#cutting out the healed in shards gonna be FUN too

[fanficwriter284]

Not Again

Tiffany once again alone in her house her mother and her sister out, leaving her to herself. Suddenly the door swung open. It was a boy who seemed familiar, and her eyes went wide once she realized who it was. It was Chucky, only this time he was drenched in his own blood, his face bashed in and bruised causing it to swell up. His right arm limp and a glass shard stick out of his left leg. His eyes bright expressive crystal blue eyes, now dull and emotionless. Tiffany was still in shock that he was still standing. She immediately rushed over to him, he practically fell into her arms passing out.

“Chucky, what did he do you?”

Tiffany could hardly look at him without tearing up. Her best friend brewing treated and abused this way. She dragged him upstairs and into her room. She place him on the bed and began wiping the blood off. Once he was semi clean, she grabbed a T-Shirt she owned and changed it out for his blood stacked one. She finally managed to clean him off from all the blood and took a look at his arm. It was for sure fractured and wouldn’t be able to be used for a while. Tiffany made a make shift splint and placed it on his arm, wrapping it up tight allowing his arm to heal. Every now and then she’d hear a faint groan from the pain but it wasn’t enough to wake him up.

Then she took at his leg with the glass shard. Tiffany felt she needed to get it out of him so she carefully removed and cleaned out the wound. (Yes I know if your stabbed with something to leave it in so you don’t bleed out but this is fiction so yeah) She made sure no glass was left over in his leg and began to seal it shut. She began to hear Chucky’s groans grow louder but it his body was too fatigued and tired to get up. After what felt like forever she was finished and allowed Chucky to rest in her bed. The poor boy had already gone through so much, the least she could do was let him get a good rest. No way she was gonna let him go back to that dead trap. Not now.

Chucky had turned and tossed snuggling into the covers seeking warmth, all while Tiffany was downstairs grabbing something to eat. Her mother and sister had just arrived home. Tiffany rolled her eyes in detest at the sight of them. She hated them and they hated her. Tiffany went wide-eyed in the realization that she had a whole person that they didn’t even know upstairs in her bed. And a boy at that. However she remained calm to avoid suspension. She headed up stairs and watched over Chucky was was still was fast asleep in her bed. That night Tiffany locked the door and decided to sleep on the floor throwing a bunch of pillows on the ground. It was actually quite fun if she was being honest. She slept close by to Chucky still worried about him.

The next morning Tiffany woke up, Chucky still blacked out cold, she looked out the window the car was gone. She smile, she was home alone again. Well not completely alone. Chucky continued to turn,toss, and let out an occasional groan. The swelling in his face seemed to he healing. The splint held up through the night, and his leg wound had been healing up quite nicely. The day passed by rather quickly and Chucky still hadn’t awakened, it was 2:45 in the afternoon. Suddenly she heard the bed creak, and saw Chucky sitting up rubbing his eyes.

“Huh?”

He took a moment to identify his surroundings, he had no memory of how he even got there.

“Tiff?”

“CHUCKY!!! I’m so glad you’re ok!!!”

She said hugging him making sure not to hurt him.

Chucky looked at his injuries.

“You did all this……. for me?”

Tiffany nodded her head.

“Tiffany, you really didn’t have to——-“

Tiffany cut him off. “Yes I did, you were hurt pretty bad Chucky, and you really needed it. I’m always here for you”

“That’s Tiff”

She headed him food, which he gladly took and limped around the house. Suddenly they heard a knock at the door. A similar tall and thin figure appeared from nowhere, knocking on the door. A surge of panic went through Chucky as he saw his dad. He eventually grew tired of waiting and forced the door open.

“Hello”

The two kids backed up in panic.

“Hello there, I need to bring Charles home”

Lukas Ray grabbed Chucky’s good arm and forced him out. Tiffany tried to pulled him back but it was no use, his dad was too strong.Before he was take. Chucky looked into her eyes and gave a weak, thanks for trying smile and locked eyes.

“It’s ok Tiffl

They both knew that was a lie, causing Tiffany to cry more.

[doyouevenshipbr0]

gruvia drabble

author’s note: ok. hi. here we are again. i go on a 1948392 year hiatus and then become inspired to write something from the most RANDOM thing. but this was too good to pass up. so essentially i saw a headcannon by @incorrect-ft-ez-quotes and then @bbygirljuvi added onto it:) look at my most recent reblog for reference if u want hehehe. yeah ok maybe i did add some bs healing abilities to juvia’s powers... sue me! ok here we gooooo i hope u cuties enjoy!!!

*

“Popsicle,” Natsu sighed. “What the hell are you doin’ back here?” He held his door in one hand as he stared at a recently familiar face.

“What, a guy can’t stop by and visit his best friend?” Gray nervously chuckled.

Happy and Natsu weren’t buying it, exchanging suspicious looks as Gray impatiently stood at the door frame.

“Best friend?” Natsu rose an eyebrow.

“And for the 4th day in a row?” Happy jabbed, hovering beside Natsu’s head

“Would ya’ just let me in?” Gray spat out, clearly looking jittery.

“Fine.” Natsu groaned, stepping aside so Gray could step in.

“But we’re gonna’ start charging rent!” Happy exclaimed.

“Whatever, I don’t care, just as long as I can hang out here for a little while.” Gray hustled in, plopping himself onto Natsu’s worn down couch.

“Ok, you can stay here on one condition, tell me what it is you’re freaking out about. And gimme’ the real reason you’ve been comin’ here.” Natsu folded his arms.

“Aye!” Happy mimicked Natsu, crossing his little paws.

Gray let out a groan, bowing his head between his legs before whipping his head back up. “It’s Juvia, ok!?”

“Juvia?” Happy asked.

“But, you haven’t tried avoiding her in forever. You guys have been all buddy-buddy lately.” Natsu was trying to piece this all together in his head.

Gray blushed, averting his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“So what’s the deal?” Natsu was doing his best to get straight to the point, as nuance was not his strong suit.

“W-well... we... kind of... sort of...” Gray scratched at the back of his head, searching for the gall to say it. “We got drunk the other night at the guild, and then I went to walk her home since she was pretty wasted, and...one thing lead to another and... we almost kissed.”

Natsu was as confused as ever. “So?”

“So?!”

“Well, don’t ya’ like her?”

“W-well-!” Gray stammered, and gave out a defeated sigh, bowing his head again. “Yeah.” He mumbled to the point that Natsu or Happy could barely hear him.

“So then why don’t you wanna’ smooch her?” Happy was almost as dense as Natsu.

“Gah! You guys don’t get it!” Gray sprung up. “Forget it. I’m gonna’ find a new hiding spot. Preferably, one that asks less questions.”

Just as Gray made his way to Natsu’s front door, there was a sudden knock. Gray froze in his tracks as a chill went up his spine. He had a knack for this sort of thing, knowing when Juvia’s around, and that chill only ever meant one thing.

“Shit.”

Gray needed an escape route, but his head wasn’t on straight. He frantically scoured the little house, looking from wall to wall, but there was only one door, and Gray was just feet away from it.

“Natsu, whatever you do, don’t-“

“Be there in a sec’!” Natsu shouted at the door.

“You idiot!” Gray whisper yelled.

Natsu opened the door to none other than Juvia. She was known for her expressive nature. The look on her face could tell you anything you want to know, without her having to say a word.

“Hi, Natsu-san.” Juvia said both frantically and nervously. “Juvia was just wondering if Gray-sama was here.” She held her hands together promptly, hoping that he would be there.

“Actually Gray-“ Natsu was cut off at the sound of shattering glass. He instinctively spun around to a disastrous scene, displaying a broken window, shards of glass everywhere, and no Gray to be found. “Just left.” Natsu finished the thought differently than he originally intended.

Juvia heard the shattering too, and she had her answer. Her Gray-dar never failed her. Using her Gray-dar she quickly scurried to the back of the house, crossing her fingers that Gray hadn’t gotten away yet. The first thing she heard was a hiss of pain, and as she turned the corner, there sat her Gray in the ground, holding his bloody knee.

“Son of a bitch!” Gray yelled in pain, applying more pressure to his cut knee. Sure, he was used to getting beaten to a pulp in a fight, but he wasn’t exactly expecting a busted up knee right about now.

“Gray-sama!” Juvia’s eyes widened at the blood, and she hurried to his side.

Gray finally realized her presence. He stopped writhing in pain for a moment, and tried to appear as casual as usual. “Oh...” He forced a laugh. “Hey Juvia. what are you doin’ here?”

“Juvia should be asking you the same thing.” She knelt by Gray’s side. “But first, let Juvia help.”

“I’m fine.”

“Let Juvia see it, Gray-sama.”

He sighed, giving in and releasing his hold. Juvia quickly took her hands and placed them on Gray’s knee. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and suddenly her hands became water, but it wasn’t normal water. It was soothing, and it was making the stinging in Gray’s knee go away.

“Juvia has been working on some healing techniques. It’s nothing like Wendy, but I can heal some minor, surface-level things.” She explained, using her water hands to massage the area.

“Now that Juvia has finally caught you, why have you been avoiding me?” She finally looked at Gray who blushed at the sudden eye contact.

“I haven’t.” Gray tried to sound as natural as possible.

All Juvia had to do was give him a look that practically screamed “oh, please.” before he cracked. “Ok, fine. I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Juvia knows!” She exclaimed.

“I just don’t want things to be awkward between us!” He explained.

“But you don’t think avoiding me for days would make it awkward?” Juvia finally finished his knee and reverted her hands back to normal.

Gray groaned. “You’re right.” He ran his hand through his hair, trying to hide his face.

“Is this about... the other night?” Juvia finally asked.

“Do ya’ really have to even ask?” Gray avoided eye contact.

“But Juvia thought the night went well! I had a lot of fun!”

“So did I! Until...” He cut himself off.

“Until we almost kissed?” Juvia finished it for him.

“Yeah.”

“I see.” Juvia paused. “Are Juvia’s lips chapped?”

“Huh?” He finally peaked up at her.

“Or did Juvia have something in her teeth maybe?” She was going into panic mode.

“No that’s not-“

Juvia cut him off with as gasp, and her hands slapped against her mouth. “Or does Juvia’s breath stink?! Is that it?!”

“Would you knock it off!” Gray finally stopped her. “It doesn’t have to do with any of that stuff.

“Oh.” Juvia sunk. “So Gray-sama just does not want to kiss Juvia then.”

“No!” He instantly cut off that thought, even though he was embarrassed by how eager he sounded. “Not that either.” He grumbled.

“Then..?”

“We were drunk. Yes, we were having fun and all, but, I dunno’.” Gray grumbled, looking for the right words. “We haven’t had our first kiss yet. So when we do, I want it to be... kinda’... special. I guess. In a way.” Gray finished with some filler words to try and take the heat away from his face, but it was no use.

“S-s-special?! Gray-sama wants our kiss to be special?!” Juvia lit up, almost freezing in time waiting for someone to pinch her, because she figured this had to be a dream. However, she still was a bit lost, so she put a pause on her momentary fantasy. “Wait, so then why have you been avoiding me?”

“Because I didn’t know how to tell you all that. I was trying to buy some time until I could figure out what to say.” Gray released a deep exhale. “But I guess I’ve said it all now.”

“You sure have.” Juvia said giddily right before she launched herself at Gray, tightly clutching Gray’s shoulders in her arms as her cheek was pressed up firmly against his.

“Gah!” Gray shouted in surprise, trying to keep his balance as Juvia leeched onto him. They were still sitting, but she almost knocked him flat on his back.

“But you know what, Gray-sama?” Juvia broke her clutch, making sure she was looking right at Gray.

“What?” He looked down at her curiously.

“Juvia thinks every moment with Gray-sama is special. So to Juvia, any time is perfect for a first kiss.” She smiled so sweetly is made Gray’s heart just about burst.

“Yeah?” Gray felt the corner of his mouth tug up.

“Yep.” She nodded in assurance.

“If you say so.”

And without a second thought, Gray closed the gap between them, planting a sweet and soft kiss on Juvia’s lips. As they parted, they leaned in and pressed their foreheads against each other, both wearing matching grins.

“That looked pretty special from in here!” Happy interjected from inside the house, followed by Natsu’s laughter.

Gray and Juvia jumped, startled by the sudden noise. “Happy, shut it!” Gray turned his head, looking through what used to be a window, and seeing Natsu and Happy standing in their living room.

“Maybe we wouldn’t be able to hear you two slobbering on each other if there was a window here!” Natsu yelled, referring to the gaping hole in the middle of his wall.

“We were not slobbering, you moron!” Gray blushed furiously, finally standing up and facing Natsu.

“That’s what it looked like to me!” Natsu teased back, wearing a devious smile.

“Aye!” Happy seconded.

“Mind your business, flame-for-brains!”

“Next time you need to hide out for a week, you ain’t comin’ here!” Natsu shouted.

“Fine by me.” Gray scoffed.

He then looked back at Juvia as she appeared a little on edge, wondering if she was going to have to break up a fight between Gray and Natsu.

He grinned once again, at the girl he couldn’t wait to spend more special time with, making more memories, and growing even closer

He reached for Juvia’s hand and squeezed it. “I was gettin’ tired of running away anyway.”

[iwillbeinmynest]

Safer Behind It - Newt x Reader(f)

Authors Notes: Well here it is my first Maze Runner fic! Hopefully y'all like it, or at least don’t hate it. This is based on moments from The Scorch Trials (book). Bold words are direct quotes from the book. I do not take any credit for Dashner’s work.

Word Count: 1.7k

Notes/Warnings: mentions of injuries, mentions of violence, mentions of trauma (from the maze), some fluff and angst if you look hard enough.

Masterlist

 Jorge found them after the lightning storm. Eleven new faces in the building on the outskirts of town. You listened as Jorge gave them the rundown of how things were going to go. When he called for the rest of you, you followed Brenda close.

You and Brenda hadn’t known each other too long but she was good and you trusted Jorge more than anything.

One of the new kids- a boy with dark hair- asked for a few minutes with Jorge.

“Me and you,” The kid begged. He stood over another boy who looked like he had been fried by lightning. Maybe he had, that storm was brutal.

“Ten minutes. Alone. That’s all I ask.” He went on.

You were surprised when Jorge agreed. He must have seen something in the kid you didn’t.

He told you and the others to watch this new group and to kill them if they made any moves. You knew he was being dramatic, adding the threat of death to remind the other Cranks behind you that he was in charge.

One of the boys you were supposed to be watching caught your eye. He was blonde and thin. He had a limp - you’d noticed it as he walked over and checked on the others in his group.

Brenda caught you staring at him. “Careful, Y/N.” She said quietly so the Cranks couldn’t hear her.

You rolled your eyes. “I can handle myself.”

“He’s not gonna like it if you don’t keep up the facade.”

“What’s he gonna do, have you run me through?” You tested.

You saw the twitch of a smirk at the corner of her mouth. “Just don’t be stupid.”

 You tugged up on the thin, tan, scarf that covered your nose and mouth. You didn’t like it to be down.

You walked over to the limping boy. You say boy, but really he was near your age if not a bit older. “You need to sit down,” you told him.

He looked at you carefully. “I’m just making sure these guys are alright.”

His voice sounded funny but you kinda liked it.

“I’m not going to ask again.” you drew the makeshift dagger you had from where it usually was sheathed at your lower back.

 He sighed but sat on the hard concrete next to the fried boy. He pulled a knee to his chest and mumbled, “Bloody shank girl.”

You smirked at that.

“What’s your name?” You asked him.

He looked up at you and there was no hiding the annoyance in his eyes. “Newt.”

“Newt?” You almost laughed. “Like the lizard?”

The boy next to him chuckled.

“No.” Newt huffed. “Like Issac Newton.”

 “I think I like my reason better, lizard boy.”

“Hey!” One of the Cranks behind you caught your attention. It was an older man, you didn’t know his name but you knew you didn’t like him. “What are you talkin’ so much about?”

“None of your business, old man.” You turned to him and left no room for him to think you might be afraid of him, which you weren’t.

“Back off, Murph.” Brenda said calmly as she whacked the flat side of her machete on his chest. “Let her have some fun before we rip them to shreds.”

It seemed to tide him over and he walked away but not before he stared you down again.

You rolled your eyes when his back was turned and exhaled a silent groan. You looked to Brenda.

She had her eyebrows raised and was clearly waiting for you to say,

“Thank you.” You muttered.

“Mhm.” She grinned. You knew she’d never say it out loud but she was starting you like having you around.

You turned back to Newt and crouched down, your sharpened letter opener gripped tightly in your hand. “So, tell me, Newt, What brings you out into the Scorch?”

“Don’t tell her klunk, dude.” The burnt boy said with spunk.

“I bet you’re the fun one.” You teased him, “You look like garbage. What happened to you?”

“He got struck by lightning,” Newt answered, “Or close to it anyways.”

“Yikes.” You responded. You’d been right.

“Didn’t even hurt.” He lied.

“Shuck off, Minho. You’re not fooling anyone.” Newt rolled his eyes.

“Screw you, man.” Minho all but pouted.

 “Why do you cover your face?” Newt asked, ignoring his friend. “No sun in here.”

You paused but tried to cover it and said, “So you don’t get distracted by how pretty I am.”

He smirked at that.

He had a nice smile. It lit up his eyes.

You stood up quickly and walked back to Brenda. Why did you care what his smile was like?

“You good?” She asked low again.

“Fine.” You lied. Actually you were scared by how much you were starting to like Newt. No sense in hurting yourself by getting attached.

Jorge and the dark haired boy reappeared from down the back hall.

Jorge told everyone that he, Brenda and yourself were going to take these few to get some food and that you’d all meet back up at the tower.

You didn’t know what he was planning but it had to be something, because he was putting on quite a show. He mentioned cutting off Minho’s fingers for punching him earlier and you honestly thought he might be serious about that part.

The other Cranks left and you walked behind Brenda as she led the way to the tunnels where you had hid the stash of food.

You helped pass out cans of food and watched as Brenda sat by Thomas - you’d recently learned his name.

You looked around, wondering where to settle amongst these new boys and found Newt looking at you.

“Here goes nothin’” you muttered to yourself beneath your mask.

You made your way over and sat against the wall beside him.

“Enjoying the meal?” You asked. He sure looked like he was.

He nodded, mouth full of cold beans.

“When was the last time you ate?” You realized that he, and everyone else that he’d come with, were eating like they’d been starved.

“Not but a few days ago,” He said when he’d finally swallowed. “But we were out in that bloody heat for so long.” His eyes stared into nothing for a moment and you could tell he was reliving something awful.

“How long were you actually out there?”

“Three, four, five days,” he asked himself. “I’m not sure.”

“Where did you come from?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” He returned to the present and out of the bad memories he’d been replaying. You watched him plaster on a smirk.

There was that smile again. You were glad your cheeks were covered because you were pretty sure you were blushing.

“Do I get to ask you any?”

You nodded, “Sure.”

“Why do you wear that over your face?” He repeated.

“Why do you care?”

His head ticked to the side. You’d asked another question.

You relented. “I already told you.”

“But we both know that wasn’t the truth.” He said before taking another bite.

You sombered and sighed. You were trying to find the words.

“I only partly lied.” You finally said.

 Newt stopped eating and shocked you with what he said next. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business if you don’t want to talk about it.”

It was so...considerate of him to say that. It had been a long time since anyone other that Jorge was considerate to you. Even Brenda was harsh when you’d met her and she still makes comments about it.

The look in your eyes must have revealed something to him.

“You really don’t have to tell me.”

For some reason you did, though. Maybe it was his soft voice, maybe it was the random kindness he’d displayed, but suddenly, you wanted to show him. Almost like a test to see if he was genuinely kind at heart.

You slipped your index finger under the cloth near your nose but before you pulled it down you said, “Just...brace yourself.”

You pulled the mask down below your chin, revealing the angry red scar that ran from your upper lip, just below your nose, all the way to your ear, which had a notch missing from it.

Newt barely flinched. He just looked at you.

Your scar had healed thick which made it distort your lip slightly.

“When I was first sent here, after finding out I had the Flare, a crank attacked me with a shard of glass. He got me pretty good but Jorge was there and he saved me. He couldn’t do much to make me look better, though.” You pulled your mask back up. “Most people just stare at it, instead of me. So, I cover it up.”

“You shouldn’t.” He offered a hint of a smile as he switched to his second can of food. “Nothing wrong with the way you look.”

You sat stunned.

“I broke my leg in three places. That’s why I have a limp. Do you only see the limp when you look at me?” He asked.

You shook your head, unable to think of anything to say.

He shrugged his shoulders. “See?”

 You bit down a smile that threatened to spread across your mouth. Good thing your mask was on.

“I’m sorry I called you lizard boy.” You felt bad for teasing him, now.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been called worse.”

The two of you sat in silence for a short while. Then, you wondered something.

“What’s a shank?”

He chuckled, “Just something we say. Why?”

“Back in the building you called me a ‘bloody shank girl’.”

His cheeks flushed and he stared down at the can he was eating from. “Sorry.”

“So, shank isn’t nice then?”

“Depends…” He smirked, almost embarrassed he’d said that about you.

“And here I thought you were soft.”

He looked at you. “Nope, just wrong on occasion.”

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” You suddenly realized you’d never told him your name and now you wanted him to know it. To say it.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” He paused a moment before adding, “ I have a feeling I won’t regret it.” He glanced over at you again.

“You won’t.” You promised.

 *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

TMR Tags: 

@mo320 

[darksapphire29]

Imagine #5

Peter being afraid of needles.

Warnings: blood, needles, inaccurate description of wound-fixing (basically; don't copy how the reader fixes Peter cuz idk what I'm doing)

You pumped your legs harder, faster. Your heart pounded in your ears. Your limbs ached with every swift movement and you had a stitch in your side. Your pursuers followed with an energy you had left in the camp.

“This way!” Peter hollered from in front of you. He turned suddenly, your exhausted brain making you nearly ram into a tree. Luckily, Peter had slowed to grab your hand. He dragged you along through a thicker and darker part of the forest. After a minute, he pulled you around behind a tree. He pressed his back into the bark, his arms wrapped over your stomach as he clutched you to his body.

The two of you stood immensely still, huffing and puffing, sweat dripping down your back.

The pirates ran right past you.

The stupid men hurried off into the woods, and when their grumbles were out of earshot, you slackened against Peter. A relieved laugh bubbled up in your chest. Peter’s chest shook behind you. His angelic giggles filled your ears, and soon you were both trembling with mirth.

Not 10 minutes earlier, that codfish Hook had somehow found his way into camp. But it didn’t matter. You and Peter and the Lost Boys were prepared and hungry for a fight. Before you ran off to play tag, half of them were bleeding on the ground. It was grand fun. It still baffled you how they ever thought they could win.

“How many… did you get?” He gasped from behind you. You were still laughing, ignoring your ever-worsening stitch.

“E-Eleven.” You turned to face him, and he was grinning, his eyes sparkling with joy. It was a rare and beautiful sight. But then, he winced, and your laugh caught in your throat.

“You alright?” You took his hand, feeling familiar tingles from his skin on yours. It gave you butterflies, but something was wrong.

“Yes, I’ll… I’ll just walk it o—” He cut himself off, collapsing into you. You caught him, you hand touching something warm and wet on his side. He cried out.

“Peter! H-Hang on, we need to get you b-back…” You looked around quickly, trying to remember where you were. You had never been to this part of the forest before. You looked back down at Peter. The side of his shirt was soaked in his blood, and some of it dripped onto the leaves.

You lowered him onto the floor, peeling back his shirt to look at it. A long line of his skin was split open, blood leaking down the sides and staining his paling skin. It wasn’t too wide, but it was deep. You guessed he had been sliced by a sword. It was a clean cut. Easy enough to fix. But that didn’t make it easy to look at. Against your wishes, you started to tear up.

“Oh my gosh…” You whimpered, staring down at the red in shock. “A-Alright. L-Let me see if I h-have anything…” You searched your pockets. Normally, you would bring supplies for something like this. You were basically Neverland’s doctor. But you hadn’t, this time.

“Peter, I-I don’t have anything!” Your hands were shaking. Peter grabbed them.

“(Y/n), it’s okay…” He croaked. He closed his eyes, frowning a little. Suddenly, he was lying on a cot, and you were kneeling beside him in your healing chambers.

“Oh, Peter, thank you.” You scrambled to your feet and ran to the cupboard. Gathering ointments and disinfectant and stitches and bandages while Peter groaned in response. You placed everything on the table beside the bed, gathering some cloth and a bowl of warm water.

“Okay. This is gonna sting, so, on three?” Peter nodded; eyes squeezed shut. You breathed out slowly. “One…” Peter’s breathing sped up a little, and your chest tightened. “Two…” You got some scissors and cut open his shirt so you could get to the wound. “Three.”

You dabbed gently on and around his cut. You swiped away any dirt and washed the cloth in water a few times when it filled with blood and grime. All the while Peter squirmed and grunted and whimpered. It broke your heart to know you were causing him this pain.

"For Neverland's sake, Peter!" You grumbled, washing out the cloth for the third time. "Were you running even... even with this?"

How could the poor boy even move with such a wound, let alone run around in the forest?

Peter shrugged while lying down, which you weren't afraid to admit looked really weird.

"What could I say?" He smirked. "You were having such a good time, after all. It was fun... you don't smile like that often." You shook your head.

"For the record, Pan, you hardly smile at all." He laughed, but his eyes showed his pain. Both physical pain and emotional.

There was one speck of dirt that wouldn’t budge, you using the corner of the cloth to try and move it. Peter squeezing the mattress, you finally got it out.

When you finished cleaning, you rinsed off the cloth again. Your hands were a little red. You gagged at the sight. There was so much of Peter's blood; on your hands, in the bowl, on his shirt, on his skin, on the cot... it worried you. And it had to be fixed up before he lost any more.

“Peter.” He groaned again, opening his eyes to look at you. There were swollen and misty. “I’m going to need to stitch it together.” Peter’s eyes widened. He recoiled into the bed.

This was always the part you and every Lost Boy hated most. You just hoped Peter wouldn’t kill you; on purpose or accidental.

You’d had stitches before, and it sucked. The only difference here was, you were all out of poppy seeds, and Peter wasn’t about to fall asleep any time soon. Besides, he was the lightest sleeper on the whole of Neverland. So, you were going to give him a needle.

He seemed to read your mind, and you saw he was trying to prepare himself. You gathered your things, dabbing disinfectant around the wound. But when you brought out the needle, he was stiff as a board. “You okay?”

“Of course.” He said a little too quickly. You giggled.

“Are you afraid of needles?” He glared at you, trying to look intimidating. You waved the needle in his face. He flinched.

“Aw, Pan, it’s alright. (Y/n) will be gentle with the scary needle.” You teased.

“Just get it over with.” He growled. Your gaze softened.

“Really, Pete. It’ll be alright. Loads of people are afraid of needles.” You tried calming him down, the playful mood dissipating faster than it appeared. Peter scoffed.

“I am not afraid of needles.” You smiled softly. It was cute that the tough and intimidating Peter Pan was afraid of needles, but it was a pretty big needle. You weren’t about to mock his pride. Not again, anyway.

“Wanna hold my hand?” You held out your other hand for him to take. He looked away from you before he (somewhat begrudgingly) grabbed it. You smirked.

“Shut up.”

You positioned the needle over his skin, and he looked over into your eyes. His gaze steering clear of the small but sharp object.

“Ready?”

“No.” He grinned sheepishly, before it was replaced with a look of fear. He gulped, clutching your hand. Just before you pushed the needle through his skin, a vase nearby exploded. You and Peter jumped, a few shards of glass flying across the room. One of them nicked your cheek while another got your arm.

"(Y/n), I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" You shook a little, the needle still in your hand. You looked over to where the vase used to be, little pieces all over the table and ground. Some were even sticking out of the wall behind it.

Lucky for you, th vase was on the other side of the room. So aside from a scratch here and there, you were fine.

You looked back down at Peter. "Uh... yeah! Yeah, let's just finish this."

He didn’t move while you injected him. And to your relief, nothing exploded this time. He watched you with guilt in his eyes.

He fell asleep almost right away, and you went to work sewing him up. When it was done you washed the blood off his and your skin, taking off his shirt completely and putting him in a fresh one. Then, you sat in a chair with a book and waited for him to wake.

When he finally stirred, the first thing he searched for was you.

“(Y/n)?” You heard, and you put the book down.

He was looking around the room for you, eyes blinking slowly and his arms stretching above him. It was adorable.

“I’m here.” You smiled. His head turned slightly to the side, finding you. He smiled lazily.

“Come here.” You sat on the bed beside him, he not even bothering to sit up yet. Which was good, since it would ruin your human needlework. He grabbed you shirt and tried pulling you down. But he was still weak from sleep.

“Oh, stop it, Pan.” You giggled, taking his hands away. He just linked his fingers with yours. “Your still injured, and there isn’t enough room, anyway.”

Peter pouted. “You know you… want to.” He tried, but then yawned slightly. You laughed at his attempt to seduce you. He frowned.

“You’re tired. Get some rest.” You kissed his forehead, standing up to walk away. But his hand was still holding yours.

“I just was resting.” He argued, going to sit up. You quickly grabbed his shoulders.

“Don’t!” He stopped. “You’ll hurt yourself. Pop the stitches I was working on for hours.” He chuckled.

“My hero.” You ignored the sarcasm, forcing him to lie down.

“And as your hero, I am ordering you to go back to sleep.” He rolled his eyes, letting go of your hand and sighing (rather dramatically).

“Only if you stay with me.” You thought about it for a second, biting your lip. You weren’t a sound sleeper. What if you touched his stitches? Or took all the blanket? Or rolled on him? Or pushed him out of bed? Or—

“Just get in, (Y/n)!” He laughed at your thoughts, and you gave up. You climbed under the blankets next to him.

He went to roll on his side to face you, wanting to hold you. But then he winced and stopped himself. Instead, he put his arm under your neck and tucked you into his side. You laughed at the awkwardness of it all.

“Happy, now?” You giggled. He smirked at you.

“More than happy.”

***

“So, All-Powerful Pan… wanna talk about your fear of needles?”

“Shut up.”

You laughed.

[98prilla]

Saving Face

Inspired by This Video by hotvanilla on youtube. Such good animations, check them out, they have quite a few Sanders Sides animations and they’re all so awesome!

Deceit has a mild breakdown. The other sides help.

AO3

...

         He’s in the kitchen, when it starts. He’s washing up the dishes from the night before, because it was a movie night, and everyone passed out before cleaning anything up. He doesn’t mind cleaning. Finds it a bit soothing, actually, gives his hands something to do while his mind wanders.

His face burns, suddenly, a spasm of pain, and he drops the bowl he was holding into the sink, hand flying to his mouth at his reflection. The scales are gone, his face a mirror of Remus’s, unruly hair, electric green eyes, perfectly applied messy makeup.

           It stays just for a moment, before he grips the counter, another spasm wracking his frame, this time shifting all of him, he can tell from the outfit it’s Virgil this time, and he shakes his head.

           They’re healing, they all are, but he knows Virgil will still freak if he sees him impersonating him, never mind the fact that he isn’t trying to impersonate anyone at the moment. He hisses in a breath, forcing himself to change back, change back, and he does, though it sends a shooting sharp zing up his spine.

           “Um, Dee? You ok?” His head shoots up at the voice, forcing a smile to his face, forcing his mounting fear back as he can feel another change coming.

           “Yes. Fine and dandy. Just finished the dishes.” He sweeps past Patton, letting his smile drop as soon as he’s passed Patton and turned down the hall, staggering against the wall as he is nearly knocked off his feet, the sharpness like a punch to his stomach, rattling his bones. Roman this time, it seems, and he clenches his fists, trying to breathe.

           His gloves flicker in and out of existence for a moment, before they settle into reality, his outfit changing to his own, his face burning as it settles on Patton.  It’s coming faster now, and he can’t stop it, and he doesn’t know what is happening.

         His door seems like a distant mirage through the staggering pain that shatters in his skull each time his form flickers, he’s lost count of the changes, can’t keep track of the flickers he catches out of the corners of his eyes, here a green sash, there black dress pants, now a katana at his hip, now a hood pulled over his head, scales and blue eyes, green eyes and yellow gloves, red sash and black painted nails as he barely manages to shoulder his door open, stumbling across the room to his mirror.

           He’s clutching at his hair, as it changes again and again, his own face unrecognizable, and it hurts, and he just wants it to stop because he’s not even sure who he is anymore, this amalgamation of the other’s traits melding and mixing and breaking and shifting and his reflection is dizzying to look at.

           Then glass shatters, is sent flying across the room, and he belatedly realizes he has a new cut across his unscaled cheek, and for a moment, he’s himself again, eyes wide and afraid, the freckles across the bridge of his nose showing, with how pale his face is right now, and he stumbles back, broken glass crunching under his feet.

           He lets out a soft cry of pain as he drops to the floor, heedless of the glass, face buried in his hands, too long bangs that aren’t his hiding his face, and he feels himself glitching, cracking, breaking, he is sure the cracks in the mirror are etched into his skin, sure that the slightest breeze will blow him apart, send him scattering across the floor.

           It is too much, he doesn’t know why now, it is all hitting him, why now, it is all too much, when he’s had his entire existence to deal with every issue that he’s ever shoved back behind his walls, but suddenly those walls aren’t high enough and he’s drowning and he doesn’t know who he is anymore.

           His gaze shoots up as he hears the door open, scrambling backwards against the wall, breathe catching in his throat, before another spasm rocks him to his core, and he flinches back so hard his head cracks against the wall, tears springing to his eyes, and he can’t find it in him to open them and see what he has become this time, he can’t stand to see the looks on their faces.

           He is just starting to fit in, just starting to be accepted, just started having fun and being involved and not being purely maligned. And now, now this, now he looks like the monster Roman had once thought him to be, and he bites his lip hard as he curls forward, sickening nausea forcing his eyes open, his reflection staring at him from glass shards, a thousand different colored eyes staring back at him, and he doesn’t know which ones are his, if any of them have ever been his, he doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to look like, he never has, he’s forgotten his own face.

           “Dee.” A light touch rests on his shoulder, the voice low and soft, trying not to startle him. “what do you need?” Logan, he’s looking up at Logan, or is Logan looking at him? He doesn’t know, he can’t tell, he just shakes his head.

           “I don’t… I don’t know.” He gasps out, trying to stifle the changes, hands fisting in his gloves, oh, gloves, the gloves are back.

           “That’s ok, love. It’s ok to not know.” Roman murmurs, crouching beside him, carefully resting a hand on his knee, gentle enough he can easily pull away if he wants to.

           “It hurts… I don’t understand… I can’t…” he stammers, voice cracking, a silent scream building in his throat, one that would shatter glass if he hadn’t already done that with his own fist, but his vocal chords are closing shut, and he can’t make any more words, which terrifies him, and soon his breath is gasping in and out, sandpaper rubbing his throat raw as he struggles to inhale.

           “Breathe, Dee. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. You can do it, Dee. In and out.” His vision is spotty, but he recognizes Virgil’s voice, counting out the numbers slowly and steadily, whispering out soft encouragements between numbers, until his vision clears, and he realizes he’s slumped back against Remus, who must have slid in between him and the wall to cushion his head.

           “DeeDee? You back?” He nods weakly, collapsing as a final wave of fiery flame races across his face, feeling everything shift back into place, his scales unfurl across his cheek, his capelet settle across his shoulders, his gloves firmly in place.

           “yes. Sorry.” He manages, face pressed against Remus’s shirt, not trusting himself to look at anyone, not wanting to see his own reflection in the shattered glass, afraid of it for the first time in years.

           “Oh, kiddo. There’s nothing to be sorry about. I was coming to check on you, cause you seemed a little off in the kitchen, when Logan heard you shout and the thump against the wall.”

           He winces. He hadn’t realized he’d shouted. Hadn’t realized he’d been that loud.

           “Don’t apologize again, or I’ll rip out your tongue and stitch it back on.” Remus whispers in his ear, making him let out a surprised snort, because that is Remus’s way of saying he’s worried, and he cares, and he’s here.

           “you’re hurt.” Patton murmurs, and he wants to wince at the touch that ghosts over his cheek, where the glass cut it, but he doesn’t, because it is touch, and it feels good to be touched so gently.

           “We should also bandage those knuckles, and get them some ice, so they don’t swell.” Logan responds, and he cracks open his eyes at the almost hesitant note in his voice, peeking out from the sanctuary of Remus’s arms just a tad, just to gauge the amount of disgust or hatred he’d be dealing with now.

           “Hey. ‘S ok, Dee. No one’s mad. No one’s upset. We’re just worried about you, alright? That’s all. Just let us help, ok?” Virgil asks, no doubt picking up on his own anxiety, the cause of which wasn’t hard to guess. Especially since Virgil had lived with them so long before moving. Virgil could read him better than anyone else, save Remus.

           “ok.” He whispers again, looking around the room, seeing Virgil’s words echoed in everyone else’s eyes, and he can feel the truth of it like cream being poured into black coffee, slowly mellowing out the bitterness to something tolerable.

           He lets Remus carry him to the living room, lets Logan and Patton fuss over his hand, lets Virgil slip onto the couch next to him, and intertwine their hands without saying a word, just a silent pillar of support. He lets his head rest against Roman’s shoulder, who starts humming softly, Remus eventually joining to form a strange, lilting duet that flits like a hummingbird through his mind.

           “it’s ok, Dee. You can sleep.” He feels Patton kiss his head softly, as Logan finishes carefully wrapping his hand in bandages, but he doesn’t let go, instead gently stroking his knuckles with his thumb, just light enough to send tingles up his arm. “we’ll be right here when you wake up. Then we can figure this all out together, m’kay?” Patton asks, and he is barely aware of mumbling something that could be a yes, because he is warm, and surrounded by people, and surrounded by touch, that grounds him in a way he hasn’t known in years.

           “thank you.” He whispers, not sure if anyone can even here him, with how quiet his voice is, how small, and it hurts, honestly, to speak, but he forces those words out anyway, because he means them.

           “Of course, love.” Roman murmurs in his ear, and he feels Virgil squeeze his hand gently in agreement, Logan pressing a kiss to his bruised knuckles that sends shivers up his spine in a good way, Remus holding him just a bit closer, Patton gently tucking back his hair, and he is crying, finally, the silent tears slipping out because somehow being loved almost hurts more right now than being ignored and hated, because it gives him something to lose. And the last time he lost, he lost Virgil.

           “you’re not gonna lose us, Dee. You’re not gonna scare us away. We will fight for you, I will fight for you, I promise.” Virgil, soft but fierce, and he can’t tell if he’d spoken out loud, or if his anxiety was just so strong that Virgil could read it with ease.

           “I love you.” He says smally, slipping back into the darkness, every inch of him aching from the forced shifting, sore and feeling like every muscle has been pulled, every part of him stretched wrong.

           “love you too, snake face. Now go to sleep.” Remus replies fondly, and he finds himself unable to disobey that soft suggestion any longer, not if his family will be there when he wakes up.

[skzafterdusk]

lee minho + "And July"

request from the Dean Title Track List

tags: vampire!reader, immortal!minho, daddy kink

The sun has already set; you can tell that much. If it hadn’t been for the darkening cracks in your closed blinds, you would have never noticed the way the room around you has grown dim. You could turn on the kitchen light, flicker on a lamp in the living room, but you were almost petrified in your spot on the kitchen counter; your right leg bent so your arm could rest on your knee, and your left leg dangling over the edge. Any bruises you probably had on your face hours ago have already healed, the pain long gone, as well.

Minho’s body is just in eyesight from where you’re sitting. Splayed out and unmoving, you pay close attention to this heart in his chest that remains still. You’d snapped his neck hours ago, but you count down the moments.

10 metaphorical heart beats…

9…

8…

7…

The silence should be deafening with not a single breath to inhale. But you quite enjoyed the feeling. Even after years of being undead yourself...to not need the oxygen in your lungs...but to prefer it. Odd.

5…

4…

You like to wonder if this time will be different. So many shows would like to have you believe that coming back to life is like crashing into your own body, the sudden way one wakes up after dreaming of falling to their demise. Minho never came back in that manner.

3...2...1…

It’s always the first beat of the heart. The first noise to fill the apartment in so many hours. Then it’s the rush of blood as they circulate through his veins. And he takes his first breath...his lungs fill with a mighty gulp of air...but he remains still. And it’s the softest sound, but you can almost make out the flutter of his lashes when he blinks his eyes open. And thus, Lee Minho has come back to life, yet again. And the fun shall continue.

“Good!” You exclaim, moving your stiff joints to hop down from the counter. On the impact of your bare feet hitting the floor, it’s met with the crunch of some snack-like food; chips, perhaps. But the crumbs under your feet are of no importance as you make your way through the doorway and into the living room. That is when the comparatively softer bed of broken chips turns into a gravely path of broken glass. Never the most comfortable, but you’ll live.

Minho is just beginning to stir, sitting up in his spot and going to nurse his head as if he suffered from a night of drinking heavily, to the point where his body screamed at him in agony from the inside out.

“You’re awake,” you say cheerfully, a too innocent grin on your lips.

The man huffs as he rubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms. “You bitch.” Such a simple statement that holds the weight of his anger.

Anger, of course, that can only spell fun for you.

“You’ve called me much worse.” Your statement only holds objective truth.

He’s finally able to stand up, slow at first, but his energy seems to flow through him once his eyes land on you. Are you the predator or prey? It’s usually so hard to tell, really.

He stalks towards you in an instant, making sure to crowd your space and look down at you from under his nose. “Why the fuck did you kill me?”

You shrug with a scoff, electing to move past him and further into the living room. You’d left it in disarray after you guys had begun fighting. Drinking glasses hurled at walls, chairs and tables strewn about. You go to turn on that lamp, the only one still managing to stand after the hurricane that is you and Minho.

You’re not entirely sure what his excuse is, but immortality has left only two states of mind for you: insufferable boredom or rollercoasters of emotions. Clearly, one of them sounds more entertaining, yes?

The warm light of the lamp illuminates the chaos around you. Your voice, as you answer, doesn’t necessarily fit the current state.

“You were getting annoying. You probably would have tried to stab me if I hadn’t gotten to you first.”

Unfortunately for Minho, though, is that in some places, stabbing is quite...exhilarating. 

The immortal other seems to be at a loss for words, since he decides to go to the kitchen rather than come up with a response to your excuse.

“All the time I was out and you couldn’t bother to clean this place up?” grumbles Minho, searching through a cabinet before finding the prize, a bottle of whiskey. 

You turned your nose up at the sight of the bottle. You hated the taste of whiskey, and you hated even more the way Minho’s blood tastes after he had his fill. It was a sure way to make sure you didn’t feed on him, which must be the payback for...well...yknow.

“I didn’t make the mess by myself. We clean it together if you’re so worried about it.”

He doesn’t even bother getting a glass (possibly he wouldn’t be able to find one), just tears the cap away and starts taking swigs.

“Only thing I’m worried about is how I’m gonna get you back for snapping my neck.”

You roll your eyes as you lean against the wall adjacent to the kitchen doorway. He’d turned on the dim fluorescent light. The scar on his lip and cheek are still there because his bruises don’t heal quickly like yours. No matter for you. You’ve always preferred the look of him a little beaten up.

“Think this through, babe,” you start. “If you try anything, you’ll be stuck with this messy place until I can wake up.”

He makes sure to take a longer drink before slamming the bottle on the counter. Again, as he stalks towards you, he almost looks like the predator, like he’s capable of doing any real harm to you. He’d get pleasure out of it, regardless. 

His grip is firm when he grabs your face, fingers digging into your cheeks until they plump up and pucker your lips. 

He spends a long while just examining your face, eyes flitting to your lips, searchin your eyes, observing and appreciating the slope of your nose. What he sees makes him smile; it’s a sadistic premonition for the near future, the dark behind his white teeth. 

“How about I whip out the cuffs? Know how much you hate being tied down.” His breath already smells like the cursed wood barrel that stored his whiskey, but you make sure to keep your face cool, so as not to show him how he’s already getting under your skin.

“Please, you love it when I scratch you up. No need to torture yourself, as well, daddy.”

His smile drops immediately at the pet name, eyes of fire suddenly bursting with fury. “Told you never to call me that.”

You shrug. “Not my fault you can’t handle your own kinks.” He snaps your head back until it meets the wall. The angle is awkward enough for it to not cause much impact, unfortunately. “Aw,” you coo. “Did I make daddy angry?”

His hand goes down to close around your neck, just under your jaw. The air you’d been breathing cuts off immediately. He already knows it doesn’t make much difference to you, but the pleasure still starts to travel south, waking your core to the possibility of what Minho might do to you in his fit of rage.

“You’re so lucky you’re already dead. How would you and your filfthy mouth survive otherwise?”

Your time as a human started fading by the end of your second decade as a vampire. It wasn’t much of a life, and Minho had known exactly why. A survivalist like yourself knew when to speak and when to keep her mouth shut. But being at the top of the food chain...well…

“And you’re lucky you found me.” You bring a hand to rest against the hand fisted around your neck. You can feel the pulse of the veins in that hand. Maybe he didn’t drink enough to make his blood taste so strongly of the alcohol. Maybe you’ll be able to bypass it. “You know how boring your immortal life would be if I hadn’t come along?”

He laughs loudly, but no humour resides in its hearty sound. His jaw is clenched, grasp growing stronger around your neck. Cutting off circulation to veins that need not produce new or fresh blood. You’d say his efforts were all for naught, but then that wouldn’t take into consideration the way liquid fire seemed to drip from your pores in anticipation. 

“Do you think I enjoy being killed?”

“Don’t make it sound like I do it that often, daddy, be reasonable.”

If you were a human in this moment, everything would have happened like a blur in front of your eyes; the way Minho dragged you from the wall, throwing your body to the floor -you probably wouldn’t have noticed the shards of glass that broke through your clothes and cut through your back-, how he suddenly was on top of you, taking one of the bigger shards and pressing the jagged edge to your throat. One wrong move as a human, and you would have been dead.

But you’re not, and the thrill that comes is not of terror, but of excitement. See? Had you been wrong?

You can feel his semi-hard length against your stomach. It makes a smarmy grin grace your lips, challenging eyes looking at his. “Fucking knew it. Daddy gets so hard-”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

With a nod, you answer matter-of-factly. “Yeah, when you’re dead. Then I don’t have anyone to play with.”

The glass must have cut Minho’s hand, for soon the sweet smell of iron fills your nostrils, and the crimson drips to the point of the glass that meets your skin. Automatically, your fangs elongate from your gums, and your mouth begins to salivate.

“Let’s stop fucking around,” you suggest, voice a mere hiss. “And let’s play some games.”

Minho doesn’t see the world as you do, doesn’t get the advantage of the same reaction time. That’s why he isn’t able to stop you before you can rip the glass from his hand and sink your teeth into the heel of his palm. It’s not the best place to bite from, but the skin there is always easiest to puncture, and the blood likes to flow freely there.

The first mouthful of blood is always bliss, so satisfying like jigsaw pieces slotting into place. It’s so euphoric, you remember you’d have tears in your eyes your first few feeds. Immortals like Minho are rare, but they’re the best source to feed from. His blood doesn’t taste any better, but he’ll be around way longer than any human can.

He grinds his hips down, looking for friction, pleasure. You pull away, reveling in the blood that slides down your throat, before sitting up, your faces breadths apart.

“Looks like daddy wants to play.”

“(Y/N)...” he only calls your name like a warning, seemingly somewhere between anger and pleasure. He still wants to have an upperhand.

Maybe tonight you’ll let him. As an apology, of course, for killing him.

[rebsrams]

A case of you (Ethan x F!MC)  part II

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey and MC (Dr. Rebecca Valentine)

Warnings: none. Just utterly romantic fluff.

Summary: part II of my fic A case of you. Find part I here.

Word count: 1,377   

@openheartfanfics​

"On the back of a cartoon coaster

In the blue TV screen light

I drew a map of Canada

Oh, Canada

With your face sketched on it twice"

Then he saw her.

Just standing there, in the gloomy blue reflection of the tv placed on a shelf above her head.

She was swiping her finger delicately on the rim of the glass, a few coppery curls partially blocking her view.

He noticed than she had a map of some place he didn't recognize from that distance, with something sketched upon it, a few lines which from where he was standing didn't make any sense. 

"Rookie."

He called for her, breathless from the run and completely stunned by her natural beauty. 

But most of all, he was thankful to see her there, still waiting for him.

She looked up, her eyes glimmering with surprise and pure joy.

She hadn't heard him call her like that in a really long time, and suddenly they both someway felt brought like a rush to the start of it all.

That first day at the hospital, the first nights they gazed at each other through glasses of scotch on the rocks with the chattering of her friends in the background.

The coffees they secretly shared, because he couldn't stand that anyone else knew the existence of his precious and miracolous coffee machine.

That night spent together next to baby Ethan, while Ethan senior was still grieving for the loss of his mother.

That was the night he knew that anything was the same anymore. 

That he couldn't live peacefully without her.

 And he wouldn't. 

She immediately stood up, her lower lip already trembling for the excitement. "Dr. Ramsey." she managed to say, voice shaking and weak in the knees. 

She dreamed so much about this moment. 

She knew he was gonna tell her something that was going to change her life, for better of for worse. 

They finally met in front of the table, merely a couple of inches between them. He just gazed into her eyes, afraid that by saying anything he would have ruined the incredible moment they were living.

 A moment of awareness.

 "Listen, Ethan, you don't really have to say anything at all, I-I'm incredibily sorry for what..."

"I love you." 

The sentence cut into her clumsy speech like a shard of glass, sudden and sure. Eyes wide and gaping, a thin "what?" was everything she could actually manage to say in return. 

He quickly took her by the shoulders, as if to shake some sense into her, and repeated, even more sure than before: "I love you, Rebecca. Your clumsiness, and your incredible kindness, and altruism, your impatience and the little wrinkle on your forehead that it causes you when you have to wait for an important result. I love that you always take the same time to come to my office after I paged you, always a little breathless because you ran up the stairs to be quicker. I love your freshness, and the incredible irony you have, worthy of your stunning mind. I love the fire that you hold inside, igniting you from the bone, even when it's directed towards me." at that point,she let out a small chuckle, beginning to sniff loudly. 

"I love that you're so emotional" he continued, wiping her tears with his thumb "that you cried all night after that one of your long time patients left the hospital for good because you could heal him. I love you, Rebecca. And I don't want to hide anymore." 

Now, he was cupping her cheeks with both of his big and warm hands. 

"Are you going to make my heart stop?" she said, nearly choking with her tears. "Couldn't you just... I don't know, deliver the news in small doses?" 

Now was his turn to chuckle, a giggle which turned into a deeply laugh that filled his chest. 

"What was that saying of yours... Go big or go home, right?"

Just like he imagined, she threw her arms around his neck and began to pepper his face with kisses, until their mouths finally encountered in what seemed the seal to a silent pact. 

No more lies. No more running.

They stood there, in each other's arms, foreheads touching and inebriated grins on their faces for what seemed an eternity.

Eventually, they sat to share a drink together, cherishing the moment a little more.

"What is it that you have there?"

He pointed to the map she was sketching upon, catching her cheeks turning red.

"Oh, just a little... Nothing, really"

He could easily smell the lie, picking the map of what looked like...

"Canada? And... Is it my face that you were drawing?"

"It's a long story."

"I have plenty of time. Plus, I'm not going anywhere." he said, kissing the back of her hand.

She let out a long sigh.

"Well, long story short... I was offered a job at the Toronto General hospital, a few days ago. I must admit that I really thought about moving my residency there, escaping from my problems and starting a new life. I even bought this map yesterday, hoping it would have gave me the courage to finally face the decision.Then... I found myself sketching your face on it, twice, and hoping that you wouldn't forget me once I got away. That you could forgive me, if I went there. Now I'm so ashamed... I just want to dig deep and hide!"

She let go of his hand and dug both hands in the mess of her curls, a dismayed expression on her face.

"Rebs, sweetheart. I should be the one ashamed, here. You have to forgive me. For the way I treated you, for backing away when you needed me the most, for being so fucking scared of making you suffer just by being by your side that I hurt you anyway. That is a thing I could never forgive myself for, but you have to. I couldn't live otherwise."

He tilted her chin up to make her face him, giving her a quick nod.

"Let me take you home." he said almost in a whisper.

Now was her turn to nod, a brief smile hanging loose on her lips.

"You're in my blood like holy wine

You taste so bitter and so sweet, ohI could drink a case of you

Still I'd be on my feet

Oh, I would still be on my feet"

Three years later, Dr. Ethan Ramsey was sitting on the couch of his apartment, her wife's head in the slope of his neck while he gently caressed her belly, swollen by six months of pregnancy.

"Judy, dear, I already told you that you'll have to wait a little longer before meeting us. We're quite impatient too, your mommy especially, but that is no reason to kick the hell out of her." Ethan whispered softly to her womb.

"Ethan! That's not quite the way to talk to a baby, you know."

While playfully reproaching him, she shuffled his hair in a way that made his heart melt like the first time she laid her hands on him.

"Maybe we should blame it on the alcohol. I think that three glasses of that pinot noir i drank with Naveen this evening had me quite dizzy. I still can't imagine how a man of his age who once was on the verge of death and ready to let everything go could take the alcohol that way."

"Maybe it's my presence that makes you so dizzy, uh? I saw you enter that door quite decently just half an hour ago." she mocked him, remembering him stumble through the doorstep.

"Trust me, my dear, you're the only thing that's keeping me on my feet and going. You, and this funny little thing in here" 

He kissed her belly affectionately, unspoken prayers carried with the simplicity of that gesture. 

"Have I ever told you that I love you, Doctor Ethan Jonah Ramsey?" she replied, giving him a peck on the lips.

Something about his full name said by her wife's full lips filled him with pride and a touch of lust that he could never resist, no matter how hard he tried.

"Quite a few times, I guess."

With a swift movement, despite her several months of pregnancy and his actual dizziness, he lift her up and brought her to their bedroom, ready to cherish her once more as he always did since that night of three years before. 

Aaaand here we go! Hope you liked the second part.

I had a lot of fun writing this.

Feel free to report any mistake (as I already said, I’m not a native speaker and I’d really like to improve, so your help is more than well received!)

Also, I’m trying to gather a taglist, so let me know if you’re interested in my writing and want to stay up to date on my MC adventures!

[minjuwrites]

Waves

AUTHORS NOTE: Hey guys! It’s been a bit, I was a little preoccupied with life but, I'm back to writing! I just want to say thank you for the likes and comments on my last post, it meant the world to me that people took the time to read what I posted! I said I had Jungkook fic on the way but It’s pretty lengthy and heavy so I'm still working on it! But, in celebration of August-D2 heres a little angst fic of Yoongi. I tend to write angst a lot because it's super emotional and I feel like I write a little better haha! Stay safe and enjoy!

Yoongi x reader (established relationship), Jungkook x reader (best friends)

Words Count: 4162

WARNINGS: drinking, drinking and driving, death, swearing, self inflicted injuries, blood and grief!

*Please do not read if the thought of death is triggering*

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

A scream rings throughout the apartment as another glass cup is smashed on the wood floor. He tries again, yelling, but it brings him no satisfaction. The pain is still there, swallowing him with every passing moment. Running his hands through his hair his eyes land on the strategically placed picture frames on the coffee table, the emotions they bring burn him to the core. Stumbling over he grabs one of the frames looking at the picture. He runs his thumb over your smiling face. Your arm was wrapped around him as he planted a kiss on your cheek. Failing to stifle the whimper that escapes from his mouth he throws the frame to the ground in one fluid motion. Not even seconds pass before the rest of the frames are recklessly thrown around the apartment, the glass shards spraying across the floor. He doesn’t realize when he starts crying, but when he grabs the last frame he takes a second to look at the picture. His eyes blur the image but, he can tell it was the most recent picture of you two. Jungkook took it when everyone was out, your head was resting on his shoulder as you slept, Yoongi just stared with eyes of adoration. The memory floods back to him; you were so tired from work but, after the pleas from the rest of the boys you decided to go out. It was short lived as you only lasted about an hour before passing out on Yoongi. He didn’t mind it one bit though, as he got to see your sleeping face he loved so much. He swears his heart skips a million beats seeing the way your eyebrows knit and the snores that leave your slightly open lips. His knuckles turn white from how harshly he clutches the frame, he tries to throw it but halfway through his arm goes limp and he drops to his knees. Hugging the picture to his chest, he lets the loud sobs wrack his body. He's sinking and sinking, begging for a life raft in a sea of his own misery. The waves crash over him right before he can reach for air and the sobs continue. His chest hurts, his brain hurts yet he feels so utterly numb. He’s so weak he allows his body to lay against the floor, he gives up trying and lets the waves come take him away. The glass against the floors reminds him of the accident and he curls into a ball like a scared child.

“Please,” he buries the picture deeper into his chest. “Bring her back to me, please.”

He didn’t care how pathetic he seemed, he was weak and broken. He didn’t care if his friends knew, he didn’t care if his family knew and he certainly didn’t care if his neighbors knew.

The alcohol churns in his stomach and a part of him tries to get up before he vomits but, the other part is too overcome with emotions to even move. Eventually, he bolts up and runs to the bathroom purging all the alcohol and little food in his system. With a heave he goes to the sink rinsing his face and mouth. His eyes catch himself in the mirror and he can’t help but stare. His eyes are bloodshot and the cuts are still healing. The bruising around his eye and cheek are turning a yellow hue signaling the healing. In an instant he is disgusted.

“Your fault,” he slurs out, gripping the edges of the sink taking a deeper look at himself. “You should have been paying attention.”

His eyes narrow and grow fierce as he winds his fist back. “You killed her!”

The sound of glass crunching fills the space and for one moment, one single moment the world is silent. As he pulls his now bloody fist back the shattered shards break off and make a clink as they fall to the ground. Exhaustion fills every crevice of his body and he drags himself to your once shared bedroom. It’s the first time he's been in it since being discharged. His heart aches as he climbs on the bed tucking himself in. The injury on his hand goes untreated, too uninterested to even wrap the bloody knuckles. He stays on his side, as he reaches for your pillow. It smells like you, and he's burying his nose in the fabric inhaling the scent. It brings a strange comfort and he finds himself sobbing again. His tired mind and body finally slip out of consciousness as the last thought in his head is you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~                                                     3 Days Ago

“Yoongi-ah!” you giggle wrapping an arm around his neck before giving a peck on his cheek. You are stupidly in love but, so is he. He knows you’re the girl he wants to spend the rest of his life with, he’s been carrying the box in his pocket for so long, yet he's too nervous to ask the question.

“Yes?” he gives a gummy smile as your tipsy state.

“Kookie is being a little brat,” you pout. “He keeps challenging me to drinking games.” Yoongi turns his head to a chuckling Jungkook and raises a brow. “Is he now?”

“She started it, hyung!” He whines.

Plopping yourself on Yoogni’s lap you stick your tongue out at the younger boy. Yoongi automatically wraps his arms around your waist, smiling at the two of you's child-like behavior.

“Are you sure you don’t want to drink with us? We can always call a cab.” You stare at him with puppy eyes.

Yoongi nods his head and tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m okay, I like watching you have fun, I don’t need to drink to have fun.”

You smile before kissing him on the cheek.

“I would say ew but, you guys are fucking adorable.” Jungkook smiles before pouting. “When am I gonna meet someone?”

You smile before leaning over to flick the younger boy's forehead.

“Don’t worry, Kookie! I got my eyes open for her.” You smile.

The three of you continue to have fun at the bar, the night is filled with drinking (minus Yoongi who sipped on his sprite), dancing and awful jokes that probably only made sense to the three of you. After a couple of hours the alcohol fills you with a tired feeling and you lean your head on Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Tired.” Is all you get out causing Yoongi to laugh.

“Wanna go home?”

You nod your head child-like before Yoongi searches the bar for Jungkook. As if right on cue, jungkook makes his way over with a water in his hand.

“We are gonna head out, Y/N is about to pass out at the booth here.” Yoongi smiles.

“Me too,” the younger boy slurs. “I'll head out with you guys I’m gonna call a cab.”

Yoongi nods before wrapping an arm around you for support. “You sure you don’t want a ride?”

“Nah, I’m okay it would be out of the way for you guys anyways.” Jungkook states.

The three of you all headed out the door, you told Yoongi (as wasted as you were) that you wanted to make sure Jungkook got in the cab safe so you all waited for the arrival.

As you wait the sound of booming laughter bursts through the door as two clearly drunk men come stumbling out. Their slurred words are unintelligible as they shout loudly over one another. The two make their way to a black SUV before hopping inside and speeding off. The sound of the tires screeching causes Jungkook to wince while you all watch with concerned faces.

“God damn,” Jungkook mumbles. “You guys be careful, yeah? Those idiots are seriously gonna get someone killed.”

You and Yoongi agree. “I hope they get home safe…” you whisper.

Shortly after a white cab rolls up and Jungkook pulls you two into a hug.

“Goodnight love birds! Y/N I will be at your house tomorrow with plenty of advil and greasy food.” He gives you a wink before skipping to the car.

The two of you wave off JUngkook as the cab drives out of the lot and down the road.

“Are you doing alright?” Yoongi asks.

“Mhm,” you smile. “I’m perfectly great when I’m with you.”

Yoongi flashes his teeth before gently pulling you to the car. He opens the passenger door gently placing you inside making sure to tuck your feet under the dashboard and fasten your seatbelt. He takes a second after he's finished to admire you.

“You’re so cute.” He reaches over and boops your nose releasing you into a fit of giggles.

“Yoongi?”

“Yeah.” He answers.

“I love you.” You smile up at him.

His heart skips before he captures your lips in a kiss, cradling your jawline. “I love you too.”

No matter how many times you say the words to each other, butterflies fill your stomach everytime.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

Yoongi closes the door and climbs into the drivers side. Starting the car up with ease he pulls out of the parking lot and makes his way back home. Feeling a bit tired he turns the music on tuning the radio to find the perfect station. As he finds the perfect one he pulls to an intersection stepping on the brakes for the red light. The streets are completely dead, it made sense considering it was almost 3am.

“Yoongs? You spoke so quietly Yoongi barely heard you.

“Yes?” He reaches over smoothing down your hair.

He could see the sleep in your eyes and he started to become impatient with the light.

“You know you are my soulmate?”

“Well,” Yoongi chuckled as he continued to stroke your hair. “You know you are MY soulmate?”

You peer up at him with a goofy smile. “I mean it, I can’t picture my life with anyone else. You make me happy and feel so… me.”

He can see the sincerity in your eyes, that's when he makes the decision. Tomorrow is the day he pops the question, no more pussying out.

“I can’t either, I feel like I'm on cloud 9 when I'm with you. I can’t imagine a life without you.”

You close your eyes as your lips tug upwards.

“Sleep, i'll wake you up when we are home.” He leans over placing a kiss on your forehead.

The light turns green and Yoongi carefully drives in order to not wake you up. He tries to avoid all the bumps in the road but it gets a little difficult as he reaches an area with less streetlights.

“You know, I’m gonna ask you to marry me.” Yoongi looks at the road.

As he begins to reach towards the intersection closer to your house he hears your voice.

“About time.” He hears you mumble.

He's about to laugh before everything goes in slow motion.

He almost doesn’t notice it at first, the car is a black SUV. The headlights are off but he can hear the too late screeching of the breaks as the car launches on your side. It’s so painfully slow yet his body can’t move fast enough. The sound of metal against metal fills his ears as he feels the car spiral before losing balance. The closest thing Yoongi can describe the feeling is like being on a roller coaster. As the car flips over Yoongi feels his head hit the side of the door. It doesn’t hurt but, nothing seems to register besides the sound of glass breaking. He doesn’t remember when his eyes shut but, when he opens them all the pain rushes through his body.

“Fuck.” He coughs out.

Everything is blurry and one of his eyes can barely open. He sits upright, finally piecing together the scene.

“Y/N?” He asks, trying to push himself upright with a grunt.

When you don’t answer the panic fills his chest, despite how much his body screams at him to sit still he turns his aching neck to your direction. The sight makes his blood run cold as he gasps out.

“Y/N?!” He tries to reach for you but his seatbelt constricts him.

He moves slowly only fueling into his panic and frustration. He tries unbuckling the seat belt but it's stuck. He cries calling out your name struggling the best he can to pull the belt off and get to you. He finally stops pulling to look at you again, taking in all the damage. Your side of the car in crushed, broken glass pierces your skin and your body lays in an abnormal position. Your eyes are slightly open as blood trickles out of your mouth. Yoongi panics waiting for the sight of your chest to fall and rise but nothing comes.

“No, no, no, no,” Yoongi whimpers as he closes his eyes, throwing his head back. “Please god, no.”

The sound of sirens ring in the background, they are close. Yoongi perks up at the sound before screaming and yanking the seatbelt in different ways eventually getting it to let go of his grasp on him.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay, the ambulance is here they are gonna get you fixed up. Just hang in there.” Yoongi cradles your limp head ignoring the way you mold too easily to his touch.

“Y/N, I need you to wake up, please I just need you to-” he breaks down as the emergency cars pull up to the scene.

“I need you to wake up, I need you,” He can barely form sentences as he's gasping for breath. You aren’t breathing and you aren't moving.

He screams and yells as the EMTs rush to him picking him up and placing him on the stretcher. His body doesn’t let him escape as they work on him. The sounds of radios and bustling people are all too much for him.

He begs them to get you as they slip the oxygen mask around his head loading him into the ambulance. They try their best to calm Yoongi down but he's hysterical. He waits for them to load you inside the vehicle but they quickly speed off despite Yoongi’s protests. Panic fills his chest until the last thing he sees is black.

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

                                                 2 Weeks Later

He runs his fingers against the smooth wood of the casket. You look so peaceful laying there with a head against the pillow. They covered the cuts with makeup, they almost look invisible.

“Hey,” Yoongi starts with a cracking voice. “You look so beautiful.”

He takes his hand caressing your cold cheek before letting it fall to his side.

“Ever since I met you I knew you were the one, falling in love with you was so easy, everything with you felt so natural yet, no matter how many years passed you always made my heart leap. There's no one else like you, I don’t think there ever will be.” He smiles before reaching into his chest pocket pulling out the ring that had waited so long to be placed on your delicate finger. “It’s always gonna be you. I've been wanting to do this for so long.”

Gently taking your hand he slips the ring on your finger rubbing over it for a moment before placing your hand back in its original position.

“I love you.” He croaks. “I wish I could have been able to hear your answer.”

“She would have said yes.” A voice rings out causing Yoongi to turn to the sound.

Jungkook makes his way over to the casket, his black suit is pressed and clean not quite matching his now long fluffy hair. As he gets closer, Yoongi can see how red and irritated his eyes are, the bags rest under showing the emotional tow he was experiencing.

“She always would tell me, if you didn’t ask her soon she was about to pop the question herself.” He smiles at Yoongi with sad eyes. “I've never seen two people so in love, you guys were perfect, I know she would have said yes.”

Yoongi nods as the tears slip from his face. “I miss her.”

Jungkook pulls the older boy into a hug before letting the tears slip from his own eyes. “I do too, hyung.”

Not too long after the service begins, not once does Jungkook leave Yoongi’s side. The other boys stay nearby doing their part in helping set up and take down the setup. They are careful around the other two, making sure to give them the space they need. Everyone in the room was hurting, they were all dealing with it in their own ways. Everyone says their speeches, lastly Yoongi goes up to the podium as all eyes land on him. Clearing his throat he scans the crowd.

“Y/N was one of the kindest souls I had ever had the pleasure of knowing. With her, every obstacle and bad day was easier. She was the light of everyone's life.” The crowd's faces became blurred and he felt so vulnerable. None of the words he could say would ever compare to who you were as a person. “I know we are all feeling lost without her here but, I know she will always be a part of us. I hope she's watching us, with her beautiful smile and leading us down the right path. Even in death she brings us together.”

The crowd smiles, knowing you and how you are.

“As we mourn the loss of a daughter, a best friend,” Yoongi looks at your grieving parents before turning his attention to Jungkook, he swallows before speaking again, turning his eyes to your figure. “And a soulmate. Let us use this time to support and care for each other like Y/N would have wanted.”

Yoongi walks back to his seat and sits down watching as everyone begins to get up one by one saying their final goodbyes.

It seems to be going too fast now, everyone is on their way to the burial site. Flowers cover the sleek mahogany casket hovering above the deep hole that awaits your final resting place. As everyone gathers around the sound of the machine whirling makes Yoongi close his eyes. He wants to watch you for one last time but, the thought of you lowering to the ground causes his heart to shatter. With his eyes closed he can hear the cries of your family, especially your parents. It's too much but he remains in his spot forcing himself to open his eyes just as your casket disappears from his line of vision. Despite being older Yoongi has to look up at Jungkook’s face. He holds his head steady as the tears stream down his cheeks. This time, Yoongi puts on the brave face patting Jungkook on the back letting him know it's okay to cry. And that's all it takes for him to break down. As the others soon begin to drift back one by one back to their cars the two boys and your immediate family remain wanting to be with you for a little longer.

Yoongi looks towards your grieving parents, he hasn’t spoken with them outside planning the funeral arrangements. The guilt always ate at him, he was worried about what they would say or think of him. Deciding it was now or never Yoongi made his way towards the pair. The sight of the two caused a pang in his chest, your mother's mascara was smeared and messy from hours of crying, your father looked like he hasn't slept in days.

“Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N, I just wanted to say-.” Before Yoongi can finish, your mother wraps him in a hug, your father joining in shortly after.

“You gave my child so much happiness, I have never seen them glow so much after you two started dating. They always talked about you, and especially how much they loved you. I can see you are blaming yourself but, it’s not your fault. There was nothing you could do.” Your mother's words spoke as she continued to cling to Yoogi.

Still in shock, he hesitates for a moment before wrapping his arms around your parents. The heaviness that held him down seemed lighter and a rush of emotion flooded his body. He was a mess, as the three of them held onto each other, sharing the grief.

After a while everyone had left except for Yoongi and Jungkook. The two sat next to you on the soft green grass. The air had a chill as the sun began to set on the two of them. They didn’t say much, as they simply enjoyed each other's company as they thought about fond memories involving you.

“Hyung?” Jungkook asks.

Yoongi humms showing that he's listening.

“Do you really think Y/N is watching over us?”

Yoongi knows you are, you always cared so deeply for everyone you met. He knew even in the afterlife you would take care of everyone as well.

“Yeah, I really do.” He smiles leaning on his elbows.

Jungkook lets out a sound of satisfaction before copying Yoongi’s movements. The two boys continue to soak up the refreshing air, and for a moment, it feels like you are there with them.

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

                                                  10 Years Later

Yoongi wears the same suit as the day of your funeral, bright and colorful decorations and flowers cover your grave from the previous visitors. With a sigh he stands up brushing the grass that clung to the fabric.

“Uncle Yoongi!”

Turning around Yoongi smiles fondly before the little girl runs into his arms. Wrapping her in a bear hug he spins the two of them around as the sound of adorable giggles fills the space.

“Aiya-Y/N!” Jungkook calls running towards the two out of breath. “Don’t run off like that.”

Yoongi and Y/N giggle at the disheveled man. Jungkook’s wife, Seo-Yun, follows behind with a wide smile.

Placing Y/N down Yoongi hugs Jungkook and Seo-Yun and begins catching up. It doesn’t take long, Yoongi is a regular visitor and Y/N’s favorite uncle. After your death Yoongi and Jungkook became even closer, heavily leaning on each other for support. As things started to return to normal Jungkook met Seo-Yun at a cafe, it was love at first sight. Jungkook believes that it was you that led him to her, just like he introduced you to Yoongi. The two got married after a year and another year later they found out they were expecting. It was a total shock and surprise but, nonetheless everyone welcomed the baby girl with open arms. Naming her after you was Jungkook's idea, he hoped that she would grow up to be a good person like you were, the idea touched Yoongi. Yoongi adored the little one, after your death he never felt the want or need to see anyone else, he had his whole life planned out with you, the thought of that with someone else didn’t sit right with him. To him, Y/N was like his own child, a mini you just like he wished to have.

“Uncle Yoongi, look what I made for aunty Y/N!” She pulls out a drawing from her pocket, taped to it are white flowers that Yoongi could tell grew in their backyard.

Yoongi takes the picture smiling fondly at the image, although the drawing is limited to mostly stick people he can tell it's all of them holding hands on a little green hill. He can tell which one is you by the little angel wings and halo. Although Y/N never got to meet you, Yoongi never missed a moment to talk about you with her. Before she would go to bed she always demanded to hear a story about ‘aunty Y/N’ and Yoongi would tell her all the best memories with you and remind her that you were always watching over her.

“Wow,” Yoongi smiles kneeling down to get at level with Y/N. “You know aunty Y/N would have loved this.”

The girl giggles before saying a little thank you.

Jungkook makes his way over placing the vase of flowers in his hands in front of the stone. Brushing off imaginary dust from the grave he smiles before bowing on his knees. “Thank you, for always watching over us.”

Yoongi smiles at the sight as he pats Y/N’s head.

“Here aunty!” Y/N leans her drawing against the stone.

Seo-Yun and Jungkook set up the little picnic while Yoongi and Y/N played games on the grass. Soon they all gather together each taking a place on the blanket. They leave a plate of your favorite food out as a tradition. The four of them talk until the sun begins to set, soon there's a sense of peace in the atmosphere and everyone stays for a little longer with the memory of you in their heads.

[lake-arrius-caverns]

Prologue - pt 4

content warnings strong language, blood, violence, death, all that fun stuff 

next coming Friday!

i suppose i should add now that this is substantial enough - if anyone wants to be added to a taglist for this and future chapters/works, lmk?

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >>  || :: Masterpost ::

— — — — — — — — — —

After a restless night’s sleep for many, daybreak arrived much too quickly, and with it came a biting chill that felt out of place for the average Midyear morning. A thick fog lay upon the Waterfront, ensuring the mood was one of apprehension for the approaching showdown. For the number of people eager to see it done — whether to ensure their safety or motivated by self-interest, or the simple desire for aggression in their frustrating world — there were just as many who were fearful for whatever the eventual outcome would be. Fahjoth was among the latter, and he spent much of the dawn hours pacing around the Waterfront, observing the actions of his friends and fellows. 

Not like Ribyna, who had been up as the first vestige of sunrise shone through the thick grey clouds and had immediately begun preparing with Merrick, insisting that he helped her practise what little magic she was capable of. Fahjoth was envious — he was unable to focus that much even if he tried. 

After what felt like too much and too little time simultaneously, the sixth hour arrived, and after Cassius had taken the initiative in gathering as many people as he could find to attend the meeting, Fahjoth winced at how few they were. Their numbers boasted no more than fifteen individuals; evidently the others had made themselves scarce so as to avoid the conflict. Fahjoth couldn’t blame them. 

“Right, now remember,” Cassius had warned them all. “We aren’t looking for a fight. But we’re also not gonna be pushed around. This is our home and it’s hard enough to live without those wankers fucking things up for us. Remember what’s at stake.”

And then they were gathered by the docks, barely able to see more than five metres in any given direction due to the persistent mist. Fahjoth stuck close by Ribyna and Merrick at all times, feeling a kind of sober responsibility to keep an eye on them both as they stood hand-in-hand on the edge of the crowd . Ribyna, in an attempt to ward off the cold, tightened the fabric slung around her neck and shoulders, tugging it up over her nose to cover the lower half of her face. The early hour meant that guard patrols had not yet begun, and the gathering were left alone. 

Standing, shivering. 

Waiting. 

If anyone — like Fahjoth — had been hoping that the cult would be a no-show, they were left severely disappointed by the arrival of a crowd of people suddenly materialising through the fog as they approached. Fahjoth felt his heart sink and his stomach tie itself up in knots, but there was still hope. As long as nobody acted rashly, there was still a chance this could all be smoothed over...

“We heard you wanted a word with us,” someone called as they stepped forward to stand at the head of the cult, the majority of whom were swathed in richly coloured robes and cloaks and, in some cases, wore masks to conceal their faces. Following the cultist’s statement, there was a ripple of discontent among the gathered crowd. Out of the corner of his eye, Fahjoth saw Ribyna take a tense swig from the bottle of whisky she’d brought with her. 

Cassius took his cue and spoke up in a cool tone that carried a distinctly hard edge. “We’ll only give you one warning,” he said. “Piss off. Nobody wants you in this city.” 

“And why should we listen to you?” the cultist replied smoothly. “It’s a free country, wouldn’t you say? We aren’t doing you good fellows any harm.”

“Of course you are!” Cassius snapped back, the frustration beginning to creep into his voice. “With the whole city on alert, you’re fucking up all our livelihoods!”

“Livelihoods? Is that what they’re calling thievery and pilfering nowadays?” This comment incited a laugh from the cult, and Fahjoth could feel the indignation radiating from many of his comrades. “Yes, sorry, as... moving as your dilemma is, we aren’t going anywhere.” 

Cassius’ jaw clenched. “Then maybe this will change your minds.” In one fluid movement he snatched out a dagger, triggering a wave of movement from the attending Waterfront residents as several of them did the same. Fahjoth, however, hesitated. Things suddenly seemed to be going downhill, and fast. 

For a moment, the cult did nothing. Then, to Fahjoth’s horror, several of them revealed their own weapons - ranging from blades of their own to majestic wooden staves. The tension shot up countless notches, but still, nobody dared strike. 

The standoff continued. It seemed that neither side was particularly willing to make the first move. Fahjoth reminded himself that the longer they went without any physical aggression, the better; the guard patrols would soon begin, and then nobody would dare attack another in their presence. He willed the morning hours to progress, desperately pleaded with time to hurry up and offer them some form of respite. 

However, they weren’t to be so fortunate. 

The pressure finally boiled over and, sick of the vague threat posed by their opponents, one of the crowd finally moved. Fahjoth’s heart shuddered as he registered that it was Ribyna. 

“Why don’t you cunts just fuck off?!” she snarled, brandishing her bottle of whisky at the cultists. Without waiting for a response she reached into a pocket, but instead of a weapon she pulled out a rag instead. By the time Fahjoth realised what she was about to do, it was much too late to stop her. 

“Ribyna, no-!”

But his twin had already stuffed the rag into the neck of the bottle. Already shaken it to soak the fabric through with the alcohol still inside. Already ignited the end of the rag with a bright orange flare produced from the centre of her palm. 

Already thrown the incendiary at the opposition. 

Time seemed to stand still as the flaming bottle spun through the air, hurtling relentlessly towards the cultists, many of whom weren’t quick enough to realise what was happening before the Ribyna’s makeshift firebomb reached them. 

On contact with the ground, the bottle exploded in an eruption of blistering orange fire. Shards of red hot glass and blazing droplets of alcohol radiated out from the blast, burning the skin and clothes of anyone who wasn’t swift enough to clear the area. Outraged yells and shrieks of pain filled the still morning air, and it was then that the quiet docks broke out into complete chaos as the cultists — those who were uninjured enough to do so, or who weren’t helping to heal the wounded and extinguish the flames — immediately launched their retaliation. 

With no other option left, the group responded in kind, and Fahjoth could only watch as the confrontation finally descended into violence. The sound of clashing blades now came from all sides, as well as the unearthly rush of magic as spells and staves were cast, the majority of which originated from the cultists. It was impossible to know where to focus; everywhere he looked, friends and loved ones were embroiled in physical combat with their adversaries and it didn’t take long for blood to begin to be spilt. 

Glancing around, Fahjoth tried to focus but the sheer chaos of the brawl was throwing him into a mindless panic. Focus! he tried telling himself, frustrated with his own inability to concentrate in the midst of the furore. He had to do something. Then, something caught his eye through the frenzy. A Dunmer, coming to blows against a cloaked cultist, frantically blocking their sword with her own dagger and dancing around to avoid the gleaming silver blade. But, in one swift strike, Ribyna’s opponent got the better of her. They brought the sword sharply down onto Ribyna, who had no choice but to throw an arm up to protect herself. She gasped as, even with a mere glancing blow, the weapon gouged a deep incision in her forearm and in her haste to throw herself back out of harm’s way, she tripped and fell, landing with a harsh thud onto the unforgiving stonework. 

Instantly, Fahjoth felt his blood boil. As the cultist advanced on Ribyna, sword held up and ready to strike again, Fahjoth’s feet were carrying him as fast as he could go towards them, propelled forward with the power of pure fury and the will to protect his twin. Weaving his way through the fray, barrelling carelessly past friend and foe alike, a chilling realisation gripped his heart. He wasn’t going to make it there in time.

With seconds to spare, Fahjoth saw Ribyna cover her head with her arms — one of them badly bleeding — and curl up in a vague attempt to shield herself from the cultist’s attack. But then from seemingly out of nowhere, the cultist’s face was blitzed with a cloud of ice, causing them to recoil and stagger back. As Fahjoth drew near, he realised it was Merrick, blasting the cultist with a frost spell and warding them off. Making a mental note to thank Merrick for that later, Fahjoth finally reached them, raising his fist and slamming it into the cultist’s frost-coated face before he even had time to think. 

The cultist was knocked to the ground, dazed and blinded by snow, but Fahjoth was livid. He dropped over the cultist and again and again his fists collided with their face, with Fahjoth ignoring his knuckles becoming bloodier and bloodier with every hit. 

Gradually the mental fog of aggression slowly cleared, and as he stopped to catch his breath, Fahjoth heard someone calling his name. Looking over his shoulder, his chest heaving with ragged pants, he faced Merrick and Ribyna, the two of them watching him with blank looks on their faces while Merrick was healing Ribyna’s arm injury. It was only then that Fahjoth realised the mess he had made. His fists were coated with a thick, sticky spattering of blood, but he had no time to dwell on it. 

Even over the ruckus, a deafening, unnatural crack suddenly rang out over the docks, and Fahjoth instantly snapped his head up to look for the cause. A single masked cultist, their dark, flame-singed robes billowing about them even in the absence of any wind, was brandishing a tall staff. Fahjoth was by no means an expert, but he’d never seen anything like it before; the body was kinked and dotted with curved thorns, while an elegant rose head sat at the top, stark and red against the rest of the staff which was dull in comparison. The strange crack seemed to have been as a result of the staff’s magic — a rippling sphere of indigo light hovered above the rose, and a swirling blue and black vortex suddenly ripped apart the very air in the middle of the docks, right in the midst of the brawl. And from that vortex, a towering figure stepped out, raising the largest, darkest greatsword Fahjoth had ever seen. 

As the surge of colour faded, and the figure’s features became more apparent, Fahjoth was distracted for long enough that he failed to notice the cultist beneath him — their nose crooked and still streaming blood — struggle and reach up, before then slamming their elbow into Fahjoth’s face. His vision exploded into white stars as a blinding pain radiated from his right cheekbone and he yelled out and rolled back, barely noticing the cultist staggering up and making a hasty escape. Once Fahjoth’s eyesight had returned, albeit still somewhat blurry, he focused again on whoever or whatever the staff had summoned — and his jaw almost hit the ground. 

Fahjoth was staring at a creature he’d only ever heard described in Vykstrus’ horror stories. Vaguely humanoid in shape, yet sporting curved horns upon its brow and beady black eyes that glinted maliciously. Its black and red skin was the same colour as its armour, which was as jagged and spiny as a dreugh’s cartilage. And when the creature opened its mouth, it spoke in a guttural, echoing rasp that chilled Fahjoth to the bone. 

“I smell weakness...”

Using the distraction to their advantage, many cultists began to retreat, choosing to watch from a distance while the Waterfront group flew into hysteria at the sight of the Dremora. While a few turned and ran, the others remained to fight, all attention now on the most critical threat. 

But not a single one of them, without armour and carrying only tiny daggers, was a match for the Daedra in their midst. 

Vykstrus was the first to get too close. Though he approached the Dremora with caution, attacking it with a basic Firebolt spell, the Daedra appeared to be entirely unaffected. Then, in one swift motion, it swung its greatsword down in a devastating blow. Fahjoth wasn’t fast enough to avert his eyes as the blade cut through Vykstrus’ shoulder like butter, gouging a deep gash through his torso amid a fine shower of glistening red droplets. 

Vykstrus crumpled into a broken, bloodied heap and the outcry was instantaneous. In an attempt to get revenge, some of their friends charged at the Dremora with furious shrieks; one by one they were all cut down, the Dremora utterly remorseless in its brutality. Aerlewen, Taneen-Mil, Nari... among the bodies slumped and bleeding on the stonework, it was impossible to tell who was still alive and who had been granted the mercy of a quick death. 

Then, another voice rang out, loud and clear even over the pandemonium of the Dremora attack. 

“Fall back!” Cassius yelled, the usually unflappable Imperial looking completely petrified. 

It may have been too late for those who had already succumbed to the Dremora‘s wrath, but anyone who was still able to had very little hesitation about fleeing. The flagstones of the Waterfront docks were stained a grisly red, the occasional bloody boot print now visible spread across the ground as everyone began to withdraw. In a bid to buy some time, Abik snuck up behind the Daedric monstrosity and threw a linen sheet, snatched from one of the many wooden crates stacked against the dock walls, over the Dremora’s head, temporarily blinding it before darting away. 

“Come on!” Abik shouted to the group at large, hesitating as he noticed some individuals still remaining. Fahjoth’s blood ran cold as he realised who was still lingering. 

Merrick was dashing over to the piles of bodies around the Dremora — still entangled up in linen in a way that was almost comical had the situation not been so dire — with Ribyna hot on his heels. Fahjoth felt sick with fear. There was no way he would be able to restrain both of them, but he could at least secure one of them. Fahjoth lunged as they drew near, grabbing his twin firmly around the chest and beginning to drag her back out of harm’s way. 

“Ribyna, don’t-!”

“Get off, Fahjoth-! Merrick!”

The next events almost seemed to play out in slow motion. While Ribyna struggled, Fahjoth succeeded in hauling her back a safe distance, but he still wasn’t able to let her go for fear that she would rejoin Merrick. As Merrick knelt down beside Nari, Fahjoth noticed that she was in fact still alive, despite the deep, open tear running the entire length of her abdomen and soaking her clothes with a dark scarlet stain. It was mere seconds before Merrick was also covered in blood as he began to attempt to heal Nari’s wounds with trembling hands, more than aware of the Dremora staggering about less than five feet away from them. 

“Merrick, get back!” 

Ribyna, held firm in Fahjoth’s grip, was yelling for Merrick but he paid no heed. Fahjoth saw his already pale face totally drain of colour as, at last, the Dremora tore through the linen and tossed it aside, soulless eyes now fixed on its next victim. 

The Dremora raised its blade once more, offering no mercy. Merrick, his hands still glowing with restoration magic, had no time to escape before the blade — already slick with blood — fell upon him and struck his head, cleaving through his skull with one clean blow. 

As the blood spattered on the flagstones anew and Merrick’s lifeless body toppled to the ground, Fahjoth was frozen. An icy numbness flooded his chest, rendering him almost deaf to Ribyna’s screams. Someone else was yelling, their cries of anguish seeming to reverberate in Fahjoth’s head. It took a few seconds before he realised it was him. 

Then, terror struck him mute as his streaming eyes met the Dremora’s own, the Daedra beginning to make its way over to where he and Ribyna stood. Its sword trailed red droplets as it walked, an expression of pure malice on its sneering, inhuman face. Just as its pace began to quicken, however, the Dremora was staggered as Abik lunged at it, bellowing himself hoarse with tears cascading down his cheeks as he plunged his dagger into the side of the creature’s neck. The Dremora turned to retaliate, but its time was up. Quite without warning, it suddenly disintegrated and crumbled into dust, leaving nothing behind but a pile of gently smoking silvery blue ash; along with the blood-soaked flagstones and the mangled remains of its casualties, standing to serve as a grim reminder that it had even been there at all. 

Abruptly, silence fell over the docks, the only sound being that of the waves gently lapping against the stone walls. A chilly wind slipped past, brushing over Fahjoth’s wet cheeks as he struggled to process what had just happened, his breathing rapid and shallow. He had almost forgotten that he was still restraining his twin, and it was only too easy for Ribyna to break away from his clutch, taking him quite by surprise. He blinked as she ran, and his stomach dropped as he realised where she was heading — towards the cultist bearing the rose-like staff. 

“You bastard!!”

“Ribyna, stop-!” Fahjoth called, immediately giving chase. He just about caught a glimpse of his sibling’s tear-soaked face before she lunged at the staff-wielder, who seemed almost frozen at the sight that lay before them, their head fixed in the direction of the carnage left behind by their summoned Daedra. As Ribyna tackled them they dropped the staff, falling back onto the stonework with a strangled yelp. Ribyna then whipped out her dagger without hesitation and began trying to plunge it into the cultist’s throat, while they held her wrist in both hands and tried desperately to keep the blade at bay. As Fahjoth sprinted over, dread overtook him as he heard the familiar sounds of clanking steel armour and furious voices. 

The guards had arrived. 

With the oncoming force of the Imperial City guard heading their way, the remaining cultists took that as their cue to scatter, receding into the fog as swiftly and silently as ghosts. A few guards gave chase, but a small group descended upon Ribyna and her adversary, the former completely oblivious as she continued to attempt to stab the cultist struggling beneath her. Fahjoth gaped in shock; trying to haul Ribyna away from the cultist was none other than Captain Rusant, snarling threats and instructions to cease and desist while Ribyna flatly ignored him. The ramifications of this would be damning, Fahjoth was painfully aware of that, but Ribyna showed no sign of stopping. 

She was unyielding; at first, it was as if she wasn’t even aware of the guards now dragging her away from her would-be victim. But as they were both pulled to their feet she began to flail and shriek like a frenzied ghoul. The dagger blade glinted in the muted morning light as it was swung wildly with careless abandon, Ribyna’s only drive being to free herself and finish what she had started with the cultist, who stood by with a guard firmly gripping their arm. But they weren’t facing Ribyna — their gaze was back on the gruesome scene left behind by the Dremora, completely motionless and silent. 

With Ribyna making such a tremendous fuss, it seemed that nobody paid any attention to Fahjoth yet. Perhaps he could do something useful. He figured that maybe he could help calm his twin down, try to smooth things over with the guards. But the moment he put one foot in front of the other, he felt his heart skip a beat as the scene before him suddenly escalated into even greater turmoil. 

He almost missed it. In one moment, Ribyna was struggling and thrashing about in an uncontained rage. In the next, her dagger had been embedded into the throat of the guard captain before being withdrawn, leaving a deep puncture wound in his neck that immediately began to spill blood. 

The Captain choked and relinquished his hold and Ribyna slowly turned to look, her face blank and eyes wide. Occasionally she glanced down at her hand, now blemished and damp with the same deep red stain that painted the stonework of the docks. As the rest of the guards immediately rushed to attend to Rusant, Fahjoth noticed the cultist taking their opportunity to bolt and make a bid for freedom. Fahjoth wasn’t interested in giving chase; instead he dashed to Ribyna’s side, grabbing his twin by the shoulders and desperately pleading with her. To flee the scene of the crime was their only option.

“Ribyna, we have to go, now!”

But Ribyna was frozen. She didn’t even look up at her brother, her gaze transfixed on the bloodstained dagger that she still tightly grasped the handle of as if her own life depended on it. 

“Ribyna, come on!”

The Captain’s blood began to spread across the flagstones, slipping down the cracks in between and creating deep red rivers that ran parallel to the grey. Rusant choked and spluttered, more blood bubbling from the corners of his mouth as he struggled to draw breath. Fahjoth tore his eyes away and gave Ribyna a violent shake. 

“Ribyna-!”

“Stop right there, you murdering bastard!” 

Fahjoth’s head snapped up. With his fear levels peaked, he realised that he and Ribyna were now surrounded on all sides. Two guards still remained by the Captain’s side, but Rusant seemed to be beyond help. His skin was now deathly pale, and blood drenched both his skin and armour as well as the ground around him. He struggled to draw in wheezing, gurgling breaths; it appeared they were soon to be his last. 

The guards were advancing on them, swords raised with their tips pointed threateningly at the twins. Fahjoth could barely think, but something had to be done. Noticing that Ribyna was still clutching her bloodstained dagger, he smacked it out of her hand in one hard strike. Ribyna didn’t resist. She barely even responded, still staring without really seeing at the spot where the dagger had once been as it went clattering to the ground. 

“Alright, alright! We surrender!” Fahjoth cried, holding up his arms to yield. He grabbed one of Ribyna’s hands, raising it up to join his own in the air while she remained unresponsive. “We surrender!”

He glanced down again, noting that the Captain had taken his last few shuddering gasps and now lay lifeless upon the cold stone, atop a mosaic of his own blood. Looking up, Fahjoth’s eyes darted around frantically as he desperately searched the docks for any sign of anything that could help - Abik, Cassius, anyone. 

But they were completely alone. 

Fahjoth’s shoulders sagged with the crushing realisation, and he stood still to allow the guards to wrangle him into manacles. His eyes welled with tears as he watched them do the same to Ribyna, knowing full well what lay in store for them both. 

Both twins were silent as they were escorted away from the docks by the guard patrol. Fahjoth wondered if Ribyna was even aware of what was happening as they were marched through the city and across the bridge, towards where the shadow of the Imperial Prison loomed over them. It had once stood an ever-present threat on the distant horizon, a mere reminder of what would await them should they be careless enough to get caught, but now they found themselves being forced through its heavy wooden doors and into the gloom that lay over its threshold.  

And it was with a bitter hopelessness that Fahjoth found himself wondering if they would ever make it out again.

[fangirl--of-everything]

The Mortal (Nicholas Scratch x reader) part 4

word count: 2850

request: Nope, just wrote it for fun, and since you guys want it :) 

summary: After a date to the valentine’s day dance, Nick and (y/n) encounter a dangerous complication. 

warning: nothing in this one except one or two swear words, and some angst. Brace yourself. 

A.N. Things are about to get a bit intense my dudes, I hope you like it. 

The Mortal masterlist

Alright, enjoy :)

Baxter High was covered in red and pink decorations, with streamers hanging from the ceiling and posters all over the walls advertising the Valentine’s Day dance. It was all a little much, which Dylan complained about constantly, but (y/n) didn’t mind it. She wasn’t a big advocate for the holiday, but high school dances were always fun, if a little cheesy. Plus, she had been seeing Nick for a month, and he had asked to come to the dance with her, which she was really looking forward to. Dylan knew her well, and he teased her constantly, knowing that the only reason she wasn’t complaining with him was because she had someone to spend the holiday with. 

They left the building at the end of the day, making plans to return in a couple hours when the dance began as they walked towards Dylan’s car. Dylan rolled his eyes dramatically when he saw Nick waiting in the parking lot with a bouquet of flowers and a handsome smile.

“Where can I get myself someone like that?” He sighed, slumping heavily against (y/n)’s side as she laughed and tried to push him off.

He patted her shoulder and waved at Nick, promising to see them both that night. Nick waited until he was gone, and then he walked up to (y/n), buried his free hand in her hair, and kissed her deeply. When he pulled back she swayed on her feet, taking a shaky breath and pursing her lips to hold back a smile.

“Hi beautiful,” Nick said softly.

She blushed. “Hey.”

“Wanna go hang out at your place for a bit before the dance?”

She nodded. He took her hand, linking her fingers with his, and handed her the bouquet of flowers. They were black roses, something she had never seen before.

“I thought you might like them, since you’re writing that book about dark magic and stuff. And you said pink wasn’t really your thing.”

She kissed his cheek. “I love them. Thank you.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, and they headed towards her house, walking leisurely and talking about their day as they went. Nick told her about his classes, as much as he could without revealing that they weren’t the normal curriculum, and she complained about her math class and how much she regretted taking it.

A cold wind blew in, and sparse snowflakes were falling from the sky, bright against Nick’s dark hair. He looked handsome, incredibly handsome, and (y/n) couldn’t stop smiling as she looked at him. He caught her looking and bent to kiss her again. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” she shook her head. “I’m just really excited to see you.”

“I’m excited to see you too.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tucked her tight to his side. “And I’m super excited about this dance tonight.”

(Y/n) laughed, opening her mouth to say something else, when a loud howl echoed down the street. Nick tensed, his eyes widening in panic, and (y/n) looked around in surprise.

“I thought Shruikan was the only dog on the block. Weird.”

“We should get inside.” Nick’s voice was tense and anxious, and his arm around her tightened nervously.

She wanted to question it, and tell him not to worry, but his face was pale and he looked stressed, so she just nodded and led the way to the house. 

While her attention was on finding her keys and unlocking the doors Nick scanned the street frantically. He searched for the telltale yellow eyes, the dark looming shape. The street was empty, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was here somewhere, waiting.

Once they were safely inside the house Nick asked (y/n) to get him a glass of water. She nodded, studying him skeptically. She could tell something was wrong, but she didn’t want to push him, giving his arm a squeeze before disappearing into the kitchen. He waited until he heard the sink running.

Shruikan was standing by the door, his face pressed against the window. His entire body was tense, and he let out a low growl, the tip of his tail flicking back and forth. If Nick hadn’t been sure of Amalia’s return before, this confirmed it. He muttered a quick spell under his breath.

(Y/n) returned with a glass of water. When Nick took it he felt the surge of strength from the spell he had just performed, and the glass shattered in his hand. He felt the shards dig into his palm and fingers, but he didn’t even flinch.

“Nick!” (Y/n) wasn’t nearly as calm, and she rushed forward, grabbing his wrist and pulling his bleeding hand towards her. “Oh my god are you okay?”

There was glass all over the floor, and blood was welling in his palm, but he gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt that much.”

(Y/n)’s mouth hung open as she looked at him, then back down at his hand. “Okay, stay right here, I’m gonna get you a towel or something and then I’m gonna grab a first aid kit.”

She bit her lip frantically, and then gave his wrist one last reassuring squeeze before hurrying out of the room, dragging Shruikan out with her so he didn’t step on the broken glass. 

She was barely out of the room before Nick pressed his bleeding palm against the doorway, performing a banishing spell that would send his familiar to the other side of the world. He painted a sigil on the door, and as soon as he was done saying the spell the bloody print glowed with a crackling red light, and then disappeared, absorbed into the wood.

(Y/n) came rushing back in, first aid kit in hand, and all she saw was Nick, looking slightly pale and cradling his injured hand to his chest, her door as clean and white as it normally was. She wouldn’t have noticed even if the bloody handprint was still there, because her attention was so focused on Nick.

She pulled him into the kitchen and forced him into a seat, and then she took his hand and tried to remove any shards of glass that were stuck in his palm. She cleaned the cuts as best she could, and then wrapped his hand in a towel, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles when she was done.

Nick couldn’t stop looking at her as she cleaned his hand. Blood was common at the academy, and students were expected to learn healing spells early. If they couldn’t they were supposed to handle their injuries themselves. Even before signing his name in the Book of the Beast, Nick was raised by his paternal grandfather following his parents’ death, and the man had never been overly physically affectionate, or affectionate at all. Nick had been looking after himself for most of his life, and being taken care of like this was something new. His chest tightened, and there was a warm feeling in his belly that he had never felt before.

He stood up from the chair and kissed (y/n) hard, ignoring the way she gasped in surprise. At first she was stiff against his mouth, but then he deepened the kiss and she sighed, her body swaying towards him. He tried to convey to her that warm feeling in his belly through the kiss, and when she reached up to rest her hand on the side of his face he was pretty sure she got the message.

She broke away, taking a shaky breath and resting her forehead against his. “What was that for?” She asked, her voice quivering.

He pressed another quick, gentle kiss to her lips. “You’re amazing. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

She blushed and dropped her head, but he leaned forward, lifting her chin and kissing her again. His thumb stroked her jaw, and she smiled against his mouth.

Eventually they broke apart, and (y/n) was worried that they should go to the hospital to get him stitches, but he insisted that he was fine and convinced her to go upstairs and get ready for the dance. While she was gone he did another spell, a quick one used to find one’s familiar, and he found that Amalia was nowhere around. He was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief, and he changed into his tux.

When (y/n) came downstairs a half hour later Nick was struck speechless. She tended to wear loose fitting clothes, but now she was wearing a red dress that clung to every curve. She had done something with her makeup to make her face shimmer and glow, and her hair hung soft and natural around her face. She spun her ring around her thumb nervously and did a little spin.

“Thoughts?”

Nick opened his mouth, but he had no words.

Her cheeks coloured and she smiled. “That’s a pretty good response.”

“You are so fucking gorgeous.” He offered her his arm. “Let’s go have a great time at this dance.”

-----/--/-----

Nick was absolutely adorable. (Y/n) had no idea what his fancy prep school was like, but she could tell he had never been to a cheesy high school dance, since instead of rolling his eyes at the balloon arch and streamers his mouth fell open as he looked around, and even though it was still way too early in the night for people to be dancing, Nick pulled her onto the dance floor.

He ignored her protests and spun her around, making a cheesy fool of himself until she was giggling and relaxed and dancing with him. Dylan and a couple of her other friends from the bonfire came and joined them, and they danced as a big group, with Nick sticking close to her side and always having a hand on her or his arms wrapped around her. Soon the dance floor was crowded, and Nick and (y/n) pressed their bodies close together, swaying to the music with their arms around each other.

They stayed at the dance for hours, even after the other students began to trickle out, holding each other and swaying gently to the music. Nick kissed her softly, his hands warm against the small of her back. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed, content.

It wasn’t until the dance was officially over that they finally left, walking back towards (y/n)’s house to watch a movie before calling it a night. Their hands swung lazily between them, and every couple of steps one of them would bump against the other, and they would both laugh. More than once Nick would come to a stop, spin (y/n) around, and kiss her until she was breathless.

They were so busy giggling and goofing around that it wasn’t until (y/n) heard a loud, deep barking that she looked up and realized they were almost home. She recognized Shruikan’s bark, but he was an extremely quiet dog, he only barked when something was wrong. Her brows furrowed, and she started walking faster, but only a few steps further she came to a stop. She had seen what was making Shruikan freak out, and she understood why.

There was an animal standing in the middle of the road, bigger than anything she had ever seen. It’s yellow eyes were visible even from a few houses down, and as she watched it lowered its head and let out a low growl.

Nick had seen it too, and he tugged her close to his side, his grip on her wrist tight.

“Is that a wolf?” (y/n) asked softly. She kept her voice low even though she knew that the wolf had already seen her, and that whispering wasn’t going to do anything to stop it if it decided to attack.

Nick nodded wordlessly and swallowed hard.

“What do we do?”

The wolf was not only in the middle of the road, it was right in front of (y/n)’s house. There was no way to get inside without having to walk past it. (Y/n) kept her eyes on the wolf as she reached down, easing her feet out of her shoes. She wasn’t sure what they were going to do, but she knew she would be able to do it better if she wasn’t wearing heels. Another low growl rumbled down the street, and (y/n)’s stomach dropped.

“When I say so, you need to run,” Nick breathed, giving her hand a tight squeeze.

“No, no that’s not what you’re supposed to do when you--”

“Listen,” his voice was hard as he cut her off, tight with panic. “I know you think you know how to handle this, but I need you to trust me right now.”

“Nick--”

Her turned to look at her, dark eyes wide and terrified but steady. “Do you trust me?”

She swallowed hard and nodded.

“Okay.”

“Amalia,” He called, keeping his voice soft and calm. “Listen to me. You don’t have to do this.”

He reached into his pocket as he spoke and pulled out a small knife. (Y/n)’s eyes widened, but before she could say anything he reopened one of the wounds on his palm. The wolf crouched low and snarled.

“Go. Run, now!”

The wolf lunged, bounding towards them at incredible speeds. (Y/n) turned and ran, but she only made it a few feet before she realized Nick wasn't behind her. She couldn’t stop herself from spinning back around, just in time to see Nick shout something she didn’t understand and throw out his bloody hand. The wolf, mid-leap, went flying backwards, slamming into the ground with a yelp.

(Y/n) couldn’t comprehend what she had just seen. Nick turned, closing the distance between them, and she took a step back against her will, but the wolf growled again, and in spite of whatever this thing with Nick was, she knew she trusted him more than she trusted the wild animal that seemed bent on attacking them.

It got to its feet, shaking its head angrily.

Nick grabbed her hand and pulled her close to his side, shouting something else that she didn’t understand.

The corners of her vision went dark, and there was a sharp pull somewhere deep in her belly, yanking her backwards. The air buzzed in her head, and the world contracted, tightening until she couldn’t breathe. Her legs buckled.

She landed on her hands and knees, slipping free of Nick’s grip, and struggled to suck air into her tight lungs. Her stomach clenched, and finally she was able to breathe, but she was only able to get one lungful of air before she was dry heaving and struggling to keep down the contents of her stomach. The corners of her vision were dark, and pins and needles prickled along her skin.

“(Y/n) are you alright?” Nick’s hand was on her shoulder, and she flinched, shrugging him off.

Finally her head cleared, and she recognized that she was no longer in the middle of the road, but was instead on the floor in her bedroom. She had to force back the urge to vomit again.

“(Y/n),” Nick’s voice was low and gentle, like he was talking to a scared animal. “Please just tell me you’re okay.”

She swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut until the room stopped spinning, and then she sat up, tucking her legs up to her chest.

“What was that out there?” She asked.

“The wolf?” Nick asked. His tone told her he knew that wasn’t what she meant. She raised her eyebrows at him, and he sighed, sitting down in front of her but keeping at a distance. “I have something to tell you.”

“No shit!” She laughed hysterically, tucked herself into a tighter ball.

Nick studied her carefully, his face tight with guilt. He took a deep breath. “I’m a warlock. I can do magic, conjure demons, perform spells. And that wolf outside, her name is Amalia. She’s my familiar.”

(Y/n) blinked at him. The silence stretched between them, and Nick waited for her to say something, do something, but it looked like she was frozen. He was a little worried he had broken her brain.

“Listen, (y/n), I know this is a lot to process, but I’ll explain everything when you’re ready.”

She took a shaky breath and stood, putting a hand on the wall when she couldn’t quite find her balance. Nick moved to stand too, but she held up a hand, and he stopped, settling back down on the floor.

“I need a minute.”

“Of course. Take your time.”

Without another word she got to her feet and left the room. Nick stared after her, not sure if he was supposed to follow. A minute later he heard the shower turn on, and music started to play loudly from the bathroom. It didn’t quite cover the sound of her crying.

Tag list: @bi-mama, @itzmegaaaaaaan, @whointhehellisbucky @wanderingalonelypath @morgannope, @hey-there-hottea, @attackonnat, @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland, @heartbeats-wildly, @caitsymichelle13, @nicholrose-spellmatch, @sciencenerdgenz, @alexa-playafricabytoto, @cvvlxx, @tofadavidson, @staplerrrr

[quinzzelx]

Bruises  // Billy Hargrove

Request : “ Hi! I saw your post about requesting Billy imagines so, if you're able to and if you have the time, could you maybe do a fic where Billy finds out that the reader is being abused and kind of helps her out because he went through this but like the reader is very fragile and weak and Billy really loves her and maybe the tiniest bit of angst with a fluffy ending. And if you will do it, could you tag me in it? Thank you so much :)) “

A/N :  Hey, so I hope you'll enjoy this - I personally feel like the first half is good and after that, it just turns out to be shitty? lol, so not one of the things I’ve written that I’m too proud of. But still-  I had fun writing it and am still so hyped about Billy. (My heart still hurts) I really really hope you’ll enjoy it and feedback is appreciated!

Warnings: VIOLENCE / BLOOD & SWEARING

Wordcount: 2.122

Summer in Hawkins, unfortunately, turned out to be one of the hottest since years. As the days got longer and clothes got shorter (Y/N) grew more and more uncomfortable. She hated canceling plans with her friends and even though she’d love to go swim with them or go to the mall, she wasn’t able to. The long sleeves she wore to hide the dark blue and purple secret lying beneath, made the radiating heat even more unbearable.

(Y/N) decided to spend another day studying in the comfortable silence in the library of Hawkins High. Due to having off from school ‘on account of excessively hot weather’ like Mr. Mundy had said, not a single soul was even near the school. Everyone was lingering either at the Pool, the mall or at home. Immediately after the teachers announced that there won’t be any classes, (Y/N) rushed out of the classroom. While trying to kindly avoid her friends' invitations to join them, she wasn’t really paying too much attention to her surroundings. As she rounded one of the corners, she bumped headfirst into a half-covered and sweaty chest.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry!” she said, looking up and into none other than Billy Hargrove’s eyes. Before he could answer her though, she brushed past him and out of school. Back when they moved to Hawkins, (Y/N) was the first person he saw in this shithole of a town. They arrived early in the morning around 5 am. Billy was unloading the truck and placed some of the boxes in front of their new ‘home’. After unloading five more boxes he leaned against his 79’ Camaro and fumbled around in one of his pockets looking for his lighter. With a loud groan, he accepted the fact that he probably tossed it in one of the moving boxes. But faith seemed to be on his good side when he spotted a girl sitting on the front porch of the house opposite from him.

“Hey!” he had called out and jogged over to where the girl was sitting. (Y/N) inhaled the deathly smoke sharply into her burning lungs as she saw the boy approaching. With a shaking hand, she pressed the remaining cigarette butt into the ashtray she had placed on her thighs. As the boy stopped right in front of her she shifted a bit, covering the forming bruise on her arm. She wasn’t expecting someone so early, so she didn’t bother to change into something that provided more coverage. “Can I help you?” She said, barely audible. He didn’t question the dark circles under her eyes back then, the signs of missing sleep clearly visible on her face. All he wanted was to light his cigarette anyways. From that day on he was intrigued.

(Y/N) was home in no time. Her parents were still at work so she was able to relax a bit when she entered her house. Since no one would be at the library, she stuffed one of her dresses in her bag and rushed back out. She was sweating like crazy on her way back to school, deciding to pick up her pace she suddenly winced, totally having forgotten her sprained ankle. It was healing well and she barely felt anything anymore, but she decided against straining it too much and slowed down again. As soon as she entered Hawkins High the air around her felt at least a little bit cooler.

Slowly walking towards the girls' locker room, she took in her surroundings to assure that no one else was there. She quickly got rid of her clothes and slipped her dress back on even quicker. Glancing at her reflection she checked the faint, nearly healed and barely visible bruises on her arm and thigh. Give it another three days and the bruises would probably be gone completely and if her father won’t give her new ones by then, she could actually meet up with her friends again. A small smile spread over her lips as soon as she entered the library. The air was a bit chilly and the complete opposite of the burning heat outside. Grabbing one of the books she sat on one of the chairs and started reading.

“(Y/N).. ” she groaned, shifting a bit in her position. A second soft shake on her arm “(Y/N) we are closing up the school now, you should go home” the words hit her hard as she realized what exactly they meant. “Thank you! I’m sorry, I’ll be on my way now!” the girl said under her breath while grabbing her bag and hurrying to the door. She felt cold sweat run down her neck as she walked home as fast as she could. (Y/N) stopped dead in her tracks when she saw her father's car pulling up in the driveway. Shit. Ducking behind the fence she climbed over it, hitting her knee while doing so and quietly limping towards her window. As fast as she could she hauled herself in her room and scrambled to her feet just in time. Her door swung open not even a second after, hitting the wall with a loud thud. Taking a swig of the already opened bottle of beer the man entered her room. As soon as he laid eyes on his daughter his eyes narrowed. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

Billy was currently working out with his dumbbells when he saw (Y/N) clumsily crawling through her window while her father came back from work. He chuckled loudly and put his weights back down, closely watching her. “You’re a creep Billy” with narrowed eyes he whipped his head around. “What do you want Max?” he said, walking towards her. “Can you drive me to Mike’s ?” Groaning he sat down on his bed and rolled his eyes. “Wheeler? It’s 10 pm, Max, what the fuck?” Standing up he clicked his tongue, letting one of his hands slick back his hair. Sensing his father's presence he nodded towards the redhead and grabbed his car keys.

She was afraid, frozen in place. When she hurried home, she totally forgot to change. “Didn’t I tell you to cover up the bruises and not walk around like a slut?!” He raised his voice, stepping closer. “Dad, I’m sorry, It was just at home, I promise!” (Y/N) whimpered, backing away slowly. “I don’t fucking care! No more excuses” With that, he grabbed her wrist squeezing tightly and tugging on it. “No Dad, please” she begged, tears forming at the brim of her eyes, threatening to spill over and running down her cheeks like a wild river. “I beg you, please don’t-” She was interrupted by the sharp pain in her cheek, spreading like a wildfire from the place where her father's hand had collided with her face. The impact had her gasping and stumbling a bit backward. “Shut the fuck up” He snarled, the stench of alcohol burning her nostrils. Harshly he tugged her out of the room and into the floor, pressing her into the wall with his left arm and pulling at her hair with his right hand. “I’m gonna teach you how to obey and pay respect to your father!” The enraged man spat in her reddened face. “And if you don’t listen, I’m gonna do it over and over again!” a cruel smile spread over his face. She sobbed loudly when she put all her strength in her arms and shoved her father off her body. Quickly she stumbled towards the front door. “You fucking Bitch!” He yelled, his voice filled with anger as he tossed the still half-filled bottle after her, hitting her shoulder while doing so. The bottle bursts into hundreds of sharp shards, some of them cutting deeply into her skin and breaking it. The crimson liquid spilling down her back and soaking the baby blue dress. She let out a loud scream, falling into one of the drawers and knocking over several framed pictures and a vase.

A loud ear-piercing scream could be heard followed by a loud crash. Billy was about to start the engine when he looked out of the window over to the house. “Billy, go it’s okay,” Max said, her eyes wide and filled with worry. The mullet-wearing boy quickly got out of his car and over to her house. “(Y/N) !” He called over his harsh knocks. When he heard shifting and a loud thud, Billy forced the door open with his shoulder. What he saw sparked a burning fire of rage and hatred within him. He strode toward her father brutally pushing him to the ground before he could even notice him. Raising his fist and clenching them in anger he let it forcefully collide with the man's face. There was a gut-wrenching cracking sound as soon as his fist met his nose. Another crack when he punched him for the second time. Blood gushed out of the cranky man's nose. There was a deep cut along his cheekbone and his lip was split open. Right as he was about to punch him again, he felt a soft small hand on his shoulder. “Billy…?”

He let go of the knocked out man's collar immediately and turned to look at her beat-up face. “Oh doll, what did he do to your pretty face?” Billy said softly, flinching slightly when she whimpered as soon as he cupped her face. “Come on, we’ll take care of you” Helping her and lifting her up, Billy walked back to his car with (Y/N) in his arms. She felt dizzy, closing her eyes softly and leaning her head against Billy's chest. “Max I need your help. Get the first aid” Max gasped when she saw you and what state you were in. Grabbing the first aid kit she fumbled with the bandages and gave them to her brother. (Y/N) was completely out of it. She passed out halfway through Billy’s and his sister's treatment. The last time Billy felt this enraged and hurt for another person was back then with his mom. Max had helped him sneak (Y/N) in his room and after that time just didn’t seem to pass. He watched her the whole time, looking for any signs of her being in pain. She didn’t seem to have any serious injuries. With that in mind, Billy soon fell asleep on his chair.

The next morning came fast. Sun kissing her skin and waking her up. She groaned a little when she opened her eyes. Her body hurt all over. A blush crept over her cheeks when she saw Billy sleeping on his chair next to her. He looked so peaceful. “Billy?” (Y/N) softly whispered. The boy slowly opened his eyes, rubbing them with his left hand and stretching a little. “Thank you” She spoke quietly fumbling with the blanked. His eyes softened upon hearing her shy barely audible voice. “Princess, is that the reason you cover up all the time?” He asked, pointing to the fresh bruises on her skin. (Y/N) nodded slowly letting a deep sigh escaped her bruised lips. With slow steps Billy made his way towards his bed and sat beside her, lifting one of his hands up to her none injured cheek. “Listen, I know how that feels and you’re not alone princess.” Tears formed in her (Y/E/C) eyes as he spoke. “Billy I don’t deserve this.” (Y/N) sobbed, shaking her head but was abruptly stopped by his hand. “Don’t say that ever again!” He said sternly, inching closer to her and lifting his other hand to softly cup her bruised cheek as well. “I’m not letting that piece of shit near you ever again” Pulling her closer, she hugged him and sniffled slightly. “I promise (Y/N)” Billy whispered while pulling back again. “Billy?” (Y/N) said, her heart beating faster in her chest. “Yes princess?” the boy muttered leaning a bit closer so that their noses were touching. “Kiss me”

A smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned forward, both of their lips colliding in a soft wet kiss. Both of them moving in unison, lips moving in sync as he pulled her closer to his chest. He would never let anyone hurt her ever again. Every emotion was flowing and put into that kiss by both of them. Her hand wandering to his hair,  letting it slip through his soft curls. Their bodies were moving together, her fragile body fitting perfectly into his strong arms. Sharing these experiences tightened their bond. Parting to get some air and breathe they looked at each other, (Y/N)’s breathing heavy and a genuine smile on her flushed lips. “Billy Hargrove just kissed me?” a small chuckle crawled up Billy's throat. “And another thousand times if you want me to”

tagging: @ just-some-imagines

[atiny-piratequeen]

Fie’s Super Helpful Tips (Not Really) #1: Fighting Scenes

Hi! I was thinking earlier about some of the songs I’ve put in my playlist and I know sometimes my friendos and followers ask me for help every now and then, so I’ve decided to try my hand at giving you all a little peek into my writing process, and maybe it can help someone else along the way? If not...shiber posted this-

Anyway, I’ve been writing for over a decade and I’ve decided to not only give you all some of the things I go through, but also post some snippets from a fic I wrote back when I was younger on FF, and some snippets from my BTS fic Still Standing, since there’s a fair share of fighting/action scenes in that, so be aware that there is some spoilers when it comes to SS, if any armytiny was interested in reading it. The screenshots from the other fic are fine because no one’s gonna be reading that ya yeet. 

Anyway, tips and cool raptor tricks under the cut! *kick flips*

So, for me, the most important part of my writing process is always finding the right music. I know some people have issues focusing when it comes to writing with songs with lyrics, because it may make them distracted. If you’re this type of person, feel free to make a playlist of songs that are instrumental, that may help better. 

For me, with all of my scenes, but especially my fighting ones, I find songs that make me see certian scenes like a music video. For the examples, I’ll pull songs I have for my Against the Tide (Ateez OT8) playlist 

So, when you think of fighting scenes, what do you think of? Rock songs? Metal? 

Those two are the most common songs that come to mind when it comes to writing or visualizing fighting or action heavy scenes. I have some songs in my playlist from those genres that are there specifically for parts in later chapters that have very in depth and intricate fighting. (E.x Ludens- Bring me the Horizon, Literally every Babymetal track, Zoetrope-Yanaginagi and Piri-Dreamcatcher (yes, I’m counting Dreamcatcher as rock + Kpop bc it is, fight me). 

But, sometimes, you can even formulate really visual scenes from songs that are not as suspecting (edm is a common third place to rock and metal but you can also use some pop and even jazz songs!)

Going back to my own playlist, I have some songs specifically for fight/action-based scenes that one may not overtly think would work for that kind of scene like:

Underground- Lindsey Sterling, The Sky Falls- Xai, and probably the most ??? Butterfly Effect-Exo.

Butterfly Effect is the outlier in all of these songs, right? How can something so beautiful with it’s lyrics have anything to do with fighting?

The answer is the tone. Sometimes you have to invision scenes out of the norm. Step back away from the usual fighting in the rain in a forest or running through a busy city doing disgusting amounts of collateral damage and think with your eyes closed. 

Listen to Butterfly Effect, if you could, and think of the following:

Your protagonist is down on their luck, they’re close to losing to our main antagonist. Instead of having them in a dark area, imagine them somewhere brightly lit, such as a purgatory-esque place, but instead of a mute white, it’s all blue. Your muses fight, your protagonist losing their traction, and with it, their hope.

But then they think of the people who have helped them along the way, maybe? They think of what needs to be protected. They think of the people that would be effected by them losing this.  Think of them falling, images of all they know and love passing the by as they nearly lose. They can’t, they won’t, they have to win!

‘You’re saving my life~’

Your muse catches their second wind! They fight back, and maybe with this, they can win? Or at least buy some time?

Fighting scenes can be as fun as they can be terrifying. Sometimes it helps to make your protagonist dominate, only to lose in the end because of their arrogance. Sometimes it’s the other way around. 

But, for me, the first step is being able to close your eyes, and listen. Listen to your music, and listen to your thoughts, and jot down as much as you can so you don’t lose it! When you’re ready, go into your scene with those notes in your mind or in your notes, and move on to the next step.

Know your muses when you write. If they’re humans, do a little research and find out what kind of wounds can completely disarm someone, what kind of wounds cause permanent damage, and what kind of treatment some wounds may take to heal, be maintained. Know that some gashes heal within two-three weeks with proper stitching, while some require more medical attention and the like. 

You have more liberties when it comes to mystical and supernatural fics, but you also can be down to earth with your fighting. Even immortals get fatigued, so keep that in mind. Engage your viewers, make your work heart pounding, but also you add a layer of realism if you don’t always make your characters OP.

Something to keep in mind as well is how well your character is at their fighting skill. Someone who doesn’t know how to fight may injure themselves punching wrong or trying to use a weapon they’re not familiar with. Don’t be afraid to write this in your scenes! Someone throwing a sloppy punch can turn the tide, or someone not accounting for the kickback of a gun could lead to them dropping it, or injuring themselves. 

With powers, don’t be afraid to be descriptive when it comes to what they do. there’s a website called powerlisting.wikia that you all can stop by and check out when it comes to choosing powers, and learning more about their names and limitations, as well as their applications. 

Of course, you are the writer and you can change these at will, but it’s also nice to have some form of idea to visualize when it comes to your characters using their powers. Describe the fire, know that different temperatures have different colors! Describe how a character may be surprised to find they have a new power, or that their power does something it didn’t originally do. 

Know that the more a character uses their powers, the more smoothly they will use them in battle, and that sometimes their powers may be an extension of themselves.

Example time!

So I’ll be showing you some of my works and talking a little about the scenes in particular.

Written back in 2016 ish, the scenes pictured hits on what I mentioned before. Having the protagonist go through the motions of their final attack after a long fight. Something that by all accounts, usually pays off, right? But there’s this open ended feeling of not knowing if they fully killed our antagonist because of the escape (contrary to what is said at the end, she did, in fact, survive the attack, but only barely.)

With charged attacks, make sure you take some time before it’s fired, especially if its for something large. The more time you put between letting your reader know it was charging, to the moment its actually fired, you give the reader a sense of scale when it comes to how powerful it is. 

Is the attacker prone to attack? Are they being protected? Do they have to start over if interrupted? These are things to consider. I’ll add a longer snippet from my BTS work now for another example of a different styled fight scene. It’s rather lengthy and again, it has spoilers for a portion of SS, so be aware of that.

---

Jungkook didn’t wait around for any instructions, solidifying his body in crystal as he bolted for them, eyes dark and full of rage. The boys knew that look well. It was the same Jungkook used when he used to fight in the Arena.

Wonho was the one to step forward, eyes wild as he met him halfway, dodging the first punch Jungkook threw at him by ducking. He swung his head up, cracking the top of it against the younger man’s jaw. Jungkook hardly budged, smiling back when he saw a trail of blood run down between Wonho’s eyes.

“Didn’t think that through, did you-” Jungkook’s sarcastic remark was cut short when Wonho reeled back, punching him square in the gut, cracking the crystal. He stumbled back, and all of the other members of his cluster flinched from the intense pain as well. Wonho let out a beast-like sound, lunging to strike him again.

“Wonho’s already flipped the switch. Go, I’ll keep an eye on him.” Kihyun instructed the other standing mercenaries, the palm of his hand glowing purple as he pressed it over Hyungwon’s eyes, whispering something.

Yoongi’s shadows stretched across the floor to try and slow Wonho down from the flurry of fists he was sending Jungkook’s way but Jooheon was on them in an instant, moving faster than Yoongi could process, kicking away any of the shadows before they got close.

“Fuck! I can’t get close!” He hissed, blocking his front when Jooheon appeared in front of him with a vicious spinning kick aimed for his chest. Yoongi just barely missed taking the full impact, if it hadn’t been for the shadows that instinctually protected him whenever Jooheon got close. The fiery dimpled man didn’t seem too put off by this, though.

In fact, the attacks only got more relentless, with Yoongi having to go on the complete defense as Jooheon bombarded him with kick after kick, disappearing in a blur before the DJ could lash back at him.

“Hyung, hold on!” Taehyung spread his arms apart, several shards of ice aimed Yoongi’s way. Maybe if he could just slow Jooheon down-

“Tae, move!”

Tae flinched, eyes wide as Jin all but threw himself behind him, summoning a barrier to block the large bear paw that nearly came crashing down on him. Hyunwoo’s arms and legs had grown thicker in size, shaped like bear paws. The fur around his arms and legs were the same color as his hair and the tips of his claws seemed to be longer and shinier than normal claws, though neither men could fully see what was going on with that from their current position.

The younger of the two sensates scrambled up to his feet, pressing his hand to Jin’s barrier to shoot the ice at the partly-transformed mercenary instead. Hyunwoo crossed his arms in front of him, all of the ice stopping just before they impacted with his body. Tae and Jin watched in confusion as his claws began to glow light blue, and a chill blew over the whole room.

“I’ll just borrow this.” He cooed, pressing his hand to the barrier.

Immediately, the entire bubble Jin put around them was surrounded by ice.

“You’re gonna have to think outside of the bubble to fight us, y’know.” Hyunwoo teased, smashing his fist through the frigid bubble and shattering the entire thing to pieces.

Jimin, Hoseok, and Minjun were preoccupied dealing with Minhyuk a few feet away.

They had found out pretty quickly in the fight that he was proficient with his weapon, blocking any physical attacks they sent his way and countering with painful strikes with the blunt ends. Though his arms weren't as thick or muscular as Wonho or Hyunwoo's, he didn't have any issue putting power behind his swings, bruising Minjun's abdomen upon impact the first time.

He smiled wide when Hoseok began getting frustrated, noticing the same for Jimin as flames and sparks began to flicker at their fingertips respectively.

“Hit me with it. Show me what you can do!” he invited them, rolling his neck on his shoulders before gripping the ends tighter.

Both of them were happy to oblige and Minhyuk had a ball of electricity fly at him from the left and a ball of fire fly to him from his right. He grinned, holding up both rods, eyes lighting up as the elemental attacks went straight to the tip of the rods as if being pulled in by a magnet.

The little crystal bubbles began to glow, and Minhyuk looked delighted as he brought the two non-blunt ends together, snapping them into a staff. It ended up forming a large hybrid weapon that was the length of a bo staff with the blunt ends resembling that of a cudgel. The bubbles at the ends were yellow with sparks crackling on the inside of it while the ones on the other side were red, with flames licking at the inside of the crystalline bubbles.

“D-did...did he just absorb our attacks, hyung?” Jimin inquired, blinking in surprise. Hoseok frowned and Minhyuk winked at them.

“It’s an invention of my own. D’ya like it? Gotta keep up with these guys somehow since I don’t have powers.” He explained before he moved in for the next attack, swinging at Hoseok with the electric side.

“Now, let’s see how bright of a candle my technology can hold to natural abilities!”

While they fought, Ji-Woo struggled to keep up with Changkyun, taking more than a few body shots than she would have liked. Her lip was busted and she had only managed to land one punch on the younger man.

“T...There’s no way I can keep up.” She admitted, defeated. Changkyun stopped short, humming slightly.

“Is that what you honestly think?” He inquired. She stood up hesitantly, scratching her arm. The barista tossed a look over her shoulder, seeing Taehyung, Jin, and Yoongi unable to form any sense of offense against Jooheon’s speed and Hyunwoo’s brute force. Namjoon was doing his best to help out Jungkook with Wonho, but out of nowhere a large bird-like beast appeared in the warehouse, focusing on Namjoon, effectively keeping him away from the group’s maknae.

He wasn’t doing any better, getting manhandled by Wonho. Honestly, he terrified Ji-Woo because it seemed like he had absolutely gone berserk, throwing his body at Jungkook with no particular style or strategy other than “hit harder and harder and harder” and it looked like the youngest was having difficulties keeping up.

Jimin and Hoseok had tried to double team Minhyuk, but he seemed to be absolutely delighted by the fight, holding his own as he absorbed their elements, using it against them along with the powerful blows from simply hitting them. (She was worried about Minjun, as he hadn't moved in over five minutes. She hoped he had just been knocked out and nothing else.)

She wasn't sure what Kihyun and Hyungwon were doing. It seemed like the latter was asleep, and Kihyun hadn't budged from his spot, whispering things to Hyungwon with his hand still on his head as he kept his eyes on Wonho.

Wonho.

He terrified her more than all of the others combined because he honestly seemed more beast than man. His eyes were manic, and every time the fight with Jungkook drew blood, it seemed his attacks got more erratic and powerful.

Changkyun watched her silently, closing his eyes as he tried to find the proper words to say.

“You're already thinking more than the others.”

She turned back to him and he put his hands on his hips, pivoting on his heel to look at the others fighting.

“The reason they're struggling is because they're not thinking about everything. They're not using tactics. Not communicating. No one said they had to break off into little groups to fight us. If Namjoon or Jimin were to come over here and attack me, I would not only be ready for it, but expect it. They need to look at every variable in a fight to dominate it.” he told her, watching as Wonho took Jungkook and hurled him against Jin's barrier, nearly tossing him into Hyunwoo.

The leader didn't seem fazed, though he did turn and give Kihyun a look. Ji-Woo's brows furrowed as she watched the sitting man, blinking when she saw him move his hand from Hyungwon's head. He raised it, aiming it in Wonho's direction when it looked like he was going to take a wild swing Hyunwoo's way.

“Stop, calm down. Let's stop, calm down, Wonho. Your fight isn't here.”

Wonho paused for a moment, the rage in his eyes lessening as he turned to look at Jungkook. He stood to his full height and stalked over to him again, looking significantly more focused than before.

Something seemed to click for her and she gasped, stepping forward to tell the others something, but Changkyun grabbed her arm gently.

“Don't. They need to figure this out, too. I promise, it'll be a lot more harmful to just give them the solutions instead of letting them come to it on their own.” he informed her. She frowned, but nodded, turning her attention back to the boys as Changkyun gave her momentary reprieve from their sparring.

Yoongi was getting fed up of all of this madness with Jooheon, and he could feel the fatigue coming from the others. He had backed himself up so much trying to defend that he had stumbled into Wonho and Jungkook’s fight, the shadows frantically catching a wayward fist thrown by Wonho. He glared daggers at the man, flinging him upwards in frustration.

That was the first light bulb.

As Wonho flew up, all the rage in his eyes melted into sheer terror, eyes wide as he frantically tried to catch himself. This didn’t go unnoticed by Yoongi or Jungkook, especially when Kihyun raised his voice again.

“Jooheon! Catch him!” he ordered and there was a gust of wind as Jooheon bolted past Yoongi, catching Wonho middair. His feet skid slightly when he landed, setting the shorter man down closer to Kihyun.

Namjoon noticed the bird behind him began to warp and bend into a horrifyingly large creature the moment Kihyun’s attention changed to Wonho. It also stopped attacking him, taking to screeching loudly and flapping it’s wings as it swooped down to attack the others. Heads turned, and the boys noticed Hyungwon’s face scrunched up as he began to toss and shift in Kihyun’s lap, as if having a terrible nightmare.

That was the second bulb.

“This is our chance! Get Kihyun!” Namjoon ordered, turning and running full-speed at the four.

Hyunwoo took his attention off of Jin and Taehyung, a slightly impressed look on his face as he moved in an instant to block Namjoon. The nurse was having none of it, wrapping a shadow around Hyunwoo’s thick waist, throwing him into Wonho and Jooheon, toppling all three of them. Wonho let out a growl, eyes filling with rage again.

Minhyuk swept Jimin’s feet and used the distraction to slam the fire end of his cudgel against the ground. Hoseok noticed all of the red from the crystals poured out of it, creating a wall of fire to separate Namjoon from Kihyun and the others. Now the only color in the crystals came from the side where Jimin’s electricity was absorbed.

The third light bulb.

“Kihyun, you’ve got to get the order back!” Jooheon yelped, ducking when Wonho swung at him. Kihyun sent him a vicious look, holding his hand out. His eyes started to glow the same color as the power increased. Wonho calmed down significantly, blinking and Kihyun pointed past the firewall.

“Not us, them. Get angry, Wonho.”

Wonho snarled and took off like a bullet, running through the fire and tackling Namjoon head-on, rolling on the ground from the impact. The bird beast screeched from above them and swooped down towards Kihyun and Hyungwon, but the older man snapped his hand back down to Hyungwon’s head, and the bird stopped instantly. It flapped its wings for a moment or two before turning and aiming it’s talons at Jin.

The fourth bulb was as bright as the others.

Changkyun hummed and tilted his head while Ji-Woo bit her thumbnail, anxious.

“It seems they started figuring things out.” He told her and she glanced at him in surprise for a moment before turning back to them.

--

This is the other example I meant of difference in ability power. Be sure to let your readers know how comfortable people are with their powers. If they’re new or not as experienced, show that. If they’re from a more experienced team (Like MX is here), be sure to think of ways to show off each person’s strengths and weaknesses and how that plays into team fights. 

I don’t know if this helped, but if anyone would like me do to more little tip posts like this, please let me know! I hope this helped a little.

[weartirondad]

Broken China Made In Walmart

Prompt: “I’m gonna take a guess and say that’s broken” Tony finds Peter next to an age old vase, that was gift from his aunt Peggy, broken on the ground, with water and flowers everywhere.” ( @itsallratherstrange )

FF.net I ao3

“I’m gonna take a lucky guess here and say that’s broken.”

As soon as Peter looked up he knew that that had been the wrongest thing he could have possibly said. Who the hell had trusted him to look after a kid?

The boy was crouched on the floor next to the smithereens of what used to be a vase, his pants drenched with the water that was pooling around him. The tulips his maid had gotten just two days prior were strewn across the floor, a mess of pollen and petals and mushed leaves.

None of that truly registered with Tony, though, because there was blood, too. Peter’s hands were covered in blood where he was propped up on the floor from bracing his fall. The shards were embedded in his skin and the older man’s stomach coiled at the sight. He had never had a problem seeing blood but apparently he had very many problems seeing this particular kid’s blood.

“I’m so – so s-sorry, Mister- Mister Sta-Stark, sir,” the kid stuttered through trembling lips, glassy eyes still locked on Tony who was getting increasingly worried by the second. “I- I didn’t- I didn’t mean to b-break it. I –“

“Shh,” he shushed, squatting down next to Peter, glad he was still wearing shoes when he heard the glass crunch under his soles. He reached out, mirroring his movements so he wouldn’t scare the kid who looked more and more like a frightened animal. Once he had a hold of the boy, he pulled him up with him and lead him a few steps away.

An undertaking that was a lot easier said than done when you were trying to move a shell-shocked super-teen.

Gently he pried Peter’s hands from where he was grabbing the fabric of his pants and inspected the injury. The blood had certainly made it looked worse than it actually was but he doubted the shards in his hands were a lot of fun either way.

“It’s not that bad,” he told the muted kid with an encouraging smile even though he still felt sick just looking at the blood. “We’re gonna pull them out and clean you up and with your super-healing you’re going to be good as new in no time.”

When there was still no reply he started pulling him towards the kitchen and the first aid kid he stored there. Peter followed without problem, stumbling a little when they came to the halt but never actually making a sound. It was the longest he had ever gone without at least making some kind of noise ever since Tony had met him. He couldn’t help but worry the longer it went on.

Only when he had manhandled the kid into a chair and made sure he wasn’t going to slip out of it before getting a pair of tweezers and some disinfection to clean the wound, did the kid open his mouth.

“B-but what about the vase.”

Tony looked up from cupboard he was rummaging through and frowned. “What about it?”

“It’s – it’s broken,” the kid gasped and it sounded like he had to put everything he had into not breaking out into a sob.

Frankly, it broke Tony’s heart.

“Yeah, I figured that,” he agreed softly, lowering down onto his knees in front Peter and gently turning his left hand who had taken the blunt of the glass. “It’s just a vase, buddy, they break,” he told him, trying to convey with his eyes that he really couldn’t care less about some stupid ceramic as long as Peter was still bleeding.

“I’m going to pull out the shards now. It’s going to sting a bit but we don’t want anything stuck in there when you start healing, alright?”

When the kid didn’t reply and simply kept staring he squeezed his knee with his free hand and repeated. “Is that okay, kid?” Only when he got a shaky nod in return did he start to pull out the pieces one by one.

Peter winced but otherwise didn’t show any sign of pain which made the whole procedure a lot more bearable for Tony who felt a stab through his own skin with every piece he cleaned.

“You told me it was a gift from your Aunt Peggy.” His voice was barely more than a whisper and immediately after the words left his mouth he bit his trembling lip, obviously still forcing back a sob. “And- and I- I bro-broke it.”

He was shaking at that point, tears leaking from his eyes and mixing with the dried blood on his cheek from where he had tried to wipe his eyes with his hands earlier. “I’m so – sorry, Mister Stark.”

Tony shushed him again, surprised how paternal the sound made him feel, how he instinctually reached out to brush the tears away and lowered the tweezers to concentrate on the kid’s distress instead.

“I don’t care about you breaking the vase.” And, surprisingly, he didn’t. Yes, it had been a gift from Peggy Carter but that was so far down on his lists of priorities right now, it didn’t even make the first page.

“I’m going to tell you a story about my Aunt Peggy and that vase,” he decided, settling his hand on Peter’s knee again and waiting until he met his eyes again. “But first you’re going to tell me whether you’re crying over that vase or because you’re in pain. Because you are allowed to cry when you’re in pain but you’re not allowed to cry over a stupid vase.”

That managed to tickle a giggle out of the boy and albeit wet and shaky it was music in Tony’s ears. “Doesn’t hurt too bad,” he sniveled, “but I didn’t wanna make you sad.”

“Then let me get out these shards while telling you about my favorite aunt and I’ll be the happiest. Deal?”

Peter nodded and Tony went back to work.

“Aunt Peggy was my godmother,” he began, “it was my dad’s idea. I think he wanted to have people around his firstborn son who loved Steve Rogers as much as he did and who wouldn’t let him forget his biggest creation. It was,” he swallowed, “hard sometimes to grow up with a dad who was always looking for more than you could give him but Aunt Peggy wasn’t like that at all.”

A smile stretched across his face remembering the fierce redhead who had never minced her words, especially not for Howard Stark.

“Peggy loved me a lot.” It was one of the few things he was truly certain of. “And I think he hadn’t planned for that. For her actually wanting to spend time with me and not comparing me to a dead super soldier and their relationship went downhill from there.” An understatement if he’d ever heard one.

“Peggy didn’t like the way Howard acted and how he treated me, so she told him as much. Frequently. Protected me from his wrath more than once when I broke something of value. She did her best to drive him up the walls of our fancy mansion and she was the best at it. That’s why she got him that vase for Christmas one year.”

“Sorry, buddy,” he grimaced when the boy winced and a solitary tear slipped from the corner of his eye. “We’re almost done. Do you want me to stop talking?”

“Nuh uh,” he shook his head, smiling bravely, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, “I wanna know about the vase.”

“Okay, kiddie.” He concentrated on plucking another shard from his right hand now before continuing.

“Howard loved everything fancy,” he explained, “Everything was better when it cost a lot of money and things were only really worth having when they had a name everyone knew. The house I grew up in looked more like a museum than anything else and it was equally frightening to just walk through the rooms.”

“He also prided himself on looking like a good guy to the rest of the world.” Key word being look like. “So when Peggy Carter, prominent agent and Co-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D. presented him with a cheap no-name vase during the annual Christmas gathering, basically in front of the whole world or at least in front of everyone who mattered, he had to accept her gift with a big smile and cheek kisses. He was livid.”

Tony chuckled quietly, pulling out the last piece of ceramic and picking up the disinfection.

“This one’s gonna burn a bit but we don’t want any dirt in there once it’s closing,” he warned, “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” came the tight- lipped reply, “Why did your dad keep the vase if he didn’t like it?”

“Oh, believe me he would have loved nothing more than to throw it out,” Tony said with a grin that turned into a sorry grimace when Peter hissed. “Sorry. It’s almost over.”

“He actually hid it in some secret chamber never to be seen again until there was another function and Peggy openly lamented over how she had never actually seen the vase she had gotten him for Christmas and there were a lot of questions about why he wouldn’t want to set it up where everyone could see it.”

“So, whether he liked it or not, Howard had the vase put up on a small table right at the entrance with the order to always keep it clean and to always keep the flowers in it fresh. It was the first thing you saw when you set foot into the mansion and it was a sign of Peggy’s stubbornness and her love to defy the likes of men like Howard. It was the only thing I kept of Howard’s.”

Peter frowned at him, looking frustrated. “So the vase was important to you even though it wasn’t very expensive. I’m really sorry Mister Stark.”

“Sure it was,” he agreed easily, reaching for the gauze to bandage the now clean wound, “But the thing Peggy taught me was that people are always more important than stuff no matter how valuable you think the stuff is. She took off her engagement ring because she accidentally cut my cheek with it one time. Said being engaged wasn’t worth hurting me and started wearing it on a chain around her neck from then on.”

He had finished wrapping the kid’s hands and pulled out a tissue to clean off the residue blood from his wrists and face.

“My point is,” he said, wiping at Peter’s cheek until the red came off, grinning when the boy scrunched up his face in indignation, “she would’ve banned all vases from the house the second someone got hurt because of them. And, yeah, it was a nice token to remember my Aunt Peggy by but I’d rather have you happy and healthy and tell you about her than some stupid old vase that she once touched.”

“So,” Peter cocked his head to the side thoughtfully, “You’re not mad?”

“Nope,” he shook his head and pushed himself back up, cringing when his joints creaked. “You know how much old people love telling stories. And I got to tell one of my favorite stories about Peggy Carter so really I’m glad you broke it. Not so glad you got hurt, though.”

The kid grinned happily, jumping up from the chair, tears and broken vase forgotten. “You are old,” he agreed with a laugh and then, a little more hesitantly asked, “Do you want to tell me more about her?”

“More stories about Aunt Peggy? Gladly, buddy.”

[cartoonsareeverything]

Hello. I recently saw a post from hellmandraws with your character Grace. This isn't the first time I've seen her and I'm very interested in what she is to the Stans ?

hey anon!!! idk if its the same anon who asked about grace before, but nonetheless! time to ramble wooo!! this got rly long, so im putting it all under the cut

grace had become a very close friend to the stans. she only got transferred in their junior year, so she didn’t spend her whole time at glass shard high. junior year was when she met them, and while they only had that year to get to know each other, it was senior year when they got really close. when high school sucks, you gotta stick together

they’ve seen each other pass by in the halls, but they properly first met one night at the beach. when both parties are big mystery fans, you tend to end up exploring the same crime scenes and cryptid sightings. except you think the other party is the cryptid in question so you need to keep your distance and dont let them see you. 

the twins and grace try to trip each other up, thinking the other is the cryptid at large. grace wins this fight by setting up a trap for the cryptid to fall into, but she got the twins instead. this leads to a whole lot of confusion and bickering 

grace: YOURE the ones who have been following me this whole time??

stan: following you??? no?? you were the one following US!!

grace: IM ACTUALLY trying to capture a cryptid!! 

ford: you made a pretty flimsy trap for a cryptid i mean come on what self respecting cryptid would be attracted to a lamp tied to a half-baked attempt at a metal detector

grace: says the ones who fell into it in the first place 

ford: YEAH WELL WERE CLEARLY NOT CRYPTIDS ARE WE

grace: YET YOU STILL FELL INTO THE TRAP

the real cryptid jumps out at this point, so the trio has no choice but to work together in dealing with the creature. they start to bond once they realise what they all had in common, and here is when grace realises how much fun she was having with them. 

so she asks if they could hang out more. 

the twins, startled that someone is asking to hang out with them instead of running away or turning their back on them or teasing them or

“YES” stan replies quickly enough for the both of them, because they both do know gaining a new friend, someone who isnt fazed by ford weirdness or stans rep of being the dumb twin, is not smth to turn away from 

it takes some time for the twins to warm up to her tho,,,thinking at one point shes just going to stab them in the back. its safe to say that shes amongst one of the popular kids at school, always befriending as many people as possible (that must be exhausting to remember all those birthdays.) so why was she spending time with the pines twins?? crampelters no. 1 target? for all stan and ford knows (due to their past experience with their peers) grace could somehow betray them and throw them to the cool kids to pick em apart like vultures at dead carcasses. besides, we’ve always had each other sixer, so why should things change now?

but grace stays. she still hugs them when she sees them, still places study notes in stans locker, still helps patching up fords hands and face, still brings them diet pitt packs whenever theyre working on their boat, still visits them on weekends, still invites them to play rehearsals, parties, performances, still listens to them on good days and bad days

she still turns her head and speaks up whenever she hears someone bad mouthing the twins, because after hearing their stories of after school confrontations, ignorant teachers, salty tears, broken glasses and bones and wounds that can’t heal with bandages, the last thing grace ever wants to do is let history repeat itself. im not gonna stand by and let them do this to you. she promises never again.

but she can only do so much and thats something that frustrates her to no end

in general, she wants to be the perfect friend so when she goes too far with smth and fucks up she panics. she can get too far in her own head, so sometimes the twins need to bring her back down to earth and remind her of who she is. stan, ford and grace become each others anchor. keeping each other afloat and steady in this sea of societal expectations, self worth/identity issues and the unknown....and the occasional monster of the week

aaaand thats basically their relationship!! thank you sm for the question! theres plenty more details and other layers to graces character and her friendship with the twins, since the first half of this post explains how they met, but this pretty much serves as an intro to all that jazz. 

[unknown-art1]

Fevers Are No Fun!

Summary: Thomas gets sick, and the sides try to help him, but their sick as well and chaos ensues!

                                                           ......

Logan placed his hand against Thomas's forehead and stated "You have a body temperature of exactly 102.5 degrees Fahrenheit or precisely 39.16667 degrees Celsius. You know what that means-"

         "It means you're going to die today." Virgil stated.

         Thomas's heart practically stopped. Die? The young man was far too young to die! He had so much stuff he wanted to do with his life! Like binge watch all of Disney's animated movies for the seventh time this month! Or try that new Chinese restaurant that open down the street!  But worse of all imagine all the great (and terrible) musicals he would miss if he died! It would be absolutely horrible if he died now!

         The young man's eyes began to swell up, "It can't be true, right Logan? I'm not really going to die today am I?"

         Seeing the man attempt to choke back his tears the logical side frantically tried to calm his fears, "No it's not!"It means you have a fever!"

         "But he could still die today," Virgil argued.

         You're really not helping our situation, right now Virgil! Logan  internally yelled.

         "Well yes, he technically could," the nerd conceded since Virgil was technically factually correct, "We all have an extremely small chance of dying at any moment in our  lives, but Thomas has no higher chance of dying than any other day of his life."

         The sides arguing about Thomas's fragility of life and how anyone can die at any given moment really wasn't helping his fever get any better. If anything the constant fear of death made him feel worse than when he woke up this morning.

         "I feel awful," Thomas mumbled out before he snuggled back under the sheets in an attempt to distract him from the impending fear of death.

         For a few moments Thomas laid their peaceful, and he thought he'd be able to sink right back to sleep and sleep the pain away. But just as he was about to shut his eyes and succumb to his tiredness, his bedroom door was slammed wide open and Patton ran in yelling "Don't worry kiddo, you're dad's here to take care of you!"

         The fatherly side rushed over to Thomas's bedside with a piping hot bowl of chicken soup and water in his hands. Patton placed the soup and water on Thomas's nightstand, so he could help his sick son sit up straight to eat his food.

         Patton lifted Thomas up and laid his back against the head board of the bed. At one point Patton had started talking to Thomas, but the sick man couldn't focus on a word he said. His head currently felt like it was a piñata that was being swung at by a child who had been starving for 8 days straight and the candy was the first source of food they've found. Really all Thomas could do was focus on the pain, until he heard a familiar voice talk to him in his head. It was Logan.

         Your head is pounding out of control Thomas, you can't concentrate properly right now. I gonna to give you advice on how to sooth the pain, you must promise to listen to me or other wise you'll only make it worse.

         Okay, Thomas replied internally, What do I do?

         You need to close your eyes, and focus solely on breathing. It won't eliminate your headache, but It'll help reduce stress from it.

         The ex-vine guy shut his eyes shut and felt his chest rise up and down with each breath he took. He stayed like that for a couple minutes until the pain subsided and he felt two different hands placed on him. One hand was cold and the sleeve of the owner's hoodie scratched against his arm. The hand held on tight, worried that if they let go Thomas would break into a million pieces. He could tell that hand belonged to Virgil. In contrast the other hand was warm and reminded Thomas of when his parents held his hand when he was little. It was very clear that this was Patton's hand.

         After the headache was gone Thomas raised his eyelids and finally took a good look at the other sides. Patton was standing at his bedside with a small grin on his face in an attempt to cheer him up. While Virgil had already retracted his hand from Thomas and tried to look elsewhere. He didn't seem able to look Thomas in the eyes after worrying about him. Almost as if he was embarrassed for caring for him. Logan on the other hand was isolated from the three of them as he stood at the opposite end of the room.

         Confused on why the third side was so far away, Thomas asked "Aren't you going to come over here Logan?"

         "Oh, well I just assumed you had everyone over there already. That you didn't need me." Logan stated while fixing his glasses in an attempt to look like he was busy.

         "We always need you Logan." the man said in his tired state.

         For a moment the logical side's blushed a bright red at the sudden appreciation towards him, but it quickly went away as fast as it came.

         "Yeah Lo! Come over and we can eat soup I made!" Patton yelled despite being less than 10 ft away from Logan.

         "But you only brought one bow-" Thomas began to say before suddenly they all had bowls of soup in their hands.

         "In the mind scape we can summon a bunch of things," Virgil reminded Thomas,"Don't you remember how Roman summoned a script and made us sing that stupid parody Christmas song that one year?"

         Before Thomas got a chance to answer a second person of the day busted into his bedroom, except this time through his window rather than his door.

         "Did someone say songs?" The dramatic side excitedly asked as he stood in front of  a pile of glass shards that he created when he jumped through the window.

         Before anyone got a chance to answer, Roman let out an audible gasp as he saw the scene in front of him "You guys are having the magic healing soup without me?"

         "It's chicken soup Roman," Logan corrected.

         "It's obviously magic healing soup! I've used it in battle when I've gotten injuries before and it healed me completely! Patton obviously puts some kind of magic in it! Everyone knows that! Aren't you supposed to be the smart one of the group?" Roman replied.

         Patton whispered to Thomas "You wanna know what my magic ingredient is?"

         Thomas had a good feeling he knew what it was but decided to humor Patton anyway "What is it?"

         "It's love!" The fatherly side whisper as he summoned another bowl of magical healing soup for Roman.

         The actor picked up his spoon and dipped it into the bowl and began to say "This look great-" when he cut himself off by letting out a loud "AAAAAHHCCCCHHHOOO!"

         A powerful sneeze came deep from within the prince. The sneeze was so powerful that it blew the entire soup out of his bowl and poor Virgil ended up being the victim of the sneeze's destruction. Noodles landed in the edgy man's hair and hoodie, soup poured off his face, and his black concealer ran down his face similar to one of those monsters in horror movies who had blood running down from their eyes. If  looks could kill, Virgil would not only have killed Roman, he would've started a damn massacre.

         Too busy with his current sneeze attack the creative side was having, he did not notice Virgil's death stare and how he was trying to restrain himself from murdering Roman on the spot. Luckily this time the prince managed to block his nose with his sleeve to prevent anyone else becoming a victim of his viscous snot.

         "I think you need this" Logan said while offering a red handkerchief with a big R written in cursive on it.

         The actor greatly accepted the gift from the nerd and being the overly dramatic person he was he sneezed passionately into the handkerchief. And  everyone else just kinda sat there and watched in awe of the scene before them.  They had never been so emotionally moved before by watching a man sneeze (or in Thomas's case watching himself sneeze).

         Finally breaking out of his weird trance he had had on watching his creative side sneeze, Thomas asked "So wait does this mean you're sick too Roman?"

         "Of course, if you're sick we all are sick," Roman stated while gripping onto his snot filled handkerchief.

         "Is that true?" Thomas asked the other sides.

         "Since we are literally the sides of you it would only make logical sense for us to be sick as well, if you were sick." Logan explained.

         "Shouldn't you all be resting as well then?" Thomas inquired.

         "Yes, but it's my job as your father to to take care of you even when I'm sick," Patton replied.

         Patton picked up the soup resting on the nightstand and held up a spoonful of soup towards Thomas and said "Now why don't you open your mouth wide for daddy so I can feed you this- AAAAHHHCCCcCHHOO!"

         At the sound of another side sneezing everyone tried to avoid what Roman did to Virgil and hid behind something. Thomas pulled the covers over him to shield the snot from attacking him. Virgil quickly zipped his hoodie, Roman summoned a shield infront of him, and Logan dove to the ground behind Thomas's bed.

         When the sound of sneezing cease to exist everyone carefully crawled out from their barriers and saw a crying Patton stand with a bowl full of soup and snot in his hands. While Remus had an arm around him and asked "What's wrong daddy~?"

         "I got snot in Thomas's soup that was supposed to help in feel better," Patton choked out between tears.

         "Snot? That's stuff is like candy! If anything it would make you soup taste ten times better!" Remus explained.

         Horrified Virgil asked "Why do you think snot taste like candy?"

         "Because I've tried it before and it totally does," Remus replied as he picked a booger out of his nose and held it up in the air.

         "For the love of PEMDAS Remus! Don't eat the booger!" Logan cried out before Remus dropped the booger into his mouth and ate it like a delicious piece of candy.

         Everyone's face turn several shades of green, if they weren't sick enough before they surely were disgusted by the thing they just witnessed.

         "I've seen to much, I need to lie down. I've had a long day," Virgil said. Despite it only being twenty minutes since Thomas woke up.

         "Me too, I don't think I'm up for any adventuring to day." Roman added on.

         The logical side pulled out his own handkerchief and blowed his nose into it "I think it would be optimal for  us and Thomas if we all took the rest of the day to rest."

         "Yeah, I guess so," Patton replied to Logan.

         "Well you better go back to sleep kiddo and get so rest so you can feel all better later!"  Patton turned to say to Thomas.

         The sick man nodded his head and snuggled under his sheets and the last thing he heard before he feel asleep was "Goodnight," from the rest of the sides.

                                                             ......

         A few hours later Thomas woke up and he felt a lot better, he shoved the covers off him and got up out of the bed for the first time to day other than the times he had to pee or what I like to call exporting the cargo. He looked around his rooms and spotted a note sitting on his nightstand. He opened the note and read what's inside

Dear Thomas,

         If you're reading this note (your probably dead. Stop scaring him Virgil!) you must feel a bit better.  The rest of us have already got all our rest and our feeling better already. If you feel well enough, you can head down to the kitchen and Deceit has already prepared food for you. Apparently he's been so busy cooking all day; he didn't have a chance to visit you earlier. You may be thinking, shouldn't he be able to cook quicker since he has six arms? And I'll follow you up with another question, haven't you ever tried to focus on six things at once? That shit is practically impossible man. He almost burned downed the house a couple of times while cooking, so he had to keep a fire extinguisher in one set of his hands in case he started another one. He went through a lot of hard work to make you this meal because he cared about you, so thank him when you get down here. Ok?

                                                       Sincerely,

                                                      The Sides

[azaraspirit]

Kidnapped P1

this is a submission for @starksparker ‘s writing challenge!!!! i chose mob! tom cause its one of my fave aus. i loved this so much i decided to make a part two! i hope you like it as much as i do!!!

@keepingupwiththeparkers @mcuspidey @petersboyfriendsonofthor @spiderboytotherescue @spideypeach

word count: 2012

warnings: kidnapping, mild violence, language, character death, angst and fluff, hurt/comfort.

*

A familiar voice woke you up from your gaze, your eyes fluttering open. You groaned, feeling the drug that was poisoning your veins. This wasn’t the first time. Being a girlfriend to the top mobster of Queens you tend to have a knack for being a target for every other mobster in town. You knew someone knocked you out. You just didn’t know who. Not till now anyways.

“Sleeping Beauty is awake.” the familiar voice cooed with venom. “And I didn’t even get to kiss her. What a shame.”

Your vision was hazy as you tried to blink into focus. The room was dark, a single light hanging from the ceiling. It smelled moldy and musty like a basement or an old building. You swore you were hearing Harrison. But the tone of his voice...it couldn’t be him.

“...Haz?”

“Yup. It’s me, sweetheart.”

“W-what…” You could barely form words, the drug still in effect.

“You really think I forgot about what you did to me?”

You tried to speak but it was hard.

“You date me once then good old Tommy comes along and you forget about me?”

“What…”

Slowly the memory formed in your brain. You met Harrison first and went on a coffee date with him. It went great but then the following week you met Tom and he became your new crush. But you had no idea Harrison was so bitter about it. That was two years ago. You were still friends and supported you and Tom or so you thought...

You tried to speak but Haz cut you off. “Don’t even bother to apologize!” he spat, his saliva splattering your face. “I was crazy about you and you stab me in the back to date my best friend instead?”

The drug seemed to be wearing off. You could move your jaw and not feel as drained. You tugged wrists against the ropes. You held your head up to look at Haz, your vision coming into focus. “Haz…it wasn’t on purpose. It just happened.”

He scoffed. “Don’t give me that bullshit!”

“You kidnapped me. For revenge, didn’t you?” you asked.

Haz smirked, chuckling. “Been planning it awhile.”

“Why?”

“So Tom knows what it feels like to lose something he loves.” Haz pulled out a blade from his back, your eyes widening. Haz was specialized in blades and knife throwing which is why Tom had him on his side. But mostly because they were friends. Or so you thought.

You shrugged, your arms just slightly moving since your wrists were tied together. “So what? These last two years were a lie?”

“Good huh? I should be an actor. Can’t tell you how many times I thought of killing both of you.” Harrison’s voice was laced with malice. He wasn’t the same boy you knew two years ago.

“Haz...this is crazy.”

“No!” he shouted, suddenly rushing up on you, his hands gripping the wooden chair he had you in. “What’s crazy is having your girl stolen by his best friend!”

“But you did the same thing by kidnapping me.” you pointed out.

“To prove a point.”

You sighed. Haz was crazy. There was no sense in reasoning with a crazy person. You were done playing nice. “You’re a crazy ass bitch.” You spat in his face.

Haz slapped you across the face, hard. You experienced it before with previous kidnappings but this one stung the worst considering he was someone you knew. Someone who was your friend.

“You bitch.” he cursed.

“I’m glad I chose Tom. At least he doesn’t kidnap me and tie me to chairs.” Unless it’s with consent. You thought silently, almost chuckling. That was a fun night.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded.

“Just thinking of how pissed Tom will be when he gets here. He’s the king for a reason.”

“Please. He’s a punk ass bitch. He won’t kill me.”

“Think again.” You both look back to see Tom standing there, a gun in hand. “Don’t make me shoot you, Haz. You know I will. Just let her go.”

“Please. That’s not gonna happen.”

“Haz.” Tom’s voice was stern and serious. You knew only two of you were getting out of this alive.

“And you know I won’t miss.” Haz said, his knife raised.

“This bullet will reach you before that knife does.”

“Who said I was gonna stab you?”

Tom froze, his eyes widened. He never thought he would hurt you.

“Yeah. You didn’t think that did you? I’ve been planning this for months now, Tom. I’m three steps ahead of you.”

“You don’t want to hurt her.” Tom said.

“Yeah, I think I do.” Haz countered, stepping closer.

Tom took another step, cocking his gun. “Don’t.”

You felt utterly helpless as you sat tied to the chair. You wanted to help, to distract Haz, but you both knew how good he was with a knife. An idea clicked in your head, your eyes flickering up to the light above you. “Too bad you can’t see in the dark.” you commented.

Tom instantly understood your comment and he raised his gun to shoot the light. It popped and glass shattered down on you, your eyes shut. You were too stunned to move as you heard both men grunting in a struggle. Tom’s gun went off. Your heart raced. “Tommy? Tommy?”

You heard a familiar huff, and scraping of the ground. “It’s okay, baby. I got you.” You sighed in relief, hearing Tom’s voice but it sounded off. He grunted as he carried you out of the room. He led you into a hallway; you were in an old factory. Your eyes closed as the sun shone down on you.

Tom sat you down and untied you, picking at the pieces of glass from your hair and shoulders. The second your hands were free, you framed his face. “You okay?”

“Haz stabbed me in the shoulder but I’ll live. Him? Not so much.” He leaned into your touch, sighing.

“Can’t believe he did this...I thought he was a friend…”

“I can’t believe it either. If it wasn’t dark...if I saw his face...I probably wouldn’t have been able to shoot him.”

He looked up at you with watery eyes. He was knelt in front of you, you still in the chair. Your lips quivered. “You had to, Tom. It was self defense.”

“I know…” He gripped your hand, closing his eyes, a tear trickling down his cheek. He could never show emotion, show weakness when he was working. If the world knew how truly caring and fragile he was, his throne would be swept from beneath him. It would be deadly.

You gently stroked his face, pecking him lightly on the lips. “Let’s get you home, Tommy. I need to treat that wound.”

*

The ride home was quiet. You entered the mansion, helping Tom. This wasn’t the first time he’s been injured. You could remove a bullet or patch a wound and stitch him up in your sleep. If you went to the hospital, then word would get out that he was weak and all hell would break loose.

Tom winced as he removed his clothes. You had to admit you were turned on a bit watching him undress even if he was in pain. Get your head out of the gutter, woman. This was no time to have an orgasm.

You inspected the wound, pushing your honey thoughts aside. “Well he didn’t hit anything important, that’s good.”

“Thanks to you. That was a genius with the light.” He chuckled.

You smirked. “Thanks.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” His tone turned serious, his hand resting on yours, giving it a light squeeze. Your eyes met his, and you frowned.

“Then why do I feel so guilty? He was right. I left him for you.”

“C’mere.” He put your tools down to pull you close to him. He was sitting on a table, pulling you between his legs. “It wasn’t. Your. Fault.” He paused. “Haz is just crazy. He’s obsessive.”

You caressed his neck, pressing your foreheads together, sighing. “Still I chose you instead of him.”

“Yeah because we’re right for each other. You’re my girl.” He tucked his finger under your chin, showing you his little smirk.

“I still can’t believe he did that…” you frowned.

“I know…” Tom sighed. “But...I’d be damned if I let him hurt you. More than he already has.” He stroked his thumb along your cheek, a bruise forming where he slapped you. “Does it hurt?”

“Like a bitch. But mostly because it was from him…”

“Put some ice on it. It’ll heal.”

“I think your stab wound is more important than my bruise.” you chuckled.

“Right.”

If it weren’t for your idea with the light, Tom would have been dead and both of you knew that. Haz stabbed him in the shoulder but it wasn’t very deep, thank god. It was a rather easy wound to fix. A storm was starting outside. Lightning lit up the room through the four large windows that stood as tall as the room.

“You okay?” you asked.

“The wound or what happened back there?” he asked.

“Both.”

He held your hands, stroking them with his thumbs. “I feel like crap. He was my best friend...crazy...but he was my friend…” You wrapped your arms around him as he cried into your chest, your fingers playing with his hair.

Tom was a tough son of a bitch, but you knew the relationship he had with Haz meant the world to him. Being a king mobster meant a lot of things but he was still human.

“You’re bleeding.” Tom said, noticing some glass scratched you in a few places. “Let me take care of that.” He already started to remove the glass before you protested. You winced as he plucked a shard from your brow over your left eye. He used a damp to gently wash away the blood. You sighed, feeling loved and cared for. Tom finished up your scratches, putting a small band aid on most of them. He squeezed your thigh. “There. Good as new.”

Your eyes met and shared a smile.

“It’s okay, baby. Shhh.” you cooed, kissing his forehead. “Let’s get to bed.”

You let Tom put his weight on you as you led him to the bedroom. You helped get him comfortable, the storm still echoing outside. Tom faced you, his eyes red and glassy. Your noses almost touched. You kissed his lips gently, his hand on your cheek.

“I want to give him a funeral.” he spoke, his voice strained.

“That would be lovely.” Your voice was gentle.

“I owe him that much.” Tom sniffed and kissed your palm.

You scooted closer to him, Tom fully embracing your affection. “We can plan that tomorrow. For now, just sleep.” You kissed his temple again. His breathing evened out and the tears stopped. You played with his curls repeatedly, something he loved. You giggled, hearing his snores. He was a king mobster who has done some crazy things but snoring was something he swore he didn’t do. You let it slide so it wouldn’t hurt his tough persona because what mobster snores? It was your little secret. Not even Haz knew.

You thought of what Tom has said, about him being crazy and it all came together. You were certain Haz had some unhealthy obsession with you and knives and sharp objects in general. Not a good combination. You swore you felt like you were being watched sometimes and now that feeling was gone. Was that Haz? Was that feeling because of Haz as he stalked you? Planning your kidnapping and murder of Tom?

You shuddered, shaking your head. He was dead. There was nothing he could do now to hurt you or Tom. “We’re safe now, Tommy.” you whispered, kissing his nose. You let your breathing match his, his heartbeat acting as a lullaby that lulled you to sleep. For the first time in a long time, the both of you can truly get some sleep.