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strwberri-milk · 4 days ago

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Hii

How would the boys react to a reader that goes out with friends or get out to do something and ends up taking a long time and not telling them

Zayne trusts you of course but when an hour passes and you still haven't even texted him he can't help but panic a little. He doesn't usually text you when you're out but his nerves are really getting to him. He doesn't spam your phone - simply just texts you asking if you're alright.

You're the type of couple that has Life 360 just because. There was no real reason to download it but you thought it'd be fun to so you did. Zayne almost forgets he has the app until he finds it while aimlessly scrolling on his phone, waiting for your text. He looks at it, sighing as he doesn't recognise where you are since he never really asked where you were going.

If you take too long to reply he'll call you once, hoping that it's enough to alert you that he's getting a little worried. When you finally reply to him he softly breathes a sigh of relief, thanking you for returning his message. He asks for a status update and when he can expect you to be home by before telling you to have fun doing whatever it is you're doing.

Xavier isn't happy you aren't returning his calls. He messages and texts a little more frequently than Zayne but it's not really spamming. It is definitely frequent enough that he feels you should have seen something at this point but the fact that you're still not replying has him worried. You should have looked at your phone by now - why haven't you?

He'll get to a point where rather than texting you a check in he'll be calling you, every missed call making him more and more anxious. He's practically praying for you to call back and when you finally do you can hear the mild disappointment in his voice. He's not mad at you, just a little fed up with the fact that you haven't updated him in so long.

You apologise to him and the tone totally disappears from his voice. He just asks where you are and when you anticipate being home. Once you've cleared it up he's back to his regular self for the most part - he'll just be kinda mopey when you get home since he expected you home at one time then you just weren't there. It messed with his cuddling schedule :(

Rafayel is not having it. At all.

His first response is to blow up your phone with texts. First they're accusing you of forgetting him and other nonsensical things like that then it's just him aggressively keysmashing and sending images of his studio or just whatever photos he has kicking around in his gallery.

If that somehow doesn't get your attention he's going to check your location because of course he has it then text that to you with "cheater" scrawled across it as he highlights your distance from his home (but you are fully aware he's just being dramatic), then starts spamming your phone with calls.

If you at least just text him back a letter he'll chill out a little, less worried that you somehow died while being out. He's more than happy to leave you to your own devices as long as he can be sure you're coming back to him. You do have to tell him the amended return time so he's not losing his mind worrying about your well-being.

Sylus trusts you but also. He knows where you are at any given moment in time. He'll just turn on the tracker he (consensually) put on your phone to get an idea of where you are. If you seem to be taking longer than he expected he'll shoot you a text. If you somehow don't reply to it he'll send you another before starting to call you once in a while until you pick up. If you don't, you'll soon be hearing the familiar mechanical caw of a crow.

Mephisto pecks and taps against the glass of your car or caws loudly near you as he reminds you of Sylus' existence, your phone's logs showing you his missed calls. You return them now, apologies spilling out of your lips. He laughs a little at how eager you are to make sure he understands that you didn't ignore him on purpose. He reassures you that he's aware and he just wanted to make sure you're alright, wishing you well. He's only this relaxed because he knows it'd be easy to get a live feed of you no matter where you are in the world.

#love and deepspace x reader #l&ds x reader #lads x reader #zayne x reader #lads zayne x reader #l&ds zayne x reader #xavier x reader #l&ds xavier x reader #lads xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #l&ds rafayel x reader #lads rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #l&ds sylus x reader #lads sylus x reader

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justinspoliticalcorner · 1 month ago

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Aslı Aydıntaşbaş for Politico Magazine:

American democracy is about to undergo a serious stress test. I know how it feels, in part because I lived through the slow and steady march of state capture as a journalist working in Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s Turkey. Over a decade as a high-profile journalist, I covered Turkey’s descent into illiberalism, having to engage in the daily push and pull with the government. I know how self-censorship starts in small ways but then creeps into operations on a daily basis. I am familiar with the rhythms of the battle to reshape the media, state institutions and the judiciary. Having lived through it, and having gathered some lessons in hindsight, I believe that there are strategies that can help Democrats and Trump critics not only survive the coming four years, but come out stronger. Here are six of them.

1. Don’t Panic — Autocracy Takes Time

President-elect Donald Trump’s return to power is unnerving but, as I have argued previously, America will not turn into a dictatorship overnight — or in four years. Even the most determined strongmen face internal hurdles, from the bureaucracy to the media and the courts. It took Erdoğan well over a decade to fully consolidate his power. Hungary’s Viktor Orbán and Poland’s Law and Justice Party needed years to erode democratic norms and fortify their grip on state institutions.

I am not suggesting that the United States is immune to these patterns, but it’s important to remember that its decentralized system of governance — the network of state and local governments — offers enormous resilience. Federal judges serve lifetime appointments, states and governors have specific powers separate from those granted federally, there are local legislatures, and the media has the First Amendment as a shield, reinforced by over a century of legal precedents. Sure, there are dangers, including by a Supreme Court that might grant great deference to the president. But in the end, Donald Trump really only has two years to try to execute state capture. Legal battles, congressional pushback, market forces, midterm elections in 2026 and internal Republican dissent will slow him down and restrain him. The bottom line is that the U.S. is too decentralized in its governance system for a complete takeover. The Orbánization of America is not an imminent threat.

2. Don’t Disengage — Stay Connected

[...]

Nothing is more meaningful than being part of a struggle for democracy. That’s why millions of Turks turned out to the polls and gave the opposition a historic victory in local governments across Turkey earlier this year. That’s how the Poles organized a winning coalition to vote out the conservative Law and Justice Party last year. It can happen here, too. The answer to political defeat is not to disconnect, but to organize. You can take a couple of days or weeks off, commiserate with friends and mute Elon Musk on X — or erase the app altogether. But in the end, the best way to develop emotional resilience is greater engagement.

[...]

4. Charismatic Leadership Is a Non-Negotiable

One lesson from Turkey and Hungary is clear: You will lose if you don’t find a captivating leader, as was the case in 2023 general elections in Turkey and in 2022 in Hungary. Coalition-building or economic messaging is necessary and good. But it is not enough. You need charisma to mobilize social dissent. [...]

Last year’s elections in Poland and Turkey showcased how populist incumbents can be defeated (or not defeated, as in general elections in Turkey in 2023) depending on the opposition’s ability to unite around compelling candidates who resonate with voters. Voters seek authenticity and a connection — give it to them.

5. Skip the Protests and Identity Politics

Soon, Trump opponents will shake off the doldrums and start organizing an opposition campaign. But how they do it matters. For the longest time in Turkey, the opposition made the mistake of relying too much on holding street demonstrations and promoting secularism, Turkey’s version of identity politics, which speaks to the urban professional and middle class but not beyond. [...]

6. Have Hope

Nothing lasts forever and the U.S. is not the only part of the world that faces threats to democracy — and Americans are no different than the French, the Turks or Hungarians when it comes to the appeal of the far right. But in a country with a strong, decentralized system of government and with a long-standing tradition of free speech, the rule of law should be far more resilient than anywhere in the world. Trump’s return to power certainly poses challenges to U.S. democracy. But he will make mistakes and overplay his hand — at home and abroad. America will survive the next four years if Democrats pick themselves up and start learning from the successes of opponents of autocracy across the globe.

Aslı Aydıntaşbaş, who had first-hand experience with Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s authoritarianism in her native Turkey as a journalist, wrote in Politico Magazine on how to effectively fight Donald Trump’s authoritarian impulses.

#Donald Trump #Viktor Orbán #Recep Tayyip Erdoğan #Trumpism #Right Wing Populism #Authoritarianism #Aslı Aydıntaşbaş #Politico Magazine #Politico

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zepskies · 8 months ago

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Imagine: Soldier Boy Getting Jealous...

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader || (past Frenchie x F. Reader)

Request: Soldier Boy finding out you had something with Frenchie, years before meeting him.

Word Count: 1K

Tags/Warnings: Jealousy lol (With a hint of spice.~)

Imagine: Ben getting jealous over your past relationship with Frenchie.

He doesn't care.

Because he doesn't care...

When you sit him down in the living room of your apartment and tell him you used to date Frenchie, Ben's reaction is mild at best. To the point where it kind of concerns you.

Ben raises a brow and gives a deep hum.

"Oh, really? That limey bastard?" he remarks. He takes a sip from his tumbler of whiskey. You give him a weary sigh.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't call him that," you reply. You and Frenchie are still friends. Your "entanglement" was years ago, before he even started hooking up with Cherie.

But you still want to be honest with Ben. You two have been dating for a few months now, and it's actually serious. No one's more surprised than you by that fact, but...you're happy. You think he is too.

At your response, however, Ben rolls his eyes and continues drinking. You tilt your head in suspicion.

"So you're chill?" you ask.

"Chill?" he quirks a brow at you. Your lips form a smile.

"You're okay with this," you amend.

Ben shrugs and turns on the TV, trying to navigate the streaming apps. You’d put him on to Game of Thrones. Even three seasons into his binge-watching, he doesn’t want to admit that he’s hooked.

"You're fucking a real man now, sweetheart. No skin off my nose," he says.

It's your turn to roll your eyes, despite a warm blush stinging your cheeks.

But the next time you all go out together to a club in the city, Ben watches you leave his side to say hello to your friends: Annie, Hughie, Frenchie and Kimiko. Frenchie takes your hands and makes a show of looking you up and down.

"Well, well. She shoots to kill tonight, eh?" Frenchie says. When he leans in to kiss your cheek, he whispers, "Ah, black leather. My old favorite."

"Stop," you warn with a smile, hitting his shoulder. He's absolutely shameless. "You're too much."

"And you are just enough," Frenchie returns. He whistles playfully as he raises your hand to twirl you around, showing you off in your little black dress and red-bottom heels.

You laugh, but you bump into Ben when you twirl for the second time. Your laughter cuts off abruptly when you see the flinty look on his face, though he's clinging to stoicism.

Frenchie’s eyes widen as he seems to realize the very real danger he's put himself in. He wisely lets go of your hand, pivots on his heel and goes with Kimiko over to the dance floor.

Meanwhile, you move back to Ben's side and try to placate him by looping your arm through his. He responds by wrapping a strong arm around your waist. His eyes bore into the back of Frenchie's head so hard, you almost expect laser beams to come out of them.

"Come on, let's get a drink," you suggest, patting a hand on Ben's chest. He looks good tonight in a burgundy button-down shirt tucked into his slacks.

Ben wordlessly agrees to your suggestion, but he grabs a stool and drags it close to his own seat. He does help you by the hand onto the stool, but then his arm wraps back around your waist, pulling you in snugly, possessively to his side.

You try not to smile in amusement. It's a caveman's display, but at least you know the root cause this time.

...Okay, maybe you feel the tiniest bit complicit, but really, you think Ben's overreacting.

After he flags down the bartender and orders his bourbon and your martini, you tap against his bearded cheek, earning his green-eyed attention.

"You okay?" you ask knowingly.

"Just fine," he deadpans.

"Oh, well that's convincing," you say with a smile. "Do I need to remind you that I'm here with you?"

Ben's gaze hardens. "I don't know. You were pretty happy to let that French whore put his fucking hands all over you—"

"All right. Calm down, Rambo," you say, trying not to laugh as you rub his arm. "Sorry, baby. That's just how we've always cut up. It doesn't mean anything."

Ben scoffs in derision. "Yeah? Fuck if I care."

You frown at that, sparking with annoyance. Somehow, now you actually do feel guilty. You and Frenchie have bounced off each other like Derek and Garcia for so long, you didn't even realize how it might look...or how it might make your boyfriend feel.

Because even with all that ego and injured pride, you have a feeling there's a real sting of hurt under there.

"Hey," you say, squeezing Ben's wrist. His gaze remains stubbornly on the bartender making your drinks.

You decide to take matters more firmly into your hands.

Reaching up for his chin, you guide Ben's face toward yours and press a kiss to his lips. It's slow at first, but it soon gains in passion. His teeth graze your bottom lip, before his tongue demands entrance into your mouth with claiming purpose.

It elicits a hint of a moan from you, your fingers clenching in his hair. Your nails drag against his scalp, almost making him shudder.

Your supple lips eventually pull away from his, nice and slow.

"Your hands are the only hands I care about touching me," you say. Your expression twinkles with mischief as you toy with the zipper on the side of your dress.

"As a matter of fact, I need your help," you add. "This zipper keeps catching on something. I think it's stuck."

Quite possibly because someone got a little handsy in the cab on the way here.

Ben smirks, though he claims your lips in one more slightly rough kiss before he answers.

"Well that is a problem," he says. His eyes roam down your face, taking in your thoroughly kissed lips, and the cleavage peeking out at him from the neckline of your dress.

"Think I can give you a hand," he says, as his actual hand slips down your leg. His fingers brush along the inside of your thigh, tingling across your skin. His half-lidded gaze once again meeting yours. "Better take you out back and fix you up."

You laugh, despite the return of your blush. You cling to his shoulders, while his fingers burn a tantalizing trail upwards.

"Oh, yeah. Save me, Soldier Boy!" you tease.

He snorts in response, but he helps guide you out of your seat.

Moments later, all your friends find at the bar are two forgotten drinks and a couple of empty stools.

AN: Ah, jealous Ben. It's fun to imagine. 😂

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

SB Tag List (Part 1):

@melancholictearz @spnwoman @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @anticxrrupt @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky

@teehxk @midnightmadwoman @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem

@deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees

@xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley

@sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @skyesthebomb @this-is-me19

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @emily-winchester @tearsfortheyouth @solo-pitstop-vibes @dope-trope-105

@liuope @beautyvaliant @xxlaynaxx @chernayawidow @tmb510

@iamsapphine @roseblue373 @lacilou @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waynes-multiverse

#Imagine: Ben getting jealous #reader request #Soldier Boy imagine #soldier boy x reader #Frenchie #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #the boys tv #the boys amazon #soldier boy fanfiction #jensen ackles characters #jensen ackles #jealousy #hint of spice #zepskies writes

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helldustedstories · 7 months ago

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At this point, Stolas has helped to patch up every member of I.M.P. at least once. Most of the injuries the team sustained were fairly minor, able to be almost fully healed with a simple spell, and a quick, concentrated burst of pain. But when Moxxie had come back from a job sporting a broken arm, that had taken a bit more effort, on both their parts. Moxxie had sat through it like a champ while Stolas made sure the bone was where it should be, long enough for the healing spells to wrap around and knit it back together. It had definitely been painful for the smaller imp, but he hasn't said a word, had barely let his discomfort show at all.

Stolas had seen how much pain he was in, and between that and the fact that he wanted to spare all of them as much hurt as possible, he had started figuring out the other spells he needed so he could take their pain on himself instead. He'd hoped it wouldn't be necessary, but he was very glad he tended to be an overachiever when it came to learning new spells.

But when Blitz figures out that he has a concussion, Stolas is momentarily alarmed. That wasn't something he knew how to treat (though he really should, with how familiar with them Blitz sounded; this was clearly not his first), but he was going to figure it out, right now, if he had to.

He notices the way Blitz closes his eyes, and with a wave of his hand, the lights in the room dim. Most people would have trouble seeing what they're doing in light like this, but Stolas can still see perfectly well; he can still take care of Blitz and maybe help him feel a little better in the meantime. Because the pain was only going to get worse before it got better.

Of course, if everything went according to plan, Blitz would still only be feeling a fraction of the pain the full healing process usually caused. Though Stolas didn't have Sloth's candles to let him know if he was doing too much; he'd just have to pay attention, to make sure he didn't go overboard. But he could handle a little pain if it meant Blitz didn't have to. He'd been through so much already, and it was time for Stolas to take some of that from him, the way that Blitz had been doing for him so often.

Blitz's eyes open again, and he seems to catch Stolas' joke much faster this time, if the laugh and then find mutter of "fucker" are any indication. But when he says that next time he gets to pick the bedspread, Stolas just smiles.

"I would love that," he murmurs, even though he's pretty sure Blitz had been joking back. He enjoyed every time Blitz picked something out for the house, whether that was in the various renovation projects they had going at any given time, or something as simple as the mugs he likes to bring Stolas. It makes it feel more like a home, more like it's theirs and not just his. There had been so many unpleasant memories here, that something as small as putting up new wallpaper or replacing a few couches made it feel like a completely different place. And that was very much thanks to Blitz.

The sudden shift of his mood surprises Stolas, and he can't help but worry just a little bit. Is that because of the concussion? Or was he missing something? Had the thugs he'd rescued Blitz from given him something? Fuck, he should have thought to ask that in the first place.

Before he can say anything else, Blitz is talking about how horseshoe print would clash, and then he's singing Stolas' praises. ❝ ... You just know everything, y'er so - ... smart, like ... you know everything. ... Beautiful ... think about you ... dream about you all the time ... ❞

Under different circumstances (and later, when things weren't so dire), Stolas would have blushed at those words, would have teased Blitz and suggested he tell him more about these dreams, but he understands that that's not what he's saying, not right now. And it fills him with warmth to know that Blitz dreams of him as often as Stolas does of Blitz, to know that he could be a positive presence in the life of the man he loves, the way Blitz has been for him since the moment they first met, all those years ago.

But when Blitz meets Stolas' gaze, that stubborn look in his eye, when he says that he hadn't had to come, it's Stolas' turn to fix him with a pointed glare.

"Of course I had to come," he starts his voice firm, brooking no arguments. "Nothing would have been able to keep me from your side as soon as I knew where you were. Nothing. There is no universe in which I will not come for you when you need me," Stolas promises, and he means every word. The moment he knows Blitz needs him, he will do everything in his considerable power to be there for him as quickly as he can. And even though he'd worked as fast as possible, it almost hadn't been enough.

Which is something they're going to have to talk about. This is the second time they've almost lost one another, and there can't be a third. Two close calls was too many. But he was beginning to have an idea of how they might be able to change that, how they would always be able to find one another…., if he could finish the spell.

Stolas carefully, quietly puts that thought away to examine later, when he has a few moments to himself.

❝ - Thank you. I can't - I ... hate hospitals. ❞

A small, sad smile slips onto Stolas' face at Blitz's admission. He'd seen how he reacted when Stolas was the one in the hospital, and though he didn't know exactly why Blitz hated hospitals, he didn't want to add any more stress to his recovery. Stolas could take care of him here, in the comfort of their bed, where he could actually rest, maybe even relax.

He'd been focused on giving Blitz a once over, trying to figure out what all of his injuries are when Blitz says he has to tell Stolas about it, about everything, and he just blinks for a moment. Stolas knew that there were things about his last that Blitz hasn't told him yet, but he wasn't going to push, was going to give him ample time to tell him if and when he wanted to. But he very much wants to know as much about Blitz as he'll allow him to. Good and bad. He wants to know everything about Blitz, so he can love him even more fiercely, can hold him even tighter. Each and every moment that had led them here, that had helped to shape Blitz; he wants to hear everything.

"I'll listen to anything you want to tell me, my love," Stolas murmurs, offering him a soft smile, "once I get you all patched up."

Because as much as he wants to hear everything, wants to know everything, right now, they have other, more pressing matters to deal with.

❝ Don't care about pain. 'S fine, y'er fine. ❞ Blitz responds to his warning, and Stolas presses his lips together. He'd expected that sort of a response, but it doesn't make it any easier. It was one of the biggest reasons he'd already done the initial incantation to shift the majority of the pain to him instead of Blitz. Because he might not care, but Stolas did.

He concentrates, and through the link of his magic, through the pain he's pulling from Blitz, he can feel the way the wound knits back together. Each and every layer of his body, as the magic coalesces and spreads, encouraging the natural process with unnatural speed, until eventually, whether minutes or hours have passed, all that's left is a dull ache and a brand new scar.

It will likely still be tender for a time, but it's no longer bleeding, no longer any sort of threat. It's like the injury happened weeks ago instead of having been sustained just today.

Which means he has time to look over Blitz more thoroughly, to see if there's anything else that needs to be dealt with immediately, before he talks to him about the rest of his injuries.

❝ Sorry, ❞ Blitz says, and Stolas looks up at him. ❝ When you can ... my ... ribs. - Internal bleeding. ❞

And for a moment, all Stolas can do is stare, his heart racing as he processes what Blitz has just told him.

Without another word, Stolas shifts his focus, the glittering galaxy of his magic surrounding his hands as he takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly as he lets his consciousness expand. Gentle hands settle over Blitz's torso, barely touching him, the contact featherlight as magic extends from Stolas, wrapping around Blitz's chest. Magic travels through his body, allowing Stolas to map out every part of him.

It doesn't take long to pinpoint what Blitz has mentioned, the bleeding around his ribs. He can see it, what's wrong, what needs to be fixed, and his hands shift slightly, to better cover the area he's about to be working on.

"This might sting a little, but I need you to just….. concentrate on breathing for me," Stolas murmurs, mentally bracing himself as well. And then he reaches forward, eyes still open wide, as he puts everything back where it should be, fixing ribs, mending internal injuries.

The pain is like nothing he's felt before. It's different from what he experienced at Striker's hands, sharper than his usual aches and pains, and he welcomes it. Every moment that he's hurting is a moment of relief for Blitz, and he will take them all, so Blitz doesn't have to.

He keeps his face carefully neutral, focused, and after what feels like hours, though it couldn't have been more than ten minutes, Stolas feels the pain start to subside. For a moment, he doesn't move, letting his still-expanded consciousness trace over Blitz's body, finding each and every hurt, cataloguing his injuries. If Blitz let him, he would take care of each and every hurt, for the rest of his life.

After a moment, he lets himself return to just himself, looking up at Blitz.

"What's next?" he asks, hands still resting on Blitz's chest. Even though he'd essentially x-rayed Blitz's whole body, he knew himself better than Stolas did. If he said something came next, then that was what Stolas would work on first.

Fuck, the world is so fuzzy. He's dealt with plenty of blood loss before, so this shouldn't be much different - why can't he hook onto anything concrete right now ? Every time he tries, his brain loses track of the thread and he finds himself just - watching Stolas. Following him and every movement he makes, even when shifting his eyes sends a fucking ice pick right through his skull -

❝ - Concussion. Fuuuck. ❞ Blitz lets his eyelids drop closed for a second, seeking relief in the darkness, but now that he's finally put the pieces together, he doesn't let himself linger too long with them shut. His traitorous body will definitely try to sleep, despite knowing that he's stronger than passing out, and it will definitely not end up great for him.

Or for Stolas.

Fuck, what is all this doing to Stolas ?

He's vaguely aware that he's not really responding to the conversation at hand - c'mon you stupid asshole, get it together. Blitz's body - his heart, really - is still seeking Stolas, his soft touch, his gentle voice, the gentle brush of feathers, the warmth of his very real, very alive presence at his side. Blitz realizes, then, that he's mostly feeling and not seeing - open your eyes, boy. He blinks, letting his vision adjust from the way it's swimming, leaving behind the relief of the darkness.

Stolas seems - steady. The frantic edge of Blitz's worry, the dread that he's done something terrible, unforgivable, starts to waver at the soft touch against his face - and then unspooling at the joke that Blitz picks up on only a beat late this time.

With all of the bodily fluids this bed has seen from both of us, a little blood won't hurt. Blitz cracks another grin, the laugh in the back of his throat still rattling, but this time much less delirious.

❝ Fucker, ❞ he says fondly, trying to force some of the fogginess and rasp from his voice. He's not sure why talking seems to be a monumental effort right now, and honestly, he's fine not knowing. ❝ Next time - ... I get to ... pick the bedspread. ❞ He hopes it comes across as the return joke that it's intended to be - though, if he knows Stolas by now ( and he likes to think he does ), he'll probably simply and immediately agree.

There comes the next mood swing - fuck he hates concussions, they always knock him off balance and crack open his feelings in a way that he'd usually rather hide. But there it is, the rush of guilt and deep, aching sadness - Stolas is too generous with him. He's too - kind. Forgiving. Even after everything that Blitz has put him through - the turmoil of their arrangement, the blow ups, all the trouble of today - Stolas would let him get what he wants, would do it with a smile.

❝ - You're too good to me. ❞ No, Blitz does not realize that Stolas isn't privy to his inner thoughts or the train of them, but almost comically large tears are prickling at the corners of his eyes all the same. ❝ But I think - ... that horseshoe print ... would clash. ❞

Despite Blitz's clashing taste in decor and his bleeding all over Stolas' plush bed, Stolas is moving closer the moment Blitz tries to crawl to him - should he not move ? Actually, he probably shouldn't now that he thinks about it, but how the hell else is he supposed to press himself against Stolas' side? Except Stolas just knows - how does he know? Good, he's too good, he's so smart -

❝ ... You just know everything, y'er so - ... smart, like ... you know everything. ... Beautiful ... think about you ... dream about you all the time ... ❞

I'm just sorry I couldn't get there sooner. It's a sobering thought that cuts through the muddled fogginess of his mind - Blitz fixes Stolas with a concerned, stubborn look. ❝ No. You came ... you didn't have to - 's more than enough. It's everything. ❞

Sometimes his nightmares aren't licked by green flames - sometimes, they're just the black blankness of realizing there's nothing under his feet and he's falling, falling, falling too fast and far for anyone to hear him. To have a had reach out to him ? To see Stolas - kind, loving, warm, protective, silly, thoughtful - when there had only been darkness before ?

He is Blitz's guiding light.

Blitz can only ever hope to be something good in Stolas' life, no matter what it takes.

He makes a muffled noise of protest and no more apologies, but says nothing else. Honestly, it's more a response to the ache in his jaw and his head. When Stolas lifts him a little - so gentle, no one's ever been this gentle with him before - and Blitz feels the edge of a water bottle, he drinks greedily - a little at first, and then a hell of a lot when he realizes it's watching some of the blood down and clearing his throat. When he's done, he tilts his head to catch Stolas' eye again, expression soft - thoughtful, affectionate, brimming with emotion that sometimes has so much trouble peeking its head out.

Blitz then lapses into silence, carefully watching Stolas summon a portal - anxiety trickling down his spine for an infinite number of completely indefinable reasons - only to see him reach through to grab things. That doesn't kick up any worry at all; he's content to simply trust Stolas and whatever he thinks is best.

Wait - does this mean - ? Something trembling unclenches in his chest when he realizes what I need to cut you out of your clothes means, relief washing over every inch of his raw nerves.

❝ - Thank you, ❞ he replies quietly to that, staring up at Stolas was deep, abiding gratitude. ❝ I can't - I ... hate hospitals. ❞

Every time, every single time he can smell the sting of antiseptic, taste ash and burned flesh in his mouth, hear Cash's voice - see Fizz's form, so little and so fucking hurt and so fucking far away - and then he sees Stolas - strong and seemingly invincible Stolas in so much pain, impossibly injured in a way Blitz can't just - fix.

❝ I need to ... tell you about it. About everything. ❞

He hadn't meant to say that - but it feels true. Like all of that clouding dread and nebulous fear and what ifs have finally come to a stop and Blitz has found the one crack in the darkness he can open - the moment he needed to know that it was time.

Or - almost time. When he's not so foggy - or actively bleeding out.

Truthfully, Blitz barely notices when the fabric of his pants is cut open. If he could, he'd shuck everyone off himself, but when he instinctively tries to sit up, he gets as far as clenching his core before agony rolls down his chest, his back, his arm, his everything, and he thinks that this might not be the best idea - if not for himself, then at least for the sake of not worrying Stolas more than he already is.

Fuck, is he getting soft? This can't be the worst injuries he's ever sustained - even at once. Why can't he just - pick himself up, walk it off, take some painkillers and sleep it off? The thought aches - curling up alone, waiting for the bleeding to stop, stitching what he can. Alone. Alone. He doesn't - he doesn't want to be alone.

Is that ... okay ?

Blitz registers the warning a few seconds after it's given; he tries to wave a dismissive hand, then remembers that moving sucks. ❝ Don't care about pain. 'S fine, y'er fine. ❞ Blitz's eyes are heavy lidded but he keeps himself awake by watching Stolas' face, searching out any hint of emotion, anything he can glean - then settling into the simple, carrying safety that the sight of it brings.

Stolas' magic has become incredibly familiar - something he can recognize by sight, by feeling. Cool, like the breeze on a quiet night. From this angle, Blitz can only see the aura of lavender-blue, and he's grateful and guilty in equal measure. He's sure it doesn't look pretty down there, and he's about to say something, do something, when the glittering feeling suddenly sharpens.

Oh. Something is - knitting? Grinding? - along the long, deep line of the knife wound. It ... aches, but not in the way Blitz was expecting. He grinds his jaw a little, then immediately releases it when his head throbs. The flinch makes his chest rattle, and when he coughs as a result - as quietly as he can, trying not to pull attention away from Stolas' work - he tastes blood again. - But the water should have washed down the rest of what was in his mouth, right?

Oh - satan damn it.

The ache in his leg flairs a little and Blitz holds still - partially to make sure he doesn't interfere with the magic, and partially to make sure whatever's leaking blood inside of him just - stays chilled the fuck out. He breathes carefully, finding that even though the process isn't painless, it does help clear his mind a little.

He has no idea how long the process takes - minutes? hours? He's mostly concentrating on staying awake, staying still, anything to make this easier on Stolas. Anything not to make his own injuries worse anymore, if only for Stolas' sake. It's only when the glow starts to diminish that Blitz even tries to speak.

❝ Sorry, ❞ he murmurs, entirely forgetting the no more apologies. ❝ When you can ... my ... ribs. - Internal bleeding. ❞

#madefate #ᯓ★ stolas / blitz (madefate) : if you trust me with your heart i'd keep it safe like it was mine #ᯓ★ stolas : verse // i will try to make amends #ᯓ★ stolas : ic #[i wrote this when i had no Internet and my app had loaded just enough to let me see the last reply]#[and here we see some more worldbuilding that I need to post about on its own that I'm quite proud of!]#[this definitely got me emotional as i wrote it; Stolas loves him so fucking much]

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