The chakra drain creeps up as the world around him snaps into sharp focus. Every crack in the brick, every mote of dust, every wisp of cloud, is clearly outlined even as colour is dulled to increase contrast.  Kakashi glances around and waits, letting the image of the foreign skyline burn into his brain to be forever stored and remembered in crisp detail.

After a few seconds without significant pain, he lets out a long breath and prepares for the mental strain of activating the Kamui Sharingan. The process brings with it flashes of memory, Obito’s scared face twisted with hate, and a blurry battle. The memories were all faint and far off despite having the Sharingan active at the time. He rubs his chest in discomfort. He thinks he knows who might have stabbed him now. Obito…He releases a tired breath and shoves all the uncomfortable revelations off to the side where they wouldn’t bother him. There would be plenty of time to ruminate at a later.  

Kakashi lets the first stage of Kamui activate, making sure there is nothing in his eyeline. He doesn’t want to accidentally destroy the stairway that led back into the hospital by sucking it into a different dimension. After confirming that the technique is stable and the charka drain is manageable, be prepares to pull himself through, ignoring the beginnings of a faint headache. Despite it being a brand new technique, Kakashi is nothing if not a master at reverse engineering ninjutsu on the fly to suit his own needs. The world warps and shimmers, his chakra levels take a nosedive, and his eye aches.

 A field of unmarked stone appears in place of the hospital roof, displacing tall buildings with uniform blocks of grey, white and black. An eternal, unchanging landscape, dimly lit despite there being no light source, stretches out in all directions. The Kamui no Jikūkan, time–space dimension. There is no signs of destruction or the battle he now vaguely remembers occurring before he had been ripped away from the Elemental Nations altogether. He wishes he could recall how it had ended. Had Obito re-joined the fight with Madara? He hopes not. He hopes he at least managed to take Obito out and give his allies a better chance. Obito was his burden to shoulder after all.

As he tries to dig up something useful from his patchwork of memories relating to his battle with Obito, a faint secondary chakra source catches his attention. The thread of chakra is distance, connecting to something very far off. Obito’s eye? A lingering connection between the two eyes was the only thing that made any sort of sense. He vaguely remembers how he had been in the process of activating the Kamui no Jikūkan when the area had been flooded with demonic chakra.

This is good…If it is Obito, and Obito is still in the Elemental Nations, then he might be able to reverse the collection and pull himself back. The only problem with this plan was that he would need the same amount of chakra to return or risk killing himself. In other words, he needs a lot of chakra. Far more than he has or will ever have access to naturally. As he is the only being with chakra here, this is a problem.

Kakashi lets out another tried breath, “Always a problem…” the area around him remains silent. He knows the theory behind chakra draining and collecting seals. With a bit of patience and self-discipline, he would be able to slowly build up and store the chakra needed to return.

Well, he would definitely be breaking his record for lateness by a long shot. He runs calculations and comes up with a depressing year-long wait time. And that was if he dumped every ounce of his chakra into the seal the moment he got it. Obviously, that would turn him into a comatose vegetable and, as nice as he thinks these people are, he doesn’t trust them to look after his unconscious body for a year. So, it would be double, maybe even triple, that time.

Three years of waiting in this weird unknown word unless someone on the other end of the connection figured out how to bring him back. He had seen Naruto pull of miracles before so…maybe there was hope? Though, everyone might just think he had died given how badly injured he had been just before his disappearance. If that were the case, then no one was coming for him and he would be on his own for the foreseeable future.

“Mah, what a pain.”

He crouches examining one of the plain blocks, massaging the area around his eye. It stings and he is beginning to feel chakra fatigued. He can almost imagine the familiar names of the memorial stone etched into its surface. By the time he returned, the fourth great war would be well and truly over, assuming time moved at a similar speed between here and there. He supposed it was fitting. He wouldn’t be Kakashi if he didn’t let the people he cared about down one last time.

He lets out a long sigh and reverses the Kamui technique, letting himself fade back to his new world and reality. 

The chakra exhaustion hits him like a landslide and he stumbles onto one knee. His eye, which had been aching since he initiated the Kamui no Jikūkan, is now wet. The wetness turns out to be blood, which is pooling like tears and running down the left side of his face.

Maybe he had been pushing it, using the full Kamui after wasting a bunch of chakra on summoning when he had barely been at half his capacity to start. That, and he was obviously still healing.

Blearily, Kakashi wipes his face with the back of his hand heaving himself back upright. He has dealt with way worse. With one last glance at the sun now shining brightly from between the strange buildings of his new temporary home, he heads back inside to find something sterile to clean his eye with.

He collapses back into his hospital bed where he causes a stir as the nurse checking in on him notices the blood soaking through his hastily applied bandages. He lets them fuss in contemplative silence.

NEXT

[urbanqhoul]

Coffee For Your Head [Fallout 4- Nick Valentine & John Hancock]

sSOOO

this is is kinda my first attempt at writing short lil fanfiction, I’ve written before for video’s n such but I’m by no means great at it so plz dun stab me I just wanted to write some fluff for my fav ship quq.

This takes place in my prewar AU- aka fallout 4 companions if they existed before the bombs dropped n all that fun stuff

---

“Think ya really need to work on impulse control, kid.” Nick said flatly as he carefully tried to keep John from falling over in his drunken state well they stumbled back home.

“To hell with that...! Those assholes were practically begging for it...” The smaller man grumbled as he almost tripped over his own feet, causing them both to stumble forward before Nick corrected it. 

They’d both had a painfully long week with a particularly bleak case to solve involving a missing spouse. 

It was by no means out of the ordinary but something about this one specifically had stuck with him and he decided to distract his brain from it with a visit to the local pub.

 As always John insisted on tagging along claiming it was “To help him home” afterwards when they both knew full well who was more likely to get passed out drunk. Predictably the night had proceeded with some banter well Hancock sporadically got side tracked by challenging other patrons to drinking games. 

It was during one of these ventures that ended in Hancock roughed up, bruised with a bloody nose followed by getting kicked out of the bar. 

“...You know I’m pretty used to you getting into a tussle or two- But usually it has a reason. Care to tell me why you tried to knock the daylights out of a stranger?” Valentine prompted, raising an eyebrow.

His response was simply an annoyed groan as he wiped blood from his mouth, “Can we just take a fuckin’ bus or something- its too damn cold and I think the cunt fractured my knee…”

Ignoring it then, alright…

“Think they might call the cops if they see you like this, Really don’t need to end the night in the drunk tank with Danse starting us down like a bunch of roaches. Sides we’re almost home.” Nick said tiredly before carefully taking on more of John’s weight to keep him off his bad leg. 

---

“Sign up now and prepare for the futu-”

The television was promptly turned off leaving the only sound in the room, the gentle buzz of the coffee maker, and a snort of irritation from Hancock as he laid flopped over on the couch.

 Nick had just finished tending to his injuries and left him in the kitchen, well he prepared something to combat the inevitable hangover.

“Can’t tell you how sick I am of seeing vault tecs trash everywhere. Like hiding away in a hole in the ground is an amazing alternative and not a slower, more boring death.” He shuffled through the endtable’s drawer before pulling out a thin can of mentats- only to have it promptly snatched away by Nick and replaced with a warm coffee.

“Really looking to just lose every last bit of grey matter you have left tonight aren't you?” The detective chided as he sat next to him, paying no mind to the glare he received before John reluctantly sipped his drink.

After a moment of silence he spoke up again, “...Are you ready to talk about it?”  He asked slowly. “It isn’t like you to pick fights with folks who didn’t earn it.” “He did.”  Came the sharp reply before being cut off by an irritatingly loud slurp as he chugged the rest of the coffee. “Piece of shit- he was talking a load of garbage about you.” John muttered quietly, indignation clear in his tone. “About Winters and...Jen…”

At the mention of his long passed fiance, Nick felt his heart drop into his stomach. A familiar emptiness that came anytime her and the bastard that took her away were brought back to the forefront of his mind. 

John avoided eye contact, gripping the coffee cup with such force it was a wonder it didn’t shatter. “...He went on and on about how you must’ve been so traumatized by everything to have taken up with some street rat druggie. I can deal with that type of shit towards me- it's basically my entire life but using...everything you went through as some petty fucking insult- You don’t deserve that.” 

Nick started to say something before cutting himself off, his half hungover brain trying to process everything he’d said. 

Thanks to the high publicity of the Eddie Winters case, he’d become well known within diamond city. 

Though he took the high road and ignored it, he knew how much people loved to talk about him. About the broken man who’d lost everything trying to catch Winters only for him to get away scot-free. 

It’d been several years since all of this transpired but the moment he was found to be in a relationship with Mayor Mcdonough’s brother- everyone of course started to talk again. 

A stoic old private eye who lost to a crime boss, taking up with a drugged up vigilante was far too ironic for the public to resist. It baffled him how much free time the tabloids had to waste on him, exploiting the tragedy of his past and ‘scandal’ of his present.  

 Hancock had a way of hiding how much things bothered him. Most who were unfamiliar with him would say he was an overly confident arrogant jackass. And well there was a certain truth to that, those who knew him better would find that it was a façade. 

Nick could see it slipping out right now. The brash part of him that was quick to fight a judgmental prick fading away, revealing the hurt man underneath. The part of him that became tough because life didn’t give him any other choice. The part that needed him right now.

Unsure of what to say, Val reached over and pulled him into a tight hug that seemed to have caught him by surprise. 

“...You know I don’t give a damn about what anyone else thinks right?” John tensed up before relaxing in his embrace, nuzzling tiredly into his shoulder. “I know...It's just- Feel like I’m makin’ life harder for you. You’ve already gotten more than your fair share of bullshit from the world.”

“Doll they can talk all they want. I’m lucky to have you, Mayhem n’ all~ ” Nick couldn’t help a faint smile when Hancock’s hold on him tightened followed by a snort as he peeked up. “Ya need to give yourself more credit, you’ve been the best thing to happen to me in a long time…” 

“You’re real fuckin’ cheesy you know that?” John teased planting a soft kiss on his neck, “Do me a favor and take me to bed already, I need to sleep for at least the next year. That asshole was a shit fighter but he did manage to get a few decent bruises in on my legs.” He insisted, letting himself fall over into Nick's arms. “Think you just might be lookin’ for an excuse to not walk a few feet.” With a tired chuckle, Nick lifted Hancock up with what seemed like no effort at all.

“Ya know you’re surprisingly strong for being such an old fuck~” 

“Mm, think it might have more to do with you having the body weight of a starving cat, but that's just an educated guess.. “ 

[jawritter]

When The Lights Go Out

Chapter 8

Summary: Life hasn’t been your best friend lately, you lost your job, and are on the verge of losing your apartment. Who knew when you decided to join a Sugar Daddy app that your best friend suggested ina last ditch effort to save your apartment, and not end up on the street, your first and only client would turn your whole world upside down.

Pairing: Mobster!Dean Winchester x Virgin! Reader

Word Count: 2343

Series Warnings: Mob level violence, injured Dean, description of injury, creepy Godfather John Winchester, John is pretty much a douche bag, escort services, virgin reader, lose of virginity and all the insecurities and fun stuff that come with it, age gap (23 year old reader; 40 year old Dean), angst, unrequited/requited love?, language, smut, unprotected smut.

Chapter Warnings: Insecure reader, talk of losing virginity, I’m sure there is some language in there, fluff, I think that’s it. I promise it picks up in the next chapter y’all!

A/N: Beta’d by @deanwanddamons! Thanks so much love!! Please don’t copy my work!! Feedback is golden! Hope you all enjoy this one!! It’s gonna be a little bit of a slow burn y’all, but just hang in there!

(This fic is based on this request: Could you do a Dean x reader where she is 23 and lives alone in her apartment, she gets fired and can loose her house, her friend tells her about a sugar daddy app, she makes a profile and Dean 40, contacts her, she is virgin and don’t offers sex, Dean is billionaire business man and needs a girl for his business parties,the reader is really shy, blushes a lot, they fall in love, he takes her to a trip and makes love to her on a private island, could it be a series?)

Want more? Check out my masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***SERIES MASTERLIST***

To say you weren’t a morning person would be the understatement of the year. You hated getting up early, and only did it when you had to. 

Dean, on the other hand, had no problem rolling out of bed, as long as he had a cup of coffee waiting for him. 

So it was no surprise to you that when you rolled over and reached blindly for Dean, and his side of the bed was cold. 

Rolling around until you forced your eyes to open up, you sat on the side of the bed, and rubbed at your face harshly, trying to get your eyes to open, and work properly.

Last night, you and Dean  had spent most of the night locked at the lips, but he never took it any further than that, saying he wanted your first time to be something special, and memorable. 

You were secretly grateful. Losing your virginity had been something you were always nervous about. 

Not that you didn’t want to, that wasn’t it at all, and you trusted Dean enough to know he’d make it as painless, and less traumatizing as possible. 

Still you had heard all the stories. Stories about pain, blood, crying, and the uncaring assholes who just wanted to get themselves off. Needless to say, it was enough to make your anxiety hit an all time high. 

All that you could overcome, that wasn’t the problem, the problem was your own insecurities. The fact that your body wasn’t what you wanted it to be exactly. The fact that your thighs were bigger than you wanted them to be, your stomach not as flat as you wanted it to be.Your breasts still held the scars from stretch marks from when you were a teenager, and hit puberty suddenly, coupled with the fact that they weren’t as big as you’d like them to be. 

You were never  popular, or the “it girl” in school, and adulthood had proven to be much the same for you. 

In fact, Dean was the first guy you had ever seen naked in person, and that was when he was injured, so you weren’t exactly focused on what he was packing, and you were more concerned with making sure you successfully got done with whatever it was you were trying to help him do without hurting him further. 

You weren’t blind though, and you did notice enough to know that the man was well endowed, and had the body of a Greek God to boot. Needless to say, you felt like he was WAY out of your league. 

Which only heightened your own insecurities more. 

You knew Dean wasn’t shallow. Hell, if he was he would have never asked you to be his girl. Still that insecurity that you had carried with you since middle school rang louder than reason, and you nervously dreaded whatever it was Dean had in mind.

You had just dressed from your morning shower when the bedroom door opened, pulling you from you worrying.

“There you are! I was just about to come and wake you up,” he said, flopping down on the bed, already dressed, showered, and ready for the day. You did notice that the dark skinny jeans that hugged his bowed legs perfectly, coupled with the red and black flannel and black fitted undershirt did things to you that you never expected. 

His piercing green eyes missed nothing. Strutting up to you when he noticed you staring at him, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in close, kissing you deeply before letting you go, a smirk set deep in his Godlike features at the dazed look on your face when he pulled away. 

He knew what the hell he did to you, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. 

“You’re up and dressed early this morning. What’s on the agenda today Mr. Winchester?” you asked him, letting his hands fall a little lower on your waist as he swayed the two of you back and forth slowly in the middle of your bedroom to whatever rhythm he was hearing in his head. 

“Well, I had them gas up my Dad’s jet, we’re gonna take a little vacation. I need to get away for a little while. From this damn house, and all the bullshit that comes with it.” 

Your eyes widened.You didn’t have any clothes to take on Vacation.. Since you had been here, you had barely even got out of the house. 

“Dean..I don’t have anything….” 

Putting his lips to yours  in a chaste kiss to stop your worrying, Dean chucked against you. 

“Pretty girl, stop! Everything has been taken care of. Clothes, food, everything is already there waiting for us. Remember baby, I’m a Winchester. Now, get yourself ready, we fly out as soon as you get done. I’m ready to get there.” Dean said, giving you another swift kiss before he grabbed an overnight bag, and started to pack it when essentials like phone chargers, and your laptop, mumbling something about updating that when he got home. 

“Dean, where exactly are we going?” 

“Mary’s Island.” 

Confusion pressed deep into your features, and Dean chuckled as he threw his bag over his broad shoulder, waiting patiently for you to get your shoes on.

“It’s an island my dad bought for my mom when they got married.Since she passed, no one has really gone to it, but I called the caretakers, and they have everything ready for us, so you and I are going to go spend some time there for a while.” Dean said, lacing his fingers with yours as you made your way through the oddly quiet house. 

“It’s warm there, so we will be able to enjoy ourselves. It’s only a short boat ride away from the mainland as it’s  just off the coast of Hawaii, so there are a variety of restaurants and things that we can go to as well. Plenty to do to keep us busy.” 

Opening the door to the house, you look back at Dean’s car that was safely parked in the garage, and loaded yourself into the black SUV that had Garth, the driver, behind the wheel and waiting. 

“Dean, where is everyone this morning.” you asked, and Dean stiffened a little next to you as he climbed into his side of the SUV.

“Work. Life’s pretty much going back to normal, now that Samual is taken care of, and the Campbells are no longer a threat. The high table is content that you and I are together, and right now everything is going along as it should.”

Dean laced his fingers with yours as the car circled around the airport, entering the back gate, completely surpassing all the airport security, and details that normally came with flying. You vaguely wondered if this is what it felt like to fly when you were famous. 

The plan was less impressive than you had dreamed up in your head all morning. The Winchesters tended to do everything extravagantly, and you thought that their private jet would be no different, but you were actually a little relieved that it wasn’t some huge private liner. You still weren’t quite used to living the extravagant lifestyle that the Winchesters seemed accustomed to. 

Once you were boarded onto the plane, Dean grabbed one of the blankets that were stowed in the overhead compartment, and settled you both down in the seats as best as you could,wrapping his arm around you as the plan started to take off. 

It was going to be around a ten hour flight to Hawaii from New York, so you had plenty of time to nap if you wanted to. The only problem was, you were way too nervous to sleep. Your mind was turning on the upcoming events that were sure to take place once you got to the Island. 

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, sweetheart? I can practically hear the gears turning..” Dean said, giving you a quick peck on the forehead. He’d already learned about you so quickly. It was getting harder and harder to hide things from him. 

“Nothing, just my usual worrying.” you tell him in an attempt to brush him off, but he was having none of it.

“I lie for a living Princess, you're gonna have to do a lot better than that.” Dean said, an amused smirk plastered across his perfect lips. 

Giving him a side eye, you take a deep breath to steady yourself. Trying to work it out in your mind how to tell him all of the little qualms you were worrying about. 

“You know, nothing at all has to happen this weekend. We can just be here and enjoy being together. I don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you to sleep with me or something, I’ll wait as long as you need me to. I’m in my forties sweetheart, I’m not some little teenage boy who can’t control himself.”

Clamping your jaw shut you wonder briefly if he was secretly some sort of mind reader. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to Dean, I do, I’m just nervous, and when I say that out loud I feel stupid, because I’m twentythree fucking years old, and I’m still a virigin, and terrified of something most people do in their teens!” you tell aspirated, hiding your face in the blanket. 

Dean pulled the blanket down where he could see your face, shifting a little closer to you in his seat now that the plane was leveled out, and well en route to your destination. 

“Baby girl, look at me. Age has nothing to do with being afraid of or nervous about something. Just cause you didn’t jump in bed with the first jackass with a dick when you were teenager, does make you weak or wimpy, and I definitely don’t think any less of you. Besides, I kinda like the idea that you're going to be only mine.” 

He brushes his lips over yours before you settle into his shoulder and blush at the possessiveness that he shows. You had never seen this side of Dean before, and you couldn’t deny the way it made your heart flutter in your chest. 

There was still so much that you were going to worry yourself over until it was over, and you knew that. There was only one cure for this, and that was to do it, and you did want this with him. You wanted to be only his, you wanted that connection with someone. Wanted to feel him in a way that only could happen between the two of you. To know him, on a deeper level than you had ever known anyone before. 

The combination of Dean playing with your hair, the hum of the plane, and the warmth that came radiating off of his body constantly had miraculously lulled you to sleep, and you didn’t even know it until Dean was shaking you awake gently after you had already landed. 

Stretching your stiff muscles as you stand up and deboard the plane, you follow along behind Dean into the blinding light, and warm temperatures that were so contradictory to the weather of New York City that you had left behind. 

Looking up at the clock on the dash of the car you got into just outside the tarmac, you notice that it’s only noon. Seeing as you left New York at eight in the morning, it took you a while to understand what had happened. You had never experienced a time jump like that from traveling before, and New York was six hours ahead of Hawaii. So even though you had a full day of travel, it was only noon here. You finally think you understood the meaning of jet lag. 

“Hungry baby girl? I figured we could grab a bite to eat while we’re on the mainland. That way we can just have a lazy day when we get to the house.”

You hadn’t realized you were hungry until he mentioned it. Your stomach growled, and Dean threw his head back and laughed at your face of discontent at the hand of your stomach’s betrayal. 

“I guess sleeping for almost a solid six hours straight works up quite the appetite doesn’t it?” Dean teased you.

“Six hours?” you questioned. You had no idea you had slept that long. “Why do I feel so sluggish then?” 

“It’s a drastic time change, once you get some food in you it will help with the jet lag.” Dean said, pulling onto the main road like he knew just where he was going. You didn’t question him at all. Just enjoyed the view of him relaxing into the seat of the car as he drove down the road like he’d done it a million times in his life. 

You couldn’t contain the smile spreading over your face at the beautiful view, one of which included Dean. His fingers dancing along the steering wheel, humming along with a classic rock tune that played softly through the speakers. His freckles almost shine out on his skin in the bright sunlight filtering through the car window. 

For just a moment you forgot about all your worrying, and just enjoyed the moment. That’s something you decided you would start doing more often. Your whole life you had been nothing but stress and worrying in some form or another. Whether it was worrying over school, your job, losing your job, then all this that happened with Dean, your life turning upside down, then almost losing Dean. 

That probably taught you the most important lesson of all. 

Life is short, and can be taken away from you in a moment, especially in the life that Dean lived. So right now you weren’t going to worry about having sex with him, or your new life you were determined to adjust to. It was just the two of you, and you were going to make the most of this.

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[fancyfade]

so ive been debating editing chapter 3 on my fanfic to make 1 scene line up more from canon. (chapter 3 is this one, where the characters deal with the aftermath of battle for the cowl, Tim finds out Damian’s Robin, and Dick and Damian move to the penthouse)

I’m debating making the Tim finding out Damian’s Robin scene a little more canon compliant along what happened in Red Robin (link) for a few reasons, the main of which is in the scenes that I’m writing next (like... chapter 47 lol), Tim and Dick do have to talk about what transpired when Dick made Damian Robin. Potential reasons for change

In my fic Tim kind of just left on his own without a push, but I’m not sure if Tim would have left on such bad terms if there wasn’t the complication of Damian antagonizing him and him feeling as if Dick was picking Damian over him (even though in the comic we saw Dick trying to de-escalate and get Tim’s back, it still felt that way to Tim)

I dislike the way some of this was handled in the comic and I can’t really comment on it in my fic if I just retcon it out

it seems fair-er I guess if Tim is allowed to have flaws just like Cass and Damian and Dick all have flaws in this fic. i know many tim stans think otherwise, but punching a ten-year-old victim of child abuse in the face out of anger is wrong.

the con side is obviously this involves Damian getting hit and that kid has been through so much already. I’m really trying to figure out how it works with character dynamics vs like. give the poor kid a break-ness.

anyway if I did decide to replace the current chapter 3, this is what it would be replaced with (only the first scene, the second would be the same). If you are a reader of the fic feel free to leave your comments. I would do an “oh and I edited chapter 3″ note before the relevant stuff was mentioned if I go through with this, I wouldn’t like expect everyone to know what happened. Some of the dialogue is not like exactly like in canon (cuz thats boring and also to match with what I wrote the first time) but the feeling/ beats should be similar

Gotham’s finally had a bit of lull in the violence, and Dick is just wondering how he’s going to do this.

He’s accepted that Damian’s his responsibility – seeing the kid shot in the chest made that perfectly clear, as much as he would’ve liked it to be otherwise. He felt like he was way too young to be watching out for a kid in any capacity other than cool older brother, especially a kid who’s as difficult to get along with as Damian. He was a great fighter, of course, and he knew it – Dick’s not sure he’s ever heard the kid be humble about anything. To make things worse, Dick feels like he’s constantly stuck in the middle between Damian and the kid he actually views as his younger brother – Tim, who Damian tried to kill. Evidence in point:

“Robin?!” Tim asks once he’s gotten back on his feet and Dick's explained his plan – away from Damian, who's still recovering from surgery.

“You made Damian Robin?!” Tim asks again.

Dick sighs. He’s in the cave, in a Batman costume he feels doesn’t fit right at all with the cowl off, and Tim’s still in his regular clothes. He has no idea how to explain this to Tim – no idea how to make him feel like he’s not being replaced. Dick never wanted to be the one doing the replacing – he remembers how much it hurt to find out that Jason was Robin from the papers, and that was after he officially stopped being Robin. Tim never quit – and Dick’s not about to make him – but he has to come home to the guy who tried to kill him getting his name.

“Tim, I know this looks bad, but Damian needs this.”

“Remember when we thought Bruce was going to retire after Crisis?” Tim asks. “Batman and Robin was supposed to be us. You and me. Not you and the psychopath that tried to kill me.”

“Tim, you’re not my sidekick, you’re my partner – ” Dick takes a step towards Tim with his hand out, prepared to offer sympathy, but Tim shakes him off angrily.

“Obviously not!”

“And Damian needs me way more than you do. If we don’t keep an eye on him, he’s going to kill again.”

Tim scowls intensely. “That should really not be an endorsement for being Robin, Dick! He’s a killer! He belongs in jail!” Tim swallows a little and then lowers his voice out of shouting range. “Dick, he didn’t try to kill me because he for some reason thought it was the only way to stop me from doing something bad, as far as I can tell he just wanted to replace me. We’re talking about someone with absolutely no sense of right or wrong.”

“Of course he doesn’t have a sense of right or wrong. He’s a ten-year-old child who was raised as an assassin from birth!”

“Lots of our villains have really sad or sympathetic reasons for doing crime, that doesn’t mean we team up with them.”

“Are you serious?” Dick asks. “This isn’t the same, Tim.”

“How not?”

“Well for one,” calls Damian's voice from the stairs, and Dick can't help but cringe and think not now – “I'm a lot better than them.”

Dick's cringe only intensifies when he turns around to see what Damian is wearing. His new Robin costume.

Tim's hands clench into fists the instant he sees Damian. Dick knows he has to de-escalate things quick before Tim and Damian have another fight.

“Damian,” Dick says, trying to keep himself carefully neutral-sounding. “Shouldn't you be resting?”

Damian lifts his head up slightly so his nose is in the air, and walks down the stairs almost normally. There's only a little hesitation in the twist of his torso, a little stiffness of his right arm.

Either he's zoned out of his mind on painkillers or depressingly good at masking his pain for a ten-year-old.

“Please,” Damian says. “I was trained in the League of Shadows. Do you really think an over-the-hill ex-Robin could put me down?”

Tim's fist clenches further, and so Dick says, letting a bit more urgency slip into his voice, “Damian, shut up. Now.”

Damian puts his left hand on his hips and looks intentionally at Tim. He adds, “I'm not Drake – ”

He's barely got the word out before Tim leaps forward and punches him in the face. Dick's out of his seat, grabbing Tim to hold him back, who is still distressingly struggling against him, like he wants to keep up the assault despite the fact that Damian fell to the floor.

“My name is Tim Wayne!” Tim shouts as Dick is still holding him back.

Damian gingerly sits up. Dick prepares to release Tim, prepares to stop Damian if he has to, if he decides to get revenge. But he doesn't. He just briefly braces his right side with his left hand before wiping the blood off his face.

“I let you get that shot in, Drake,” Damian says, again dropping intentional emphasis on Tim's original last name.

As he does, Tim struggles forward.

“Tim, back off!” Dick says, because Tim still isn't cooling down –

“I want you to feel good about yourself,” Damian continues.

Tim seems to relax his stance slightly, so Dick, possibly in an error of judgment, lets Tim go. But Tim doesn't try to attack Damian again, he just shakes Dick off and starts stomping away. “You want me to back off? Fine.”

He's going for the exit.

If he leaves –

Dick can't chase him. He's not sure that he can leave Damian alone –

“Tim, wait!” Dick says, taking a step forward. “Bruce is gone. But I still need you.”

“For what?” asks Damian and damn it is there anything this kid isn't going to try to ruin?

“Shut up, Damian,” Dick says again, even though as far as he knows he's just going to wind up pushing Damian away too –

And Tim leaves.

Dick turns to look at Damian. The kid's already back to his feet, like nothing happened, and Dick takes a step forward to inspect the injury – though he's really more worried about the gunshot wound than Tim's punch. Both Tim and Damian had wound up injured pretty badly during the chaos that gripped Gotham in the rumors of Batman’s death. As his new and not-improved version of Batman, Jason had tried to kill them both, which Dick is way less than pleased about. He’d been kind of hoping that they could talk Jason down, but this seems like a line he doesn’t know if Jason can ever un-cross. He shot a ten year old in the chest.

Damian grabs Dick's wrist as he reaches out.

“Are you all right?” Dick asks.

Damian scoffs. “You're worried about Drake? I've been hit harder sparring my mother.”

“I was thinking about the gunshot.” Alfred had said the primary damage was blood loss and a punctured lung (well, traumatic pneumothorax, but Dick knew what he meant) and given the kid a minimum of four weeks downtime to heal.

It's hard to tell due to the domino mask, but Damian adopts the position of a kid who's rolling their eyes, head slightly tilted to the side with a loll. “It's not enough to impersonate Batman, now you want to impersonate my mother?”

Dick doesn't know how to approach the mother thing, so he doesn't even try. He just explains the logic for being Batman – (and there is logic behind it. It's not like he wanted this). “Someone has to step up and convince Gotham things can get back to normal,” Dick says. “And serial killer Batman wasn't going to cut it.”

“Did you at least take care of him?” Damian asks.

Dick knows that Damian isn't actually worried about Jason's wellbeing, so he says, “Do you mean 'did I kill him'?”

“Tt. Obviously.”

“Obviously not.”

Damian presses his lips together in a thin line.

Dick might as well get this out of the way now. He's going to have to sometime. “Alfred wants you out of the field for four weeks.”

“That's preposterous!” Damian shouts, and as he shouts, he coughs. He rubs his chest quickly and then glowers at Dick when he sees him staring.

“Damian, you could have died.”

“I didn’t.”

Jeez, doesn’t this kid have any sense of his own mortality? Though, Dick supposes, growing up around Lazarus Pits and a centuries old grandfather might make that impossible.

“I’m not a fool, Grayson, I know I’m not capable of healing instantaneously. I’ll take a break for one week,” he offers, like it’s a huge concession on his part.

“Four weeks,” Dick says.

“What about you?” Damian asks. “Didn’t you get injured?”

“Not as badly.”

“Are you taking a break?”

“Someone needs to convince Gotham that Batman’s not dead,” Dick says. Also, he doesn’t want to take a break. He doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. Losing Bruce. Failing Tim.

“Tt. Then I don’t need one either. I’m younger. I heal faster.”

Dick actually has no clue whether that’s true, because he’s not a doctor, but he knows that people usually say kids heal faster.

Dick swings his arms a little, trying to feel them out. They’re still stiff, and as they move, a jolt of pain shoots through him. Even when he’s not moving, his shoulder is still sore. He knows that he might get injured going into the field like this and that it’s not a smart decision – last time he went into the field while still healing, he wound up blowing his secret identity to Blockbuster.

He decides that at least if he’s going into the field, he won’t tell Barbara and Alfred about it. Okay, so that’s probably not the smartest of his plans. Most plans that you have to hide from people who care about you aren't smart.

“I’ll take a week long break with you,” Dick concedes. “And we can see how fast you’re healing.” The second part is a lie, of course. He's not going to supersede Alfred's orders on medical matters.

Dick sighs a little. He figures that while they’re both on bed-rest duty, though, he can try to figure out how to set things up so they can operate effectively once they get a clean bill of health.

“How do you feel about not living in the manor?” Dick asks.

“Kicking me out already?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I wouldn’t be living here either,” Dick says. It’s true. He’d rather not feel like he’s living in all of Bruce’s old places, wearing Bruce’s old costume, … replacing him, essentially. He needs a place he can clear his head.

“Where would you live then?” Damian asks skeptically.

Dick shrugs. “The penthouse, maybe. Bruce already made a bunker nearby, so we could operate out of there pretty easily.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “Why do you keep saying ‘we’?”

Because you are ten and not ready to live on your own. But Dick just says, “Well, you’re Robin now, right? That means you’re pretty much obligated to team up with Batman.”

“Batman isn’t here, Grayson. He never will be again, no matter how much you play dress-up.”

Charming kid. Like Dick didn’t already know that.

“You know I operate effectively alone, right?” Damian continues. “I don’t need to be hand-held and babysat like all of Father’s previous partners.”

Dick figures that it’d be a jerk move to remind Damian he just almost died and therefore really shouldn’t be on his own. Instead, he says, “Well, Alfred’s staying with me, so unless you want to get all your food and clean the house by yourself, you have to put up with me.”

“Tt . I don’t need a servant. I’ll just eat at restaurants.”

“On who’s money?”

“In the event of his death, my father’s assets should have transferred to me. His blood son.”

Oh boy. Dick rubs his face. “Does this have to be a thing, Damian? No one’s doubting your capacity to take care of yourself but I think it’d really be easier if we were operating out of the same building. “

A long silence on Damian’s part. “Fine,” he says eventually. “I’ll allow you to stay at my penthouse.”

My penthouse. Of course. But Dick takes it. “All right,” he says. “Let’s move in.”

[angelanimedesaray]

Investment Part 5: The Quiet

AN:  Soooo this part ended up being short compared to the others, cause it’s a connecting chapter.  Also I wanted to use a certain gif SO BAD but I COULDN’T because it would spoil the end.  You’ll know what I wanted to use by the end, hehehe

I kept agonizing over characterization, which is why it took me so long even though for the Investment series it’s pretty short.

Also, apologies to the people who weren’t tagged in the previous part, my tags were messed up and I just found out the other day, but I think they’re fixed now.

Characters:  Vampire!Levi, Reader, Hange (Mentioned), Erwin (Mentioned), and a SURPRISE

Pairing:  (Eventual) Levi x Reader

Warnings:  Language, Blood, a bit of past Trauma and Fear, Gore

Word Count:  6522

<----Previous Part    Masterlist    Next Part---->

*Reader’s POV*

As you guided the horse through the dissipating fog, you kept glancing down at Levi in front of you.  He held to the saddle horn with one hand, the other splayed on his chest as he weaved unsteadily in front of you, hunching forward with barely enough distance between his forehead and the horse’s bobbing neck.  He still wasn’t in great shape, but he wasn’t near death anymore, which was a relief.  You weren’t trying to catch up to the main formation anymore--they were long gone now, and the only thing you could hope for was for them to collect you two on the way back.

The silence between the two of you was almost uncomfortable, both of you enduring what remained of the wind and rain without a word spoken between either of you since you’d forced Levi to drink your blood.  You could only imagine what was going on in his head after you’d done that.  As much as you were aware it may have hurt him, you didn’t regret it--it was what you’d needed to do at the time, no matter what your personal feelings on the matter were.

Your arm still hurt where he’d bit you, and you could feel the odd sensation of mostly dried blood on your arm at his side.  You really hoped the rain was helping to wash it away and getting rid of the temptation for him, because you didn’t have time to wrap up your arm while trying to flee the scene before Titans appeared.  He hadn’t made any complaints or obvious fidgets of discomfort, though, so you could only assume he was coping.  Maybe he was too distracted right now to really react, though there wasn’t much to distract either of you except your own thoughts.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology came out of nowhere, and it was so softly spoken the wind almost swallowed it up entirely.  Shocked, you looked at the back of Levi’s head directly in front of you.  He wasn’t turning to look at you, and he was still in that hunched over position.  There was no outward sign that he’d spoken, but you were certain that he had.

“I pushed too hard...and I can’t fix what I broke.  No matter how much I want to.”

The only thing Levi could have possibly seen in reaction to his words was the tightening of your grip on the reins to a white knuckled one, causing your bite mark to ache.  Your eyes burned from more than just the wind, and your throat closed up as you struggled to swallow the emotion welling up inside you at his words so you could focus on getting the two of you to the safehouse.

That...that was an apology that you’d needed to hear to start to really forgive him.

Seeing him again, being a part of his life again even if it was from a distance, studying with Hange and learning more and more about what was happening to him, what he was struggling with; it had softened you to him once again, had seeds of genuine care sprouting in your heart again.  However, there had still been something complicating it, something that held you back from starting to forgive him.

Now, after seeing him near true death again like that first night, then seeing him so hell bent on not drinking from you again no matter the personal cost...The sight of his fingers digging into the earth, rain and blood soaked, and his body taught and turned away as he vehemently refused your offer was going to be burned into your mind for years to come.  He’d never admit it out loud, but you had the sense now, after that display back there, that what he’d done had damaged him as well as you.  If he wasn’t traumatized from it, he was at least drowning in guilt for the things he’d done--and not just to you.

And now there was this apology, even if it was so soft spoken you almost missed it, the words disappearing in the wind as you raced forward, Levi not even turning to meet your gaze as he said it--though you strangely weren’t hurt by that fact.  You knew it wasn’t for a lack of sincerity that he didn’t meet your gaze.  He’d never been the best at communicating when it came to his emotions, anyway--he was a constant puzzle you had to pay attention to and work through to figure out what he was feeling or thinking, because most of the time, he wasn’t openly expressionate.  But sometimes, like now, he would give someone a key piece to solve the current puzzle.  And on the rarest of instances, like back there, he was open and vulnerable, though usually that was when the emotion was too strong even for him to contain.  And he probably tried to keep those moments of vulnerability to when he was alone.

Just because his emotions were usually hidden or he could be tough to read, didn’t mean he was heartless and incapable of feeling, though, like some might suggest.

Even though you didn’t say anything in response to his short and quiet apology, as you gazed at the back of his head, you could feel a part of you forgive him.  You weren’t ready to tell him verbally that you forgave him, you needed a bit more time for that...but in your heart, you were starting to forgive him.

Blinking away a few tears, you forced yourself to look ahead again, slowly bringing yourself out of the emotional funk and paying closer attention to the area around you, even though you knew Levi was going to be able to spot any Titans long before you could.

While some bases the Scouts had established were in ruins or abandoned castles, there was the occasional small house constructed high in the giant trees that grew in the area, far out of reach of any Titan but the Colossal Titan and accessible with ODM gear instead of ladders, for safety’s sake.  It was one of these treehouses that Levi guided you to for the two of you to lay low until you could be retrieved by the main scout regiment body.  Trusting your horse’s training to stay in the area, you let the horse wander as it pleased down below while you used your operational ODM gear to get the still-hurt Levi up to the treehouse.  Once the weather cleared up, and day broke, you were going to go up into the treetops as high as your ODM gear would throw you and fire your flare shots to signal Hange.

But first, you needed to tend to Levi.

Once inside the small military cabin-esque safehouse, Levi took a seat on one of the lower bunk beds, an audible ‘Tch’ sounding in the room when he found the place fairly dusty.  It hadn’t been used for a while, so it hadn’t been cleaned.  You might have to see to fixing that afterwards--if you had the supplies to clean around here, which you might, if the Scouts had kept Levi in mind while setting this place up--for his sanity’s sake.

In the meantime, you took a seat on the edge of the bunk, a hand already out to touch one of the spots that was still damp with blood.  “Let me take a look,” you asked, but Levi grasped your wrist before your fingers could brush fabric.

“I’m fine--it’s healing,” he said firmly, starting to sit up.  One of the stains darkened in the process, convincing you otherwise.

“Stop being stubborn and let me help.  Hange’s gonna want healing details anyway.”

“Leave it--I can tell her myself.”

“Levi,” you said firmly, holding his gaze with a harder look.  “Let me look--you’re still bleeding, there’s still open wounds, they should probably at least be wrapped until they seal up, to keep them clean and try and staunch the bleeding.  Or do you want to have to drink from me again because you lost more blood?”

He already might have to before the Scouts returned, but you didn’t mention that right now.  Besides, you needed a little rest before you could act as a doner again.

Levi sighed, leaning back with eyes closed, a look of displeasure on his face.  “Fine.”

Glad you’d won this little battle, you went through your stuff for your emergency medical supplies, finding the bandages and such you would need to wrap his wounds before turning around to see him already undoing the straps for his gear and sliding it off his torso.  As you came closer, the cravat was carefully set aside and his fingers started unbuttoning his rain and blood soaked shirt.

If it hadn’t been for the garish shallow hole in his chest a few buttons down, this could have easily turned into an awkward and embarrassing moment.  It was still a little awkward, as the start of a burn in your cheeks might suggest, but seeing the injury helped you mellow again.  To keep the embarrassment at bay, you kept your eyes down, looking at his gradually exposed chest and refusing to meet his eyes as you turned all your attention to his injuries.

Well, the good news was that it did seem to be healing.  The bad news was that the healing process had slowed dramatically for reasons unknown.  Clearly, he’d healed rapidly earlier considering none of the holes went all the way through, but if it had stayed at that pace, these would have been gone by now.  Your fingers even came away wet with blood--not a lot, but the point was that the wounds were still bleeding.

“I wonder why you stopped healing so fast…” you murmured, mostly to yourself as you helped Levi carefully sit up so you could properly start tightly wrapping around his torso so both front and back wounds were covered.

“Maybe I only heal fast at the start before it slows down,” Levi suggested, attempting to hold still while you worked.  Both of you were ignoring the close proximity, even while your breath tickled his bare chest, fingers flush against his warm skin where you were holding him steady.

You shook your head.  “No, I don’t think that’s it.  Based off Hange’s observations, at least.  You usually heal fairly quickly at the same pace.”

You had a theory, but considering you knew it wasn’t one you could test--or rather one you were certain Levi wouldn’t comply to testing--you were going to keep your mouth shut for now and mention it to Hange, later.

“You have been working with Hange,” Levi said as if he was confirming a theory of his.  When you nodded, he pressed forward.  “That’s how you knew about the curtains, why you made the tins, where you got the bracelet…”

It seemed he’d been paying just as close attention to you as you had been to him.  Nothing got past Levi--he was as deductive and observant as ever.  You were, too, though, and you thought you could hear a timber of...perhaps it was guilt in his voice again?  Maybe he was thinking about what led to the arrangement between you and Hange.  Or maybe he had the wrong idea about why you’d done all of it.

“I wanted to know what was happening with you, and I wanted to help however I could.  Even if it was from a distance,” you admitted quietly.

Finished wrapping him up, you pulled back, grabbing what you’d used and getting up from the bunk.  “Anyways, I’m going to see what I can do about cleaning up around here--you need to rest.  It will help with the healing process.”

“So do you,” Levi said pointedly, eyes following you as you moved around the cabin looking for anything that you could use to clean up.  “I don’t sleep much, anyway.  I’ll keep watch while you sleep.”

You were rather exhausted.  It had been a hard ride since the Scouts had left the walls, not to mention digging for Levi had been a wearisome, and he drank a hefty amount of your blood.  That meant you were admittedly worn down and woozy, but at least you weren’t injured--well, not as bad as Levi, anyway.

Speaking of, you needed to sit down and wrap that before you got started cleaning.

“You really shouldn’t--”

“Just shut up and get some rest.  I’ll make it an order if I have to,” Levi cut you off, looking slightly irritated at your insistence to try and keep him on bedrest while you darted around trying to do stuff.

Oh, ho, ho, he was threatening to pull the rank card.  That one rarely got pulled, considering he wasn’t really one for authority.  All right, you would give--this time.  As long as he was still going to take it easy, you couldn’t complain too much.

After searching the entire cabin, you came to the conclusion that no, they hadn’t kept Levi in mind while supplying this place.  You couldn’t find what you were looking for.

Heaving a disappointed sigh, you sat on the bunk opposite where you’d laid him down to rest, the bandages in hand once more.  “Sorry, Levi, but there’s nothing here to clean with.”

“We’ll make do.  Get some rest--you’ll need it in the morning,” Levi said, getting up from the bunk and finding his way to a chair by one of the windows with visible effort before sitting back down with his head leaned back, gazing out the window.

Reluctantly, you settled back onto the bunk, gaze trained on Levi and taking in his bandages, noting what spots already had red speckling through.  You took the time to wrap up your arm, officially covering up the wound and hopefully helping him ignore any lingering bloodlust he might not be saying anything about.  Silence settled over the cabin, the only sound your occasional shift on the bunk to try and get comfortable and your steady breaths.

You ended up surrendering to exhaustion with the last thing you saw Levi sitting perfectly still in his seat by the window, his gaze distant and far away, lost in his own thoughts.

*Levi’s POV*

After she fell asleep, there was nothing but Levi and his thoughts in the dark space, slivers of moonlight making its way into the room through the large trees and the window to give a semblance of light.

There was a dull ache in his jaw that had only started to dim after she had wrapped her arm to cover the open wound, but it wasn’t going away entirely.  He could still smell the blood in the air, even if it was made faint.  The wounds he’d received when he was crushed under the rubble had healed for the most part, not counting the wounds where he’d been impaled.  Those were well wrapped and covered, but they still hurt like a bitch and sapped at his strength.  He wasn’t oblivious to the wet blood that still darkened the wraps, even if it was slow.  He just had to keep with the knowledge that he was healing, and it would eventually stop and his wounds close.  He had at least a whole night and however long of the day it took for them to rejoin with the Scout formation to heal.  Even if he tried to sleep tonight, he doubted he would be able to between insomnia, pain, the smell of blood in the air, and his thoughts.

As if that was different from any other night…

His head turned slightly to look at Y/N asleep on the bunk, face cast in shadow.

He had been mulling over what he would say to her for so long, trying to get the words to work, to come out right without being too blunt or harsh.  He didn’t want to mess up this apology, which was why so much thought went into it.  Frankly, he’d imagined he’d be sitting down talking to her face to face when he finally said it, but instead, he found himself saying it in that silence during their ride back.  It had been at the front of his mind, then; glaring at him and demanding that he say something.  He couldn’t gauge a reaction or anything sitting in front besides her grip tightening on the reins and her heartbeat picking up.  He was pretty sure he picked up on a faint sound, like a whine that didn’t quite make it past her throat...but he could have imagined it.

On another note, she’d managed to help soothe another pain, possibly without realizing it.  All that time, those little things she’d been doing like putting up curtains and making those bloodlust tins, he had thought she was doing it because she was terrified of him and trying to keep him pacified so he wouldn’t attack her again.  Now she’d just told him she hadn’t done it out of fear like he’d assumed--she’d done it because she was genuinely trying to help.  She still cared, even then, after everything…

Levi let out a slow breath, eyes halfway lidded as his gaze shifted to a dark corner of the cabin.  At this point, he might as well stop being so damn stubborn about her getting involved in what was happening with him.  He’d never really managed to get her out of this mess.  She’d always been involved, and she was still involved.  There was no point in continuing to try and keep her at a distance if it clearly never worked to begin with.  He could at least control what he could, so he could make sure she at least stayed safe instead of ending up in reckless situations trying to muscle past his stubborn exterior.  But pushing her away wasn’t the way to make it work.

While coming to terms with the fact she was going to be a part of this despite his initial decision, he caught the sound of her heartbeat quickening.  Turning his head, he could tell she was still asleep, even as her breath got shallower and faster.

After all those nights your nightmares kept him awake, he was quite aware of what it sounded like when you were having one, even this early.  You were having them a little less from what he’d been able to hear at night.  As much as you’d both been getting off your chests tonight emotionally--at least in Levi’s head--that didn’t mean the trauma wasn’t still there.  Hell, him biting you again may have triggered it tonight.

As it started to get worse, twitches and whimpers coming from your bunk, Levi carefully got to his feet, a little more steady than last time as he’d had a bit more time to rest and recover.  As he walked over to the bunk, the signs grew clearer.  Little twitches from the fingers, eyes darting side to side behind her eyelids, shallow fast breaths.  It wasn’t severe enough to be waking her up, though--he was well aware you weren’t supposed to wake someone up from a nightmare unless it was at a certain point of severity.  Besides, he was fairly certain if it got as bad as some of the nights he’d overheard her, she might just wake up on her own.

Just in case, Levi settled carefully on the very edge of the bunk, sitting there and listening to her heart rate and breathing, little sounds of distress, his face completely hidden in shadow as he pushed aside the thoughts that he was the one who had caused these night terrors in the first place.

Her hand partially jumped up off the bed with a muscle spasm, catching Levi’s full attention.  Instinctively, he reached out to carefully put a hand on her shoulder, staying as gentle as he could with her as he studied her face with a sharp eye.  Any more movements like that, and he would wake her up for her sake.

Her head tossed to the side, that same arm coming up partially and curling towards her chest, prompting Levi to give her a careful shake.  “Oi...wake up,” he commanded in a voice that was still fairly quiet in the name of trying to wake her gently so he didn’t startle her awake.

It took a couple more shakes because she was so deep in her nightmare, but when he did manage to get her to wake, it was not peacefully.  Her body jerked, and her arm flung out, almost hitting Levi in the face if he hadn’t caught her hand with his.  Her eyes were wild with panic, and her heartbeat didn’t settle, giving him a cutting reminder that her nightmares didn’t always end when she woke, and the subject matter of these night terrors were...

Pushing aside his emotions yet again, Levi’s grasp on her hand tightened slightly.

I know she’s having nightmares about me.  But how the hell am I supposed to convince her I’m not going to hurt her again to soothe them?

*Reader’s POV*

You were disoriented when you woke up, breathing heavy and gaze tearing apart the shadows for the red eyes you knew would be glaring at you from somewhere in the darkness.  You tensed at the feeling of something grasping your hand, heart speeding up with the thought that the creature from your nightmares was right beside you and already had a grip on you, about to tear into you mercilessly.

Before the panic could take over entirely, your hand was pulled in, and you found it splayed against a warm and bandaged chest, one hand on your wrist and the other covering yours.  You paused because you were confused by the unexpected action, and it definitely served to make you stop long enough for your head to start to clear.

There was, in fact, someone right beside you--Levi.  You could make out his form in the faint moonlight that was let in through the open windows, his eyes somewhat visible between the little light and how close he was.  He had to be sitting right on the edge of your bunk, now that you thought about it.

But, what you were mostly focused on was the feel of him holding your hand against his chest, able to feel him tangible and warm beneath him, a clear sign that he was real, not whatever you had seen in your dreams or might see lurking in the darkest corners.  You could feel his heartbeat faintly with how firmly he had your hand pressed against his chest, and yet he wasn’t rough with you.  He was careful and steady, and even though neither of you were speaking, it was almost like he was reassuring you in the suddenly softer darkness.

Hesitantly, you looked up at his eyes, those crimson eyes that peered at you in the darkness and terrorized you at night flashing through your mind.  Yet, when you looked at him--what you could see of him--all there was, was the feel of his very human heartbeat, and those blue grey eyes of his studying your every move carefully.  Not crimson--blue grey, and there wasn’t a hint of malice from him.  Just genuine concern.

Abruptly, the red eyed demon that manifested in your dreams and came to torment you at night was completely separated in your mind from Levi.  Even knowing what he was, what he was capable of after being on the receiving end, knowing those red eyes had originated from him, a sense of safety started to fall over you.  Even if that demon somehow became real and came after you in the dark, he was perfectly capable of protecting you from it; and you knew he would.

A little piece that had broken in the Underground started to heal inside you at the unexpectedly soft and gentle action from Levi.

“It was a dream,” Levi suddenly said, voice a little gruff, but the intent to calm was still there.  “You really think anything dangerous would get past my watch?”

Indeed.  If there was any real threat, Levi wouldn’t let it waltz right in and harm you.  You were safe, which meant you could go back to sleep with the knowledge that there was nothing your night terrors could do to truly hurt you.

Relaxing substantially, you let out a shaky breath and attempted to settle back down to sleep.

*Levi’s POV*

Levi held his position until he felt and heard her starting to settle down, her heartbeat calming down, breathing evening out, and hand starting to go slack in his grip.  Satisfied with the results of his attempt to calm you down and get you back to sleep, and admittedly surprised at how easy it had been, Levi started to pull away to go back to his chair by the window.

Her grip tightened on his hand before he could pull away, and he looked back at her, surprised, since he was sure she was asleep, or at least practically asleep.

“Stay…” she mumbled, the words almost incoherent.

Levi stood there for a moment, debating.  He was supposed to be keeping watch, but he also didn’t want those nightmares coming back.  Did he comply and settle back down, or trust she wasn’t awake enough to tell and pull away?

Technically, with these new abilities of his, he could watch for trouble from this very spot considering he could hear any Titans approaching--or any kind of trouble, for that matter.

Had this been anyone else, hell no, he wouldn’t have even calmed her down the way he had.  But her...well, he’d cared about her before this garbage fire of a situation, and what he’d done to her had served to make him realize just how much he deeply cared.

So, for her, knowing she wanted and needed this…

Levi carefully sat back down, noticing that she did relax with his proximity and quickly slipped off to a deep and hopefully far more peaceful sleep.

Just to be safe, he kept her hand cradled carefully over his heart the entire night.

*Reader’s POV*

You woke up with the first rays of sunlight through the windows signaling the start of the next day, eyes crusted with a good night’s sleep.  Levi was already up and moving around, a breeze coming in from the open door Levi was standing in.  You sat up slowly, rubbing at your eyes and taking in the scene.  Levi was already covered up, his bloodied shirt buttoned up over the bandages once more, jacket and cravat back in place.  It was almost like yesterday had never happened.

Not that you had much time to dwell on such a thing.  If it was daybreak and the skies were clear, you needed to get up to the trees and fire the signals before the Scouts had a chance to get any further away from your position.

Levi turned when he heard you getting up, expression unreadable as his gaze swept over you with an examining air.  “You overslept.”

Looking at the amount of daylight, you knew you hadn’t slept in that much.  “Not terribly.”

“You said there was a signal you needed to fire before the main group pulls too far ahead.  You’ll want to do that now,” Levi told you.

Right, your ODM gear--it was next to the bed and ready for you.  Did Levi get it ready?  Had he set it up while you were still asleep instead of deciding to use it himself?  You were the one who knew the signals, so it wasn’t like he could have signaled them himself while you were asleep.

At his comment, you got off the bunk, pushing hair out of your eyes as you started putting the ODM gear on, a slight furrow on your face.  You wanted to get above the tree line, but you weren’t going to be able to fire the flares and operate the ODM gear at the same time, even if you did it one flare at a time.

Your gaze slid to Levi as your ODM gear clicked into place, and his eyebrows rose at the sheepish look you were giving him.  “What?”

“Its two signal flares at the same time, and I want to try and get those signals above the tree line, but it’s impossible while using the ODM gear, so--”

Levi let out a long-suffering sigh, reaching for the pouch at his side and pulling out his flare gun.  “I get it.”

“Green and purple flares.  Hange said she would make sure there were people keeping an eye out for our signal so they could find us.”  Your eyes lowered to his bloodied shirt in concern.  “How are you doing?”

Levi picked at his shirt with a displeased sigh, clearly wishing he had a change of clothes.  “Almost healed.  I’ll be in perfect shape by the time the formation passes through.”

Considering he was already agreeing, loading the purple flare into his gun, you assumed that meant he was well enough to be carried around in ODM gear.  He’d probably do the flying part himself if he was completely healed.  Those injuries probably didn’t feel good with the straps rubbing against them.

Gear in place, you loaded the green flare into your gun and handed it to Levi, stepping out the door onto the bare, no railing balcony that served as a landing platform for ODM users.  You craned your neck up to gauge how far away the treetops were, looking at Levi who was standing silently beside you.

“I’m just going to propel us above the tree line, and you fire before we head back down,” you told him.  Levi’s gaze flicked upwards to gauge for himself how high the two of you were going to go before it settled back on you.

“You confident you can bring us up and back down while holding onto me?” Levi asked seriously.  It was already difficult to fly around in ODM gear holding someone, so his question made sense.

“Well, even if I dropped you by accident, I’m sure you could catch yourself before you hit the ground with those new reflexes of yours.”

Levi snorted in derision.  “That’s reassuring.”

“Well there’s no point yapping about it--let’s just get it over with.  The sooner the better, like you said, right?” you said pointedly, pulling the controls into your hands and facing him with arms open.

He didn’t even need to give you the death glare that said ‘We will never speak of this to anyone,’ and you had the decency to hide your smile as he clambered into your arms, one of his arms hooked around your neck and both his hands keeping a firm grasp on the flare guns while you made sure you had a firm grip on him.  Once you were certain he wasn’t going to tumble out of your arms and you could still use the ODM gear, you kicked off the balcony, shooting one of the grapples into the trees.

Like last night, it was much different maneuvering while carrying someone, and far more difficult.  However, you grit your teeth and focused, able to feel Levi’s grip tighten slightly at your outward sign of concentration to do this.  Clearly, he didn’t want to get dropped.

A few more grapples and well-timed bursts of gas allowed you to slingshot the two of you out above the trees and into the clear air.  As your momentum slowed, Levi outstretched one arm to fire the purple shot, then angled the other as far from your head as he could without losing his grip considering you were starting to go down again and fired the green shot.

With the purple and green smoke trailing high in the air, you instinctively wrapped one of your arms around Levi as you started to fall, angling your body and firing another grapple into the trees, branches cutting at your face on the way down until you saw the safehouse again, grappling the two of you back to the safehouse.

As soon as your feet were steadily on the ground, Levi slipped out of your grip, heading inside without looking back at you.

“You’re bleeding.”

Your hand raised to your face to see if any of those branches had cut deeper than you’d thought, but you didn’t come away with any blood.  The bandage on your arm, though, was freshly red.

Shit.

You’d forgotten about your arm injury while carrying him.

Cursing your carelessness, you headed inside the safehouse, spotting Levi leaning partially out a window and looking out over the forest to give you the chance to change your bandages without the blood bothering him as much.

He must have been getting thirsty again, if all that blood you’d given him had somehow been used up faster while he healed.  Not that he was going to let you offer again, if he was up and walking around unimpaired again and you were both simply waiting to be recovered.  He would definitely wait until you were back behind the walls before he went looking for a drink, and it wasn’t going to be you he tapped into.

Once the bandage was carefully wrapped around your arm, Levi turned back into the room, walking over to the bunk opposite yours and sitting on its edge.

“If you’re going to be involved in all of this, there needs to be ground rules,” Levi suddenly said, gaze boring down on you with intense seriousness.  Your heart, however, leapt up in hopeful excitement.

“What are you thinking?” you asked hesitantly.  Surely whatever he asked of you for the ground rules, it would be worth him finally relenting and letting you help him.

“You stop pushing your idea to have me drink from you.  I don’t want to hear it again,” he said curtly.  That one you could have predicted, so you simply nodded your head.  “I don’t want you anywhere near the dangerous stuff if it can be helped.  Any experiments Hange conducts about my diet, anything that will include this hunger taking precedence, I don’t want you near it if it can be helped.  Don’t ever follow me when I go hunting again, either.”

Levi’s gaze was hard as flint, but you understood his motivations for these kinds of rules clearly.  With how much he was afraid to hurt you again, how drawn to your blood he seemed to be, he didn’t want you in any situation where he might bite you again if he lost control--not if it could be helped.  At least he was willing to negotiate under extraneous circumstances.

“I can agree to those terms,” you said with another small nod.  Levi looked away, finding dirt on his hands from where it had touched the edge of the bunk and brushing it away with disgust, getting to his feet again.

“I’ll tell Hange and Erwin when we’re behind the walls again.”

*Kenny’s POV*

Normally, Kenny didn’t bother himself much with what was going on in the Underground anymore.  He had far bigger things to concern himself with, far more important thinks.  Anything that might have brought him to the Underground these days had either died or left.

But, that didn’t mean there wasn’t the occasional occurrence that piqued his interest and was worth turning a few filth-covered rocks over in the darkest corners of the Underground.

Kenny had heard a rumor.  One he normally would have ignored, if it hadn’t been for one glaring detail that had rubbed him the wrong way.

Everyone with their ear to the ground and the properly placed contacts knew that there was a rash of killings happening in the Underground--more than usual, and done by the same person.  Of course, the Underground was the perfect place for fostering serial killers, as he should know.  It would have been passing information that Kenny eventually forgot if it hadn’t been for the nickname they were giving this guy.

The Ripper.

Give me a break...

That was supposed to be his moniker, one he’d earned from his earlier years and had transformed his name to legend.  Now some newbie was taking that badge out from under him.  He couldn’t have that, now, could he?  He had a reputation to maintain.

First thing’s first, he had to find the guy.  No one was really paying much attention to his victims, since they were mostly the low-level thugs and scum of the earth kind.

Kenny, however, knew how to look at a body and a crime scene and know what kind of a killer he was dealing with.  This guy’s targets already helped narrowed the kind of person he was dealing with, but he wasn’t settling on any stereotypes until he’d seen several of the bodies and got a real feel for how this guy killed.

That would be even more revealing than the targets, in his professional opinion.

One thing he’d been quick to find out, was that the official number wasn’t accurate, because all the bodies hadn’t been found.

For example--Kenny was currently in an abandoned house, crouching down beside the hole in the floor that served as a dump site for one of the many uncounted for victims.  After seeing that several of the counted bodies were in dark corners and back alleys that were rarely frequented, it wasn’t hard to deduce that there was at least some effort put into hiding some of these bodies.

But looking at this guy, it was clear that some of the worst were going to be the hardest to find.

The body was long dead and in a state of decay, but it was still clear that it had been soaked in blood and ripped into.  The head was almost torn off of the neck that had been ripped almost completely through in jagged, unclean tears, like something had bit into both sides in a manner more befitting a starving wolf.  The rest of the body, save a few bites along the lower neck where neck met shoulder, was left alone.  Judging by the state of the guy, this had to be one of the first.

Kenny frowned, looking over at the rug that had been hiding the hole, now rolled aside by Kenny to reveal the body beneath.  The wounds didn’t quite match the effort to hiding the body.  These wounds that were more befitting a mauling in the street of a rabid animal, yet they were contrasted by the intelligence of this body being so well hidden that the remains had only been found by someone looking for them.

Though he could definitely see how people might be tempted to dub him a ripper after seeing this sap and some of the found bodies.  Always going for the neck, usually ripping it right out…

A flash of white cut through the darkness as a thrill went through Kenny at the game of cat and mouse he already saw being set up in front of him.

This was going to be quite a show.

He was looking forward to the chase.

Next Part---->

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn​ @humanitys-hottestsoldier @whalerus​ @sunny-flo​

Investment Tags:  @regalillegal​ @cecldcecld​ @soft-levi-girl-blog @kitomashi @hurwen-calaeril @doragonraitoningu​

Vampire Levi Tags: @thesilencebeforeastorm @mysteriousmagicx @super-peace-fangirl​ @psychiccvampire

[curlymantis]

aaaa pls tell me stuff abt your ocs they're all so cool!! 🥺💚

Omg I finally finished answering this!!!!! 👀👀

Farcry 5: Zoë Seed!!

Omg that’s me 😏 she was an entomologist checking out the cool insects of Hope county and unfortunately for her she doesn’t believe in private property when it comes to discovering nature. One day chosen find her trespassing on John seeds property. They think she’s a spy for the resistance as she has a camera, binoculars etc. They take her to the main church (conveniently was a Sunday) once service is over shes handed over to the father and himself and John go through her camera. They only find insect pictures and omg wow she’s not a spy. She’s indoctrinated into the cult and ends up eventually becoming John’s right hand of god 😌🙏 sinners who happen to be an extra annoyance go to her where she makes them confess in whatever way possible. Or they die in the process, whoops 💅🏻 She’s polyamorous with all of the seed siblings including Faith cos like come on now let’s be real they all crave and need loving. However she’s married to John Seed because that baby boy is everything 😤❤️ She also likes to do cult posters and help write songs and sing them cos it’s fun as hell. She is closest with John and Faith Seed specifically out of the 4 Seeds. Other cultists are scared of her, or is it respect? Hmm who knows 😌 She also tortures sinners for fun and chases them around the forest making them as shit scared as possible. Oops 😏

The Magnus Archives: is my oc who is an Avatar of the eye and Rayn Porter is my oc who a avatar of the corruption. They both have the same last name as they are both the same person just if they had gone down different entity routes in their life. I’ll talk about Rose first! (I also have an avatar of the flesh and the vast but I haven’t worked on them yet or got them ‘fully fleshed out’ 😏

Rose Porter: avatar of the Eye, marked by the stranger, the spiral and the vast.

From an early age Rose always felt the need to watch people, to know, to understand. As she got older these feelings only became stronger and she begins to stalk people, not because she finds that person special for any particular reason they just happened to look to long at her and she saw them doing so. That just sets something off In her so now they must be followed, acknowledged, understood and scrutinised (me self projecting right into my ocs 😌). She found the Magnus institute one day as she started stalking Rosie. when she had seen the woman walking into a large glorious building she knew something was off, like the itching feeling you get, the feeling in your gut, the sensation of something important. She did not know what had over come her to walk in the building so quickly as that would ruin her chances of learning further about this person who dared make her feel so uncomfortable. But there she was. She was hired immediately of course as a librarian, then moving on the be an archival assistant, shocking to her. But obviously not to Elias Bouchard who knew just how useful her alignment to his almighty beholder. To say she had a crush on him would be an understatement. She can’t explain it. Some would call infatuation, some would call it chemistry, but smart ones say it’s because they are both devotees to the eye and she is in so much deeper than she has ever anticipated or even realises 👀

Rayn Porter: avatar of the corruption, marked by the flesh, the lonely and the stranger.

Rayn despises people (same queen 🙄) they put animals on a higher level of respect than humans. The corruption took ahold of them as a young child, they would always follow and play with cockroaches as a child. However their mother was to say the least an unempathetic, transphobic and cruel woman to say the least. Rayn was raised in a household full of scrutiny, hate and fear. Because of this had very little friends as the only social interaction they knew was their bitch ass mother they turned to the ‘pests’ of their home. Whether these were the slugs and snails in the basement of their home, or they were the cockroaches, house centipedes and rats that dwelled in their attic. They loved and appreciated them all, but their was still something deeper to it. A deep rot had started to form in Rayn and they hated their mother and family. They hated them for how they had cast them aside for not being female, they hated them for all the mistreatment they had faced as a child. The rot started small, a odd old smell that started to lurk around Rayn. Eventually others would notice the smell but would shrug it off as the smell would soon be covered by the smell of Rayns chain smoking. Then one day Rayn was staring in mirror poking at their face and squeezing. They found a sore on her face and squeezed it, pus comes out but something moves underneath. They squeeze harder and something wriggles forth, it’s a very small, juvenile cockroach, streaked slightly in something slimey. As you can imagine that fucked them up a bit, but they learnt to embrace it. Learnt to love that crawling away just underneath their skin are thousands of little legs connected to cockroach’s of many sizes. Sometimes if not managed roaches will find themselves sneaking out of nostrils, mouth and ears. Sometimes even out from behind her eyes. One way they feed the corruption is they set forth the filth at a selected location. All it takes is for them to place a cockroach down in a building and within a week there will be a infestation so strong causing the people in said building to be taken down with it. The Cockroaches will feed on those that they can over power and The Corruption always needs feeding... (Also just want to add cockroaches themselves aren’t actually dirty, they’re actually obsessive cleaners. the locations they live in are dirty)

Telltale Batman- Roz Traegers:

first encounter with John Doe (the eventually to be known Joker) was at the bar he frequented. They had never once seen him drink a drop of alcohol. He would order beer constantly for his alcoholic sure but never consume it himself. Aside from his alabaster white skin nothing about him seemed out of the ordinary to them. Well except the fact he liked to stare, a lot. You would constantly worry it’s because he was just judging you based on your appearance (a lot of people do) however John just likes to stare at people and found you interesting for some reason (cliches I know, but me and John Doe are basically the same person and I like to think he’d think I’m interesting). Roz has a great dislike towards the people John works with, they don’t appreciate how badly they treat him. Especially Harley. John is so obsessed with Harley and she treats him like absolute shit. Roz had a plan to get Harley arrested, however John found out and threatened to never speak to Roz again. Roz has a soft spot for Mr Freeze specifically from the gang also.

Vampyr: Rose Pine

works as an assistant to Camellia at the florist. Rose isn’t a very chatty person and has had quite a traumatic up bringing. Her mother, sister and father are all unfortunately deceased. Her father killed her mother, then sister, then Rose, then turned the knife on himself. Rose survived her injuries (hence the scar on her throat) and was put out into the adoption system. Roses father believed he had been doing his family a service by taking their lives before they could be claimed by Ekons. Roses father had been a vampire believer long before they had even breeched the city. Rose always waves hello to Jonathan Reid when she sees him galavanting around. He always waves back and occasionally they will exchange a conversation. One evening they exchange more than just brief chit chat when Jonathan is required to save her from a group of feral Skals. Rose is very badly injured from her encounter and Jonathan ends up having to change the sweet little florist he sees most evenings into a Ekon. Rose is also good friends with Charlotte Ashbury and Charlottes mother Elisabeth. I haven’t played Vampyr in a wee while, I want to get back into it soon so plan on adding more to her story.

Outlast: Rosie Porter

Rosie worked as a live in psychiatrist for those at mount massive asylum. She lives on the premises that way patient can be attended to at any time. Her experiences throughout life gives her empathy for those that are locked up, that the other guards and majority of other staff just don’t have. Rosie has always been able to empathise with those who would be considered ‘evil’ whether she empathised out of her own sick fascination or because of her heart hurting too much is another question. Rosies favourite patients are Eddie Gluskin and Chris Walker. She was hired after Jeremy Blaire forcibly admitted Chris Walker. Rosie is enamoured with Eddie and he knows it. Knows he has his little psychologist wrapped around his finger. However Eddie would be a hypocrite if he said he also wasn’t wrapped around her finger. Rosie is forcibly committed to the asylum by Jeremy Blaire they start Project Walrider on the patients. Rosie was against it and threatened to blow the whistle on the whole thing (dumb idea) and Jeremy uses her as the first female Walrider test subject. Rosie has engaged in an affair with her boss Jeremy Blaire when she first started working there. Due to their past ‘hands on’ relationship, Rosie is allowed more time with her patients and allowed to be alone with her patients. This has allowed for her to further her work with her patients, as they’re quite open when the know they aren’t being openly judged by the security staff.

Hannibal: Jessi Trees

is a forensic entomologist who works alongside Beverly, Jimmy and Brian analysing dead people n shit. Jessi first met Will Graham on the scene of a crime when they had both been called out. It was the mushroom killer from memory as the soil was packed with invertebrates filled with evidence. Will has just finished doing his whole ‘this is my design’ when Jessi walks up to him and stands quietly beside him, where they say: “These fuckers are filled with worms and I don’t know shit about worms” Will Graham turns and looks at them like what the fuck? Those are dead people. Jessi merely shrugs, smirks and walks off. Jessi can be described by a lot of people as ‘a cold person’ or ‘indifferent’ but passionate. They dehumanise the corpses they’re working with at that’s the only way they can get justice for them. If they get too caught up in all the sadness of it, they can’t move forward from it. Jessi has a crush on Will Graham and Beverly Katz. Jessi questions Will and Hannibals relationship quietly from the background but never really comments.

Bonus character!! Stardew Valley: Zoë

This bad ass came all the way from Zuzu city in need of a better and different life. They inherit their grandfathers old farm and get it up and running. The town is filled with wonderful, amazing people. But of course Zoë has to want to become close friends with the person who hates me everyone: Shane (they’re kindred spirits, Shane isn’t aware of this however because he seems to think he’s the only person who can suffer from substance abuse and sever depression haha.) Shane hates them of course until they keep harassing him and he reasilizes she’s a lot more screwed up than he was aware. Zoë is close friends with Shane (ends up marrying him one day), Linus (I would fucking die for him and anyone who’s cruel to him gets my foot in the butthole), Leah (they hang out frequently and like to paint in the forest together), Emily (I have a massive crush on Emily haha, she’s so similar to me it’s great), is also friends with Sam’s dad and Jodis husband Kent (Kent suffers from PTSD and I’ve developed a lot of my own techniques to help with my own PTSD so we help each other out. Also Jodi I’m stealing your husband, just kidding, unless). Zoë’s favourite animals on her farm are her blue chickens (raised by Shane) and her horse Aaron. Zoë’s favourite yearly event is the moonlight jellies festival!

[boogiewrites]

No. 9: The Body

Chapter Three

Characters: Diego Hargreeves & OFC Eve Corpuz

Summary: Diego confronts Eve about the strange events that have surrounded him when he’s with her. Will he find the answers he wants? 

Warnings/Tags: Angst. Talk of injury and past trauma. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT! If you’d like added to the tags, just let me know. This is a multi-chapter fic.

Finally, she had a day off, where she could indulge in the tiny bit of irresponsibility her life and career balance allowed. She’d prepped an ice bucket to allow for maximum laziness, shoving her wine bottle into it. She looked at the wine glass she’d sat out and wondered how long she was going to lie to herself and pretend she wasn’t going to be drinking straight from the bottle.  She had sweets, snacks, and a jug of water and she was ready to settle in and binge and stay up as late as she possibly could. She’d probably pass out around dawn then figure it out from there. She had no plans, no drinks with coworkers, no fitness classes, just a hot date with her comfy couch, and a heavy pile of blankets. 

She’d fulfilled a small portion of this goal, an hour or two into her ‘Scrubs’ marathon when there was a tapping on her window. 

“Oh, kitty! You’re back!” She says quickly sitting down her wine and rising from her cocoon on the couch. “You’ve been gone a few days I was getting worried about you with the snow. I kept some fish from my leftovers for you.” She coos as she makes her way to the window, unlatching it before turning on her light to show a large black figure. “You’re not a cat.” She states plainly. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Diego says with a sarcastic expression as she blinks and in her buzzed state processes this information.

“What are you doing here? You’re not due for another few weeks at least, right?” She asks, hand on the window sill still, not being raised fully. 

“No I uh… wanted to have you look at that wound again.”

“Oh is it-?” Her mind switches naturally to doctor mode, even if she wasn’t sober and wasn’t nearly as quick or graceful. “Come on in then, let me pause this.” She pushes the window up as he slinks in behind her and she fumbles with the remote. “What seems to be the problem?” She asks with her eyes on his covered torso and hands on her hips. He seemed to be moving fine. 

“Is this a bad time?” He asks seeing the food and wine bottle on the table.

“No, well… I’ve been drinking but I’m FINE.” She insists with a wave of her hand. “Sober enough to help you out at least. I was just watching tv.” She excuses herself.

“Well, I was making sure no one was here with you.”

“HA!” She laughs a bit louder than intended, then clears her throat. “Um, no, no one else here. There never is.” She chuckles. 

“What about the cat?”

“Oh! Well, I suppose he would count as having a man over.” She offers a warm, sleepy expression that gave away that she was a bit drunk. “Well I mean there’s you. But I don’t know if you count as having someone over since I’ve never invited you.” She makes herself chuckle. 

“You told me to come in just now didn’t you?” He teases. 

“Yeah but...you came through the window I don’t think that counts.”

“Window? Door? Both lead to the same place, what’s the big difference?” He asks sarcastically, he was a bit relieved she seemed in a good mood but was hoping she wasn’t a mean drunk if she got mad at the topic of discussion he had on the table tonight. 

“Societal expectations? Cultural… rules?” She offers and waves her hands. “Don’t make me think of words right now just- what do you need? What's wrong?” She moves towards him focusing herself up.

“The wound was a gunshot wound right? We pulled the slug out?”

“I pulled it out, but yes, go on.” she waits for him to raise his shirt as he talks. 

“I’ve noticed something weird when I come to you for help Doc.” He lifts it to show a recovered body. “These things keep healing... and fast. I need to know how you’re doing that because I’ve been losing sleep over it.” His tone was harsher and she felt the energy in the room shift. 

She leans forward to make sure she’s seeing clearly. They were healed. Pink scars over the newest and the wounds from over a month ago now we’re barely visible.

A bubble of acid rose in her throat as she stood back up, and it wasn’t from the drinking. 

He sees her body language change drastically. It’s like he’d hit her the way she slunk back to rest on the back of the couch. 

She takes a shaky breath to compose herself as a lifetime of fears and questions flood between her now glassy eyes. “I... don't know…” she forces out a whisper. 

“I think I deserve an explanation here.” He says taking a step towards her as she quickly wipes away a falling tear to hide it from him. 

“I don’t have one.” She begins to cry. The past trauma of being confronted and abused for the weird things that happened to her when she was young come at her as his intimidating body language moves closer. 

“I think you do…” still going with intimidation just in case she was faking. Hand ready to grab a knife if she flinched to attack.

“I don’t.” She shakes her head and covers her face in her hands. “I don’t mean to…” she sniffles and moves to teach for a tissue. “It’s just... a thing that happens sometimes and I don’t… I don’t know what... why…” she cries harder this time and his tension shifts. “I’m sorry I’m… I've just been able to get by hoping no one notices it and asks and now…” she motions towards him. “I don’t want it. I don’t want anyone to know, please.” She reaches out and takes his hand. “I don’t want to have to run again. Please.” She holds his forearm as she cries and boldly meets his eyes. 

“What do you mean run?”

“My mom she… I did weird things as a kid and she…made me so scared of it, of myself...of her.” 

“What’d you do?” He quietly asks. Now moving to put his hand over hers and felt her shaking. 

“Afew times when I’ve had traumatic things happen I’ve… had weird stuff happen. Brought animals back.” She uncomfortably rubs her arms. 

He was piecing it all together in his head. Her career choice made sense, an easy cover for her to just be good at her job and not have to address her abilities since she’d had such fear put into her about it. No father, uncontrolled powers during emotional outbursts. It was all adding up.

“Eve?” His voice was softer this time. “When’s your birthday?”

“My...birthday?” A confused brow appears as she looks up at him. 

“Yeah just...humor me.”

“Uh...okay?” She answers shakily. “October 1st-“

“‘89?” 

She nods. “How did you-?”

He sighs and puts a hand to her back and pats it supportively. “Eve. I think it’s about time we talked.”

Eve watched him curiously, his face seemed to pity her and she hadn’t expected it. He thought he’d either tell her she was full of shit and not believe her. That was her first assumption. The second was he’d kill her because he was an assassin to kill people like her. Some Men In Black type shit. And while she didn’t expect that theory to play out, the arrival of the third option of total acceptance was baffling her. 

“Why did y- how did you know?”

“Because it’s my birthday too.”

“Huh? What are you insinuating?” She wears her confusion unfiltered on her face as she looks up at him and rises from the spot on his chest. 

“Remember when I told you my name? What did you say about the kids in the 90s? The crime-fighting super powered ones…?” He winces. 

He sees the realization wash over her face.

“We all had the same birthday...October 1st, 1989. I was that Diego... I Am that kid….was that kid. right? I mean I’m a man now-pfft obviously-“

“You’re the fucking Kraken?” Was her loud response as she pushed away to look at his face. 

“Yeah…” he draws out the word and gives a nervous forced smile. “Or Number two… as Dad called us.”

“You...you’re…” she begins repeatedly as she fidgets her fingers in thought. She huffs out a nervous laugh suddenly. “Well, that would... make sense wouldn’t it?” She looked around the room as if it might hold some answers to her bewildering flow of thought. “I just... hold on.” She says with a head shake, the emotional rollercoaster sending her spinning and no longer the alcohol as she moved to fix that. “If I’m gonna deal with this level of shit I’m going to drink more. Because... fuck doing it sober.” She says as she leans to take a bottle of bourbon out of her cabinet and sit back on the couch before cracking it open and downing a large drink.

“You seriously didn’t know you had powers?”

“No! I just thought...I don’t know. I thought I was a good doctor? I guess?” he sighs and takes another shot. 

“You are but... I mean you… really didn’t notice?”

“It has rarely happened at work… and normally I don’t have much of a reason to try to heal people outside of work hours. Until you showed up.”

“So any other times you’ve used the powers?”

“Not at work. Or when I was a kid. I thought I must’ve grown out of it.”

“So..” he twitches his nose in thought, lips parted slightly. “Would that fall under “...occurrences at peak emotional environmental stress instances”?” He repeats back from lessons. 

“Yeah…” she groans and slumps against the couch looking away and shamelessly pouting because denial had been nice. “Fuck.” she shouts up at the ceiling. “I have fucking… “powers”? What the fuck is that even-? I’m not... this isn’t...Nah, it can’t-”

“Eve.” he sits down next to her and grabs her shoulder. “It’s fine.”

“How are you so calm?” she asks almost angrily. “Did you know other people had powers? Like what… how many of us are there? Was I supposed to be adopted? Do I get adopted now? I’m way too old to-“

“Woah. Breathe.” He demands as she begins talking a bit too fast. “I can only answer one at a time.” He extends a supportive raise of his brow. 

“So is there like... a book you can give me. “So you have super powers? A How-to In-depth Guide” by chance?”

“Nope. Just gotta fuck up a bunch trying to figure it out.”

“Oh, that’s just wonderful. I needed more stress in my life.”

He smiles and huffs out a quiet laugh. “So no one else knows?”

“No just… my mom…” she trails off and runs a hand through her hair, covering her almond-shaped eyes for a moment. “This...would explain so much and yet somehow I have even more questions.” She sits up and takes a good long look at her hands. “What’s your power again?” She whispers and turns to face him. 

“Trajectory manipulation mainly.”

“Oh right...yeah, duh the knives.” she hits her forehead and it makes him grin at her. “Sorry I’m a little... this is a lot.”

“Which is why I think we need to try something.” He announces as he stands.

“What?”

“Prove you have powers.” He says standing between her kitchen and living room. 

“I don’t… uh..”

“Every time you’ve used them you’ve been emotional right? A sudden trigger?”

“Yeah…”

“Then there’s the only way to find out.” He says as he quickly takes a knife and cuts his hand.

A loud protest from Eve as she jumped to her feet to react before she even had time to think about it. She took his hands into hers and pulled them to her chest and applied pressure. “You idiot! What are you thinking? There are plenty of other ways to find out!” She shouts as she feels the rush of emotions that come with this unstructured and sudden need for her skills. She’d been off the book when she’d been with him. She’d never had a man stumble to her apartment asking for help, this was something new and it’d made her feel a bit more alive. Like some energy tingling around her nerves inside. She felt the cool flush over her face as they stood close.

“No other way that would get you to react.”

“We really need to discuss your impulsiveness.”

“Focus. Focus on healing it.”

“How?’ I don’t-“

“Yes you do, c’mon. I believe in you.”

She met him with unsure eyes but did as he said. He would know best in this instance, wouldn’t he? If he believed in her, she supposed it was best to follow his lead and believe in him back. 

She holds it close and he feels his muscles twitch. The pain had ceased when she’d clasped him to her, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. She needed to know she could do it. And tough love was the only way he knew how to make powers work because that’s all he’d ever known. She focused and he soon felt a warm wave of contentment wash over him for a fleeting moment. 

“Was that you?” He asks her, her eyes still shut and brow concentrated.

“I…think so?” She says before looking down at his hands with a sigh before revealing them. “Okay,” she whispers before removing her hand where he cut himself. “Is it?” She begins softly, hands gently wiping the blood away. “Let’s wash it, come on.” She drags him steadily to the kitchen sink and there the answer was underneath. The cut was gone. “Holy shit.” She heavily exhales and lets his hand go. 

“That’s… good work.” He says moving his hand in and out of a fist. “Good as before.” He nods in approval as she leans against the counter in shock. “You okay? How ya feeling?”

“Tired.” She nods slowly and meets his gaze. “Shocked. And… hungry.”

“You wanna do something about any of those?” He offers, smiling at her and nudging his head towards the fridge.

“Yeah.” She nods and turns to splash her face with water. “Some real food. Uh, get the blue container and I’m gonna…” she looks around and makes a straight line for her water bottle. “Sit down.” She says to herself and takes a good long drink. He follows her orders and sits next to her, two forks stabbed into a plastic container of noodles. “Yeah, that…” she nods and smacks her lips. “Made me surprisingly tired.”

“That’s normal. Carb up here.” He moves the food to her lap and she doesn’t hesitate.

 After a big laborious bite, she shifts the container between them and offers him to join in. “So what now?”

“Whatever you want.” He shrugs.

“There’s not like some registry I have to get on is there?” 

He laughs in response and assures her there isn’t.

“Does using yours make you tired?” 

“Sometimes. If I have to do a lot at once. Like, stop an army’s worth of bullets in mid-air.”

“You’ve… done that?” her eyes stare unblinking. 

“Oh yeah.” He nods as if it was nothing. When in fact it was one of the harder things he’d ever done with his powers. 

“I want to be able to do that.” she looks at him pitifully. A touch adoringly. “Or whatever my equivalent is to that.”

“You can, you’ve just gotta practice.” She nods as she tries to envision a new future that involved this new knowledge of herself she’d gain. “Start with controlling the emotions. Then learn how you wield it without them.”

“So you don’t have to be, like, angry to throw knives you can just do it.”

“Right.” He smirks and throws a knife with little effort that curved and lands in her coffee table.

“Did you have to stab my coffee table?”

“It’s a casualty you’ll learn to deal with it”.

“I do at work already.” She frowns and takes the knife. 

“How’d you even become a doctor anyway? Were you so good at keeping people alive they just gave you a degree?”

She sputters out a laugh. ”I fucking wish.” The first big laugh he’d seen from her unfolds as she shakes her head not knowing whether to be insulted or not. “I was, am...naturally gifted for it it seems.”

“Isn’t it hard? How’d a girl like you manage to get into med school? You’ve made yourself sound like some little badass.”

“I was a badass.” She grins. “So much so that they threw my badass in jail.” She laughs. “You couldn’t tell my punk-ass nothing. I was a statistic waiting to happen. A young runaway, abusive home, repeat offender, all that shit.” She motions with her hands as she speaks. “But...there was a very tough but fair veterinarian that took me on to do some work for community service and all that. And I ended up being surprisingly good with the animals. She gave me more responsibility, I took it all on and got better. She gave me a chance to be somebody. To prove I was more than stat for the system, y’know. She told me I could do anything I wanted and she’d pay for my tuition. So I did. She got me into college and...here I am.”

“Why a Doctor?”

“To help people.” She shrugs. “As cliche as it is. Thought I was good at it, was told I was a good role model for kids that were like me”

“Yeah, you are.”

“No, I’m just some juiced up mutant with powers to heal. My career is a fraud.” She says only half-joking. 

“Power doesn’t make you good at math. Just ask my brother.” He kids with a smile. 

“Oh god, how many of you were there?”

“Seven.” He nods an answer. 

“And now there’s an 8th-“

“Ninth.” He corrects. “Yeah, there was another, uh person with powers we...met.”

“Oh. Are they a member of the...Uh…?” 

“Umbrella Acad-“

“Umbrella academy” she finishes. 

“No, they’re not.”

“So you don’t have to be?”

“No, but...she kinda disappeared so she couldn’t join.”

“Oh sorry.”

“Nah, it’s cool. No thang.” He badly jokes and he sees she’s already seen through him. “They wanted to leave. So it’s… fine.” He tries to dismiss the subject.

“So uhh…” she pauses and fights a yawn. “I’m really tired. Like, need to sleep right now tired. So…”

“Oh! Do you want me to? Yeah-You need some rest.” He awkwardly separates himself. 

“Before you go-“ she says, turning to face him by the window. “I don’t… want to do this alone.” She says with twiddling fingers. And I’d like your help.”

He nods, “I can help.” He assured her.

“So is there a way I can get ahold of you? A large spotlight  I can put on the roof perhaps?”

“Can’t make those jokes anymore since you’re one of us now.” He wags a finger her way.

“Actually I think that means I can make them all I want.” She grins. 

“I have a cell phone. Like a.. normal person.” He grumbles and takes it out. “What’s your number?” He puts her into his phone. Hers dings from the coffee table. “Problem solved.” He nods and slips it away. 

“I’ll... see you... soon?” She asks with a tilted head.

“Guess we’ll find out won’t we?” He gives a precocious smile and slips out the window silently.

“This mysterious bit is not as charming as you think it is.” She sass's back to an empty fire escape. But he heard her. And knew she wasn’t being entirely convincing.

@s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s​ @jaegeeeeer​ @diegos-butt​ @anglovesthis​ 

[feistypaants-archived]

Between The Pipes [Chapter 33]

Rating: M Words: 2860 Pairing: Kristanna Summary: When  a new owner takes over the Arendelle Ice Breakers, Kristoff isn’t sure  about his future with the team. That is, until a PR nightmare throws the  newest member of the media team, who also just so happens to be the  daughter of the new owner, right into his arms. Kristoff and Anna can’t  even stand the interviews they have to do together… how on earth are  they going to fix this mess? Hockey!AU.

[Chapter Index]

Where To Read: [AO3]

Notes: 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

Enjoy!

It was about ten days before Kristoff felt all of his symptoms had fully subsided. He had started going for jogs a couple of days ago, but anything more than that tended to bring the headache roaring back. So he continued to take it easy, go for a short jog in the morning, and only watch an hour of tapes per day. Anything longer than that hurt his head, too.

Anna had… not so slowly started moving her things in. She didn’t have much, but he told her to put her stuff wherever she wanted, that she could make this place as much hers as she wanted. And he genuinely meant it. His house had just been a house. He hadn’t put much thought into it beyond the comfort of his couch and bed. Decor was minimal, and everything was very much brown.

Maybe she could help him make it a home.

Her just being there already made it closer.

—

After four weeks, they broke her lease and she had officially moved in. They figured it would help her save some more in the long run, help her skate by for just a little longer, even if he told her over and over that she didn’t need to worry about money.

But Anna hadn’t wanted to start things out that way. She had some savings, and she could pay for things here and there, and she didn’t want him to feel like she was taking advantage. Kristoff assured her that he could never think that she was. But still, she insisted, and he told her that that was something he absolutely loved about her.

He had been able to start doing more normal exercises again. Working with the trainers was annoying, but there weren’t any headaches returning when he pushed himself like he used to. They told him if he could do this for a week without any symptoms popping up, he could get back on the ice. 

—

That week went by like a breeze, and Kristoff relished in the feel of crisp ice under his skates. There was no feeling better than being on the ice. He sighed with defeat as they told him they wanted to wait another week before they started firing pucks at him, but he grudgingly agreed. At least he was skating.

And then, even better, he got to come home and see Anna, her hair wrapped into a bun on top of her head as she sat with her knee to her chest, drawing in an almost full sketchbook, her tongue caught between her teeth. “Hi baby,” he smiled, his heart warming as she looked up at him and used the back of her hand to push hair from her eyes. He kissed her softly as he walked past, enjoying the pure domesticity of it all. “Have a good day?”

“Oh yes! I went to that cafe downtown that we like - you know, Oaken’s Mochas and Teas?” 

He always laughed at the name. So on the nose.

“And well, I noticed that they didn’t have any sort of logo or anything so… I don’t know. I just…” she blushed and spun around on the chair, dangling her legs off the side. “They know me and I figured what was the harm in asking - so I’m designing something for them now!”

His eyes widened and he took three steps forward to clear the gap between them, placing an enthusiastic kiss on her lips. “Anna, that’s so great.” 

“They’re paying me, too!” She was giggling against his mouth, and he couldn’t help but smile. “Remember how the last place wouldn’t pay? I took it because, you know, portfolio, but I offered for free, but they insisted.”

“I’m so proud of you, baby.”

Then her arms were around his neck and not letting go and she hummed low and slow, “how about you? Good day? Worn out?”

Oh. He was never too worn out for that.

He hoisted her up onto his hips, grinning like a madman as they moved backwards to his bedroom. Well, their bedroom. She never did sleep in the spare room.

—

He was growing slightly frustrated at the week-by-week status, but he knew this was his second head injury, and they wanted to be more careful this time around. But only progressing to the next step after a whole week was growing agonizing. At least he was doing non-contact now, grinning from ear to ear as he slapped each puck out of midair.

God it felt so fucking good to be back like this.

Anna had come with him today to spend some time with Honeymaren while they practiced, and he could hear her whooping from the stands. Every time he made a save, “that’s my baby!” Every time someone scored on him, “you’ll get it next time honey!”

It was the most endearing thing ever, as she jumped up and waved her hands in the air, as if it were an actual game. As if it weren’t just her in the stands, cheering him on during a practice.

God he loved her so much.

—

Finally they were letting him practice back in a regular jersey. No more no-contact. He was fortunate that goalies rarely got touched anyway, but now they guys weren’t holding back anymore. Slapshots and more risky wraparounds and pucks fired in a way that made him dive were becoming the norm again, and he felt so damn good with every puck he saved. 

Shot by shot, the rust was shaking off, and Kristoff felt ready to get back in a game. It was almost April, and he needed to be playoff ready. They had promised him he’d be back in by March 20th, which gave him a little under three weeks of in-game play before the playoffs started. They were so close to a playoff spot, and he knew that he could help them win it.

But he wouldn’t rush, and he was going to trust the physicians on staff, and take it slow. 

If for no other reason than Anna.

He knew she was worried about him getting back in. But they weren’t playing the Stallions yet - they had at least until the Eastern Conference, and by then he would undoubtedly be a one hundred percent. Plus, the guys had his back, and, he couldn’t help but laugh about it, Warren had been scratched for the rest of the season. Coach’s decision.

—

Right on the promised date, Kristoff was starting in net against Tampa, and the literal electricity in the arena had him amped up beyond belief. Their whole team was working together like a well oiled machine, and he hadn’t realized what a vital cog he was to the whole operation until he had been gone. Even if it had just been in practice, he already felt the connection, and he knew this game would be easily won.

Anna had threatened him with an indefinite withhold if he didn’t let her come on the roadie, so she was up in their box, undoubtedly screaming along to every play, and just knowing she was in the arena made his game that much better. 

They won, 5-2, and dog-piled in the middle of the arena as they clinched their playoff spot.

Fuck. This was still the best feeling in the world.

—

The rest of the season went by in a flash, and before they knew it, the Ice Breakers were facing New York in round one. It felt so easy now as they swept the round, and had extra days for recovery. 

The Stallions lost against Boston. 

It had been a weird moment, celebrating someone else’s loss, but Anna had come home with two bottles of champagne and they popped bottles and got a little drunk and Anna had taken him to bed and all right, he might be okay with celebrating another’s loss if it meant he got this. Plus, it was the team that almost took him out for the end of the season.

Yeah, he was okay with celebrating.

Philadelphia was a harder won match. They liked to play dirty. It went to game seven before they finally secured the win, and they all felt the tiring ache of it. Kristoff hated going to game seven - it meant they only had two days to recuperate before the next match started. 

But Anna had drawn him a hot bath, had snuck in to lay on his chest while he relaxed, and scratched her fingers against his chin as she waxed poetic about playoff beards and how maybe he should just keep it and then her hands sunk a little lower, and he was suddenly feeling a lot more prepared for the Conference finals.

He genuinely thought they might lose to Toronto. They lost the first two. Won the third. Lost the fourth, and if they didn’t win all three of the remaining games, they were out.

It was close. God it was so fucking close. 

Game seven. They were 3-3. Sudden death overtime. It looked like it might head into double overtime, with only eighteen seconds on the clock, but then --

Pederson scores! Ice Breakers win!!!! 

Thank fuck.

—

Anna was there for every game. Every win, every loss, she was there. And he knew he wasn’t being a good boyfriend right now, he knew that he was too focused on his career right now and this was what he had been so fucking concerned about from the beginning.

But after game two against Nashville, which they lost miserably, Kristoff was sulking on the couch watching tapes to figure out where they kept scoring on him, and Anna wrapped soft arms around his neck. 

“Hey,” she hummed, not even reacting to his short, irritated reply. “I just want you to know… How proud I am of you.”

That got his attention. 

“You had a really traumatic thing happen, and you bounced right back from it, and you’ve been playing so hard, and so well, and… There’s no fear, and that’s amazing.” He let one hand raise to her arm, stroking his thumb across her skin.

“I love you so much,” he muttered, tilting his head back to look up at her. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a bad boyfriend.”

“I know,” she smiled, placing one quick kiss against his lips. “And you haven’t. I can deal with your job being most important for two months of the year.”

“You love me still?”

“More every day.”

He felt more confident in game three. And four. And then they were up three to one, and only needed one more fucking win to win the whole damn thing. 

—

They were in Nashville and Anna was lamenting the fact that they didn’t have the time to actually see the city this week, and Kristoff pulled her close and told her if they won tonight they could stay here as long as she wanted and see everything she could possibly think of. She blushed and kissed him and told him that he better bring his A game, because she was holding him to it and would be horribly disappointed if they had to fly back home tonight.

That was an extra motivation.

They arrived at the arena early, amazed at the crowd already forming and the insane energy just surrounding the building. Playoff hockey was a whole other world, and he was so ecstatic that Anna was getting to experience it by his side. He kissed her deeply before she had to head up to the box and him to the locker room, with a quick squeeze of her bottom and a laugh.

“Hey!”

“It’s for luck!!”

Anna swatted at him but grinned as she followed Jelissa up the stairs to the visiting team’s box, laughing with the blonde about their stupid men and how on earth do we put up with them and Kristoff tuned out the rest before he heard something he didn’t want to. Then he turned his focus to the game.

“Men!” Sven hollered, his voice booming through the locker room. “This game is do or die. We’re ahead, but you better not let that cockiness mess with your game.”

Kristoff couldn’t help but smile. His best friend had perfectly honed his skill of making a speech lighthearted but also motivating. The team followed him into fire, and Kristoff had always admired him for it. When Sven wrapped it up and hopped down from his perch, Kristoff held out a hand, gripped his best friends’ and knocked their helmets together.

“Captain.”

“We win together or we die together, brother.”

Kristoff almost laughed at the drama of it all. “Calm down, Aragorn.”

Sven was silent for a moment. “When the fuck did you watch Lord of the Rings?”

“... Concussion recovery was rough.” He dropped Sven’s hand and smirked. “But it was actually pretty good.”

“Haven’t I been telling you for years that you would like it?” He smacked Kristoff upside the head and grinned. “Never listen to me, but the second you get a girlfriend…”

They heard the announcements starting, and moved out towards the runway. As always, they were last onto the ice, and as always, they fist bumped before they stepped out. He was as ready as he’d ever be. The timer counted down, they got into position.

Three.

Two.

One.

The puck hit the ice.

Period one had a rough start. 2-0 Nashville. But he was recalibrating, remembering what it was he kept missing. They got him on his glove side. They knew he was a little weaker, a little more hesitant with it after the injury.

But he could fix it.

Period two, nothing got by him, and the guys scored three times. 2-3 Ice Breakers. Thank god.

Period three, and the pressure is on. Nashville doesn’t want to lose, and the Ice Breakers don’t want to drag it out. They’ve played three long matches already. 

Nashville scores.

Ice Breakers score.

3-4.

4-4.

5-4.

5-5.

And then.

Carruthers, the kid they just brought up from the minors to fill in a gap from another injury, fucking scores with three seconds on the clock. His third game. His first NHL goal.

The fucking Stanley Cup game winning goal.

The whole team runs to center ice. The whole team dog piles on top of the kid, still silent and slack-jawed with shock, still not believing what just happened. 

“Fuck yeah!” 

“God damn it Ruthy!”

“How the fuck, kid!”

The incoherent screaming from the team didn’t drown out the booing from the crowd, but nothing would bring them down right now. Nothing could.

After their celebration, both teams basically let the three seconds run. Nashville knew nothing could be done, and the Ice Breakers weren’t about to let anything past them anyway. The buzzer rang and they all cheered again, whooping and hollering as they received the cup, went through the motions in the arena that wasn’t welcoming them. Then they ran down the runway, back to the locker room to find their family and friends waiting with enough champagne for every person in that room to have their own bottle.

Captain Sven Pederson had the pleasure of carrying the cup back with him. 

Music was blasting, everyone was screaming, champagne was already flying through the air and as the team started stripping some of their bulkier gear off, Mattias took to the stage. 

“I’ve never been more fucking proud of you boys. You rallied together and in just a few years, we’ve already risen so far beyond what people expected of this new little team in the middle of nowhere. I’m not going to make some big long speech,” Kristoff could see the tears in his eyes as he sniffled, and he let out a booming laugh as he looked around the room. “But you’ve all just… you’ve made me feel like a proud father.” He waved his hands in front of his face and shrugged. “But fuck my speech, let’s celebrate!”

And celebrate they did.

Bottles popped, beers were distributed, everyone drank way more than they should as Sven emptied at least 8 bottles of champagne directly into the cup and lifted it to pour into every players’ mouth. The man of the hour, Scotty Carruthers, was herded to the middle of the pack and drenched in champagne and beer before he had even fully finished processing what was happening.

After far too long, Kristoff found Anna, and she leapt immediately into his arms, placing sloppy peppered kisses all over his face. “I’m” kiss “so” kiss “fucking” kiss kiss “proud of you.” And then a hearty one on the mouth, as her hands pressed firm to either side of his jaw. 

Kristoff smiled with his fingers spread wide over her back as she threw her arms in the air to add more beer to the rain in the room. She laughed brightly, lowered her hands back to his shoulders, and gave him the best smile he had ever seen. “I love you so much.”

And then he thought that somehow that was worth more than the fucking Stanley Cup.

[arthurjdrake]

TIMING: The day after this. INVOLVED: @humanmoodring & @cryxmercy PLACE: White Crest ICU SUMMARY: Nadia & Mercy visit Arthur while he’s in hospital. TW: Hospitals, Medical Equipment, Needles, Injury Detail

Two days was enough for the effects of the isolation in the hospital to start showing. Arthur could be patient at the best of times, and while he knew it was completely understandable the concern and wariness the nurses and orderlies were taking regarding what was a very traumatic and serious case… He didn’t like being cooped up with barely any contact with the outside world, it was even worse not knowing where his friends were. Used to being able to solve such issues with just a few tears this was a grating experience to say the least. Eventually, Mercy had shown up looking just as bloodied and tattered as he felt and he felt a little of the knot of tension that had balled itself in his chest ease upon seeing her face. Of course she’d be fine. They hadn’t spoken since the morning after the wraith incident and… that little bombshell that had been dropped. But that hardly mattered in the grander scheme of things. But it just left him to worry about other people. “Think you could ask her to bring my phone and charger? And the bag in the hamper at the end of the bed? There’s a spare key in the birdhouse,” he asked the fury who had thankfully been able to get in contact with Nadia and a few other people to dissuade a little of his concerns.

The nurses had quickly learned that Mercy was an immovable object when it came to making her leave the unit. Though her own bloodied, half patched-up, distraught state - once she got away from the ER doctors that had tried to have her admitted when she’d initially shown up there looking for Arthur - along with her promise not to get in their way had swayed them. She’d looked a fright, she knew, spattered with gore and still in the clothes she’d been wearing when her mime had decided to shoot her. Twice. But she hardly cared about that. The nurses had been kind enough to give her a pair of surgical scrubs to wear when they realized she wasn’t leaving, and that’s what she still wore now, sitting in the chair by Arthur’s bed, texting Nadia.

“I already asked her for the phone and charger,” Mercy confirmed, but made sure to add the rest of what Arthur had asked for. “Got it. She’s also bringing those vials you gave her,” she told him quietly, glancing through the glass cubicle doors and the mostly drawn curtains to the nurse’s station. “Should have you out of here in a few days at most.” They couldn’t do it too fast, no matter how much Arthur wanted to leave, and no matter how much Mercy wanted him out of here as well. Healing too quickly could draw unwanted attention.

Nadia walked quickly into the hospital, bag over her shoulder and determination in her step. In her bag, she had the vials of Arthur’s tears, Arthur’s phone and charger, and a tupperware container with some leftovers of the dinner Ms. Carmody had made her the night before. The chicken parm wasn’t Nadia’s ma’s, but it was still damn good, and she didn’t know if Mercy had eaten. As for Arthur… she didn’t even know if Arthur was going to be awake, what kind of state he might be in, anything. She was worried and concerned and feeling more than a little guilty over all of this mime bullshit. When she told the front desk that she was there to see an Arthur Drake, the nurse looked both expectant and weary of a guest of Arthur’s. Even if she didn’t know her that well, Nadia could only assume that that was Mercy’s doing.

“Fuck,” she breathed out as she got to the room, taking in the battered Arthur and the blonde she would only assume was Mercy. Both of them looked like they’d been through hell and back. These mimes were fucking notes. “Looking good, boss,” she joked, heading over to Arthur’s bed. “Got your phone, and your charger. Cute, uh, tortoises, by the way.”

While Arthur felt as if he’d been steamrolled by a forty tonne truck, the nurses had thankfully decided the tubes were no longer necessary. Though he’d been left with an oxygen mask and a heart-rate monitor clipped to his finger. Occasionally the soft rhythmic beat permeated the otherwise quiet room when he’d slept which was mostly all he’d done for the duration save his brief encounter with Officer Hills. He hadn’t seen the stand-off between the staff and his ex-viking best friend but somehow she’d managed to be allowed to stay where most would’ve been ushered out. Though Arthur knew trying to get Mercy to do anything she didn’t want to do was like pushing a massive boulder uphill - it wasn’t gonna happen and likely would squash you in the process. You were better to let her sit and do her thing. “Alright,” he said with a grimace at the achy pain in his chest that came whenever he inhaled too deeply.

The soft exclamation from the door and greeting remark from Nadia drew forth a chuckle, that fast turned into a harsh cough and resulted in Arthur briefly pulling the mask up to his mouth with a wince in pain. His eyes pressed shut for a moment before he lowered the mask once more. “Look as good as I feel huh…” the fact she’d grabbed his stuff earned a faint smile and offer of his hand towards her own. “Ta, I owe you… They’re good company, and don’t… talk back--” he said with a glance at the other person in the room, but also seemed to remind him of something. “Frey, think you can keep them fed?”

Mercy was a bit sore from being shot - the yellow-purple bruises along her neck and shoulder spoke for themselves where they were visible - and a bit tired, but she’d been worse. The nurses had been kind enough to let her stay, and Mercy had been the picture of charm and helpfulness. Earning her a side-eye here and there from Arthur once he’d woken up. He looked better than he had the first night. The chest tubes were gone, there was no tube down his throat or up his nose. His vitals were in the green most of the time. He looked somewhat like her friend again, but Mercy couldn’t help but worry. Even though she hid it as well as she could. Part of which included trying not to hover. He would hate it, she knew.

But when he started to cough, she sat up a bit straighter, eyes moving to his monitors until they righted themselves. Only then did they drift to the young woman in the doorway who could only be Nadia. Mercy gave her a tired but warm smile, relaxing a bit as she caught up with Arthur. Though she tipped a baleful eyebrow at his comment when he glanced her way. But as for his request… “Are they as picky as you are?” Which meant of course she could.

“Oh, super great,” Nadia said reassuringly. “You look fantastic.” He wasn’t dead, which meant that he definitely looked fantastic. He certainly seemed more than uncomfortable, though. “I also brought you these.” She pulled out the vials of his tears. “I think you need them more than I do, champ.” God, he looked like hell. Worse than like hell; Felix had looked like hell when he’d been dragged off from the explosion, and he hadn’t really suffered any damage. Arthur looked like he’d died a bit and been brought back. Escaping death; he really was a phoenix. “Damn, Arthur. What happened?”

His coughing seemed to cause both her and Mercy to spring into action, alerting Nadia to check his vitals and make sure he was alright. They were still in ICU, after all, and that was never a good thing. Mercy seemed immediately concerned, making Nadia wonder how touch and go this whole situation was. If she was actually Mercy. Arthur had called her Frey, probably short for Freya, maybe? Maybe Mercy wasn’t her name. Nadia wasn’t too sure. She looked between the two of them, feeling Arthur’s discomfort and faint amusement and Mercy’s concern, both of them muted and harder to read than most humans. Well, Arthur wasn’t human at all… At the mention of feeding the tortoises, Nadia remembered the last few items in her bag. “Speaking of food, I know hospitals aren’t, like, the best at five star cuisine, so I brought some chicken parmesan. My, uh, neighbor made it, not me, so that’s how you know it actually taste good and isn’t just edible.”

“Good… GQ are my next visitors,” humour to somewhat mask the pain, as always Arthur found it easier to cope with situations that way. Not liking to worry people over his own well-being. When she offered the vials up he waved his hand a little “just one’ll do, you need them more.” He could make more of his own and he’d rather be secure in the knowledge Nadia had a stash of her own just in case. A small soft puff of air was exhaled as he wondered how best to explain, “uh… My mime-clone went full order 66 on me.” He grew quiet for a moment coughing again but not as severely as earlier though he was still limited to shallow breaths for the moment. “Whassit called?” he glanced over at Mercy “tension… thorax? Uh, some medical bullshit for fucker stabbed me and… uh collapsed my lung.” He didn’t mention the fact multiple people had said he was lucky to even survive it considering it was a time-critical condition the complications including haemodynamic instability, contralateral lung compression and eventual occlusion of the superior vena cava which all ultimately resulted in cardiac arrest. Collapsed lung sounded bad enough as it was.

Hovering would only further wind him up, and Arthur had been enough in his head over this as it was. Their glances didn’t go amiss but eventually the coughing subsided with another look of discomfort. “I hate this, and I’m not picky...” he griped under his breath, never the best patient to be laid up. Though the mention of actual food drew some interest to his expression, “oh you… You’re good. They tried giving me some… heinous stuff called bologna.” This was accompanied by an utterly distressed look, “how that’s a foodstuff I will never know.” So much for glaringly confirming Mercy’s remark about being picky.

“That’s Star Wars for the clownfucker tried to murder him,” Mercy told Nadia in a stage whisper just before Arthur started to cough again. She visibly frowned this time, noting how shallowly he was still breathing. If this kept up, the nurses would be in and they would do more fussing than Mercy had. Which would only irritate him further. “Tension pneumothorax,” Mercy supplied before getting up and casually moving to close the curtains. But not before she answered the nurse’s questioning look with a gesture that indicated Arthur needed a wee… but she would take care of it. They gave her a thumbs up and went back to charting.

Mercy closed the curtain - and the glass doors - before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a prepackaged needle and syringe that she’d nicked from the supply cart the nurses kept at their station. “I know you hate it, Ren,” Mercy said gently, touching his arm. “It won’t be much longer, now that Nadia’s saved the day.” She gave the younger woman a small smile of appreciation. “And you are picky,” she told Arthur. Mercy glanced at Nadia again. “He is.” She held her hand out for the vial of tears. Once it was given over, Mercy made quick work of flicking the roller on the IV line to set Arthur’s fluids moving just a bit faster, opening her needle and syringe - and after asking Arthur what a good starting dose would be - pulled up the tears and slowly injected them into one of the line ports (after sterilizing it with one of the alcohol pads she’d also knicked). She didn’t bother to explain how she knew what to do, which included hitting a button to mute the alarms on the vital sign monitor in case it went crazy, but then again, Mercy rarely explained herself unless asked directly. Sometimes not even then.

When the syringe was empty, Mercy capped the needle and the vial and tucked them safely away in her pocket before moving to stand next to Nadia. “Watch this…” Mercy said in a quiet - almost reverent - voice as the pheonix tears slowly entered Arthur’s bloodstream.

It wasn’t funny, but Nadia laughed a bit, all the same. “Star Wars, huh? Of course you’re into Star Wars, too, Professor Gandalf.” She still found it kind of funny that she’d thought he was a wizard, once upon a time. “I’m hardly running any risk of damage any time soon, Arthur,” she said, looking to Mercy and putting the remaining vials somewhere she knew the other woman could get them. “This is the first time I’ve left my apartment in days. I’ve been a bit… stressed about shit.” She wondered if she should mention the explosion at the restaurant, or the lack thereof, and how she feared that she might be the cause of him ending up in the hospital in the first place. “The mimes are no joke, though. Evil fuckers.”

She raised an eyebrow at Arthur’s bologna comment. “You’ve never eaten bologna? That was, like, a staple food in my house growing up. And peanut butter and jelly. I ate a lot of peanut butter and jelly.” It was funny to think of cultured, incredibly British Arthur Drake eating a bologna sandwich, though. “Well, the nerve of them for bringing you such bad food,” she said teasingly. “I hope you’ll find Ms. Carmody’s cooking a lot better.”

She watched curiously as Mercy went to work, fiddling with the hospital machinery in a way that made absolutely no sense. Then, she went about taking the vial of phoenix tears and injected them into Arthur’s blood. It was different, watching the tears work on someone else, seeing the effects show minutely on Arthur’s body. “I remember the feeling,” she murmured, thinking about the warmth and how the pain had, almost literally, melted away. “He saved my life with them, once.” A million and one years ago, when cursed chests and giant lobsters had been the biggest of her problems. Now, there were giant squids and friends getting possessed by unknown evils and mimes. So many mimes. How did mimes become the biggest evil in her life?

“Right, that.” He leaned back into the pillows that propped him up letting his eyes fall closed for just a moment as he heard Mercy get up, the sshick of the curtains and door shut. However, he opened his eyes after a moment when Nadia spoke “hey now, Star Wars was revolutionary. I was eighty five when the first one came out…” Arthur shook his head regardless, “one’ll do, you keep the rest… Also, don’t say shit like that in this town you’ll jinx it.” Who knew what might happen. Better to know she at least had a few of the vials handy. A small frown appeared on his features as he looked at her more intently, even in hospital Arthur was more worried about other people than himself “what’s been up? Other than…” he gestured in a vague motion that could be interpreted as everything. “You okay? Nothing hurt you right?”

After a moment his eyes returned to Mercy now that she’d come over to his bedside. “You know…” he remarked thoughtfully as Mercy started fiddling with the IV lines “s’about this time in like every TV show that it turns out you were the double agent all along, dramatic reveal level shit that enrages… everyone.” Arthur could have a habit of rambling, which when on drugs was apparently amplified.

But he huffed at talk of bologna, “oh I’ve eaten it. Disgusting stuff. And it’s jam, not jello.” With a resigned shake of his head Arthur’s mild bemusement settled into a softer expression. “But thank you, I appreciate the sentiment.”

It took a few moments for the IV to filter, but gradually Arthur felt the simmering heat seeping into his veins; a warmth that radiated through weary bones and bloomed new life into them like a sun rising over a spring orchid. Ounce by ounce colour began to filter back into his previously pale complexion, and he breathed easier than he had in the last forty-eight hours. It would take time for the full effects to be had but it was better. “Guess that debt’s repaid now, I save your life… You save mine huh?”

Mercy gave a small huff of amusement at the moniker. “You need to up your beard game a bit, Professor.” Her amusement turned to a look that said she agreed totally about the mimes. And that they should all die. Though Mercy wasn’t looking to go out on some headhunt at the moment. Or anytime soon. If she did anything, there would be planning involved. She wasn’t the only one that wanted those fuckers dead. Nadia did. Mercy gave her a surreptitious glance, hoping she wouldn’t mention the explosion to Arthur. And least not yet. Especially as he asked about Nadia’s well-being. Leave it to Arthur to worry more about others than himself. Even from the confines of an ICU cubicle.

His comment earned him a snort of laughter, and a sideways glance beneath a raised eyebrow. “You must’ve watched some really bad cop shows then. And I’ll have you know I haven’t been a double agent since…” Mercy made a thoughtful face. “When did the Cold War start? Meh… I don’t remember,” she shrugged casually, flicking the syringe to get out any air bubbles. “And you should also know that the only thing needed-” She injected the tears slowly. “- to enrage everyone in the room-” She finished and put the needle and vial away. “- is my mere presence. No double-cross needed.”

Her task finished, Mercy moved to stand beside Nadia, giving her a curious look as she mentioned Arthur saving her life. She wanted to ask, but perhaps another time. The tears slowly started to work their magic, and Mercy grew quiet as she watched the healthy pink flush move across Arthur’s skin. It was very much like watching a grey, foggy haze disappear beneath the warming rays of the sun. Mercy breathed easier as well, and some of the tension left her shoulders. She gave Nadia’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” she told her quietly just before Arthur spoke again.

“You were eighty-five…” Nadia trailed off, and for a moment, it was real, this thing she was having to wrap her head around. The man before her had lived lives, countless lives, and if Mercy, or Frey, or Frey, was the same or something similar (they both had that mutedness to them, that otherness that made them what Nadia was beginning to recognize as not human). It was weird to think about, to know it was real. She shook her head. “I’m not gonna get into anymore trouble before you get out of the hospital.” She gave Mercy a glance, hoping the other woman knew how serious she was. “Me? I’m all good, boss. Nothing big going on.” She did try to blow up a mime restaurant, but best to save that for when he wasn’t in the ICU. “I’ve just been trying to avoid the bull shit.”

“Cold War,” Nadia murmured. Welp, yep, Mercy was definitely something. She didn’t look like a day over thirty-five, and she was a double-agent in the Cold War? But she couldn’t be a phoenix, or she would have healed Arthur herself. She was something else. Nadia didn’t ask. “Yeah, that’s been over for awhile. I don’t think she qualifies for double-agent status anymore, Arthur. I hate to break it to you.”

Mercy was definitely right about him being picky. “Jelly, not jell o,” Nadia teased. “Trust me, wasn’t good enough to be called jam.”

Watching Arthur grow healthier was an incredible experience. But when he said their debt was repaid, Nadia just shook her head. “Nah, you got me a job, and you and Mercy both helped give me my life back. Which I should… explain to you. Eventually. But I still owe you, Arthur. For a lot of things.” As Mercy squeezed her arm, Nadia gave her a smile. “It’s no problem, seriously.” Quieter, so that Arthur couldn’t hear, she leaned in and said, “Keep the rest of the tears. He can give me more when he’s better.”

"Hey now, last I checked you liked my beard," Arthur muttered with an insolent roll of his eyes as if he couldn't believe what it was he was hearing. But as with everything it was in good humour. Though hearing Nadia trail off he glanced over to her, he'd seen that look before. Multiple times. He lightly nudged Freyja's hand dropping his voice briefly not sure what they could do to help ease the blow that came with really coming to terms that this was real "reality setting in..."

Though he frowned at Nadia's insistence of not getting hurt, "I'll worry if you don't have something. Take one... I won't need all these to get out of here..." his expression grew a tad more serious. "I'm not taking no for an answer."

"You're a really bad cop show," he grinched with a side-eye towards her while she worked. Having no qualms about poking the fury's pride just a little. It could be deadly, but Arthur liked to walk the line, always had. "For Odin's sake you two are no fun," his eyes flickered between Nadia and Freyja for a second shaking his head mournfully "what are we gonna do with you both?"

There was nothing quite like phoenix tears when it came to fixing up issues, the molten warmth seeming to melt away any and all pain that might previously have been present. "Like I said before... When you're ready. I'll be here to listen."

“I do like your beard,” Mercy said idly as she worked. She caught Nadia’s eye, giving her a small nod that said she believed her. What reason did Mercy have not to? Though she looked over as Arthur nudged her hand. Her eyebrows raised, and she glanced back at Nadia, who now had The Look. Mercy hummed, giving Arthur a look in return that said the girl was handling it rather well, all things considered.

“Has it been that long?” Mercy asked of the Cold War. “Fuck. It all starts to run together after… well. A few years,” she said, tone full of wry humor.

She was quiet as Arthur and Nadia talked, but snorted again when his comments once again turned to poking fun at her. “And you, sir… are high as a kite right now. So your opinion is null and void. But… I was a very good cop, I’ll have you know.” Mercy gave Nadia a small nudge with her elbow, nodding that she’d hold onto the rest of the tears, before giving her a smirk. “And a very good double agent. So I’m tons of fun.” Mercy moved to perch on the foot of Arthur’s bed. “And something tells me Nadia is too.” The Fury subtly tipped an eyebrow at the younger woman. Because blowing things up was fun, right? Not to mention whatever had caused her to need a new identity. Which Mercy would love to hear about one day. Though she agreed with Arthur that there was no need to tell anyone anything until Nadia was ready.

But until then, since they were all here, perhaps there were things Nadia would like to know. Or even needed to know. “In the consideration of current circumstances, is there anything you’d like to ask? Arthur’s obviously drugged into a talkative mood, and I’ll tell you pretty much anything you wanna know about myself. Unless I don’t want to, of course.” Her tone was mostly full of humor, but she was also serious. If Nadia had questions about Mercy or… anything else… she had earned an honest answer.

“Arthur, really, I’ll be fine,” Nadia said [meta: but she was not fine!]. “Besides, without you around to get me into trouble, I doubt I’ll need the tears,” she joked a bit, even though the reality was she tended to get into far more trouble when Arthur wasn’t around. Half the time, all they did was drink coffee and bemoan how little information there was in town about the town.

Looking between Mercy and Arthur, she had to laugh, just a bit. “I mean, the Cold War ended before I was born, so I’d say it’s definitely been more than a few years.” Her smile grew. “Oh, yeah, I’m tons of fun. Used to be considered the real life of the party. My old Shakespeare professor actually called me a “hoot and a half, possibly even two hoots.’ That’s how you know you’re considered a real party animal.

She turned thoughtful, for just a moment. She looked at Mercy. “You’re not like Arthur, not,” she made sure the curtains stayed closed and no nurses were around but still lowered her voice, “a phoenix. But… you two have known each other a very long time, haven’t you?” She knew, in the end, she’d tell them both about all of it, the possession, the criminal record, the empathy. She owed it to them for helping her, even if they didn’t know what for. She just didn’t know if this was the time or place for it.

“You don’t seem to understand that arguing isn’t going to work.” If anything could be said about Arthur it was that he certainly had a stubborn streak that when he set his mind on things they weren’t about to suddenly budge.

“Ah ah,” he waved his finger at Mercy’s statement seeming to find error in her choice of words that in his slightly distracted mind didn’t fit. “I’m actually right here in bed. And I’ll never be as high as a kite because I don’t even have wings. Just… useless feathers...” It was an eternal sore spot and really added insult to injury to have feathers and not even be able to use them. “Is this the old professor you said I was better than ‘cause I don’t wear tweed?” He blinked for a moment, a little more slow on the update than usual “I mean if you hoot any more than twice you’d be an owl...”

“A long time… Ha,” he snickered softly reaching out to poke Mercy softly in the ribs now that she’d settled on the edge of the bed. There was a fond affection in the action, as annoying as Arthur liked to be around Mercy - winding her up and pushing her buttons until he got a response that entertained him. “Hear that? We’ve… known each other a long time...” That said his smile grew a little more, a devious glimmer in his eyes seeming to have regained some of his strength with the infusion of tears “ooh not like me no… She’s the hag that Deirdre woman always whines she gets mistaken for online.”

“At least you’ve got feathers. I don’t even have that,” Mercy groused. Not having real wings was one of several things she was eternally salty about. “And you were a pilot, so you’ve actually been higher than a kite. If you wanna be specific.” But she couldn’t help the grin that spread over her face at his comments. Arthur could be quite funny, though oftentimes he didn’t even mean to be. Which to Mercy was even funnier. She turned to Nadia and gave the girl a nod as she speculated on her and Arthur. But before she could answer, she was being poked in her ribs. She dipped away with a small squeaking sound, swiping half-heartedly at his hand. “We have, yes,” she laughed. But it turned to a look of mock (mostly) insult as Arthur called her a hag. “Oi! You better take that back. Unless you want that old Civil War nurse with the mustache to come give you a bed bath.”

She glanced at Nadia. “I’m not a phoenix. I’m what’s called a Fury. A Valkyrie, to be precise. I was born human… and somewhere around my… 35th or 36th summer… I became what I am now. So Bird Boy and I have known each other since we were children. Give or take…. Oh… 1200 years or so?”

“No, arguing’s not going to work at all,” Nadia told Arthur with a bright smile. He might have age on her, but Nadia had been stubborn from the day she was born. Arthur struck her as more of a mild-mannered type unless pushed.

She laughed at Mercy and Arthur’s antics. Yes, he was certainly high right now. Relaxed and easy going and yet still so grumpy. It was funny to see. She wondered what he’d be like on weed. “I take it feathers and wings are a bit of a sore subject,” she asked. For both of them apparently. “And, yes, the very same professor. He was one of my favorites, despite the tweed.” Any other time, and she might have made an owl joke, but she was too busy trying not to laugh at Mercy and Arthur poking fun at each other. They were cute together. She did perk up at the mention of the hags Deirdre went on about. Irish mythology was something she knew relatively well. “Right, a bean-nighe. Washer women.”

Nadia also knew her Norse mythology, and she grinned widely at the mention of Valkyrie. “Really? That’s incredible! Like, one of Odin’s handmaidens! Well, obviously, like, a little different than that because you’re not a spirit and you said you were human before that. That’s so fucking cool, holy shit.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed in response to Nadia’s words, a silent stand-off occuring in the moments that followed. “I’m not taking them, because I can make my own batch now. You’re going to keep them. That’s that.” If Arthur chose to dig his heels in then there was little that could be done about it, but it was admirable for Nadia to try. Mild-mannered he might very well be, but there was a bull-headedness that could often come on out of the blue when it came to situations he didn’t agree with. And he didn’t agree with Nadia giving up her stock just to get him out of hospital faster regardless of how much he might want to get out.

“Semantics.” he flapped his hand vaguely, “that was in the 40s it doesn’t count.” Nadia’s mention of feathers though earned a sour look, that his mind naturally amplified his thoughts on the matter. Typically he wouldn’t be so liberal with his point of view on the matter, but apparently there was a lot to say on the topic. “The feathers are ridiculous, it’s a joke. This whole… thing, is a big bad joke. Cosmic level joke. A thousand years of bird bones and no flying. I don’t even get wings but I get the hollow bones that exist to allow for it? Pointless. Fucking pointless. Who thought oh yeah, let’s combine immortal life cycles, fire, instant death, broken bones and occasional feathers that don’t do shit? Can I not get one more perk to balance the death stuff?! I mean flight is the whole point of birds! They fly!” Gods he was so bitter about that. He side-eyed Mercy at her mild threat, “low blow, and you know that’d actually kill me. But sure, go ahead.” Bluff called. He knew she never would.

“A part of me wants someone to send her Hercules.” He was more interested in what Nadia had to add to the conversation, something that resulted in a hearty laugh and slight wince by far less so by comparison to earlier. He laughed until there were a couple of tears he had to wipe away, “oh by the Gods, handmaid! Hey handmaid get me… Get me a drink.”

Mercy gave Nadia a subtle shake of her head and a grin that said it was best just to let the argument lie. They’d sort it once Arthur was asleep later on. But that didn’t make it any less amusing to watch the two go back and forth. “Feathers not so much for me… since I’ve seen how much pinfeathers itch when they come in…” She gave Arthur a small smirk. “-but wings…” Mercy nodded. “Yeah. You could say that.”

Arthur chose that moment to set off on a tangent, and Mercy just waited until he was done before adding her two cents. “First of all, they have this thing called dry shampoo, so try me…” Arthur was right, she wouldn’t, but she couldn’t help herself. “Second of all, you don’t get the entire trump card on cosmic jokes. Though… I agree with like… 99% of what you just rambled about.” Mercy turned to Nadia again, the girl’s comment on Mercy’s true nature making the Fury grin. “Thanks… it… has it’s perks.” But the look turned to one of mock insult as the word ‘handmaiden’ was thrown into the mix. “Whoa, whoa, whoa… I am not, nor have I ever been, a handmaiden.”

She gave Arthur A Look as he had a good laugh at her expense. Mercy didn’t mind, since it was good to see him laughing, though she did ask him if he was quite finished after a moment.

“Anyway… the whole reason I even chose this-” Mercy gestured to herself, still side-eyeing Arthur. “- in the first place was so I could make sure this grumpy gander got into Valhalla. Since he was always so set on the idea that he wouldn’t. Because that’s what Valkyrie’s do. We - or should I say they - choose the souls of the fallen that are worthy of entrance. But as it turns out, I’m not that sort of Valkyrie. I don’t have real wings, so I can’t fly. I don’t have the power to reap souls, let alone take them anywhere… and this one reincarnates.” Mercy gestured to Arthur. “So even if I could take him to Valhalla… it’s not like he needs me to.”

Nadia rolled her eyes at Arthur, but, seeing Mercy’s look, decided not to engage any further. “Whatever you say, bird boss.” She gave him a wide grin, attempting to keep her facial features school to just a bit too innocent.

“I suppose it’s a bit of give and take,” Nadia murmured, thinking about what she knew about phoenixes, both what she’d read and what Arthur told her. “You get reincarnation, the whole rising from the ashes bit, and you get tears that can cure wounds, even life threatening wounds from giant lobsters. There’s got to be downsides to it, unfortunately. Hollowed bones and feathers without fight seems to be those downsides.”

At the handmaiden comments, Nadia ran her fingers through her hair, a bit embarrassed. “Right, shit, sorry. Not a handmaiden. I, uh, only know what I know about half this shit from books. But valkyries. Wicked cool, dude.” Serious fucking cool. If there was one thing Nadia had always loved in college, it had been sagas and mythology about the Scandinavian culture. To be standing here, with these two people that lived through it… It was incredible. “You chose it? That’s, like, a thing that you can choose?” Fucking incredible. She looked over to Arthur, one of the kindest, bravest people she’d ever met. “You’d have made it in, I think.” She looked back at Mercy. “It’s fascinating how much of it is different from what I know is in the sagas than what you actually are.”

“It’ll be any time now,” he mumbled briefly glancing up to his hairline. “I’ll have to get my hats out.” It was a righteous and painful mess if you tried to pluck them too early. Blood everywhere. Not something Arthur wanted to deal with, so he found ways to work around the issue. Mostly the solution came in the form of hats.

“That’s the same thing,” he circled his hand in reference to her first two points, “the downsides aren’t even the antithesis of the perks.” Sometimes tangents simply couldn’t be helped, but he was far more taken and entertained by the handmaiden comment. “Hoooo boy,” that look could bring a man to his knees, but Arthur only took the glower in his stride. She’d killed people for less. “Such a handmaiden.”

He grew quiet as Mercy told a fraction of her story, his eyes drifting closed enough that it might seem like he’d drifted off if not for the monitors staying steady. Even now, listening attentively to the conversation at hand though as she wrapped up he opened his eyes and it was his turn to side-eye her. “Well, the criteria was to be honourable, a warrior, take perilous sea-faring voyages to distant lands, die gloriously for the Valfather and I can’t do three out of four of those…” His brow furrowed a fraction, as he held up four and then three fingers. “It didn’t say chop trees, build boats, make people better and stay at home when everyone else went off to battle.” If anything people tended to not be all that appreciative of being healed because it meant they couldn’t go to the eternal halls should they be injured in battle. “Always need you, don’t be ridiculous,” he grumbled softly half-heartedly reaching to punch her arm with affectionate familiarity. “I also didn’t know the full details about reincarnation, alright?”

Mercy could only hum as Nadia surmised that all the good that came with being a Phoenix had to have a downside. Because despite her wing rebuttals, she was of the mind that Arthur had gotten the lion’s share of problematic addendums. Though she’d always found his pinfeathers adorable. “I’ll help you with them once they're in all the way,” she told him, giving his unruly hair a small fluff with her fingers. At Nadia’s look of embarrassment, Mercy gave her a small grin. “It’s alright. A lotta stories get things wrong. For instance, the goddess Freyja - who my mother named me after - had Valkyries too. She received half of those that fell in battle, and housed them in her heavenly field, Fólkvangr.” When Nadia asked about her choice, Mercy glanced at Arthur for a moment. “You can choose if it’s offered by one of us. Furies. Mine was offered to me by my maker… Another like myself…” A small frown passed across the Fury’s face, but was gone a moment later. “... and… I chose it.”

Mercy’s former mood returned, and she rolled her eyes playfully at Arthur. When he’d noted off his points, Mercy proceeded to make her own. “You’re probably the most honorable man I know, you’ve literally crossed the seas dozens of times… flown over them in a war… as a soldier, and you just survived getting pincushioned.” She held up her own fingers. “Without those boats, there would’ve been no battles or journeys across the sea for anyone…”

She knew she was fighting a losing battle. This had literally been a point of debate since they were children. Mercy had yet to win. Her countenance softened as he said he always needed her, and she gave up the debate after that, not wanting to tire him out. “Me too…” she told him quietly. “Maybe you should write a book about it then? Since it seems to be something the world is lacking.”

Nadia felt herself soften, watching Mercy and Arthur interact with each other. The care they felt, despite her not being able to feel the full extent of it, was great, something that was honest and real. The teasing, the eye rolls and soft glares, all of it was soft, laced with caring and love. Maybe not romantic love, not at the moment. Or maybe it was. Who was Nadia to say? But it was sweet. It was something that she envied, just a bit. The closest she’d ever gotten to a relationship like that… well, it was a long time ago. It didn’t feel like it, but it was a long time ago.

Mercy talking about Valkyries, Furies. It was fascinating. “I’d love to pick your brain,” Nadia told the other woman, “about anything, really. Both of you, actually. About living so long ago, living sagas that I’ve only read about.” She looked back at Arthur, a bit more serious. “And, I hate to talk about work while you’re in the hospital, but as soon as you’re back on your feet, we’re hitting the books. Are you teaching any summer courses? I’m hoping we can continue to utilize the college’s resources to investigate what’s going on around here.

There was little point in trying to get Arthur to agree to anything Mercy said, regardless of how logical and rational the arguments happened to be. He’d been set for this long, convinced in his mind that Valhalla and those tales weren’t something he was destined for. But he didn’t argue, the events of the last few days starting to catch up with him. “Maybe, not sure anyone would believe it… A nice story though hm? That’s all we are in the end… A story.”

Nadia’s request was met with a faint but present smile, tired but there despite everything. “Sure, next time… I’ll answer whatever you want to hear... “ In a way, it would be nice to talk to someone about it. It was one of his biggest pet peeves some of the misconceptions that tended to happen because of modern media. “I’ve got a couple of classes lined up, but my time will be pretty open otherwise… I didn’t want to take too much on in my first year here.” But the prospect of doing more research brought a brightness to his eyes, “sounds good. Might get Rio involved. The Archive would be pretty useful for learning more I think.”

Mercy knew what she felt for her friend, and nothing had ever been able to change that. But she wouldn’t speculate on Arthur’s feelings. Other than she knew he cared very deeply for her. It was all very complicated. But right now, it took a backseat to getting Arthur well and getting him home. “A very nice story,” she agreed, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“And anytime,” Mercy told Nadia, glancing at the younger woman. “Some things are… foggier than others. But the big things are still clear.” She glanced between Nadia and Arthur. “If you need some help with your marking, I don’t mind. I even promise not to leave condescending remarks in the margins.” Mercy tipped a brow at the mention of Rio. She’d met the kid before. When he’d tried to break into her archive. “If that doesn’t pan out for you… archive-wise, that is…” Mercy mentioned, gesturing vaguely, “... I might know a guy.”

“It’s as nice of a story as you choose to make it,” Nadia murmured. “You’re the writers, after all.” History, mythology, literature. Truth or fiction, she was learning that everything was just one big story for them to decide, as people, not just humans or supernaturals but people, how it proceeds. Perhaps there was some cosmic, divine force out there. Nadia believed there was. Maybe there wasn’t. Whatever the case, she believed in their own agency, their own ability to make choices and decisions. And stories like Arthur’s and Mercy’s… Those would be nice stories to hear.

Nadia laughed a little at Mercy’s words. “I’m certain that whatever you’ve got’s better than anything I’ve read.” She nodded, though, thinking about the best course of action for their research. “As many people helping as possible would be amazing. I’ve got an awful feeling that something big’s coming and… and I think we could use all the help we can get. My friend Alain also mentioned something about helping. This is more than just a two person job, though.”

“That’d be a Game of Thrones level shit then if it’s us writing them,” Arthur laughed quietly, folding a hand over his stomach already feeling better than he had done. The tears certainly had worked their magic. Everyone had their beliefs, Arthur certainly had his own. He’d seen things over the centuries that he could only explain as something far more cosmic than he might ever comprehend. Such as the Old Gods that he and Mercy occasionally referred to or invoked upon in times of need. Who could say what was real and what wasn’t in a world such as theirs?

Arthur gave Mercy a curious look as she mentioned something about an archive, that was the first he’d heard of it. “Then… get word. We’ll sort it out once I’m out of here then… The more people on this the better.” But for now, he needed time to recuperate his strength and after a moment he gave Nadia a tired smile. “Thank you for coming… I appreciate it.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Outside Influences ch.6

Note: In this chapter, Rus talks about what happened to him. It’s not terribly graphic and we know that he wasn’t raped. But he was assaulted, physically and sexually, and it was traumatic for him. I’ve been plastering this story with warnings from the beginning so this is just a reminder.

Tags:  Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Off-Screen Sexual Assault, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Aftermath of Violence, Pre-Spicyhoney, Blood and Injury, Injury Recovery, Aftermath of Sexual Assault, 

Please read the warnings on this one!!

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four I Chapter Five

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Read it here!

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Not wishing to startle Rus, Edge knocked lightly before he opened his bedroom door. Rus was awake, sitting up on the bed with an opened book in his lap, messily bundled up in the blankets. One corner was drawn up over his skull like a hood, casting his face in shadow, but it fell back when he looked up. His faint smile was nothing like the sharp grins Edge was accustomed to from Rus, softer and more genuine. Edge hesitated, one hand still on the doorknob, a helpless smile of his own touching the corners of his mouth. The sudden flutter in his soul at the sight of that smile told him far too much; that his brother was right and more than that, that Edge was an oblivious fool, because when had someone else’s smile ever drawn one from him in return? Had it ever? With the blackest of humor, Edge supposed it was best he realized it now as Red was vanishingly unlikely to mock him about his ignorance when his realization came at this price. Somewhat awkwardly, Rus held up the book. “sorry, i didn’t mean to mess around with your stuff. just wanted something to do with my hands.” It was one he’d borrowed, on puzzle theory, only waiting to be returned. “Considering that it’s your brother’s book, I hardly have room to complain.” Thoughtlessly said and Edge regretted mentioning Blue immediately as Rus winced. A subject change, then. “Would you like something else to eat?” That brought his faint smile back, charmingly soft, and, oh, he really was in deep, fuck his brother for always being right. “you really don’t have to try to keep feeding me. i know you guys don’t need another mouth to chew through your groceries.” Their supplies were less dire with the other ‘verses occasional contributions, reluctant as Edge was to accept them. But even if he’d be forced to consume rotting leftovers for a week until the next supply shipment, Edge would have offered. Seeing a flush of health return to the pallor of Rus’s skull was becoming a necessity. “Let me worry about that.” But Rus had a too-knowing look of his own, and he shook his head. “nah, i’m okay.” It was tempting to press, but past experience taught him that Rus would only dig in his heels harder if he did. “Then I would like to Check you, if you don’t mind.” Rus cringed a little but nodded. “go ahead.” It was a measure of trust, if only a small one. He still shivered as the Check washed over him. The results were promising; his magic levels were finally rising with the food and rest, and his bruises would fade, eventually. Physically, Rus was recovering. Unfortunately, his physical condition was all Edge could see. But the way he fidgeted, eye lights averted as he playing with the corner of the blanket spoke more of his mental state. “look, um, i think. i think i want to tell you what happened. i need to get it straight in my head. but. if i tell you, i need you to promise me you won’t do anything to them.” Edge’s brief flush of triumph was immediately doused. “They deserved to be punished.” “maybe. probably. i don’t care about that.” Rus looked up, their eye lights met and held, his gaze steady and determined. “i don’t want any lv in your soul on my account. before, i thought you helping me was about…i dunno. that it wasn’t about me, it was about you needing revenge when it wasn’t even yours to take. but it hasn’t been, you actually care that i’m okay. so, don’t go back that way. please.” “Rus—“ “promise me or i won’t tell.” And of course now would be the moment a shadow of Rus’s former challenging nature would return. The desire to punish was strong. The need to help Rus heal was stronger, to bring back if not their antagonism but that sharp confidence he’d always possessed. Perhaps they would return to the past days of sniping and insults, perhaps not, but if he wanted more from Rus than that, Edge couldn’t hurt him by denying him this. In the end, it needed to be about Rus and Edge already broke his trust once, telling Blue. Edge sighed heavily. "I promise." “do i need to check that your fingers aren’t crossed?” Two days ago that would have angered him, that Rus was doubting his word. Now he could hear the hint of teasing, see the tremulous way Rus smiled, the overbright shine of his eye lights. Silently, Edge held up his hands, fingers spread and that smile widened to a shaky laugh. “okay, okay, i believe you.” Rus’s smile faltered, faded. He closed the book, his eye lights falling from Edge’s to the cover. “um. i was at muffet’s, because you and my bro were doing your cooking thing. i’m good with the results, but hanging around listening to you two chop and bitch isn’t my idea of a good time.” Rus hesitated, each word slow and precise as he traced the geometric shapes on the book cover with one finger. ”i didn’t even know these guys, not all of them, anyway. this group from hotland who thought they were slumming in snowdin. one of them i’ve known for years, though. i thought he was my friend. i never thought he’d…hurt me.” The book jacket was wrinkling beneath his worrying finger. Carefully, Edge moved to sit on the side of the bed. Rus’s sockets widened in alarm, but Edge only sat, one hand extended, offering. Hesitantly, Rus took it and his hand was cool, the smooth bones catching against Edge’s scarred ones.   “they were staying at the inn. thought they were inviting me over for drinks, you know? maybe smoke a little weed. i didn’t realize they were hoping for—" Rus laughed, darkly, “i dunno. a gangbang?” He wiped a shaking hand down his face. “i like sex, i’m not ashamed of it. but nothing like that, i don’t even know why they thought i would….do you believe they offered me money? because i go home sometimes with someone after a couple drinks, they figured i was a prostitute or something. i’ve known him for years, he never once asked before, not once.” "i don’t think i even really understood at first, and when i did, i tried to leave. that was when he hit me. right in the face. i wasn’t expecting it, it hurt and i was bleeding and then he tried to—“ Rus’s sudden laugh was harsh, ugly. “but one nice thing about being a skeleton is you don't have to have anything for them to fuck. i wouldn't make anything and that's when he got nasty.” His grip on Edge’s hand tightened in increments until their bones were grinding together painfully. "i don't--it's a little blurry after that. i would've gotten out of there, but he hit me again and then he was sitting on me and someone was holding me down--" Rus shuddered. “maybe you don’t want to hear this.” “If you want to stop, I won’t press, but you can tell me.” And if it was taking every scrap of control he’d ever learned to keep his rage in check, Rus didn’t need to know. “i think he actually got off on hurting me. he…he didn’t...he couldn’t to me, but,” his voice was too-soft and ragged, breaking on every word. Edge’s imagination was already cruelly filling in the gaps, remembering what Red said about his shorts. Hurting him, yes, hurting him was the point and Edge had seen their kind before. In Underfell, they were almost always crazed with LV, coldly brutal and eager to cause the pain that they could no longer feel. That they could exist in Underswap, could be this way with no LV at all, was horrific, obscene. Monster souls were not made to be capable of this. A droplet of warm wetness fell on their joined hands, another, Rus’s voice thickened and clotted. “i couldn’t think, all i could do was beg him to stop. the first chance i had to shortcut, i did. but i didn’t…i didn’t fight, didn’t even try to yell. the dogi were right downstairs, i could have screamed for help, but all i could think was stop, that they needed to stop.” Another sniffle, Rus scrubbing hard at his face. “why am i so upset about this? it wasn’t that bad. i got a couple broken bones and some bruises, someone jerked off on me. it's my own fault, anyway—“ "No." "what?" Rus looked up in startled confusion. "No," Edge repeated. He hadn't interrupted anything from before, listened with useless rage kindled and burning, but he refused to hear that. "I will not sit here and listen to you say that any part of this was your fault, do you understand me? They hurt you, you’re allowed to be upset, you should be. None of this, none of it, is your fault.” “edge—” Rus whispered. His eye lights were wide, dampness glistening at his sockets, on his cheekbones. As Edge watched a single tear slipped down to be wiped impatiently away with a sleeve and it was in the same motion that Rus leaned in and kissed him. Softer this time, a tentative press of mouths. The anger was gone and Rus only tasted of salt and grief. Suddenly, Red’s caution made sense, sharpening into crystal clarity. Rus was offering, but his consent was compromised. Very carefully, he took hold of Rus’s shoulders and pushed him back. Fear lit suddenly in his wide sockets, but it was not fear of Edge. "Don't," Edge said, with as much gentleness as he could. Rus shuddered, trying to draw away, "i’m sorry." “No, don’t apologize.” Edge took back his hold on Rus’s hand, his grip gentle. The world had turned upside down even more than when he’d learned the other universes existed. In such a short time his own emotions were caught in tangle, a Gordian knot of anger, protectiveness, and slowly shaping desire. He could only imagine the state of Rus’s mind. “If you want to have sex with someone, I understand that. The need to be in control of your own body after what happened. But I can't be that person.” "yeah, i get it." But he was blinking too much, too hard, and his expression was too open, tainted with ill-hidden shame. "No, I don't think you do." Rus blinked as Edge gently touched his cheekbone. This close, he could see the faint shadow of a lingering bruise, traced it carefully with a sharp fingertip and his soul ached sorrowfully. "Rus, your body is your own. I'm more interested in your soul. You want something reaffirming and casual. That’s fine. But make no mistake, I am not casual. And if all you want is someone to make you feel safe, I’d give you that without strings attached.” Rus swallowed hard. “okay.” “Is it? You understand that I’m not saying no. I’m saying not right now, not like this.” “what if i don’t want casual, either?” Edge closed his sockets, exhaling slowly as he struggled for control. Distantly, he wondered at how such a soft whisper could bear the weight of those words. But when he opened them again, his voice was firm. “Then I think anything should wait until you find your feet again. Until we are both sure what you want isn’t just any protector available.” A light knock on the door had them both startling before Red opened it, peering through the crack, “bro.” “Yes?” Edge said, a touch impatiently. If his brother was testing that he’d kept his trousers on as requested, he’d seen enough. But Red’s eye lights flicked to Rus, raking over him, surely seeing more than Edge could; his brother always knew too much. “hey, honey bun. you need anything?” His brother’s attempt at gentle concern was almost touching. “cigarettes,” Rus grumbled and Red snorted. “nah, i’m okay.” “good. lemme talk to my bro for a mo’” Edge sighed irritably, but stood. Of course his brother would step in at exactly this moment, when it was the most inconvenient. Or perhaps not the most; if he’d opened the door a moment earlier, during that kiss, it likely wouldn’t have ended well. His hackles were well and truly raised for Rus. “I’ll be right back,” Edge told him quietly. Rus only nodded. “yeah. it’s okay, i’m,” he took a slow breath, let it out, “i’m okay.” Their fingers were still entwined, reluctant to part. But his brother was watching and Edge finally drew away, stepping out the door and closing it behind him. “Not going to throw me down the stairs again?” Edge asked archly. His knees still ached and by tonight he’d likely have bruises of his own.

Red didn’t even have the grace to show an ounce of shame, only shrugged unapologetically and said, “nah, once is good enough for today.” That idle amusement faded as he added, more seriously, “the blueberry is sitting outside on our porch.” With a frown, Edge pulled out his phone. It was true, the cameras showed Blue’s back where he was sitting on the steps. “You left him outside?” Edge asked, grudgingly appreciative. He wasn’t in a particularly forgiving mood; he would keep his promise not to go after those who hurt Rus despite it burning like salt in a gouging wound, but he wasn’t about to allow his Blue to hurl more accusations. “he ain’t knocked. just sittin’ there,” Red shrugged. “thought you might want to see what he needs.” Involuntarily, Edge glanced at the bedroom door. Rus would almost certainly want to know his brother was here and yet, their last meeting hadn’t helped, at all. The memory of Rus sitting on the floor while Edge and Blue squabbled, his anguish over his brother’s words, decided him. “I’ll speak with him,” Edge said, curtly. Nothing Blue said was about to wound Edge and he could decide later whether to tell Rus his brother had stopped by.

His own brother had taught him well that the absence of information was not technically a lie and now seemed like the time to put Red’s teachings to good use.

Hopefully, it was the only one of his brother’s lessons that Edge would need.

~~*~~

Read Chapter 7

[whumpingwithirondad]

Okay okay so I was looking through old family photos and I found some of myself in the hospital when I was little and it got me thinking about all the possible whump of Peter being in the hospital from birth and pre-spider bite days to spider-Man days. Like Tony is full dad/irondad and worried/crying/scared and just yeah it’s injury in battle but also his asthma? Other possible stuff from different ages? Makes me want to draw because the possibilities are ENDLESS

There are so many routes to take this anon and it truly is endless, but also full of  whump and who doesn’t love that???

Now, first if we go the full dad route (like Tony being Peter’s biodad, right?) then we can go from when Peter was a baby all the way to the bite and everything else after that. I’ll do a couple and then @irondadgroupie can add on

NICU

So beginning with Peter being a tiny premature baby and has to be in the NICU for a few weeks before he can go home. Tony was terrified of meeting his son for the first time but nothing prepared him for having to put on a gown, mask and gloves before he could even go into the room. Peter was in an incubator, wires and tubes surrounding his tiny little body. His hand was barely bigger than Tony’s thumb. Tony feels every breath of air leave his body as he sees Peter for the first time and completely and utterly falls in love. He never knew that he could love someone so much until he meets Peter. From the first day he sees Peter in the NICU, Tony is there every day watching as Peter slowly gets bigger and better. 

The day that Tony can finally hold him is a day full of tears. The nurse carefully lays Peter in his arms and all he can think is oh god he is so precious, he is so beautiful, he’s all mine i love you so much. so much. Thats when Peter blinks his eyes open and stares up at Tony and for the first time in a very long time Tony finally feels like everything is alright in the world. 

Tonsils

The second time that Peter is in the hospital is when he is five and he has to have his tonsils removed. Tony has Rhodey and Pepper with him along for the ride but really they are there to make sure Tony doesn’t go crazy as he waits for the surgery to get done. Peter’s still the tiniest little thing and the gown the nurses gave to Tony to dress his son up in is about two sizes too big on him but it was the smallest they had. Peter is actually relatively calm about the entire thing, only because he was promises a truck load of ice cream afterwards (you bet ur ass that’s actual the amount of ice cream Tony ordered to the house). 

Tony distracts Peter when they insert the IV and he holds Peter in his arms when the doctors give him the anesthesia. He feels his little boy go limp in his arms and Tony realizes that any second he’s going to be handing his entire world over to a group of strangers and for a second he thinks to just run out of the there and barricade Peter back at house where no one can take him away from Tony. But he knows that Peter needs this surgery (it was his third strep throat in over six months) therefore he reluctantly hands over his son but not until pressing about a million kisses to his face. 

Asthma Attack

When Peter was nine years old, Tony gets a call from the school telling him that Peter was just taken by ambulance to the nearby hospital after suffering an asthma attack during gym class. Tony feels like he’s about to pass out any second until he finally comes to it. He literally drops everything and without a moment of hesitation, gets in his suit and flies towards the hospital. 

Tony is immediately directed to Peter’s room and he rushes in. Peter’s sitting up on the bed, surrounded by doctors and nurses, an oxygen mask pressed against his mouth and nose. He can see how hard Peter’s chest is heaving up and down. His son’s face is pale, a drastic difference from his usually rosy bud cheeks and tears are running down his face. He can see the fear in Peter’s eyes and if Tony could, he would kill to get rid of that look this instant. 

Peter notices Tony and starts crying harder, holding his arms out for his dad. Tony rushes over, the staff making room for him, and wraps his son in his arms. He knows he needs to get Peter to calm down lest his breathing gets worse. He climbs onto the bed and pulls Peter onto his lap, helping to hold the mask against his face. He coos and rocks Peter in his arms, promising that everything was going to be and to relax. 

Other scenarios to expand on later: 

broken bone, allergic reaction, another type of surgery/procedure, poisoning, assault, traumatic injury and etc., (feel free to send more in guys!)

-wordscorrupt

[avidfanficwriter]

Barbie (Chapter 11)

Chris Pine X Reader.

Summary: What started as a simple date ended as a failed romance. Or has it truly failed?

Warnings: Cursing, as per use.

Author’s note: Yes, i know, it’s been a long time. Writer's block hit me hard for this one but thank the gods, my mind sprung an idea!

Masterlist

Tags: @mitaputri0412 @wolflhards 

A few years ago

“Why do you think you have these feelings?” The question appears as if you’ve entered a dream sequence or a really lousy drug experience that creates this inability to feel oneself. The room is spinning and your body is spinning at two different speeds, two different directions. It is entirely fucked. It’s a dissociative state, you’re there, your body is but your mind isn’t. You can see but you can’t figure out where you are. Fucked. “Y/N, are you there?”

The question acts as a fishing line, reeling you back to reality but still managing to leave you dangling from the hook on full display. “What?”

“This is the fourth time in the last hour, you’ve been inattentive.” The man says as he checks his watch, his name ceases to come back to you. He’s nameless, his identity hidden beneath the layers of time loss. “Have you taken your medication today?”

“I don’t need medication.” The first real sentence you’ve spoken today.

“From the comprehensive review of your file, I think it would be wise if you did.” You’re lost. Physically and mentally, you don’t know where you are, what you’re doing or why you’re sitting on this scratchy green couch. “Y/N, you’ve suffered a traumatic experience most of which the details are sketchy also the reason you seem to have suffered a mental breakdown. In order to properly help you overcome these issues, I need you to be present.” 

Each word seems to hit harder than the last, pulling at your heart and only making it harder to concentrate. “Tell me about that night.”

The tick of the clock is beginning to create a headache, each noise seems to be heighten with the intent to create pain. “Nothing happened.”

There’s a sharp inhale of breath from the other body. “According to the report, you were brought to the emergency room with what resembled a case of domestic violence.” There’s a sound of shuffling paperwork before he speaks again, the voice is male. Definitely male. "The hospital staff noticed who they believed to be the person responsible enter the hospital and then barricaded himself in your hospital room, essentially holding you hostage."

You roll your eyes, it's unbelievable. It's completely false, as if someone was writing a book or playing a game of make-believe. "It sounds worse than it was." Not a denial but not the truth. It's got just enough to possibly satisfy him.

"Hmm... Which part has been an exaggeration? Being locked inside your hospital room with your abusive boyfriend who held a gun to your head or covered in bruises with your refusal to testify against him?" It's the kind of snarky comment that ends with a raised eyebrow and a satisfied look that says one thing: 'Ha, take that.'

"I have to go."

"You have been court ordered to attend a one-hour session that was productive, which you have not been. You are unable to leave until I am satisfied that we have had a conductive session." It's defeat. Complete and utter defeat. “Y/N, I know this is difficult and I don’t wish to make you stay here any longer than you need to be but you have to meet me halfway.” It sounds like a plea. He’s truly trying to work with you. "I know it doesn't seem like it but I'm trying to help you."

“It got out of hand." A partial truth. He doesn't respond. "Is there a such thing as craving the negativity?" The question changes the conversation but he's happy to oblige on the fact that you're finally speaking.

His brow arches as he begins tapping his pen on the cushion of the chair he's sitting in. "There are some people who feel comfortable in a negative environment, no matter how hectic or unsafe, there are those who seek it out. It’s familiar and to them all they know. Is that what you believe you do?"

You swallow hard, "No."

"Is Beau surrounded with negativity?" He ask, immediately making you regret you question.

"At times."

"Mmm... Was he surrounded with negativity when you were at the hospital?"

"Yes."

"If there is a negative aura that he emits, why are you so unwilling to rid yourself of him?" He questions and suddenly you have the urge to slap him. "I'm glad you're aware your in a negative situation but I want you to do something about it. Realizing the danger and hostility you’re in is only step one. Step two is doing something about it."

With every passing minute, you panic, you’re sitting in the living room with your eyes glued to the door. Waiting for him to return, he hasn’t called and it’s been an hour. He should have called by now. You tell yourself. What if he lied? If he just up and left? He could be the one getting rid of his apartment and leaving you instead.

Finally, you’re cell phone rings and his name lights up the screen, “Chris… you were supposed to call an hour ago.” You say quickly into the phone but you’re met with silence. “Chris? …Chris?”

You could have counted the hours before someone spoke and the first sound of someone breathing. “This is Dr. Luke Valdez at Good Samaritan Hospital, I found your number on Mr. Pine’s recent contacts list. There has been an accident.” Your heart stopped and now your body feels light, as if you’ll pass out any second. “Mr. Pine was in a car accident.”

You’re moving on auto-pilot, the pain in your foot is non-existent now as you gather your keys and phone before quickly heading out the door. By the time you make it to the hospital, your eyes are full of tears and your thinking the worst, he’s dead, but they can’t tell you that over the phone. He’s been killed. The fear doesn’t stop when you enter the hospital, the emergency room is full of tears, shouts of pain and panicked doctors shouting colors and ordering more test. It's chaotic and for a brief second you contemplate leaving.

“Can I help you?” A woman in a white coat asks, noticing the panic on your face. 

“Ye--yeah, I’m looking for Chris--Christopher Pine. He was brought in a while ago.”

She nods, walking over to the desk and glancing at the computer. “Oh, he’s right here. I’ll take you.” Each step you take feel worse than the last, it’s like an anxiety attack is beginning. You feel your arms slowly getting cold, your extremely aware of your breathing and you can’t focus on one thing. The lines on the floor are to overpowering, the sounds are morphing into one loud sound and suddenly the pain your foot is back with a vengeance. 

“He’s right here.” The woman says, pulling the privacy curtain back just enough to allow you entrance and closing.

“Jesus.” The harsh whisper pushes past your lips, involuntarily. Chris is sitting up in the bed, currently getting stitches in his head while a nurse wraps his right hand in a bandage. 

“Oh god, I told--” Chris looks at the doctor besides him. “I told you not to call anyone.” he smiles. “I’m fine.” 

“Fine? You’re covered in blood.” You say slowly walking towards the end of the bed, trying to reach out to touch only to change your mind. 

“It’s looks worse than it is.” he lets out a small groan in pain as the nurse sets his hand down. “But you, you shouldn’t be standing or even walking, come sit down.” 

The doctor finishes Chris’ head and explains his injuries and the medication he’s being prescribed for the pain.It’s doctor jumble and rather than listen all you can do is stare at Chris, he looks broken, worse than the night Beau got ahold of him. Covered in dried blood with pain in his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” You ask when the doctor leaves. He nods, sucking on his lower lip. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” He chuckles. “Come here.” He holds out his uninjured arm for you to sit next to him seeking comfort that will help not only him but you as well.  

There’s a slight feeling of fear that runs through your spine as you approach him, you sit next to him, trying to keep most of your weight away from him so he doesn't get hurt but he won't have it. Pain or no pain, he instantly pulls you into him, stifling a groan as he does.

Your eyes are tearing up and all you want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. This was your fault, if you hadn’t of been stubborn and hurt your foot; Chris never would have been on the road, the car never would have hit him and he wouldn’t be here looking like he just survived a round with Mike Tyson. 

 “What happen?” You finally crack out. 

“I was on the way to your place and this car in front of me lost control and hit me head on. I’m lucky I didn’t break my leg. Few stitches in my head, glass in my hand and busted face but I’m fine.” 

“God, Chris...” You sigh. 

“It’s fine.” He reaches his hands out, gently holding your face, forcing your swollen eyes to face him. “Relax, I’m fine, A little banged up. Just think about it this way, now it’s your turn to play doctor.” 

There was no stopping the fit of laughter you both break out into. “What happened to the other driver?” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” He says, bringing his hands down and rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Poor guy is probably more upset about his car than anything.” 

“Why do you say that?”

“Guy had a nice green challenger.” He remarked, shaking his head. “That now has regular black paint on it thanks to my car.” 

You shake your head and scoff, “You could have died and you’re talking about a car.” 

“It was a nice car.” As Chris lays his head on your shoulder, gently resting his eyes.

You don't know what comes over or why you brain decided this was your next comment. "So, I suppose this is a bad time to ask if you got my stuff?" Chris stifles a chuckle.

"No, the other car prevented me from achieving that goal." He responds in a low whisper, gently kissing your shoulder. "Just don't go to your place, okay? When I get out of here, I'll go. My card is in my wallet, whatever you need just buy it brand new."

There goes your independency, not only were you seeking refugee in his house but now he was giving his credit card to support you. You had jumped fifteen to twenty steps in terms of of your relationship, living together and financial responsibility. If it wasn't for the bruised man besides you, seeking your comfort, you'd probably be one step from freaking out. Too much was going on all at once but right now, it felt normal.

Just as your slumber starts to creep in, the startling realization hits you. 'Nice green Challenger.' A green Challenger hit Chris head on in the middle of the night, a green Challenger like the one Beau owned.

[jcmorgenstern]

oh hell yes! do 9 for jonathan/simon (vampire kink! vampire kink! vampire kink!)?

9. Bloodplay. hooo boy well. that sure happened. in spades. @elektra-natchioss​ it finally happened.

Vague setup for plot: set in COLS, Simon goes in place of Clary because the Mark of Cain can blow anyone who messes with him to shit, Jace is out on an ~errand~ when Simon realizes he forgot to pack blood. Sebastian has an idea.

“No,” said Simon. “No, no, no—that’s Spanish for no, by the way—no, and no. Absolutely not. Categorically in no universe will that ever happen, and I say that taking into account the multiverse and string theory or whatever. Seriously, no freaking way.”

Clary’s weird demon brother sighed, kicking up his (unfairly) long legs onto the fancy glass coffee table. He wore his shoes indoors, which Simon’s upbringing in his mother’s and grandmother’s home could hardly begin to fathom. Still, the aforementioned shoes were also fancy and the pointed-toe kind that made his legs look even longer, especially in those slimming dress pants. Had Simon mentioned that was unfair? “Be my guest, starve yourself to death. I hear the last throes of death by blood starvation are the best—rattles, shakes, uncontrollable thirst for blood. Maybe you could even hold out until my angel brother returns and attack him like a wild animal. Would make a very good home video.”

He held up his phone, a slim black iPhone X, then put it down on the coffee table and relaxed back into the black leather couch with a distinctly superior air, bringing his glass of wine to his lips (Simon was starting to think he had a serious day-drinking problem). Simon stayed mutinously silent for a few moments, occasionally breaking his deliberate lack of eye contact to shoot a glare Sebastian’s way, then finally broke down when the silence—and Sebastian’s all-too-knowing gaze on his back—was too much.

“Fine, say I believe you and there’s really no blood donation places I can get blood at—which I really don’t, by the way. How can I know your blood won’t like…hurt me, or something? Maybe you just injected holy water, or something.” Simon wasn’t sure what the Mark of Cain’s policy on ingested poisons is—would he projectile shoot venom Sebastian’s way if he was poisoned? If so, he was definitely going to have to avoid that one. It sounded very traumatic. Unfortunately, the Mark didn’t really come with a user’s manual.

Sebastian looked bored, fingering the stem of his wine glass. Simon had to wonder if he’d been to the School For Really Pale Villains, or if it was a genuine affectation. “As I told you before, this is a very old, very Catholic district of Paris. The Jesuits slaughtered the vampires living here, destroying all but the lowest underbelly of vampire society. You won’t find any donated blood anywhere in the city, I’m afraid.” He took another slow, measured sip of wine. “As for my blood, you’ve already drank it. Surely a few sips more can’t hurt.”

“Yeah, and it tasted like shit. No offense,” Simon added quickly. Telling someone their blood tasted bad had to be rude, right? Especially when the bloodletting altercation in question…hadn’t exactly been pleasant. Still, it had tasted like battery acid, harsh and acrid, burning at Simon’s tongue. Definitely worse than the medication Simon had to take when he was eight, which up until that point he’d thought was the worst tasting thing in the world.

Sebastian lips turned down into a bemused smile, and before he even opened his mouth Simon knew he was being patronized. “You really don’t know? Blood only tastes like what it carries—hormones, vitamins, nutrients, toxins. Taking a bite out of someone in battle when the stress and aggression is high is going to be much different than biting in bed when…” His eyebrows raised, suggestively. “Well, you know.”

Simon did not, in fact, know this, mostly because he’d never fed on a live human (except that one time. and that other time. and okay it kind of happened a lot but always not his fault). Still, it made sense, even if the source was dubious. Moreover, he was curious how Sebastian knew so much about vampire feeding. Maybe he had a vampire friend. “Really?”

“Mmm hmm.” Sebastian was clearly enjoying telling him things he didn’t know, stretching out on the sofa like a very self-satisfied (and skinny) white cat sunbathing. “Come on, just a little sip. Maybe it’ll last you until Jace is back, and we can take the apartment anywhere your delicate little conscience wants to eat.”

He had a point. Surely a little sip couldn’t hurt when Simon had already chugged a fair bit of it, (never mind that was basically frat boy logic). Also, he was really freaking hungry. His stomach didn’t rumble anymore—which was good, because as a living human stomach Simon’s stomach tended to embarrass him by making loud noises at the most inopportune moments—but if it did, it would be rumbling now. Also, the mental image of throwing himself at Jace the second he opened the door was too humiliating to bear. Surely he’d make fun of Simon forever and a half.

“But what about Jace?” Simon asked. “Won’t he, like, start gushing blood too, what with the—” Simon bit down on the words creepy demon ritual bond and added, hurriedly, “Twinning thing.”

Sebastian gave a bored shrug. “He should feel a pinch when you bite, but not much more. We don’t share all our papercuts, you know. Just major injuries, or life-threatening ones. Besides, my blood replenishes faster than his does. He won’t notice a thing.”

“Fine. One sip.” Simon felt like he was giving in way too fast, but he’d always been bad at pretending to be above these things. Awkwardly, he took a stuttering step towards the couch, then faltered. Sebastian gave him a smug look and moved over so that the couch cushion he’d been on previously was free, patting it with a pale hand. Simon sat, trying not to let his apprehension show (and failing). He looked at Sebastian’s hand, trying his best to keep his fangs from snapping out at the sight of the tiny little veins pulsing in his wrist. “Um, should I—or—?”

Sebastian looked amused, pulling open his collar. Simon could feel the heat and smell of him rolling off him in waves, the fresh pulse of life just under the surface. Since when did he freaking talk that way, anyway? ‘Fresh pulse of life?’ Get a grip, Lewis. You’re not in Twilight erotica. Simon forced his thoughts away from Twilight erotica and back to Sebastian, who was now uncomfortably yet tantalizingly close. Simon could make out every single one of his extremely long, translucent lashes. His nose was weirdly sculpted, like he’d had plastic surgery. The thought of Clary’s weird demon brother having plastic surgery was too much and he snorted, just a little.

Sebastian looked annoyed. “Is there something funny?”

“Um, nothing,” Simon assured him, very quickly. “So, um, wrist or arm or…?”

“Don’t be silly.” The superior tone was back as quickly as Sebastian’s face had flashed its annoyance. “Blood fresh from the heart has more nutrients. Everyone knows that.” He moored his wine glass on the table and pulled back his collar, exposing the long, pale column of his neck. His voice was weirdly soft and his gaze unusually intense when he said, “This will sate you most.”

“Oh,” said Simon. Sate was definitely a normal word that normal people used in normal situations. “Right, yeah, um, totally not weird at all. Gotcha.” He rubbed his hands together, warming them up, then very very carefully put out a hand and laid it uncomfortably on Sebastian’s shoulder. It was warm, and deceptively thin, almost delicate. If he hadn’t seen Sebastian pick up Jace like he’d weighed nothing, he wouldn’t have thought him much stronger than himself—pre vampire glow-up.

Sebastian rolled his eyes and leaned in so that his pulse was just against Simon’s lips, so close Simon could feel his heartbeat against his mouth. It was a weird, electric feeling, and Simon found himself marveling at its slow, steady beat, like a metronome. (His own heart, for the record, was fluttering at breakneck speeds against his ribcage). His fangs slid out, a lot less painfully than usual, and Simon bit down, tentatively.

A sigh passed Sebastian’s lips and salty sweetness exploded into Simon’s mouth, like a kick to the face. He bit down, harder, savoring the blood rushing into his mouth. There was an edge to it that hadn’t been in Jace’s, like the strong sharpness of vodka, mixed with a strange undercurrent Simon couldn’t place, but it tasted good, nothing like the harsh metallic taste of before. He drank and drank, but it seemed no matter how much he got it still tasted so good, nothing like the microwaved bagged stuff he got at the Hunter’s Moon.

Dimly, he could feel Sebastian shift against him—without any urgency. Simon groaned internally, the way he did when he didn’t want to get out of bed. If Sebastian wanted him to stop, he’d stop, but he really didn’t want to.

A languid sound vibrated in his chest and belatedly Simon realized Sebastian had made it. Something between a sigh and a groan, a sound of–pleasure? Was he enjoying this? A curtain of fog lifted, Simon’s mind spinning out. He felt Sebastian’s hand bump his knee and—

“Holy shit are you—are you touching yourself?!” Simon could hear his own voice scale an octave as he jerked back, and hated it. So much for magical vampire ‘no voice cracks.’ “What the hell, dude?”

Sebastian smiled, in the least comforting display of human emotion known to man. His blood was trailing down his neck in dark, tantalizing rivulets, seeping into the crisp white of his dress shirt. No blood, not even arterial blood, was this dark. His gaze was waaay too intense and his voice shockingly husky when he said, “Please, daylighter. Don’t tell me no one has given you a full-course meal before.”

“Um,” said Simon. Apart from full-on admitting to Clary’s (weird) older brother that he was a virgin at 19 (awesome!) and hadn’t really done anything except one very unfortunate makeout session behind a shed when he was 15, he didn’t see any way out of his ignorance. Hadn’t Sebastian said something about physiology affecting how blood tastes? “No offense, dude, but usually when you’re like, eating a steak or whatever, you really hope it isn’t jacking it at the same time, you know?”

There was a ‘beating meat’ joke in there somewhere, but Simon didn’t trust his current presence of mind enough to find it.

Sebastian seemed unaffected by his protestations. “You’re not eating, you’re feeding—on a living, voluntary participant. A performance of two parts, if you will.” He leaned in, and Simon had to pull back at the smell of blood to keep from clamping onto his neck like a very handsome, dashing leech. He traced a finger down Simon’s chin, pulling back his fingertip with a droplet of his own blood. He sucked at the tip of his finger, and Simon’s stomach did a strange little flip he did not want to think about. “So if you don’t mind, you keep to performing your part, and I’ll perform mine.”

A large part of Simon’s brain was screaming to lick up the blood dribbling perilously close to Sebastian’s chest—when had his shirt come that far undone?—so he avoided that no-doubt perilous outcome and ducked in and bit down again, grabbing at Sebastian’s back for better purchase. Fresh blood welled in his mouth, the flavor more complex—notes of sweetness mixed with hints of bitterness. Simon did his best to ignore that Sebastian had hiked one leg up to the couch and was teasing his inner thigh with long fingers–probably good for piano playing, some remote part of him thought. His pulse had picked up, though still steady, beating out a slightly more staccato tempo, though his breath felt unsteady as it brushed hot against Simon’s cheek.

He really hoped Jace didn’t come back right then and find Simon with a mouthful of Sebastian’s blood, and Sebastian with his legs…like that. Simon was quite sure he’d die of embarrassment on the spot, Mark of Cain get fucked. He could just imagine Jace’s smirk right now. “My blood wasn’t enough for you, Lewis?” he’d say, probably flexing. “Really, I’m insulted. Also how come I didn’t get this treatment, too? Is there something you need to tell me about our relationship?”

Simon wasn’t at all sure what Clary saw in him, but he had also been pretty sure he wasn’t going to gorge himself on Sebastian’s blood, either, and that had been just about two minutes ago. Maybe Jace would grow on him. Some day. Even though he was technically dead, Simon wasn’t holding his breath.

Dimly, Simon could feel Sebastian shifting around him, and himself pressing into him. He could feel Sebastian’s heartbeat in his own chest, the sensation unnervingly familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, the rush of blood under his skin. Sebastian’s breath was coming fast and sharp, his pulse swift and sending sharp sparks of sweetness into his blood. Simon could feel that he was breathing hard with him, even if there was nowhere for the oxygen in his lungs to go, his whole body throbbing with the heady power of Sebastian’s blood. Far from sating him, the blood had awakened a deep hunger in him, like standing on the precipice hanging over a very long, dark drop.

Simon felt dizzy with it, chasing the sparks of sweetness, Sebastian’s soft sighs falling away into the addictive heat and richness of his blood. That undercurrent of bitterness was back, but instead of being gross it was incredible, a completeness and complexity that made his chest full and warm like a shot of vodka. (Raiding his mom’s liquor cabinet with Clary when they were kids had been a horrible idea). Greedily, Simon bit down harder and Sebastian groaned, his back arching—

Dazzling sweetness fizzled against his tongue, jolting him with an incredible rush. Sunlight sang in his veins, like the first time he’d felt the heat of sun’s touch on his skin after he thought he’d never see it again. Fireworks popped behind his eyelids as he gasped, wholly overwhelmed, against Sebastian’s neck. Sebastian’s taut spine went soft beneath him, his whole body pliable as clay, and Simon was unable to rid himself of the nagging thought that this was what jacking off furtively in the shower felt like, only like twenty times better.

Tentatively, Simon opened his eyes. Sebastian smiled up at him, looking very self-satisfied. He was slumped against the back of the couch, which Simon had pushed him up against. His eyes, normally inky-black and whippet-sharp, were looking soft, a bit hazy—probably with blood loss. Not for the first time, Simon was arrested by the the unnatural whiteness of his hair, like bleached bones. (Simon only knew what bleached bones looked like because he and Clary had once found one on the beach. They had both been very dissappointed to know it was not, in fact, a human bone, but a chicken’s). 

Then his gaze turned to Sebastian’s neck and chest and Simon yelped, nearly jerking backwards off the couch; only his vampire reflexes caught him from what would have been a very ungainly and embarrassing demise. Sebastian’s chest was slicked and smeared with blood, all the way to his stomach, his shirt soaked through with spreading darkness. Simon’s own shirt—an Ironman shirt he’d gotten off TeeSpring—was wet and sticky with blood. “Eww,” Simon whispered, pulling the wet shirt away from his skin. It flopped back onto his chest when he let it go, wet and now cold. “Ewwwww.”

“Don’t worry, you’re hardly the world’s first messy eater.” Sebastian’s voice was a bit slurred, his movements slightly sluggish when he reached for his wine glass and drained it off in a single gulp. He smiled, the way one might smile at a particularly lush piece of cheesecake at the Cheesecake Factory. “Feeling better?”

“Um, yeah, thanks.” Simon muttered, a bit shamefaced. Had he gotten blood on the couch? Could you even get blood out of leather? He was quite sure that was a question shadowhunters asked themselves all the time. “Sorry if I, uh, got carried away, or whatever.”

Sebastian gave an abrupt little laugh, turning his gaze up towards the ceiling. “Believe me, I like carried away.”

Simon was silent a moment, trying to formulate the question in his mind. Hey dude, not in the weird way, but did you orgasm and did I…taste it? Again, not in the weird way. “How….how did you do that?”

Sebastian’s lips pulled down into a droll smile, his head lolling Simon’s way on the couch cushion. “My, it really was your first time, wasn’t it?” Before Simon could blush and trip over himself to stammer out a million words, he added, “Perhaps I’ve been a bit dishonest. I’ve frequented many bleeder dens and, ah, perfected the technique.”

Simon knew what bleeder dens were, even if he’d never been to one. Great way to get tetanus, Jace had told him. Also very gross, very Count Dracula. Wouldn’t recommend. He could imagine Sebastian fitting right in, though. So, like a vampire sex club? Clay had asked, and Isabelle had laughed. Exactly like that. “The technique?”

“Orgasm makes the blood incredibly sweet,” Sebastian explained, as if Simon were an idiot. He gave a pointed look downward. “Though I must say you seem to have enjoyed it more than most.”

Simon had the urge to yank off the Seelie ring, lest Clary somehow hear any part of this conversation. It occurred to him he should have done that ages ago, like maybe before the messy blood orgy for two started. How did those things even work, anyway? Yet another thing that didn’t come with an operator’s manual.(Simon was a very firm believer in reading the manual. Clary, by contrast, preferred to play board games without reading the rules).“Oh, um, that’s weird—”

“Don’t worry, I enjoyed it too.” Sebastian leaned in, pressing a paralyzingly light kiss to Simon’s cheek. His hand went automatically to the spot, even as his soul recoiled in horror. Clary had not actually stipulated don’t make out with my evil demon brother, but Simon was pretty sure that was on the unspoken list of friend rules. like maybe at the very top, highlighted in neon, and flashing with a few sirens going off.

He also really kind of wanted to make out with Clary’s evil demon brother. The thought made him despair.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Sebastian told him with a lingering look, standing up with impressive grace for someone who was currently wearing a whole lot of his own blood as a fashion statement. “I suggest you change your shirt, lest my brother return and think you’ve taken to cannibalism. Maybe rest an hour or so, and then I’ll be ready again.” To Simon’s raised eyebrows and wide eyes, he said, with a glimmer of a dark wink, “The femoral artery is a real treat, for both of us. You’ll love it, I promise.”

[thelastspeecher]

Bad Hands

I’ve actually had an idea for this scene for a couple days now, and just got around to writing it out.  Those of you who like my Amnesiac Stansort AU, here’s “Jonah” at the doctor’s appointment the McGuckets take him to to figure out the extent of his injuries.

              The door opened.  Jonah’s head jerked up.  It was the doctor that the McGuckets had insisted on taking him to see.  The doctor said something in Lironian.

              “He has the results,” Angie translated dutifully.  Jonah smiled weakly at her.

              I’m glad she’s here.  She was sitting in a chair next to him, while her mother stood by the door.  Their jobs were twofold: to translate for Jonah and provide moral support when the results of his checkup came back.

              “He says you have a…traumatic brain injury,” Angie continued.  She frowned.  “But I’m not sure how to translate a lot of the medical stuff.  I didn’t learn about medical terminology when I was being taught French.”

              “I can take over, dear,” Sally said.  Jonah nodded.  “Looks like you’re going to have some side effects for years to come from this, Jonah.” Jonah’s mouth went dry.  “Headaches, memory issues, vision problems, potentially decreased fine motor skills.”

              “When I hit my head, that’s what caused it?” Jonah asked.  Sally nodded.

              “From what they can tell, yes.  And you’ll have a scar from the accident,” she said.  Jonah instinctively touched bandages covering the wound on the side of his head.

              “Am I- will I ever get my memory back?” he asked hesitantly.  Sally spoke to the doctor.  The doctor shook his head.  Jonah’s heart sank.

              “Memory is difficult to predict, but given that you have a completely blank slate, he doesn’t think you’ll remember anything unless we find something from your past to trigger recollection.”

              “…Great,” Jonah mumbled.  The doctor asked Sally something.  “What was that?”

              “He wanted to know if your personality changed,” Angie said.  She cocked her head.  “Which we have no way of knowing.  You were injured when we found you, after all.”  The doctor continued to speak.  Angie grimaced.  “With how severe your injury was, and the extent of your memory loss, he says it’s highly likely your personality has changed.”

              “What?” Jonah squeaked.  He looked at his hands.  “I- I don’t feel different.”

              “Yes, but you don’t remember how you felt before,” Sally said gently. Jonah chewed on his lip anxiously. “Don’t worry.  It’ll be fine.”  The doctor spoke to Sally again.  Her eyes widened.  Angie covered her mouth in shock.

              “What?  What’s going on?” Jonah asked.

              “I- he- he wants to look at your teeth r-really quick,” Angie stammered.  “He has some suspicions but won’t be able to- he needs to double-check.”

              “Oh.  O-okay.” The doctor strode over to Jonah. Jonah obediently opened his mouth. The doctor took out a small flashlight and peered closely at him.  He nodded silently before putting the flashlight back in his pocket.  “What did he say?”

              “He hasn’t said anything,” Angie said.  The doctor seemed more serious than before.  He spoke to Sally at length.  Jonah looked at Angie.  She had gone completely pale.

              “He’s saying stuff now.”

              “Yeah, he-”  Angie rubbed the back of her neck.  “He, um, he says your teeth are really bad.  We should take you to a dentist right away.”

              “Angie,” Sally said softly.  “That’s not the entirety of what he said.  Jonah doesn’t remember anything about himself.  He deserves to know what little we can find out.”  Her face fell.  “Even if it’s not good.”

              “He- he said-” Angie started.  She rubbed her arm nervously.  “When he did all those tests, he saw some old scars from injuries that- that don’t happen accidentally.  So he- he wanted to check your teeth and-”  Angie looked away.

              “Jonah,” Sally said.  Jonah looked at her.  She was just as somber as the doctor.  “You were abused as a child.”  Jonah’s heart plummeted to his stomach.

              “I- what?”

              “The injuries could only have happened if you were being hurt by someone on purpose. The poor state of your teeth is seen in people who have been abused.  And you were malnourished, away from your family, wearing badly worn clothes when we found you.”

              “Not to mention, you’re basically my age.  But we haven’t been able to find any missing persons reports that match your description,” Angie added.  Her hands clenched into fists.  “You’re a teenager, like me.  Your parents should be looking for you.  And as far as we can tell, they aren’t.”  Jonah swallowed.

              “I- I don’t know what to do with this information,” he said after a moment.

              “I don’t know if there’s much we can do with it,” Sally said.  “Except plan to help you get to full health.  Or at least, as healthy as we can.”

              “Are you gonna tell Merle?” Jonah asked.

              “Not if you don’t want us to,” Sally said.  Jonah shook his head.

              “No, it’s- it’s fine if he knows.”  A throbbing pain began to beat inside his skull.  He pressed his hands to the sides of his head.  “Hn.”

              “Headache?” Angie asked.  Jonah nodded. Angie said something to the doctor. The doctor nodded, took out a prescription pad, and scribbled something on it.  The doctor handed it to Sally and spoke to her before leaving.  “Like he said, headaches are going to happen.”

              “I don’t want headaches,” Jonah snapped.  “I don’t want a- a personality change.  Or- or to not remember who I really am.  I don’t want any of this!”  Angie’s eyes widened, upset.  Sally crossed over and sat in the chair on the other side of Jonah.

              “I know,” she said calmly.  She laid her hands over Jonah’s.  “I know you don’t want this.  But sometimes, we’re dealt a bad hand in life.  All we can do is play with the cards we’ve been given.  Are we at a disadvantage?  Sure.  But that doesn’t mean we can’t succeed in the end.  It just means we’ll have to work a bit harder at it.”  She smiled at him warmly.  “Luckily for you, it was a royal family that fished you out of the ocean. We’re going to help you.  To the best of our abilities.”  Jonah nodded slightly.  “I know we discussed taking you to see a bit of the city today, but are you too tired for that, after all this?”

              “No, I- I wanna see stuff.”  Jonah’s stomach rumbled.  “And maybe get some food.”

              “Ooh, I know the best ice cream place,” Angie gushed.  Jonah grinned at her.

              “Yeah.  Let’s get ice cream.”

              “Angie, go have Lucius bring the car around,” Sally instructed.  Angie nodded and left the room.

              “What was the last thing the doctor said to you before he left?” Jonah asked. Sally smiled sheepishly.

              “Just a reminder to schedule a million more appointments with specialists for you,” she said.  Jonah groaned.  “I know. It’s pretty obvious you don’t like doctors or hospitals.”

              “No.  I don’t.” Jonah took a breath.  “But it’s like you said.  I gotta play the hand I’m dealt.  Right?”  Sally beamed.

              “Right.”