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fatefulfaerie · 3 years ago

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Mortality

Zelink Week 2021 prompt #7/7 @zelinkweek2021

Word Count: 3,684

Incarnation: Breath of the Wild 2 (pre)

Additional Prompts Followed: Forsaken Fates, Lost Eternities

Inspired by this art by @morniae

A big thank you to @braidy-maidy and @linktheacehero for beta-ing!!

He wasn’t expecting a fairytale reunion as his horse trotted slowly, arriving at the Forgotten Temple with next to no fanfare. All sorts of geniuses from every race of Hyrule had gathered to study this place, to pull it from its lost state and unearth its secrets, to discover the reason behind its eternity and maybe even why its fate was to be forsaken and forgotten to all of history.

Link left his horse with the many others that were being cared for on the left side of the canyon and began to navigate the ruckus on foot. It seemed crowds of scientists and historians alike were out here securing their tents, making food, and languishing in a well-deserved rest. Link felt as if he stuck out like a sore thumb with his small brain, but no one paid him any mind, not even her.

In fact, she was nowhere to be found.

Perhaps he was expecting some fairytale reunion as he peered his head around every Sheikah, Goron, Rito, Zora, and Hylian in sight. He didn’t care that there was no fanfare, in fact, that may have made it even harder to spot her if it were a big deal that the hero of Hyrule had arrived. Thank Hylia these ruins were more interesting, that no crowd had congealed into a true tidal wave of obstacles. He missed her dearly, after all, no matter how short a time two weeks was in comparison to a hundred years.

He made his way all the way to the shrine in the back when he finally saw her. Zelda smiled when she spotted him and bounded over, clutching the Sheikah Slate.

“Thank the goddesses you’re here,” she said, pecking his cheek. “They haven’t made anything good for dinner in days.”

She walked right past him. Link’s mouth popped open as she practically flew to another inscription of the ruins being studied. Purah, following close behind Zelda, approached Link as he looked over.

“Two weeks she hasn’t seen me and I get a colder welcome than ten thousand year old ruins.”

Purah clicked her tongue and began to cross past Link.

“Sounds like you better get cooking.”

And so he didn’t see his blur of a girlfriend until dinner, when he was serving a ladle-full of meat stew to everyone who passed by with a bowl, salty chunks of meat and sweet carrots swimming in a broth that radiated a scrumptious scent for at least a mile.

The last person he served came up wearing a forehead beaded with sweat and sticky blonde hair from a hard-days work. As she approached, she lightly hit the empty wooden bowl against her hand, and pursed her lips taut with eyes almost apologetic. Her steps shuffled in the sand.

“Look who it is,” Link said before she could muster an apology. He looked more amused than upset, anyway. Zelda sat on her heels in front of the cooking pot and handed him her bowl.

“Sorry,” she said, “it was just a busy day. We think we’re close to finding--”

Link and Zelda’s eyes met. They both knew what she was going to say. The entrance to the caves. The hidden reason why this expedition was such an extensive operation. Only Purah and Impa knew the true reason, after all. Everyone else was just here for research. Bless their hearts.

They knew they needed to find it, but not finding it meant more of an excuse to not go down there.

Yet.

To not let go of the illusion of peace.

Yet.

To not face their mortality once again.

Not yet.

Link looked down to pour soup in her bowl. With everyone else fed--and Zelda more than likely went to the back of the line on purpose so that she would be the last one to eat--Link poured himself a bowl as well. They soon sat down in front of Zelda’s tent.

“When are Impa and Paya arriving?” Link asked.

“Tonight,” Zelda replied, but she swallowed hard, regretting taking another spoonful with a “mm”.

“Oh my gosh I almost forgot!” she said enthusiastically. “You should have seen it, Link. The reunion between Purah and Robbie? They just marched up to each other, both short, old, and wrinkled, said each other’s names and walked off. It’s hard to believe they used to be lovers.”

Link choked on his stew.

“What?”

“Did I not...mention that?”

Link was still coughing, eyes tearing up.

“No?” He croaked, before coughing a couple more times. “You’d think I would remember something like that.”

“Believe me I wish I didn’t,” she said, before changing the subject. “Oh yeah, how did the meeting go?”

“Horrible,” Link said between spoonfuls.

“What do you mean?” Zelda inquired, slightly disappointed. She had hoped diplomacy would work.

“If I had known that Kohga had an eight year-old hiding somewhere in that hideout, I never would have attacked him,” Link started. “Apparently we needed him to keep his son in check. The kid is so hell-bent on revenge that he didn’t even read the treaty. He’s determined to hunt us down until the end of our days. Even his guards think he’s taking it a bit far. I could see it in their faces when Sooga was going on and on about his forces being strong and ready to fight. Those poor men and women are tired.”

“I thought the Yiga wore masks?”

Link shook his head.

“Not anymore,” he replied. “Sooga wants them to be proud of themselves, whatever that means. Goddesses, that whole meeting was like getting a child to eat their vegetables. I’m pretty sure Riju was about to slap him at the end, the little runt recycling the dogmas of the Yiga that are ten thousand years old now. Even when I ask him why he said such things about Hylians, he doesn’t give a straight answer. He knows less about history than I do and I had amnesia. He’s just been conditioned, raised to hate.”

“That’s unfortunate, but not hopeless,” Zelda said. “I’m sure Riju and the rest of the Gerudo will be able to work it out if the entirety of the clan no longer backs him. Is there any danger until then?”

Link shook his head and swallowed his current spoonful.

“Not yet,” he said once he could. “The only reason they haven’t attacked here is because he wants to find the entrance of the caves as much as we do. He didn’t say it outright, but he’s waiting for us to do it for him.”

“That’s not frightening at all,” she said sarcastically. “We’ll have to increase security when we do eventually go down there, make sure he doesn’t follow us.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Zelda,” Link said. “He’s only eight years old, and he’s pretty short and lean.”

Zelda smiled as she sipped her soup.

“I remember a little eight year old like that who could best adult knights,” she said with a smirk. “People say he saved Hyrule.”

“Really?”

“Never grew an inch after eight years old though.”

Link scoffed.

“I can and will pour the rest of this stew over your head,” he said as he held it up. Zelda laughed, but put her arms out in defense.

“Don’t you dare!” She exclaimed. She stood up and began to back away “I’m a princess!”

“Not anymore,” Link said, forgetting about the soup and tackling her. They wrestled playfully, rolling down the rocky slope and laughing joyfully until they stopped suddenly in a gulch, Zelda hovering over Link and sharing with him panting breaths.

“I win,” she said.

“By chance,” Link argued. He brought a hand up and lightly coaxed her head to lower. It, however, did not take much effort, as Zelda more than willingly met his lips to his, exploring his mouth and enjoying the sensation. She felt her cheeks warm. Kissing was all they had ever done, so being flush to him was frankly exhilarating, but she didn’t mind it in the slightest.

They both heard the reigns of horses, the clatter of a covered wagon, the jingle of Kakariko-style bells, but it blended too much into the rest of the ruckus for them to think anything of it.

“Paya, you brought us to the wrong place,” Impa said. “I wanted to go to the research expedition, not a mating ritual exhibition.”

Zelda pushed herself off Link and attempted to fix her hair, composing herself as best she could. Link stood up, but he let his messy hair be.

“H-hey Impa,” Zelda said, walking towards her oldest friend. Despite her feeble frame and short stature, Impa hopped off the wagon like a child. “How was the trip?”

“Long,” Impa said, bruskly.

“She’s a bit cranky,” Paya explained as she stepped off and started to untie the two brown horses from the wagon. “Where do these go?”

“Over there,” Link said, pointing over to the mini-stable on the left of the canyon. “And your tent is the one next to ours. If you’re hungry, there’s probably some stew left.”

“Please,” Impa said, allowing the young man to lead the way to the appropriate cooking pot. She even let him help her walk when the terrain wasn’t the smoothest.

They had left Zelda alone, but it gave her the opportunity to help Paya with unloading the wagon, and to catch up with one of her newer friends before they all turned in for the night.

Zelda was surprised to find Paya as reserved as she was when they first met, but after a bit of grilling she admitted to Zelda that Impa had told her of their true purpose here, that sealing Calamity Ganon may not have been an ending they could trust. Her red eyes were sad and apologetic for learning the secret but Zelda wouldn’t have it, insisting to Paya that it was okay, that it won’t be a secret for long, and that Hyrule was going to be okay.

That last one was a lie Zelda thought about well into the night.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Zelda.”

He opened his eyes to the dark tent, the edge where tan cloth met a small patch of dry grass.

Link couldn’t believe a whisper was what woke him up. Still half awake and already turned away from the center flap of the tent, he kept his eyes closed, hoping he could doze off again.

“Zelda, wake up.”

Someone gently shook Zelda’s foot, and Link guessed the voice belonged to Paya.

Link felt Zelda’s arms slide away from holding him and he tried to slow his breaths. They both would feel so guilty for waking him.

“What is it?” Zelda asked, the rustling that followed suggesting that she got out of the tent. “Should I wake up Link?”

Paya must have shaken her head, or said something to suggest that it wouldn’t be necessary, because that was the last Link heard of the conversation.

He inwardly wrestled with the decision to get up anyway since he was, in fact, awake, but his comfort insisted otherwise and he drifted off before he made up his mind.

“Link.”

The sunlight was bright, even through the dulled filter of the canvas tent.

He felt Zelda’s hand on his shoulder, and he rolled over at the gentle prompt. Link found her green eyes.

“We found it,” she said. “An entrance to the caves.”

Link closed one eye and scrunched up his face. Zelda knew he did that when he was both tired and confused but with his messy bedhead she saw it as adorable.

Link moved his arm to the other, pinching his own skin somewhere around the wrist and, once he felt pain, his entire body sighed exasperated. He faced the top of the tent and closed his eyes far too tight to go back to sleep.

He opened the blue gems one at a time and took a deep breath.

“I assume we are leaving as soon as possible?”

Zelda nodded.

Link didn’t say another word when he got up and started getting ready, almost ignoring Zelda and how she sat on her heels in her own silent and undetectable bout of sadness. He even left her there in the tent but Zelda let him have his space, let him breathe his last breaths in this wild, fresh air, let him hear the birds and see the sun before she dragged him down to hell, back down to war, back down to fear and panic and worry and trauma and everything he had worked so hard to heal from.

It wasn’t until they were several steps into the caves that his stoicism really started to wear at her. One statement and all of him was left in the tent. He just…walked, looking forward, not saying a word. Zelda hated it as much as she did a hundred years ago. She tried to remember that he wasn’t really mad at her back then, so he couldn’t be mad at her now…

Right?

She looked over at his profile again.

Right?

“Link?”

The hooves of the large, blue ox behind them clapped along.

“I, uh…” she began when he gave no response. “I’m sorry about all this.”

“It’s not your fault,” Link said quickly and briskly.

Zelda’s lips parted. Her pacing slowed to a halt. If she hadn’t stopped pulling the ox along, it would have rammed into her.

Link looked over his shoulder when he realized he was the only one moving, turning around completely to see Zelda with a slightly furrowed brow.

“Why don’t I believe you?” Zelda asked.

He decided to look elsewhere as he hugged his arms close, the stone ground, the cavernous chasm above them, the rocky wall, anywhere but Zelda.

“I’m not mad at you, I...” he said quietly, “I’m just feeling a little off, okay?” He said quietly. “I had trouble breathing when I left the tent this morning.”

Zelda’s expression softened. She closed the distance between them and attempted to comfort him with a hand on his shoulder.

“You could have told me that,” Zelda said. “I’m nervous too. We have a right to be. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Yet Link still refused to look up.

“I almost collapsed, I felt so weak,” Link said. “The dread, the fear of facing it all again, the thought of losing you…it gathered, I felt it here.”

He placed a hand on his chest and he started to pant. His fingers began to clutch at the brown leather, the blue cloth and he stumbled to his knees.

“Link!” Zelda exclaimed as she grabbed him under his forearms, kneeling down with him. His breaths were shaky and fast, and he stared down at the ground.

“Link,” she repeated. “Link.”

The next sound from Link was the combination of a spurt of fresh paint and a croaking frog, warm vomit spilling from his mouth in smelly chunks of beef and carrots. It was instinct that Zelda stood up with a yelp and backed away with arms floating up, the gathering of vomit ending up mere inches from her toes. If she had stayed where she was, her pants would have been covered in Link’s partly-digested dinner.

“Oh gosh, Link,” she said once she got over the shock, rushing to his side and drawing circles on his back. He didn’t react though, only staring at the mess on the floor with his weight on his hands.

Zelda’s eyes stung with tears as she ran her fingers through his hair, some drops even lopping onto Link’s mess. She held him as best she could while still giving him the distance he needed, but that could never stop her from the occasional kiss on the side of his head and whispering sweet assurances of love into his right ear.

After a couple fruitless lurches of his back and neck, Link hurled a second time. As ironic as it was for her to hope for anything from the goddess anymore, Zelda prayed it was the last one.

“Zelda,” he said between heavy breaths. It was apparent his lungs were exhausted. He coughed a couple times.

Link looked into Zelda’s eyes, finally, although they veered towards horror, the green marbles conveying desperation for how to relieve this poor young man.

“I know,” she said, trying to smile. She wiped away Link’s tears. “I know.”

Wary of the mess near them, she brought him into a proper embrace, rocking him back and forth and holding him in such a way that she was sure he knew he was held. She wasn’t sure how secure he could feel on the cusp of embarking into danger, but she would try her best.

“I’m scared, too,” she said. “Down here is an untouched wild that was left alone for a reason we know not of. Nothing is scarier than the unknown, especially for us who have been hurt again and again by the unknown. Hope has betrayed us too much for us to readily depend on it, but we have to try.”

Link looked up, tilting his head to see her.

“How?”

Zelda lips parted. She stammered speechlessly. He seemed so hurt by her hopefulness.

“Together,” she said, attempting to fake her confidence. There was still a small question mark at the end of her statement that she didn’t mean to expose.

Link stood up and faced away from her. He crossed his arms.

“Do you know how long a version of Ganon has been terrorizing Hyrule?” Link asked. “How long he has been reincarnating?”

Zelda, who was now sitting on her heels, shook her head.

“No,” she said honestly.

“Do you know what makes us any different from the people who tried to stop him in the past?”

“No,” Zelda repeated, again, honestly.

Link nodded.

“I don’t either,” he said. “And that scares me.”

Zelda stood up.

“Link, we—”

“I can’t lose you!” Link exclaimed, turning around quickly. “I ignored it, okay?! All this time when you talked about there being caves, there being another journey, I ignored it! I put it off! I casted it aside! I focused on us.” His voice broke. “I thought that was all there would ever be…”

He placed his hands on his hips and collected himself.

“This morning it all collapsed,” he said. “Right before my eyes. Everything I could have ever hoped for.”

Zelda scoffed.

“Do you think I was happy to have found these caves?” Zelda asked rhetorically. “To have been woken up in the middle of night and told that this place I saw in my nightmares was indeed real, that I was to investigate a threat that hasn’t been faced in ten thousand years of Hyrule birthing warriors more capable than you? I had to keep a straight face, but Link, I wanted to scream so loud that even Lurelin could hear me!”

Zelda released her residual anger at the world in heavy pants of her breaths. Once she sighed herself calm, she snagged a small rag from the heaps of resources strapped to the patient and by now likely deaf ox.

Zelda stepped forward and washed Link’s stunned face clean of vomit.

“Then I thought of our future,” Zelda continued. “I was angry because coming down here means jeopardizing that. I scorned myself for how selfish that was. I told myself that this wasn’t about me and you, that this is about a peaceful Hyrule. That helped but...do you want to know what really helped?”

“What?” Link asked.

“The people of Hyrule want to live in peace, and so do we. They want to raise families without worrying about another Calamity.” Zelda smiled. “I think we do too, when the time comes.” She perished the thought. That was a long while down the road. “But this isn’t just about a peaceful Hyrule, it’s about our peaceful Hyrule. I’m no longer a princess, distanced from others by a pedestal, and you are no longer a knight, distanced from others by a sword. We actually feel like a part of Hyrule this time. Of course we loved the Champions, my father, but we aren’t acting as Hyrule’s weapons anymore. We don’t feel like cards to be discarded or pawns to be knocked off in a game of chess. All of this is voluntary. We can’t blame a kingdom or a calamity this time. The possibility of losing each other is already giving us stomach-churning guilt because no one told us to go down here. We came down here because we want to preserve peace for all of us, preserve peace beyond even our lifetimes.”

Zelda placed a hand on Link’s cheek.

“And we will,” she said. “We have to believe we will. If we don’t think we’ll get out of here, then there is no chance we will. This is our first on-our-own decision and it’s a damn risky one. We can always turn back if--”

“No,” Link interrupted.

Link’s hand went to hers and his thumb stroked her soft fingers.

“No,” he repeated, however shakily. “We are going through with this. I just need to process it, that’s all. I didn’t think we would actually be doing this. I think we both held on to the fantasy of peace. I definitely held on to it too much.”

He finally let her touch soothe him.

“I’m here,” Zelda assured him softly. “I’m right here.”

She took his hand and placed it on her heart, the rhythm of which pulsated through his own veins.

“I’m not supposed to be alive right now,” Zelda said. “I should have died an eighty year old queen about thirty years ago but here we both are, young and spry. These caves are filled with dangers we don’t know, but with my heart in your hands and your heart in mine I know we can dare to do the impossible again.”

Link met his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. He tried to breathe the way she was, to feel her calm and to adapt it into his own body.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m ready.”

#zelink #zelink week 2021 #zelinkweek2021 #zelda #link #forgotten temple #botw #breath of the wild #botw 2 #breath of the wild 2 #botw sequel #impa #paya #purah #robbie

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wondernimbus · 4 years ago

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play pretend — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

prompt: in which two people are forced into marriage; reader falls in love. draco doesn’t.

a/n: hi listen to the song dusk til dawn if you wanna get into ur feelings while reading this .. anyways enjoy!!!

No matter how much Draco tried to deny it, part of her had always known that unwanted feelings lingered. Feelings from the past that should have been left there but weren’t—feelings that shone through during the most intimate moments; underneath bed covers, when Astoria’s name would slip past his lips instead of hers, or afternoons spent out by the garden when she would catch his eye and find him looking at her in a way that made it so painfully obvious that he was trying to find something in her that he could love.

The first time his and [Y/N]’s families had ever met, Narcissa Malfoy had pulled her away from the dining table to tell her in a voice of caution about a girl named Astoria Greengrass; the very same one Draco had fallen in love with during his time at Hogwarts. The girl came from a wealthy family, but one that was not wealthy enough—her blood was pure but her name not as well-respected as that of the Malfoys’ (word had leaked of an early ancestor having married a Muggle). Simply put, she was, though close to it, not good enough for Draco. The history of her family line and her insufficient wealth just couldn’t make the cut; Astoria Greengrass wasn’t good enough to wed into the Malfoy family—regardless of how much Draco claimed to have felt for her.

And so Astoria and Draco’s story ended with tragedy; with separation and arranged marriages to anyone but each other. Astoria wedded a man of her status; someone who could afford to marry her, and Draco to [Y/N], who had never known love until she met him—the very person who couldn't feel the same for her.

She'd wedded Draco fully aware that mutual feelings of affection were the last of any of their families' concerns. As long as no Muggle blood besmirched each others' family trees and the purity of blood was carried on further into newer generations, petty things like love hardly mattered.

Except somewhere along their forced time together in a lonely manor by the countryside—a dowry from her family to the Malfoys—[Y/N] began to look at Draco as less of the man who had been forced into marriage with her and more of a man she could learn to love. And so she did; she learned and loved and found a comfort in him that she had never been expecting to. It took time, yes, but once she took that courageous step and the floor gave out underneath her feet and she fell for Draco faster than she could even blink, she couldn't stop.

Because once you start to love someone, you are done for. You won't be able to pull yourself back out.

Maybe that's why Draco can't forget that one Astoria Greengrass. Maybe that's why he can't quite look at [Y/N] the way she wants him to. Maybe it's why, when [Y/N] foolishly tells him "I love you" in hopes that maybe this time he'll say it back, he doesn't.

[Y/N] wants to be angry. She wants to be able to grasp Draco’s shoulders, shake him to his senses and scream at him to forget Astoria, you can never have each other but you have me and I love you and I want you to be able to say the same for me so please just let go of her. But to set her pride aside and ask something like that of him takes plenty of courage—courage that [Y/N] isn’t entirely sure she has.

So she sits and pretends like everything is fine. Tells herself that the man she loves loves her back when she knows he doesn’t. And he knows it too.

Playing pretend—she’s gotten quite good at it over time.

—

When Draco holds her at midnight and presses himself close to her, it's like he's trying to imprint himself onto her very skin, trying to ingrain part of himself onto every inch of her body he can reach. And in a way, he does, in patches of faint red and purple and dark blues that mark her skin wherever his lips go.

They almost never talk at night. They're much too busy wrapped up in each other's arms and legs to bother with words. [Y/N] threads her fingers through his hair and pulls him in and Draco kisses her so hard it's like he's trying to make up for everything that he can't give her; kisses with passion that isn't quite driven by love but rather desperation for something—someone—he can't quite have.

And it hurts because [Y/N] knows that when Draco groans into her mouth and tightens his grip on her waist and glides his lips down her skin, it's not her face in his head. And it's not her name that leaves his lips, either, when the night progresses and they are drunk in one another's touch.

But [Y/N] is okay with it—or so she tells herself.

She has Draco. She's happy. She loves him, even though he doesn't. She is happy.

She has to be.

—

Jealousy.

That's what [Y/N] feels.

[Y/N] has never met Astoria Greengrass but she is pathetically jealous of her. She is jealous of everything about Astoria that Draco fell in love with, whatever that might be. And it's ridiculous because she doesn't even know what she looks like or how she is; all that [Y/N] knows about her is that she must truly be something else to have captured Draco Malfoy's heart and to still have it in her hands after all of this time.

An arranged marriage and a year forced apart—you'd think that that would be enough for Draco to move on.

They've been together for a while. Draco still looks at her like he's not really seeing her. He doesn't love her, and [Y/N] isn't exactly sure he ever will. Every day she wakes and hopes that by some miracle he has opened his eyes and has begun to finally see past the future she knows he still fantasizes about with Astoria, but that is yet to happen. For now [Y/N] is helplessly in love with a man who has his heart set on someone else.

And at some point she has become angry, but not at Draco nor the woman he loves—no, she is angry at herself. She catches sight of herself in the mirror and hates what is staring back at her. She goes up to her reflection and frowns and contemplates what it is she's missing. If the sight of her own face is revolting to herself, then it is no doubt that others feel the same way—including Draco—and is that why he can't love her? Because of how ugly she is? Or is it how she acts? How she speaks, how she laughs, how she smiles, how she is?

Whenever Draco disappears to "clear his head" and [Y/N] is left alone, she finds that the manor is too small to hold the vast amount of nothingness spilling out of her at the seams, so she goes out into the highest balcony that overlooks the sea and breathes in as much of the salty breeze as she can until the feeling in her chest doesn't quite feel as suffocating anymore.

It's not the marriage she'd been hoping for all of those years ago when she was a naive child who believed in fairy tales and happy endings. But at the very least, she loves. And she is grateful to Draco for allowing her to know what that feels like, even when he can't quite give it back to her.

—

But hearts are made of soft things, tissue and blood and muscle. Things that break and wound easy. Things that tend to scar instead of heal. There is only so much you can do until a human reaches breaking point and their heart gives away, and [Y/N] finds herself one Thursday evening with blood dripping down her knuckles and shards of glass scattered on the floor.

"What happened?" Draco's voice is soft, imploring, almost loving but not quite. It's always almost. Almost what [Y/N] wants. Almost how a husband should love his wife. Almost.

"Tripped," [Y/N] winces. Draco kneels down in front of her from where she's sitting on the toilet, hands gently caressing her own to inspect her blood-smattered knuckles. It's a terrible excuse; how do you trip and punch a mirror?

But Draco doesn't question it, and [Y/N] doesn't have to tell him that she'd looked into the mirror and despised what she saw so much that she'd been overcome by an irrational anger and began to beat her fists against her own reflection until the glass splintered and the skin of her wrists did so along with it.

Draco tells her to wait, so she does, sitting in the cold bathroom by herself with blood dripping down her knuckles onto the floor until Draco comes back with a cloth in one hand and a pouch of healing ointments in the other. Once he's cleaned up the mess on the floor, he kneels in front of her again and, quietly, gently, he begins to wipe the blood from her hands.

"Does it hurt?" Draco murmurs. His brows are drawn in the middle in a slight frown as he tries his hardest not to press too hard. He pauses and looks up at her, and his eyes are gentle, almost loving. Almost.

[Y/N] forces out a painful laugh. "Nothing I can't handle."

A smile tugs on the edges of Draco's lips. "As expected."

Then he quietly resumes nursing her wounds, and [Y/N] doesn't realize that she has started crying until she tastes the tears on her lips. Draco notices but doesn't say anything.

And because she is pathetically in love and she wants him to feel the same, when the cuts on her wrist have been bandaged and Draco is tucking away all of the tubes of ointment in his pouch, saying something about being more careful the next time (even though the both of them know fully well that her tripping was an excuse), [Y/N] tries again and says, "I love you."

Draco freezes for nothing more than a split-second, but [Y/N] notices—her gaze is fixed on him intently, helplessly trying to gauge a reaction that part of her knows won't come. But she wishes it would.

Her wishes are unheard. Draco nods, turns his head just a fraction of an inch to look at her out of the corner of his eye, and offers her a sad smile.

Almost.

—

"No, listen to me, Draco—I am TIRED!"

"And you don't think I am?"

"I know you love her—Merlin, of course I know, I see it every time you look at me—but I'm asking you to try to love m—"

"You say it like it's easy."

There is a sob rattling in the back of her throat. [Y/N] swallows it back down and turns away from Draco like he hasn't already seen the absolute mess of tears on her cheeks.

Draco stares out of the window, jaw taut and his fists clenched so tight at his sides his knuckles have gone a ghostly white.

"I knew we were getting married but I never expected much beyond a sealed contract and an agreement between our families—I never expected to fall in love with you but I did so here I am now asking you to do the same for me."

A beat of silence. "You're not her."

Another swallowed sob. A brand new fissure in her heart that joins the thousands of others. "I'm sorry."

More silence. Then: "I am too."

And then Draco leaves first, because he always does.

—

Their fights don't last long. Days follow and Draco and [Y/N] go about as they always do, pretending like the gaping void between them isn't there. Whenever night comes, Draco will roll over and press a quiet kiss to the back of [Y/N]'s shoulders, snake one hand around her waist, and whisper I'm sorry, and [Y/N] will turn and drag her lips against his until Draco captures them in his own and they are stuck in that endless loop of want again.

Draco kisses the breath out of her and she kisses him back. Kisses him enough to make up for those few terrible minutes of anger she'd accidentally let loose days ago. Kisses him with love, with passion—with everything Draco doesn't have.

When she gasps for air and Draco pulls away and trails his lips down her neck, leaving a trail of what feels like pure flame behind in his wake, she digs her nails into his shoulders and holds him in place. In a strained voice she says: "Look at me."

He doesn't. Draco kisses her throat and against her will she sucks in a desperate, shuddering breath, and the air sounds like Draco's name. "Look at me, Draco," she repeats, fingers pressing into his skin more insistently.

This time he stops and pries his lips away from her skin and hovers over her, eyes searching hers.

"When you're with me," she begins, eyes dark, breath coming quick, "I want to be the only one inside your head. I want you to look into my eyes and see only me."

His grip on her waist tightens; her hands twist unsteadily in his hair, gaze clearing just a tiny bit as she says, "Please."

And then he is dipping down to kiss her again, lips parted, breath rough. Somewhere in between their almost frantic kisses he whispers a response, and [Y/N] is much too lost in the feeling of his skin on hers but she thinks that Draco might be breathing words into her skin. They sound like apologies—sound like I'm sorry, sound like Astoria.

[Y/N] throws her head back as Draco brushes his lips over the curve of her collarbones and whispers something audible this time, and this time it sounds like I'll try. Feels like hope. Feels like a door opening to something.

Feels, for the first time, something more than almost.

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camels-pen · 3 years ago

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Classic Fenton Luck

DannyMay Day 25 - Hallway

Summary: Danny's worried, Tucker tries to help, and Technus is a simple ghost.

(sequel to Let It Glow & 2nd part of the Glowy Winter Wonders series)

Ao3 Link

Danny didn’t even make it two steps past the front doors before he bumped into Valerie. Literally.

“Oh shoot, sorry about that.” Danny squinted through the sunglasses and felt himself pale at the sight of his friend slash constant assailant bending down to pick up a fallen poster board. Sam and Tucker subtly put themselves further in front of Danny.

She waved a hand as she stood, tucking the board under one arm. “It’s fine. Project wasn’t ruined and at this point that’s all I care about.” He took stock of the exhaustion that slipped into her tone and looked her up and down. Her hair was a lot more puffed up than normal and she was lacking her usual orange headband, replaced instead with a scarf that looked like it might slip off at any moment. There were slides on her feet where flats should be and with how wrinkled her clothes were, Danny’s pretty sure she slept in them.

Valerie jumped when she finally gave him a proper glance. “Danny, is that you?” He nodded. “I can barely recognize you under all those layers. Didn’t know you hated the cold so much.” He gave a stiff shrug and shrunk into the collar of Sam’s jacket.

She nodded to his friends. “Sam, Tucker.”

“Valerie.” They said in unison, nodding back.

“So Danny hates the cold and you two love it? Tucker I could see, but Sam?”

“It’s a newer development,” the goth said, shrugging. She waved a hand at a nearby clock. “Would you look at the time? We better get going if we don't want to be late for P.E.” Sam grabbed Valerie by the shoulders, turning her around and pushing her towards the gym. The fact that Val was allowing herself to be pushed along at all gave Danny a better estimate as to how tired she really was. It was concerning, but at the same time it would be pretty dang helpful today, he mused as he and Tucker followed them and walked past the locker rooms.

He blinked. Would it be helpful? Does he really want a tired-out-of-her-mind, no-fucks-given Valerie throwing around ghost hunting equipment? She would probably miss more shots, but she’d also probably hurt herself too. And that’s without thinking about her trying to steer her hoverboard safely while fighting off sleep. Danny frowned.

“Hey, let’s keep an eye on Val today,” he whispered to Tucker as they slipped into the bathroom. Danny closed the door to the bathroom stall, pulling out a wad of red and white clothing from his bag while his friend sputtered as he changed on the other side.

“Less than ten minutes ago, you were worried about avoiding her and now you want to seek her out??” Danny shimmied out of the many layers suffocating him and threw Tucker’s hoodie over the door.

“Only if she’s using her ghost hunting stuff.” He pulled on his long sleeved gym shirt and a pair of track pants. “I’m worried not stupid.”

“Mmm debatable, but okay.” Danny put a hand through the door and flicked Tucker’s beret. “Dude!”

“I just don’t want her to get hurt,” he said, ignoring Tucker as he readjusted the sunglasses on his face and unlocked the door.

Tucker shook his head as Danny came out of the stall. “You know, a normal person would be happy that the girl always shooting at them is too tired to do anything.” Danny snorted.

“A normal person wouldn’t be half-ghost.” Tucker shrugged as he helped him fix the scarf back into place.

“At least this kinda solves the glowing problem.” The halfa raised an eyebrow at him as they exited into the gym hallway. “You can blame it on her eyes being wonky.”

“That won’t work if her ghost sensor goes off.” His friend twirled his stylus in his hand.

“Already got it covered.” He tapped his PDA and a few seconds later they heard a loud siren coming from the girl’s locker room. A huge crowd of girls burst from the heavy blue doors, screaming about a ghost attack. Danny’s eyes narrowed and he turned to his friend.

“What did you do?”

His friend smirked. “Technus was around so I sent him a message saying Val got a new upgrade in her suit.” Danny frowned and Tucker held up his hands. “She’ll be fine; the dude will probably just take her gear for a while. It’s no biggie.” Danny crossed his arms.

“Yes biggie, Tuck; what if he decides to take her suit and then take over the town?” Tucker held up a finger and opened his mouth to protest. “Don’t say he wouldn’t—you literally just inspired him.” He closed his mouth and fiddled with his PDA, averting his eyes.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad. He’s mellowed out since we started playing Doomed with him, right?”

Loud maniacal laughter echoed down the hallway from the open door. Tucker let out a nervous chuckle. Danny put his head in his hands.

#dannymay #dannymay2021 #nemo the writing ho #hit enter coward #danny phantom #danny fenton #tucker foley #sam manson #valerie gray #technus #heyy im back #kinda burnt myself out doing too much at once haha #but im feeling it now so im gonna try posting once a day until ive finished dannymay!

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beautifuldarkwolf · 3 years ago

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The Clockwork Girl

Original Story

Word Count: 1 650

Summary: A old man tells the story about a machine who was more than just gears and wires.

Warning: Abandonment

________________________________________________________________

Ah, hello! You must be new here, would you like me to tell you a story?

Usually another young man comes to visit me, but it seems like he did not come in today. He usually sits right where you are and listen to my stories. Do you mind taking his spot for tonight?

I promise it wont take long, my stories are always quick.

You will? That’s great!

Have you ever heard of the Clockwork Girl? No? Well, it is quite an interesting story, I’m sure you will love it.

***

This is set in the steampunk era, or so you kids call it. There was an inventor how had come up with a magnificent creation, a beautiful machine of gears and steam. It moved just like you and I, so smoothly that it could almost be human if it wasn’t a being of metal. The machine could do anything you wanted, it would clean, it could protect, and it could dance as graceful as an elite ballerina. The inventor had called it the Clockwork Girl, having made it in the image of his daughter. Something that was meant to help her and keep her safe while he was away, it was the perfect helper. That’s why it was shocking when the inventors daughter had rejected the machines help.

You see, she had lost her legs in an accident not many months before the creation of the machine. She was never to walk again. The poor girl had wished to be a dancer like her mother, having trained her whole life for it to be ruined in mere seconds by a hit and run. Clockwork Girl was meant to make her happy, keep her company as she went about her day. The best playmate you could ever wish for. But the girl hated the Clockwork machine, always finding new ways to ruin for fathers creation. She hated the sight of a mindless machine being able to move and dance while she was forced to watch from the side lines. It was a constant reminder of the pain she had gone through, of the dream she had lost.

After the many attempts to keep the Clockwork Girl running the Inventor decided it was no loner worth the trouble, his daughter would only continue to destroy the machine. It was his masterpiece, but the sight of his daughter breaking down at the sight of it was unbearable for him. So, instead of fixing it he decided to place it in the old shed filled with failed inventions. Locking it away to rust in the darkness of his failures.

What the Inventor didn’t notice was the pleas from the silent machine as he left her there. Years had passed, dust collected and red rust settled into the gears. The Clockwork Girl watched each day come and pass with the small sliver of light the came through the creak in the old wooden door. She waited for her inventor to return for her, her silent cries for help going unheard for decades.

***

I know you have questions but they will be answered in the story! You must be patient.

Okay, okay. I will make sure to hurry it up than.

Hahaha, impatient youth.

***

The Clockwork had lost all hope of her inventor coming back, thinking she would be left there until her metal became one with the dust. She had stopped keeping track with the days, the creak in the door long since covered. But it seemed as she lost hope her inventor returned, noises came from beyond the door as her eyes moved to look towards it. The eyes being the only thing left of her that seemed to still move without fail. Soon the door was torn open, blinding sunlight pouring into the room, before her a shadow of a human leaning against the door frame for support. A small gasp could be heard from the human as they struggled to move forward, falling to their hands and knees to crawl across the dirt covered floor. An image of a woman reflected off the Machines eyes, “You’re still here.” She breathed, stopping before the Clockwork Girl and letting her fingers run across the degrading metal. Both sets of eyes scanned the one before them, the woman looking though the damage while the machine tried to figure out who this woman could possibly be. “I’m so sorry for abandoning you, you were only ever doing you job.” The woman whispered, the sound of gears turning and steam releasing echoing through the shed as she struggled to push herself off the ground. It wasn’t her inventor who came to her rescue, but someone she least expected.

“Wait here. I promise I’ll be right back.” The Clockwork Girl was told as the woman moved out of the shed with some struggle. It wasn’t too long after when she returned, a young boy at her side who helped collect the pieces of the machine and placed the gently in a wheelbarrow.

They wheeled her into the workshop. The same one she had been created in, but this time it was much different than her last visit. Everything seemed newer, more technically advanced than the old steam powered shop she remembered. Different machines laid around, whirling and repeating the same motions as the woman and boy lifted her pieces onto the table.

“Mamma! Her eyes are moving!” The boy gasped and moved back from the table. The news caused the woman to smile and rush to the head of the Clockwork Girl, taking out an old rag to clean the eyes of the machine.

“She is grandpas creation, everything he made always seemed to come to life.” She spoke sweetly, her eyes glowing with admiration as she watched the girl scan her and their surroundings. “You recognize this room, don’t you?” she questioned though she knew she could not answer. “I’m going to fix you up. Even better than before.” The woman placed a kiss on the metal cheek of the Clockwork Girl, “Then you can dance for me like you did all those years ago.”

***

The end!

What? You don’t like how I left it off?

Well, I didn’t want to keep you so late.

Haha, fine. I’ll tell you the real end.

***

The woman got to work fixing the Clockwork Girl, following the directions and notes her father left her after his passing. She worked day and night to make everything perfect, only throwing in a few of her own techniques when she knew they would work. After her accident she had become selfish, finding everything unfair and against her. She grew up without hope of achieving her dreams. It wasn’t until the day her father brought her to his shop, having her sit and watches as he captured life in his machines. She learned to accept everything, that even without her legs she could still do something she loved. Sure, dancing had been her dream but inventing was her passion. Taking after her father had showered her a new life. One that would allow her to build herself new legs and learn to walk. It wasn’t until after his passing did she remember the Clockwork Girl. Digging through piles of notes until she found what she was looking for. Found the Clockwork Girl.

“You were a lot more work than I anticipated.” The woman chuckled as she wiped her face, spreading even more oil across her face. She looked down at her fathers master piece, though what he made was barely there she could never take credit for his creation. “Now, just to connect everything.” She watched the Clockwork Girls eyes follow her, waiting to finally move again. The woman moved around the table, carefully connecting each limb before moving to the head. Her hands shook from anticipation as she slid the head into place, locking it in place.

The machines in the Clockwork Girl immediately begun to turn and whirl, electricity sparking where the points and limbs met. With a sudden surge of energy the machine sat up, turning her attention to the smiling inventor next to her. “I can’t believe it actually worked… I cant believe I actually got you to work.” She whispered as the machine moved to slip off the table, metal scraping against metal. The ability to move once again was a shock to the Clockwork Girl. She wiggled her fingers and toes, moving her arms up and down while squatting with her new legs. “Would you dance for me again?” The words of the Inventor caught her attention, causing her to turn towards the woman her destruction but also her salvation.

With a small bow and the turn of the key in her chest the Clockwork Girl began to dance. A sweet melody playing as she spun and danced around the workshop. The woman watched in awe as the machine moved gracefully around her, the song bringing back memories of her and her father dancing together. Tears began to slip down her cheeks but she let them, refusing to wipe them as she relived the memories she allowed her anger to push away.

As the Clockwork Girl came to a stop she stood in front of the woman, looking up at her. She slowly reached up, going on her tiptoes to wipe the tears from the Inventors cheek. There were many things she wished to say, ‘thank you’ being on the top of that list. But she was unable to speak. Instead she continued to play the only melody she knew, taking hold of the woman’s hands and gently pulling her into a dance. The Clockwork Girl supported the woman as they both danced around the workshop, the woman’s feet on hers, “Thank you.” The Inventor cried as they dance, something she never thought she would do again.

***

The End

#writing #character growth #clockwork girl #storying telling #forgotten #found #creative writing #short story #original writing

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synchlora · 3 years ago

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several stories of tommys adventures in embroidery and mild (temporary) theft

bc i can't get them out of my head hhhh

back in the beginning of l'manburg, tubbo scraped up his knees a lot (a combination of young clumsiness and working on construction projects a 12 year old reasonably should not be allowed to) and, as you'd imagine, the knees on his pants got pretty ripped up. and while tommy was still honing his skills in sewing, he offered to stitch up some patches for his friend. the fabric the patches were made of didn't match the pants in the least and the thread was just a few shades too light in comparison to the color, the stitches spaced a bit too far apart, but they worked. and tommy, always one to add a flair to everything he does, used some extra green and purple thread he had to stitch some musical notes around the edges of each patch. tubbo has long since grown out of those jeans, but small musical notes still adorn various patches on his newer clothes. old habits die hard and so do nostalgic ones.

when fundy first came out, tommy wanted to do something special for him, something to make him smile. and so, he offered to sew up the old black jacket fundy never takes off. and while the fox boy was hesitant, he eventually conceded (after much pestering on tommys end) and tommy got to work on it. the jacket wasnt in too bad of shape, just needed more of a wash than anything. but for the parts that needed stitching, he used blues and oranges and pinks to patch it up. and along the front collar, he embroidered a bright trans flag. the colors weren't exact, it's not like he had many resources for new ones, but it was clear enough what the patch was. nowadays, when fundy is alone and feels (no, knows) he is forgotten, his claws absentmindedly drag across the now worn, soft patch that is fraying at the edges. and he doesn't know it actively, but somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he knows there is some love for him left out there yet.

the battle of manburg v pogtopia claimed all sorts of things, one of the more serious tragedies (/s) being jack manifolds signature blue-and-black hoodie. the damn thing was in tatters and tommy could not stand the sight of it, thinking through exactly how he could easily fix every time he saw it, if only jack would stop being so stubborn and let him sew it up. so tommy did the reasonable thing and stole it. the right sleeve was nearly disconnected from it and it was just torn up in general. and so he fixed it up with bright red thread, re-attaching the sleeve and darning a few singed holes in the fabric. and then he went about embroidering a circuit-like pattern that he'd seen jack work with before. he's not sure what any of it means, but whenever he sees wires and circuitry he thinks of jack. and right over his heart, he sewed sparks in golden thread erupting from the fabric. tommy returned the jacket in the middle of the night later on, keeping himself hidden while still ensuring the jacket made it's way back to its owner. jack never wore the jacket again.

in another feat of thievery, tommy stole nikis torn up cape for a bit. he imagined it'd only take him a day or two to fix up and then he'd be able to return it discreetly, no need for any fanfare or big, drawn out apologies (he HATES big drawn out apologies). but upon getting it, he quickly realized it'd take much more time than that. the cape had previously belonged to wilbur and that was quite evident in the deteriorating state of it. it was practically falling apart and he'd need more fabric if he was to even begin to fix it up. he chose a soft blue fabric to repair along the edges, intending to appear like calm ocean waves, though they turned out looking more like blue fire lapping at the edges. the other tears and small holes were fixed with some orange threads, and he decided a flair of some white tulips along the collar would accent it nicely. he returned it-- two weeks later than expected-- to a very pissed off niki. looks like a long, drawn out apology was due after all.

once, tubbo requested he fix up a vest of ranboo's that had gotten damaged from... well tubbo wouldn't say but the strange mix of burn holes and frantically cut slashes didn't clear up the history of the garment any more. still, as much as he wasn't entirely sure of ranboo at the time, he decided he was going to fix it for tubbo and tubbo only. he took out pink and blue thread to fix along the various tears. as strange as the damage was, he will admit it was quite easy to fix with such clean cuts to it, probably some of his best work. it was done a few days early and tommy sat stubbornly staring at the vest. as adamant as he'd been about not doing anything special for ranboo of all people (after all, he'd stolen his best friend, what'd he owe him?) tommy felt like the fabric was tragically empty. so he decided to compromise. and several months later during some insignificant moment doing some insignificant task, ranboo happened to glance a flash of purple in the corner of his eye. and he spotted several tiny, delicately sewn alliums inside the chest pocket of his vest.

wilbur was always a very dramatic person, feeling the need to not only narrate his actions with flair, but also to go about said actions with whimsy. whimsy that tended to get his clothes in a bit of a mess. just about every day, he'd come up to tommy with yet another new tear or hole in his clothes which tommy would endlessly feign irritation over before taking the garment and sitting around the fire with the rest of the small nations members and chat along as he sewed. wils old l'manburg outfit-- the casual one, the working jeans and leather jacket, soft with sun damage-- is covered in tiny embroidery work, random filigree designs, some shaky birds that gradually got more bird-like as tommy improved, even a small wing pattern sewn across the back of his jacket. every tear is sewn across in teal, the older rips faded to baby blue and the newer ones a bright cerulean. his old jacket is filled with stories, with love quite literally sewn through the fabric. but wilburs jacket from pogtopia is far more blank. it's sewn up, sure, but it's done with simple threads. basic sewing patterns in threads that match the fabric so well they practically blend in. if you know what tommys work looks like, it almost doesn't look like his. it's bare minimum, it's practical, and it's empty. but there is one single pattern that tommy has sewn onto it. it's a more recent addition, made since wilbur has... returned, for lack of a better word. a shakily sewn outline of a heart made in deep, indigo blue thread, it's weary pattern making it almost appear to be melting. wilburs not sure when tommy did it, but he's quite sure he knows where he got the thread. he cuts the knotted ends and tears the threads carefully from their place.

#MAN i just saw tommy canonically sews and i went fucking ballistic #so have these :]] i think a lot abt them #these arent all of the ones i wanna write these r just the first ones that i expanded upon #dumbass thots #dsmp tag #bitch boy #tommy innit #tommyinnit #c!tommy #long post #embroidery hcs

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today-only-happens-once · 5 years ago

Text

Scutum

Title: Scutum

Word Count: 9424

Summary: Sci-Fi AU. Roman sees the weapon first. The rest is just instinct. Found family. Platonic Logince, Platonic LAMP/CALM. Features Cartoon Therapy characters + Remy/Sleep.

Warnings: cursing (a lot woops); whump/angst/hurt/comfort; violence a la sci-fi/sci-fi weapons; science stuff that’s like 10% research and 90% made-up; sci-fi colonization stuff; passing mention of drunkenness; poison/being poisoned; feelings of guilt and misplaced blame and stuff like that; talk of death and dying; Elliot is briefly a little bit of a jerk but they’re anxious/traumatized and also kinda young so they’re doing their best; injury and blood; let me know if I forgot any.

A/N: Have some sci-fi escapist found family hurt/comfort. This took forever, wow. Several weeks and three drafts later and here we are. Glad it’s done! My huge, undying thanks to @creativenostalgiastuff for all of her help as my beta for this fic and answering my many, many questions and dealing with my general self-doubt. First time writing sci-fi. Would love to know what you think! <3

…

Captain Logan Sanders scrubs a hand underneath his glasses and leans his head back against the glass of the circular window. The metal of the spaceship—affectionately coined Foster by the ship’s medic, Patton Hart—creaks with a dull groan. The captain usually uses the window in the ship’s armory when he needs a moment alone, as its size allows Logan to comfortably lean up against the glass and look out into the “void of space”, as their pilot—Virgil Shea—tended to describe it.

Their relations officer and navigation coordinator, Roman Prince, usually hated looking too long at it. Logan had the feeling it made him feel lonely, or homesick. Maybe both.

Logan doesn’t mind it, though he also wouldn’t have necessarily called it a “void”. Billions of stars and the occasional swirl of color meant a certainty of life that existed out there. The universe is always teeming with it, and Logan finds a greater comfort from this distanced reminder than the crowded, bustling bazaars that Roman seemed to thrive in.

Logan hears the door swish open, his head swiveling over towards the sound. The light that floods into the room illuminates the dusty iron walls and the shelves of weapons—phasers and guns lined up beside one another, boxes of ammo on the shelf above—and Logan sees a familiar figure silhouetted against the light.

“Hey, Captain,” Kai Dwyer greets, unfazed by the sight of Logan sitting in the window.

“Kai,” he replies, pushing himself up to his feet off the window ledge. He grimaces slightly as he stretches his back, having forgotten how stiff the metal makes him when he sits too long.

Kai grabs a clipboard off the wall adjacent to the door. “Thought I’d do a quick inventory check before we dock.”

Logan frowns. “Are we close?”

“Virgil said we were still a few hours out. But I wanna be thorough. Make sure I know everything we need before get on planet.”

Logan inclines his head, rolling his shoulders to shake off the lingering stiffness before he crosses towards the door. “Acceptable. Carry on.”

Kai gives a small mock-salute. “Roger that, Cap’n.” The door slides shut behind Logan.

Foster is an old ship. Even to someone unfamiliar with the schematic, it’s evident in the grated flooring, the worn metal walls and beams that hold it together, the way the pressurizer hummed on occasion. Newer models tended to be sleeker, more streamlined, and generally brighter than the dark iron walls that adorned Foster’s interior.

Logan would never admit it—even to his own crew—but he trusted Foster more than he trusted other ships. Logically, he knew it was ridiculous. In the vast majority of cases, Logan believed that newer generally meant improved. But when it came to Foster, Logan had never even considered trading it in for a newer model. Instead, if something needed fixing on the ship, then Logan would consult Virgil and their engineer, Remy, to give Foster the needed updates. The ship was as much a part of the crew as any of the rest of them and it had gotten them through it’s fair share of close calls. As far as Logan was concerned, Foster had earned the loyalty of the crew.

But of course… that an inanimate object could earn loyalty didn’t make logical sense. So Logan kept that particular sentiment to himself.

Logan hears a familiar sound of the door swishing open down the short pathway and sees Roman duck out of his room. The relations officer is wearing his white and red armor suit, and Logan arcs an eyebrow when the officer meets his gaze.

“Hey, Specs.” Roman gives a small salute that echoes Kai’s a moment ago. Logan rolls his eyes.

“Greetings. Might I inquire as to why you’re wearing armor? My understanding is that we’re about to dock for a benign venture.” Logan pauses. “Unless you know something I don’t?”

“What? Oh.” Roman glances down at himself as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing. “Sorry to disappoint, Logan. Patton wanted to check the monitors in the suit, so I’m supposed to wear it around for a little bit. Make sure the readings are all right.” He bounces on the balls of his feet. “I’ve gotta say, Kai’s upgrades to the armor are pretty cool. Check this out.”

Roman stretches an arm out to his side, and Logan has barely registered that his palm has started to glow when something bright shoots out from it and Logan throws an arm up to protect his face.

A moment later, Logan lowers his arm to see a glowing hole through one wall of the ship. Through that hole, Logan sees the med bay and Patton staring out at them with wide, startled eyes. Picani is standing on the other side of the med bay, a ukulele in his hand, having just startled out of the chair he was sitting in. Logan clenches his jaw, turning a frustrated gaze at Roman before he hears the metallic clang of footsteps climbing up the ladder and the unmistakable voice of the ship’s primary engineer.

“Girl, you better not have busted a hole in my ship again!”

At the end of the hall, Remy García’s head pokes up with a glowering look as he pulls himself up onto the top layer of scaffolding. His dark goggles are pushed back into his hair, and he’s got streaks of grease smudged across his forehead and along his cheek.

“Your ship?” Logan asks, crossing his arms over his chest. His comment goes ignored as Remy stalks down the pathway and Roman starts stammering out either an apology or an excuse.

“You’re lucky you didn’t punch a hole straight through the outer shell or we’d all be dead.”

The intercom announces its presence with a familiar click and faint static before Virgil’s voice chimes through, echoing slightly off the metal walls. “Yeah, Remy and I might’ve fixed the damage from last week but we’d rather not test it while we’re floating through the great abyss of space.”

Roman’s holding his hands up in surrender. “It was an accident!” He glances through the hole in the wall. “Sorry, Patton. Sorry, doc!”

Patton waves. “It’s okay!” he calls from inside the med bay.

Picani chuckles and waves as well. “Nobody’s hurt!”

Remy sighs and looks to Logan. “That won’t be the cheapest fix, Cap, and we maxed on the budget for ship fixes last time we docked. That pirate gang did a number on Foster.”

Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Roman, it’s coming out of your pay.”

Roman opens his mouth as if to argue, then closes it before nodding. “No, yeah. That’s fair.”

Remy gives Roman one more glare before turning and heading back towards the ladder that descends to the lower deck. Logan is about to head to the bridge when he hears Roman say, “I mean… you gotta admit that was pretty cool.”

“I will admit no such thing,” Logan replies dryly as he heads in the opposite direction of Remy. “At some point, I’ll have peace and quiet on my ship again.”

“I wouldn’t be sure of that!” Roman calls after him brightly.

…

“We’re probably about 3 hours out from docking, Captain.”

Elliot—Virgil’s co-pilot—makes the announcement as the door to the ship’s bridge swishes open. The corner of Logan’s mouth quirks slightly, always impressed by Elliot’s ability to know who was coming through the door without looking. Anytime Logan asked them about it, they merely shrugged.

Foster’s bridge is relatively small. Green, red, and blue dots of lights cover both walls above a row of seats with harnesses for emergency cases. Each dot of light was information about how Foster was functioning, and Logan scans both walls quickly. Everything seemed to be operating efficiently.

“Understood,” Logan replies to Elliot.

A few feet past the emergency seats along the walls are the two pilot chairs, occupied by Virgil and Elliot. Virgil flips a small metal switch, then glances over his shoulder at Logan. Virgil had been the last person to join his team when Logan was first recruiting—Picani, Kai, and Elliot didn’t join until a few months ago. Logan had been uncertain when someone whose call sign was “Anxiety” responded to his flyer in search of a pilot. But word on the street had been that Virgil was the best of the best, and Logan was running low on potential candidates that measured up to his expectations.

Virgil had more than proved the rumors. Logan owed his life to him and his piloting skills more times than he cared to admit. The entire crew did.

“So why exactly are we docking in Vannaheim?” Virgil asks. “Not that I’m not, like, totally jazzed to be going to a planet that’s 99% desert.”

Logan crosses the short distance to stand between the two pilots chairs. “Vannaheim’s dune pattern is being impacted by gravity shifts that they can’t explain. We’re there to take some observations and perhaps help their scientists develop a solution.”

Elliot glances at Virgil, then snorts at the look on his face. “You’re just mad because you can’t wear your hoodie.”

Virgil points a finger at them. “I can, and I will.”

“You will do no such thing,” Logan interjects with a pointed look. “I will not have one of my best pilots suffer heat stroke.”

“It’s my aesthetic and I like to suffer.”

Logan shakes his head, looking out above the ship’s controls to the window that spanned in front of the pilot seats. It was a similar view to the one Logan had been enjoying a moment ago in the armory window, with the addition of Vannaheim in the distance—a small, red and orange planet that was approximately half the size of Earth. Hot and dry, but slightly higher oxygen levels than were present in Earth’s atmosphere.

Logan had been to Vannaheim six years ago when an old friend of his, Corbin Wright, had requested his help with developing vegetation alternatives given the arid biosphere of the planet. He’d been concerned at the potential ecological ramifications should they introduce flora and fauna that were not native to the planet. Instead, he and Corbin and a few other scientists spent a few weeks researching the native vegetation and fauna and determining what options were most compatible with human nutritional needs.

The effort had been met with some resistance from a minority of the colonists on the planet. They formed something of a resistance group—called themselves the ‘Retribution’, which Logan still thinks is a bit excessive—that started with some minor disagreement at community meetings, but quickly devolved into accusations that their ‘way of life’ was ‘under attack’. Which was ridiculous. Logan left as things continued to escalate, knowing that his presence on the planet was likely to only heighten the tensions. It was Logan’s original idea, after all.

When Corbin reached out about the gravitational shifts, he’d said tensions had remained after Logan left—even reaching moments when Corbin worried it would turn violent—but that things seemed to have mostly settled down in the recent weeks. Logan had asked if Corbin was sure that Logan returning wouldn’t have an adverse effect on the peace in the colony.

One way to find out, Corbin had replied dryly. Logan didn’t find it particularly comforting.

…

Two and a half hours later, Logan is passing by the med bay when the click through the ship’s intercom perks his ears.

“Heads up. We’re T-minus 27 minutes until we’ll be pulling into dock.” Elliot’s voice is distorted slightly by the static hum.

It clicks off in the same moment that the doors to the med bay swish open. Patton steps out, looking down at a chart that’s projected flatly from the gauntlet on his wrist. He glances up and smiles.

“Heya, Cap.”

Logan arcs an eyebrow. “Greetings. Everything satisfactory?” He inclines his head to the chart Patton had been looking at.

“What, this?” Patton glances back down. “Yeah. Just going over the charts from the new suit readouts. I was gonna have you try yours on before we docked, but Roman’s little… surprise earlier did some damage to the chest plate as I was downloading the software.” Patton laughs. “Kai said he can fix it, but not before we dock. I did manage to salvage your helmet, though. Ya have a minute?”

Logan follows Patton through the entryway into the med bay. Perhaps “med bay” was a bit of a gracious term for it. The room was relatively small, with two gatch beds fixed to one wall, and a variety of medical equipment and read-outs that Logan only vaguely understood how to use. The room was well-equipped for as small as it was, but Patton was also the only medical doctor on the ship.

On the left gatch bed, Logan sees black armor with blue accents—and the half-melted chestplate. It resembles, in style, to the white and red armor Roman had been wearing earlier.

“I updated the heartrate monitor display, plus the one for oxygen intake,” Patton is saying behind Logan as he minimizes the chart he’d been looking at and moves to a monitor on the far wall. “I also added a body temperature gauge and a toxin sensor since you can never be too careful, y’know?”

Logan nods, lifting the new helmet and inspecting it. The exterior of the helmet looks the same as before Logan had turned it over to be updated. A dark visor shields the face, the rest of it black with dark blue accents. It matches the damaged suit that sits in pieces on the gatch bed.

“Ya like it?” Patton asks. Logan looks over his shoulder at the doctor, who had stopped what he was doing on the monitor to look expectantly at the ship captain.

Logan glances back. “It appears to be the same helmet.”

Patton grins. “Looks that way. It’s cooler now, though. I also added in some ecological monitors. Simple stuff, at least for now. Atmosphere make up, surface temperature. Working on some other stuff, but that seems like enough for a prototype, don’tcha think?”

“I suppose it does make sense to limit variable additions when testing new technology.”

“Try the helmet on for me? Oh, and you should probably take your glasses off. Kai made sure the display will adjust for your vision.”

Logan obligingly slips the dark armor helmet over his head. He reaches up to his temple on the outside of the helmet and presses in. There’s a high-pitched blip and Logan’s vision goes from dark to a bright, staticky blue. Logan instinctively shuts his eyes against the blinding onslaught.

“Yikes!” Patton yelps, and Logan senses him suddenly standing beside him. A slight pressure on his left temple, a quiet blip, and Logan’s vision goes back to black. “I’m sorry, Logan. Not sure why that happened. I’ll have Kai take a look.”

Logan slips the helmet back off. “Not to worry, Patton. I’m confident in Kai’s engineering capabilities.”

Patton gingerly takes the helmet from Logan’s arms and sets it back on the gatch bed in front of them. “Yeah, but still. We were so close to all of you getting to try the new suits!”

Logan rakes his fingers through his hair to pull it back under control from its disheveled state. It was always a mess when he took his helmet off. He slips his glasses back onto his face. “Nevertheless. Roman and Elliot’s test runs on Vannaheim should still be adequate in assessing whether the new software you’ve developed will serve its functional purpose adequately.”

Patton gives Logan’s helmet a sad pat. “Yeah, you’re right. Well, thanks for giving it a shot, Cap! Good luck down there.”

“Your luck is unneeded, but appreciated. Thank you, Patton.”

…

The blast of arid heat stings Logan’s eyes slightly as Virgil lowers the ship’s docking track. Logan smiles politely at Corbin—slightly aged from the last time he saw him, but unmistakable regardless—and the two other individuals that stand with him. Roman and Elliot linger closely behind him as Logan descends the ramp and shakes Corbin’s hand.

“It’s good to see you, Logan,” Corbin greets with a faint smile. “Allow me to introduce you. This is my partner, Sloane. And this is Valerie.”

Logan shakes both of their hands, thinking idly that Sloane’s evident excitable energy rivaled that of Patton’s. Valerie has her dark hair pulled back into a high ponytail, which isn’t necessarily a surprise given the heat. The orange and yellow sands stretch into rolling dunes in the distance, unheeded by the small colony network they’d docked in. A bright blue sky stretches above them, and Logan sees Elliot slip on a pair of sunglasses out of the corner of his eye. Roman squints and brings up a hand to shield his own vision.

“Rainwall’s gotten bigger,” Logan remarks as Corbin leads them from the dock and further into the colony.

The last time Logan had been here, it had barely been a few temporary settlement structures—really just glorified tents, in Logan’s humble opinion--cohesive enough to call a colony network but only barely. The structures look more permanent now, and there are certainly more of them. Pathways between them are not paved but are certainly worn enough with foot and vehicle traffic, and Logan is pleased to see that they put his prior suggestion of solar panels to use. The roofs of nearly every building—most of them white and domed structures of varying sizes—are covered with them.

There’s a gust of wind, kicking up the sand and dust at their feet. Logan turns his face into his shoulder to keep from inhaling. Roman coughs behind him. “Oh great,” he says with an air of drama that makes Logan roll his eyes. “This planet is going to ruin my hair.”

“You get used to it,” Valerie says.

“I definitely do not want to get used to it.”

The corner of Logan’s mouth quirks. “We could return to Dal’tera, Roman.”

“I thought we agreed to never speak of Dal’tera again.”

“You and Virgil agreed to never speak of what happened on Dal’tera again. I made no such promise.”

Although Logan doesn’t turn around, he can feel the way Elliot’s gaze flickers between Roman’s face and the back of his head. “What happened on Dal’tera?”

“It was four years ago—”

“Which is why we are leaving it in the past!” Roman cuts in insistently. “Unbelievable. The lack of trust. First, Kai disables the cool blaster-thingy on my suit, now my own captain is betraying my trust.”

The accusation is empty and with a certain familiar affection underlying the dramatics, but Logan holds his hands up in mock surrender regardless. “To Kai’s credit, you did damage the ship less than half an hour after having the technology made available to you,” he says, and Roman makes an affronted noise behind him.

“It was an accidental—”

Elliot interrupts him, sounding amused. “Did you just call it a blaster-thingy? Really?”

Logan glances over his shoulder in time to see Roman look down at his armored hand. “I don’t know the name for it.”

“It should be named something cool.”

“Yes, I agree. Perhaps we should come up with some options to run by Kai when we return.”

As they pass one of the vegetation fields, a pair of colonists wave at them from a distance. Logan sees Sloane wave enthusiastically in return out of the corner of his eye. Corbin lifts a hand in a more subdued greeting. A pair of children cut out between the buildings in front of them and barely dodge Logan and Corbin at the front of the group, shrieking with laughter. Behind him, Elliot and Roman chat about potential names for the new technology that Kai had inputted into the suit.

It’s a familiar thrum of background noise as they make their way through the settlement. The excitable chatter and increasingly ridiculous suggestions for naming technology makes Logan vaguely grateful that Kai tended to name his own tech rather than leave it to those two. Regardless, Logan is content to let them chatter away. Especially if it kept their attention occupied as they navigate through Rainwall.

As much as the colony had grown since Logan had last seen it, it doesn’t take them too long to reach the far end of the small town. They’re led to one of the white domed structures at the far end of the network of buildings and worn pathways. Corbin inputs a four-digit code into the keypad beside the door, and Logan hears a lock click before the door swishes open.

…

Logan feels the beanbag hit the back of his head for the fourth time and doesn’t even bother to turn around.

“Sorry, Captain!” Roman says, also for the fourth time.

Logan, Corbin, and Valerie had been pouring over data spreadsheets, charts, graphs, and notes regarding the anomaly in Vannaheim’s dune pattern for the past three hours. Roman and Elliot both had tried to assist for the first hour and a half, but while they were extremely bright and intelligent people in Logan’s opinion, neither were particularly practiced or well-versed in theoretical physics or planetology. Elliot’s understanding of piloting had been helpful briefly in identifying some smaller anomalies in the gravitational shifts in the planet’s atmosphere, but that was about the extent that their expertise could help.

The pod—as Sloane had been calling the one-room building they were in—was small and simple on the inside, but certainly functional. The couch and table towards the front of the pod had been pushed against the wall to make room for the game that Roman and Sloane had started with a beanbag that Sloane happened to have handy. Towards the back were several computers, and a few chairs. Corbin sits in one, scanning over the contents of the most recent read-out, and Valerie sits in the other. Logan stands and paces in the space between them and the game of beanbag. There were a few unpacked crates blocking part of the pathway, having previously housed brand-new computer parts.

Roman sheepishly jogs the short distance between himself and the beanbag at Logan’s feet, snatching it up. Logan opens his mouth to say something when Elliot cuts him off, sitting up a bit from where they’d been lounged against the couch.

“Did you guys hear that?”

Logan frowns, but it’s Valerie who speaks up, looking up from the tablet in her hands. “Hear what?”

But then they do hear it. It’s distant, but rapidly getting closer. Shouting. Someone screams. And—

“Was that phaser discharge?” Sloane asks, his face draining of color. Elliot scrambles to their feet, crossing towards Logan and further away from the door.

“Corbin, take Sloane and get out of here,” Logan says immediately. “Valerie, you too. Get somewhere safe.”

The shout is right outside the door. Corbin grabs for Sloane and yanks him back behind him as the door swishes open, fumbling to pull the phaser out of the holster at his belt.

Logan barely has time to register that the strangled cry from Roman is his name before he feels a weight slam into him, sending him crashing to the floor just as phasers go off. Logan doesn’t know who fired first, his ears ringing slightly and Roman, a heavy weight, on top of him.

“I knew he’d come back!” a new voice—grating and sharp and a little hysterical—shrieks. “I knew fucking Logan Sanders couldn’t keep his distance! You’ve ruined our way of life one too many times you fucking piece of—” Corbin fires his phaser, a streak of green light slamming into the figure’s chest. Even through the chaos, Logan can see the switch set to stun.

“Roman,” Logan grunts as he shoves his relations officer off of him, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Roman rolls off him with a tight grimace, an arm wrapped around himself. He doesn’t answer and he doesn’t sit up, and it’s only then that Logan sees the skin of Roman’s waist—a sickly green and black—exposed between his fingers and broken armor.

Logan’s mind kicks into overdrive, the shouting between Corbin, Valerie, Elliot and the intruders overlapping with exchanges of phaser fire fading into background noise.

Logan goes to reach for his comm at his belt before he realizes that it’s been shattered into pieces. Parts of it are melted, apparently having taken some phaser damage. Unusable. Logan changes tactics immediately, pulling the identical equipment piece off Roman’s shoulder and clicks in.

“Foster Crew,” Logan says, clipped and urgent. “Come in. We have a Code Black. Repeat: Code Black. We need immediate assistance.”

“Fucking shit,” is Virgil’s instant response, muffled from static. “What’s your location?”

Logan looks to Elliot on his left, who is staring at Roman with wide eyes having heard the call go through the comms. “Elliot,” Logan says. “Send our location.”

They blink quickly and nod, pressing a button on the gauntlet on their armor before firing another round of their phaser. It cracks against the wall. Elliot ducks back behind the create as the corner of it splinters into shards with a ricocheting crack.

Logan reaches for the wound on Roman’s waist, but Roman won’t move his hands. He’s pale, already with a thin sheen of sweat, and when his eyes flutter open, Logan doesn’t miss the glassy look in them, nor the way that they don’t seem to focus.

“Roman. Hey.” Logan taps his face, then pulls Roman’s hands away. “Look here.”

“Cap?” Roman’s voice is distant. Hazy. Confused.

When Logan yanks Roman’s hands away so that he can better assess damage, Roman makes a noise in the back of his throat that doesn’t sound fully human.

Logan doesn’t respond. The wound isn’t just phaser damage, from the little Logan can see. Phasers didn’t generally turn skin into that green-black mottled mess. There appears to be several tiny puncture wounds. Toxin, Logan thinks, and reaches for Roman’s comm again. He helps Roman sit up and lean against the crate behind him.

“Patton. Come in, Patton.”

Corbin is shouting something from where he’s taken cover against the wall on the opposite side to Logan’s left. He fires twice more.

“Roman’s vitals are all over the place,” Patton answers without having to ask what Logan needed to know. “Toxin levels are elevated and climbing. What’s happening down there?”

“Virgil, what’s your ETA?” Logan says instead of answering. He’s on autopilot, his mind racing. He can barely keep up with his own thoughts. Flashes of green phaser fire streak overhead and leave scorch marks on the white walls of the pod.

“Two minutes but it looks like you guys are pinned down. We’ll do what we can. Might be two and a half before you guys can get out.”

“Is anyone else hurt?” Logan asks to the open air.

“Not yet,” Corbin replies, ducking as another round of phaser fire hits overhead. “They’re Retribution though. No mistaking that.” He aims again, fires a few more rounds. Logan hears something heavy slump to the ground. Roman grunts and leans his head back against the crate he’s propped up against. His breathing is fast and shallow.

Despite himself, Roman gives Logan a pained smile. “I got pretty good reflexes, huh?”

“This situation hardly classifies as a testament to your reflex speed.”

“Virgil always said….�� Roman grimaces. Shudders. Tries again. “Virge always said he was fastest but I could give ‘im a…. a run for his money.”

Logan frowns. “Your speech is slurring.”

“Sorry.”

Roman starts saying something about the last time he was drunk—Logan was there; they’d been celebrating Virgil’s birthday—but Logan has mostly tuned him out. His mind is still spinning. Toxin-equipped phasers were new technology to Logan. He’d heard there was potential for it, but he hadn’t looked much into the tech or its development. For it to be possible, then they’d need access to existing natural toxins. Synthetic ones wouldn’t pair as well with the phaser tech and would risk overloading or overheating the weapons. What natural toxins existed on Vannaheim?

More than one, from Logan’s memory. It had been a subsection of his research when looking into native vegetation options from the planet six years ago.

“Logan? Come in. Logan?” Patton’s voice over the comms not only interrupts Logan’s sprinting thoughts, but also causes Roman to cut off his slurred, barely coherent speech.

Logan grabs the device. “Here.”

“Roman’s getting worse. I think he’s panicking, ‘cuz his heartrate is through the roof, but that could also be the toxin. Do you know what it was?”

“I don’t. If I were to guess, based on the damage and situational factors, I’d probably assume it was a hemotoxin or necrotoxin but without more information or the ability to run tests, I cannot be certain.”

Virgil’s voice cuts into the conversation. “T-minus one minute.” Even distorted from the static, Virgil’s voice sounds strained in its own right. “Fuck, I’m going as fast as I can, Logan. Tell Princey he’s not allowed to die before I have the chance to kill him myself for being an idiot.”

Roman scoffs, but it’s weak and pained and sounds a lot more like a cough. “An idiot?” he demands incredulously.

“Message received,” Logan says dryly before setting the comm down. “Roman, take a deep breath.”

Roman sucks in a breath—shaking and thin—and winces. “Ow. Shit.” Roman’s arm wraps around his torso and he tosses a shaky smile to Logan. “I can’t believe I’m really gonna die having never beaten you at chess.”

It’s Elliot that answers him first, their voice tight and strangled and desperate. “You’re not going to die.”

“You’re not going to beat me at chess,” Logan adds. He can still hear shouting outside the pod. Roman gives a breathy laugh before his eyes unfocus again, blinking owlishly. Logan sets a firm, grounding hand on his shoulder. “Focus. Roman, tell me five things you can see.”

“Tell me five things you can see.” Roman blinks hard, then looks around uncomprehendingly. “Where… am I?”

“Vannaheim,” Logan replies smoothly despite the way his chest clenches. He cannot panic. Logan takes a breath.

Roman makes a face. “I hate Vannaheim.”

“Because the wind messes up your hair. Yes, you’ve told me.”

The door swishes open and Logan grabs Roman’s phaser from its holster and fires a shot. It cracks against the wall of the pod slightly to the left of the intruder. Logan had left his phaser on the ship. An oversight on his part. Deal with it later, Logan tells himself firmly.

“A prince has got to slay,” Roman says, his words slurred. He takes a breath that seems to tangle in his lungs, and wheezes out a cough.

“You’re wearing a uniformed suit of armor,” Logan finds himself saying. Wasn’t enough to protect him, something hisses in Logan’s mind. Logan shakes his head quickly. He’d deal with that thought later. “If you’re that worried about your appearance, wear the helmet.”

Logan estimates that it’s been about twenty seconds since his last communication with Virgil and Patton. They hear the door swish open. Valerie fires. There’s a startled cry and the door closes.

“I like the—” Roman cuts himself off with a clench to his teeth, his body visibly shuddering. He curls around himself, his head nearly pitching straight into Logan’s chest. The captain catches Roman’s shoulders, holding him steady until the trembling is back to a more manageable level a second later. He guides Roman to sit back again.

Roman’s head leans back to thump gently against the crate, his brow pinched. “Logan… you’re shaking.”

“Falsehood,” Logan replies distractedly, trying to tune in to the conversation Corbin and Valerie are having on the opposite side of the small pod given the lull in combatants. They can still hear the fight raging outside. Someone screams. Pounding footsteps.

Sloane is typing frantically into one of the computers. A second later, there’s a click by the door. “Doors are locked. Should at least slow them down,” he says.

Corbin glances back at Logan, his chest heaving in an attempt to catch his breath. His jaw sets when his eyes flicker to Roman slumped against the crate.

“You’ve gotta get out of here,” he says. “Valerie and I will cover you. As soon as Anxiety gets here, make a break for it. They’re not here for a war. They’re here for you.”

Logan opens his mouth to reply but Roman’s strained, slurred speech interrupts him. “Logan… give m’ th’ phaser.”

“Why?”

Roman’s brow furrows together like he thinks the answer should be obvious. “Figured I’d take a few of ‘em down with me while… while you two…” He grimaces again, but Logan gets the picture.

“No.”

Roman levels a look that would be a glare if his eyes would stay focused on Logan. “Be logical, Captain.”

Logan doesn’t deign the challenge with a response. He just stares at Roman—the sheen of sweat, the shallow and rapid breath, the way Roman can’t seem to support the weight of his own head—and then looks back at Corbin. “If we flee and they’re here for me, it’s not impossible that they’ll give chase.”

“We’ll ground as many as we can,” Valerie says, quickly adjusting some calibration on the phaser in her hand.

“Captain,” Roman insists, but Logan ignores him.

“Virgil will just have to shake the rest,” Logan says grimly.

“T-minus five seconds. Incoming.” Virgil’s cracked, staticky voice breaks through the comms on Elliot’s and Roman’s shoulder.

“Speak of the devil.”

“Let’s move,” Logan says, crossing back to Roman.

He figures that offering a hand to help Roman stand up wouldn’t be enough support, given that Roman seemed barely capable of holding up his own head. A fireman’s carry? Seemed excessive, at least for the time being. Perhaps Logan would default to that should Roman lose consciousness.

“’m gonna slow y’ down.” Roman’s voice is quiet, and it takes Logan a moment to decipher what he said given the way the words run together.

Logan crouches down and takes Roman’s arm, wrapping it around his shoulders and bracing one hand against Roman’s armored chestplate. “Think you can stand up?”

“Not lis’ning.”

“Answer the question, Roman.”

Roman swallows. Shudders. His arm tightens around his waist. “Yeah.”

“Three. Two. One. Up.” Logan stands, bracing most of Roman’s weight into his side. Roman nearly pitches into the floor, but he manages to get his legs underneath him and though Logan can feel him shaking with the exertion of effort, Roman is standing.

Progress.

“I’ll wait to unlock the door until you guys are right in front of it,” Sloane says and if there’s a bit of strain to his voice—if he casts a long glance at Corbin—well, Logan doesn’t say anything about it.

“Logan,” Roman says. “Lemme… lemme st…” Roman spasms, and nearly pitches right out of Logan’s grip. His hand on Roman’s chest is the only thing that keeps Roman from tumbling to the floor.

Logan goes to take a step with him—he can see black bleeding up through Roman’s neck like spilled ink and it tightens something in his chest—but Roman doesn’t move. Logan gives Roman a sharp look, opens his mouth to explain that they didn’t have time to waste, but there’s something fiery and bold beneath the haze of pain and poison that clouds his gaze.

“’m not worth—”

“It’s not your decision!” Logan cuts him off sharply. Furious. His gut twists against what he knows was the rest of Roman’s sentence. Roman releases a breath that would sound annoyed if there wasn’t a bit of a hitch to it.

“Doors opening in three. Two. One.”

Corbin and Valerie duck out first, and it’s a mess of dust and wind as Foster’s engine roars overhead, touching down as close as it reasonably can. Logan hears the reverberating pops of phaser fire exchanged somewhere in the cloud of dust. Streaks of green light criss-crossing in the sand-clogged cloud around them. Corbin yells for them to go. Elliot fires off a few shots of their own, sticking close to the two of them to fill in the gaps of phaser coverage left between Corbin and Valerie.

They run.

Or, as best as they can manage. It’s barely a loose jog, really, with Logan having to support most of Roman’s weight. But Roman manages to put one foot in front of the other and from his strangled breathing and how hard he’s shaking, Logan knows it’s about all Roman can manage to do.

Logan estimates that the distance between the pod and Foster is about a hundred or so meters. At the rate they’re moving, it should take them about twenty seconds to reach the docking ramp that Virgil lowers as soon as they touch down. Maybe less than that, if they can push the pace a bit more.

It takes ten seconds before Logan feels bright heat rip through his upper right bicep. Warm liquid spills down his arm.

“Captain!” Elliot yells, alarmed, over the chaos.

“I’m fine,” Logan grits out. “Go! Go!”

Patton meets them on the docking ramp, his eyes wide, and takes Roman’s other side to help Logan get him the rest of the way up. Elliot fires their phaser twice more as the ramp closes before ripping their comm unit off and calling into it.

“Virgil, punch it. We’re gonna have tails.”

“Fuck. Everyone accounted for?”

Logan grabs Roman’s comm. “Affirmative. Get us out of here.” Logan braces himself, and Roman, for the shift as Virgil lifts them off and takes off.

Roman sways.

Patton reaches for his wound. “Ro—”

The navigations officer collapses. Logan grunts as he and Patton both catch him before he crumples entirely, the effort tearing at the wound in Logan’s arm. Bright, hot pain ripples down his arm and up through his shoulder. Logan clenches his teeth against the sharp cry that tries to tear up his throat.

“Roman!” Elliot steps forward, but Logan holds up a hand, trying to get his breathing back under control from the fresh wave of pain.

“No, Elliot. Pilot with Virgil.”

“But I want to help!”

His arm is throbbing and Logan glances down at it, noting with a certain level of detachment that it just looks like a normal graze. No sign of toxin damage. “Help Virgil,” Logan tells them firmly, leveling a steady gaze that leaves no room for argument.

Elliot’s expression darkens before they turn and head towards the cockpit.

“I gotta get Roman to med bay,” Patton says quietly. “And get you patched up too.”

“I’m fine,” Logan says, helping Patton hoist Roman up from his half-collapsed state on the floor. “Just a graze.”

“But still.”

“It’ll heal, Patton.”

“Logan.”

Logan’s jaw snaps shut. He gives a single, stiff nod in return.

…

The next several minutes are frantic.

Patton and Logan carry Roman to the medical bay and Patton immediately pries Roman’s suit off him to get a closer look. It’s a flurry of movement as he hooks Roman up to various machines to read off information about his vitals, extracting some of the toxin from his system so Patton can run different tests on it separate from Roman’s body, all of which is made more challenging by the frequent shift in g-force as Virgil and Elliot try to lose the ships that had followed them off Vannaheim.

Logan is still on autopilot. He doesn’t stop moving. Logan helps Patton as much as he can, and it’s not until Patton is very gently helping Logan into chair to bandage his wounded arm after Roman has been fully equipped that Logan realizes the warm liquid that he’d felt down his arm was his own blood. Logan stares at Roman on the gatch bed with numb detachment and lets Patton clean and wrap the wound in his arm. It’s while Patton is tying the knot on the bandage wrapped around Logan’s bicep that Virgil clicks on over the intercom.

“I think we’ve shaken the last of them. Status update on Princey?”

Logan and Patton exchange a glance. Patton offers a sad smile and slight lift to his shoulders. Logan stands from the chair and walks to the intercom on the wall. He presses the button, waiting for the click before he speaks.

“No change. Did we take any damage?”

It’s Remy’s voice that answers him. “She’ll hold together, but Foster’s warp drive is out of commission until we can dock and I get some parts. What the hell was that all about?”

Logan swallows and leans his head against the wall for a moment. A damaged warp drive meant that getting to the next planet would take a bit longer than originally planned. He glances over at Patton, whose lips press into a grim line. Logan swallows before he answers over the intercom. “It appears that some prior work I did on that planet in an effort of sustainability warranted a minority of individuals harboring some… hostility.”

Behind him, Patton is peering at the monitors with Roman’s vitals. “Seems like more than just some hostility.”

“And we’re sure Wright is gonna be fine down there?” Virgil asks.

“Reasonably,” Logan replies. “Their hostility was directed predominantly at me.”

“And yet Roman—oh, wait. Hey, Cap, you might wanna come up here. We’ve got a message inbound from Vannaheim.”

Logan sighs. “I’ll be right there.”

Logan isn’t sure what to expect. He can’t fairly say that he is surprised. It made sense that they would attempt contact, especially given that they had successfully evaded their trail. And expecting the message to wait certainly wouldn’t have made sense—they’d be out of signal range within a few minutes. Logan considers, briefly, letting the message go unanswered. But there couldn’t be any harm in talking, right? Perhaps Logan could even appease them enough to quell some of the hostile action that could—had, did—put innocent people in harm’s way.

His arm throbs. Logan looks over his shoulder at Roman, prone on the gatch bed. Pale, except for the side that got hit being a smattering of mottled green and black. The black bleeds in curling tendrils across his chest, up his shoulder, his neck.

Patton catches him staring and gives him another one of those sad smiles. “I’m doing what I can for him, Captain.”

Logan swallows and nods. He squeezes Patton’s shoulder on his way out.

He tries very hard to not look at the hole through the wall that Roman had blasted earlier today. Instead, he focuses on the weight of his measured, calculated footsteps against the grated scaffolding. The very faint and yet oddly familiar, comforting scent of iron that lingered on the inside of the ship despite Patton’s best attempts to fix it. He counts in his head how many steps it takes from the door of the med bay to the cockpit.

The answer is eighteen.

The door swishes open and Virgil cranes his neck around. Elliot doesn’t even show signs of having heard the door opened at all.

“Ready, Captain?” Virgil asks, his finger poised over one of the buttons in front of him.

Logan steadies a hand on the back of Virgil’s chair and nods. “Yes.”

The screen in front of them blips on and Logan stares in surprise as Corbin, Sloane, and Valerie’s faces fill the frame. “Hey, they made it!” Sloane says brightly. Logan can still feel tension pulling his shoulders taught.

“Barely,” Elliot says, so quietly Logan almost doesn’t hear it. Logan sees Virgil glance at them, his brow furrowing.

“How’s Roman doing?” Valerie asks.

“We’re working on it,” Logan says.

“You mean Patton’s working on it,” Elliot cuts in.

“Yes,” Logan acquiesces. “I do mean that. Our ship’s medic, Patton Hart, is doing what he can. How are things there?”

“Our earlier assumptions proved accurate,” Corbin replies with a shrug. “They followed you. The ones that didn’t were angry, but hostility tapered off once they realized they were outnumbered and that you were gone.”

“I apologize for bringing you under some fire. That wasn’t my intention.”

“It’s not like you could’ve known,” Sloane says with a dismissal wave.

“We’re about to lose signal,” Virgil says quietly.

“Hey, keep us updated about Roman, will you?” Corbin asks.

Sloane and Valerie both nod. “We’re just as worried about him as you are!”

Elliot mutters something under their breath that Logan doesn’t quite catch, but from the suddenly furious look Virgil shoots them, perhaps it was better that he didn’t. Logan assures them that they will let them know as soon as there’s any change to report. Virgil cuts the feed and flexes his grip around the ship’s controls.

“What the hell was that?” Virgil demands suddenly. For a moment, Logan frowns in confusion before he realizes that the question was meant for Elliot and not himself.

“Forget it,” Elliot replies with a quick glance to Logan.

“Bullshit,” Virgil shoots back. His grip on the controls look too tight to be comfortable. “You’re not good with confrontation. Fine. But you don’t get to sit there and make passive-aggressive jabs at our captain after the shit-show we just dealt with. One that he got you out of, I might add. What’s wrong with you?”

“Okay—” Logan says, placatingly, but Elliot interrupts him.

“What’s wrong with me?” they demand, waving a hand towards Logan. “What’s wrong with him? He doesn’t seem phased in the slightest! Roman was shot trying to protect him and he just acted like he didn’t care—”

“Because that’s his fucking job!” Virgil turns a glowering look onto Elliot.

“Virgil,” Logan tries, bewildered at the argument, but they both seem to have forgotten that Logan is even there.

Virgil continues, tearing his gaze back to the stars stretching in front of them. “He’s the Captain, Elliot. It’s his job to make sure shit gets done, and that is especially true when one of us gets hurt. Logan doesn’t fall apart during a crisis but don’t you dare suggest that means he doesn’t fucking care.”

Elliot is silent. Logan doesn’t know what—if anything—he should say. Virgil heaves a sigh and rakes a hand through his long bangs. “I mean, shit. Look, I know today has been a lot. The past two hours have been a lot. And you haven’t been with us very long. But if you don’t know anything about our Captain, know this: Logan speaks how he cares in his actions. All you have to do is pay attention.”

Logan blinks. He forgot sometimes how closely Virgil watched other people, including himself. He’d noticed it in the beginning when Virgil had first joined, but Virgil had mostly dismissed it and said it was an “anxiety thing”. Logan didn’t know that he believed that, but over time, Virgil’s steady, watchful gaze had become less unsettling and more comforting. Until Logan forgot entirely just how much Virgil paid attention to the people around him.

Elliot sighs. They don’t look up, but Logan hears their words regardless. “I’m sorry, Captain. I was… unfair.”

“It’s understandable,” Logan replies, surprised at being suddenly addressed. His mind is still reeling. Too full of information that is racing through his mind to fully process the argument that just ensued. “Take a breath, Elliot. Get some rest.”

“I…” Elliot looks like they want to argue, but they seem to change their mind. They stand up and look to Virgil. “Are… you good?”

Virgil glances at them, and something softens in his expression. “Yeah, kid. I’m good here.”

Elliot nods absently, then disappears through the cockpit doors. Virgil glances over his shoulder at Logan. “You should get some rest too, Captain.”

“I’m fine.”

Virgil sighs. He doesn’t press him.

…

Days go by. Patton manages to get Roman to stable vitals and Logan thinks he can hear the collective sigh of relief across the ship when the announcement comes over the staticky intercom. But Roman doesn’t wake up, and Patton tells them that he isn’t sure when—or if—it’ll happen. Logan spends most of these days in the med bay, doing what he can with his scientific knowledge to assist Patton’s tests on the toxin. Kai joins them for short periods of time, putting his knowledge of weapons and tech to some use in the long hours.

They manage to come up with an antidote somewhere around what would be a little past two in the morning Earth-time of the second day. It cleanses Roman’s system of the poison, but damage had been done. It was difficult to ascertain exactly how much.

Logan doesn’t sleep much. He thinks Patton notices, but whenever the doctor tries to bring it up, Logan shrugs him off. His usually rigid circadian schedule had been disrupted by bad dreams that echo with Sloane’s pale face and Elliot’s shaking hands and Roman’s strained words. The last words he’d gotten out. I’m not worth—and every time, Logan wakes up before Roman can finish the thought. So Logan gets enough sleep to function, and he spends the rest of his time in the med bay and around the ship making himself useful.

All the crew find time to stop in on occasion as the days press forward. Virgil and Elliot take shifts. Picani makes sure that Patton and Logan are eating, and sometimes sits and talks to Roman’s unconscious form. Patton does that too—talk to him. Whenever he gives Logan an update with a new chart read out, he speaks as if Roman can hear him.

When Logan eventually asks him about it—if he thinks Roman can hear them—Patton lifts a shoulder and replies, ��I don’t know. I hope so. And it helps me to talk to him anyway, y’know?”

Logan tries it when Patton goes to bed that night. He sits in the chair that Remy had grabbed and set beside Roman earlier that day and listens to the way the silence of the ship at this hour seems to echo against the old metal walls and bracing. Foster had been quieter in general in the past several days. Less laughter. Less teasing. Less… vibrant.

“That’s your fault, you know,” Logan says quietly, looking at Roman. “As much as I always complain about your insufferable noise level, I’ll admit I had grown… accustomed to it.”

Roman’s face is still startlingly pale, but it had lost the sickly sheen of sweat. He breathes evenly. Regularly. Logan listens to it for a moment, grateful that it at least wasn’t the shaking, shallow wheezes it had been on Vannaheim. The black-and-green stain on Roman’s skin had mostly faded. He’d have a scar, Patton said, on his waist where the initial hit happened. But the rest of it should go back to normal in a day or two.

“Now the quiet just seems…” Logan sighs. He listens again as the ship groans. “It seems heavy. Though you’d probably mock me for the use of the chremamorphism. Ordinarily, I’d qualify it with literal or figurative, as I know that silence cannot carry a physical weight, but…” Logan breaks off. It feels like a literal weight, hanging over the ship like a fog and darkening the iron walls. Weighing on the shoulders of those who move within the space.

Logan sighs. Scrubs a hand across his eyes under his glasses with exhaustion. “There’s something that has been bothering me, Roman. Something that I need to say to you.”

Logan leans forward. Bows his head. “You tried to tell me that you weren’t worth the risk of getting you to safety. Which is, honestly, bullshit. I don’t leave my people behind, Roman. You, of all people, should know that. And you… you shouldn’t have taken that shot. That was meant for me.”

Logan wonders, now that he’s said it aloud, if the weight on his shoulders from the silence is really the weight of his own guilt. Poised over his head like a pendulum on the verge of snapping.

Bearing Roman’s weight on Vannaheim had not felt this heavy. Logan realizes suddenly that his hands are shaking. He clasps them together in front of him between his knees.

“I’m the Captain,” Logan says. “It’s my job to keep you all safe, and I let you down. That’s on me. And… I am sorry, Roman. I am sorry for my shortcomings as a leader and as a friend. Because if you felt unworthy of being saved, I’m afraid I have failed in both responsibilities.”

A voice from the door to the med bay startles Logan. “It isn’t your fault, L.”

Logan looks over his shoulder towards the sound and finds Virgil leaning against the entry way. Logan blinks in surprise. He hadn’t even heard the doors open. Virgil just watches him with a quiet, unwavering gaze, even if there’s something a little softer in his eyes than Logan is used to seeing.

“Virgil,” Logan greets, pushing his glasses further up his nose and standing. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Virgil shrugs a shoulder, glancing to Roman. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d check in on Princey.” He pauses, his gaze flickering back to Logan. “And you, too.”

“I’m fine.”

“He doesn’t blame you for what happened,” Virgil says, stepping further into the medical bay and letting the doors swish shut behind him. He’s got his hands shoved into the pockets of his purple plaid-patched hoodie.

Logan shakes his head. “But I do. I should have been more vigilant.”

“Weren’t you the one who taught me that dealing with ‘I should have’ is a dangerous and unproductive thought pattern?”

Logan hesitates. He can’t argue with that. He remembers the conversation from years ago. “Roman shouldn’t have been put into that situation.”

“He did it to protect you.”

“I didn’t ask him to do that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“But—”

“Logan,” Virgil cuts in, tossing his hands up in exasperation, “All of us? On this ship? We’re a family. You didn’t ask for that, but it happened. You are not the only one who cares about other people on this ship.”

“I know that.”

“Then know that any one of us would do what Roman would do if meant protecting you. We look out for each other.” Behind him, the door swishes open again but Virgil doesn’t even turn around. “We protect one another. All of us. You protect us, we protect you. That’s how this shit works.”

Patton steps into the med bay in a cat onesie. His pajamas. He pads quietly into the room, tugging the hood off his head. “Virgil’s right, Cap. We’re a family here. Like it or lump it.”

“And while this may be your ship,” Virgil says as Patton crosses to the monitors on the wall. “We don’t plan to go anywhere any time soon. You’re stuck with us.”

Despite himself, Logan cracks a faint smile.

“Yeah,” croaks a voice from the gatch bed that makes Logan whirl around. “Couldn’t get rid of us if ya tried, Cap.”

Roman’s eyes are open and glinting with something that Logan can’t quite decipher in the dark. Amusement, but something softer too. Patton gasps and rushes over, helping Roman sit up a bit more and grabbing the glass of water with a straw that he’d been refreshing each day for this very event. Roman takes a grateful sip and leans his head against Patton in silent gratitude. Patton smooths his hair with a gentle pat before helping Roman lean back in the bed again.

“How do you feel?” Virgil asks.

“Like I was shot.”

Virgil snorts.

Patton asks him a series of questions that are a bit more pointed—“Any dizziness, Roman? Do you know who I am? Do you know where you are? Are you feeling nauseous?”—and adjusts some of the machines to accommodate for an awake patient. Roman is a bit slow with his answers, and a bit slower still for the orienting ones, but he answers them accurately and cracks a few jokes in the meantime, and Logan just watches, feeling some of the tightness in his chest ease a bit.

When Patton makes a joke and the ship hears Roman’s laughter for the first time in almost a week, Logan thinks maybe he’ll finally be able to sleep through the night.

...

Tags: @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge, @bibbidy-bobbity-booyah, @procrastinations-my-middle-name, @theburntesttoast, @monroig, @secretlyawyvern, @puddinglec4t

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #lamp/calm #logan sanders #sanders sides fanfic #sci-fi au #violence tw #cursing tw #heed warnings #blood tw #injury tw #hurt/comfort #angst #whump #let me know if other warnings should be in the tags themselves too!#kjfksdjfksdlfj #hope it turned out okay

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gloriafc · 5 years ago

Text

Paul imprinting on Bella's older cousin

You were reluctant to follow your younger cousin, but you promised your uncle you'd watch over her when she went into her depressive state.

Of course he trusted you with her clumsy self since you're a surgeon and can fix up any of her bumps and bruises.

"Bella I get he's your best friend but do you think this is the best idea?" "You don't get it Y/N. You wouldn't understand. He's all I have left."

You start to worry when you see a buff guy carrying your cousin into the Emergency room.

"Y/N you don't have to worry, Jacob was there. I'm fine." "Does this look fine to you Bella. You show up in the ER with a cut half the size of your forehead. You have your dad worried everyday, and we can all tell something is going on with you. And now you're crashing motorcycles. Yeah that looks perfectly fine to me."

Of course Bella constantly shows up at your house to ensure you won't tell her dad about the bikes. She goes as far as dragging you with her and her now different looking best friend on your day off. They both drag you to a small house where a couple of boys start teasing Jake. A female catches your eye, she moves to hug Bella before turning to you, making you notice everyone staring especially one guy.

“Hi, I’m Emily.” “Y/N” “Bella’s cousin right? Jake told us about you.”

Emily quickly pulls you in, becoming quick friends. You find yourself heading over to gossip often, Bella going with you to see Jake. Sam becoming comfortable enough having you around all the time because it makes Emily happy.

Of course since you’re around all the time you’ve gotten to know everyone else well enough. You’ve had dinner with them enough times to think of them as friends.

With time everyone tells you about the pack and about the imprint, one of the main reasons is because the Cullens are back and they worry something could happen to you.

“Wait how is that possible?” “Y/N I know it the whole imprint process can be confusing.” “No not that. I spent years studying anatomy and you just told me your bones move and shift on their own and you turn into giant dogs. How is that possible?”

Of course you take the time to talk about the imprint. At first you find it weird that Paul is only 19 and you’re 24. But eventually you get over it. And start a relationship with him.

The entire pack actually find it interesting when they find out new things about you. In turn they let you study their wolves where you slowly become their in-home nurse. Re-breaking and setting any bones they break when they fight each other.

“Wait so you’re like a genius?” “...” “Stop looking at the medical magazine and answer me!” “Jared. I will break all of your ribs and let them set wrong. Yes I’m a genius, I graduated medical school at 17. I’m twenty-four and Chief of Trauma with a photographic memory. Any more questions about how smart I am?” “Can you help me with my science homework?”

Eventually you learn about the Cullens being vampires, and you quickly grow past it knowing Carlisle as your mentor before he left.

Paul finds himself at your house often, not wanting to go home. He loves watching how calm you look while studying or talking about surgery in general. You know he doesn’t fully understand but you appreciate the fact that he listens more than any boyfriend you’ve had before.

Your relationship is filled with constant teasing.

"Babe you need to grow. The whole bed on the floor thing is not working for me." "Then go sleep somewhere else." "Why do you hate me?!" "You're a pain in my ass." "In my defense it's a nice ass."

Sometimes you forget he’s five years younger than you. You often find yourself asking him to stay the night knowing he doesn’t want to go home anyways. The two of you will stay up talking about his problems at home, the way he talks makes him seem so much older with everything his dad has made him deal with.

You slowly find yourself falling in love with everything about him, even his short temper.

You're the first one to say I love you. Shortly after Paul admits he's wanted to say it for a while but never knew how you felt since you have a different mentality about relationships, being older and all.

"Babe I love you and everything but if you touch me with your cold doctor hands again I'll stick you in the furnace."

Jared constantly teases you about being out of Paul's league to get a rise out of him.

"Hey Y/N if your last boyfriend was a surgeon, what made you fall for this flea bag?"

Paul occasionally brings you lunch when you’ve been busier at work, reminding you to take a break so you don’t over work yourself.

Of course when the colder months start to come you’re always at work so you don’t go around as often, resulting in some of the newer pack members not knowing who you are. You end up meeting them when Emily gets into a car accident, a car sliding on the ice into hers. Since you're there to ID her the nurses quickly call Sam down resulting in the whole pack and tribal council sitting in the waiting room as you perform her surgery. When everything is done and she's stable you make your way down to the waiting room, Paul and Sam are the first ones standing. You can just see all the stress on Sam's face.

"Is she okay?" "She had multiple blows to her head from her car flipping. Broken ribs and a broken leg. She's stable right now, we put her into a medically induced coma to help her heal without extra stress, we'll wake her up in a couple days. She'll probably have a slight case of amnesia but it should wear off shortly after waking up. She'll be fine."

Sam quickly pulls you into a bone crushing hug whispering thank you into your ear. Hearing his voice crack brings tears to your eyes once you remember you just operated on one of your best friends.

You manage to pull some strings and Emily is put into a bigger room so multiple people can see her at once, knowing she enjoys being around everyone. Once you see Sam start to cry at the sight of her sleeping all bandaged up you quickly leave the room with tears in your eyes. You make it down the hallway before you have to lean against the wall, tears streaming down your face and unable to breathe. You quickly feel arms wrap around you making you turn and grip Paul's shirt as you slowly feel yourself loose control of your emotions.

"It's okay. She's okay. You saved her." "She looked so bad." "She probably did. But because of you she's alive." "She almost died on that table. She almost died and it would've been my fault if she didn't make it." "Don't think that. Don't think about her dying. And don't think about it being your fault. You were here and you did your job. You're not the person who crashed into her car. You're the one who brought her back to us."

You're the person who takes her out of her coma. Of course the entire pack is there. Her entire room filled with flowers, balloons, and cards.

When she wakes up she cries when she sees your face. At first you think she's going into shock but she just grabs you pulling you into a hug.

"I remember going in and out of consciousness. I remember seeing you. I could hear you telling the nurses to call Sam and a whole bunch of other doctor words. I saw you climb over me to perform CPR. You were covered in blood. My blood. When the other doctors were pushing the bed to the OR, you stayed over me the whole way. I could hear everything until they put the mask over my face." "You heard me say-" "That you wouldn't leave until you saved me."

You can't help the tears that start falling down your face as Emily pulls you into another hug.

When Emily gets discharged Paul finds himself just staying at your house. He can feel you constantly worrying and has to remind you that Sam's not letting Emily out of his sight any time soon.

Of course he starts to worry when you put yourself back into work but knows you're better when you start telling him about the stupid things people do that make them end up in the hospital.

When everything starts to go back to normal Paul feels himself relax when you come around more. He loves watching you talk with Emily as you cook, or sewing the boys last pairs of shorts.

"I swear this is the last time I'm sewing your shorts. I didn't go to medical school to work as your seamstress." "But you're so good at sewing." "I sew skin all day, what do you expect."

Eventually as your relationship progresses with Paul everyone finds that his anger has simmered down a ton. What no one knows is that Paul actually proposed, without a ring but it's the thought that counts. Yeah it's really early, especially for someone his age but you couldn't be happier, and you both agreed to wait for an appropriate time to get married even if that meant years.

Eventually you just flat out ask Paul to move in.

"Are you positive?" "Paul were engaged and all your stuff is practically here, except for the shirts I don't believe you actually own."

Of course you realize that having him live with you results in a ton of sex and constant naked cuddles. You honestly don't even have a need for blankets at this point, you sleep next to a space heater anyways.

Because you saved her life Emily names her and Sam's first kid after you.

"This is Monica Y/M/N Uley."

Eventually Paul saved up the money and got you the perfect ring.

"Is this why you've been working those odd jobs and weird shifts." "You know I had to get you the best, and it wouldn't be the best if I didn't do the work to get it."

Of course all of your close friends are furious you two didn't tell them you were engaged sooner.

"Did he just propose? That's so cute." "No we've been engaged for months now Emily." "And you're just telling me?! I'm skinning that boy alive next time I see him." "Please don't. I kind of need him alive for the next eighteen years." "You're pregnant too?!"

Since Emily's the only one who knows you're pregnant she helps you plan to tell Paul. She may or may not have stolen a whole bunch of pregnancy tests from the hospital with your help.

She makes the used tests into a bouquet that you set on the kitchen table for Paul to see when he gets home from patrol.

You sit in the living room knowing the first place Paul will go is the kitchen to make a sandwich.

"I'm home!"..."What the hell? Are these all pos-"

Before you realize what's going on you're being spun around by a very happy fiance and soon to be daddy.

#twilight imagine #Bella Swan #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote x reader #jacob black #imprint #jared cameron #emily young #sam uley

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whumpsblog · 4 years ago

Note

for another command, I want to see Connor allow Hanna to leave if she wants to and treat her like a normal person, but at the same time I want Hanna to not be able to leave as a command and watch her freak out that she can’t take the opportunity to leave like she wants to >:)

A prompt from @eatyourdamnpears. Man, talk about an emotionally brutal prompt! Thanks Carly for the continuing support and the wonderfull prompt! Please, keep ‘em comming! The events in this prompt DO NOT occurs in the actual plot.

Tag List: @bloodandbandages, @broken-horn, @eatyourdamnpears, @butwhatifyouwrite, @justplainwhump. If anyone wants to be added to the list or removed, contact me.

>> CW: panic attacks<<

Guards collected Hanna from her room and imediatly she assumed they were taking her to the basement for another . . . disciplinary session. She fought back, thrashing and kicking and biting and bucking, but their grasps on her arms held tight.

“Can you stop fighting us!” The guard protested. “Please! Just calm down! We’re not going to hurt you.”

Hanna refused and continued to fight back harder. With an anguished scream her hands started glowing. In truth it didn’t matter if they were taking her to the dungeon or not. Conner was more that willing to torture or humiluate her in any of the rooms in the mansion, be it the kitchen, living room, garden, or master bedroom.

She could feel her hands as they glowed brighter and warmer, and as they did so the guards vocallize their concerns.

“Her hands!” Said the one guard panicked.

“I know! I see!”

“Can we knock her out?”

“Conner said not to hurt her!”

‘He probably told them that beacause he wants me in prime torturing condition.’ She thinks to herself.

Behind her back she shoots a beam of light and hears the lound sound of shattering glass behind her. She releases another and this time, it’s followed by the sound of splintering wood and heavy falling objects. She keeps going.

“SHE’S DESTROYING THE ROOM!"

“Just shut the hell up and do your job! We’re almost --”

Hanna releases a blast from her left hand and it catches the guard on her left in the stomach. He gets blasted away from Hanna, and she uses her free hand to blast away the guard on her right. It wasn’t her strongest attack, but it managed to push them both back about ten yards. It doen’t give her much time, but it would have to do.

She sends it down the hallway, not knowing where she’s going, but running none the less. At the end of the hall she gets to the elevator and once inside she punches the button with a “G”. Impatiently, she yells at the doors when they don’t close fast enough, and then blasts both of guards back again to ensure that their arms don’t prevent the doors from closing. The the doors finally close with a chime she hits the floor breathing hard and out of breath. On the other side of the elevator door the two guards can be heard yelling and pounding on the metal with their fists.

She sighs. She did it. She got away from the guards. Now all she had to do was get out of the elevator and run. She was fast and nimble and if she booked it to the woods she could probably disappear and find a town nearby. There had to be a town nearby, right? She shook her head. It didn’t matter if there was a town nearby or not. She would walk until she stumbled across something, and from there get situated. First thing on the list was food, then money, followed by proper cloths. Currently she wearing gym shorts and a white tank top. She’s illlprepared for the woods and she knows that she’s going to be spending the next couple days cold, wet, covered in scratches, and hungery.

The elevator hits the ground level floor and she stops moving. She picks herself up off of the floor and when the doors open and she peaks outside cautiously. Apparently the “G” button didn’t stand for ground, but instead garage, because she finds herself standing in an empty three car garage. It was dead silent in the garage, and from the looks of it there weren’t any cameras either.

‘Change of plans. Steal a car and fuck walking in the woods.’

Hanna jumps into the blue Jaguar and inspects the steering colum. With most old cars one could rip open the steering column and expose the wires underneath. But newer cars posed a small challenge, and required screwdriver and some dismantling. She checked and found that she indeed needed a screwdriver.

‘Shit.’ She hated wasting time but risking three minutes now could save her massivley in the long run. Jumping out of the car she starts searching the garage quickly and frantically for a flathead. She finds an old toolbox and digs though it loud enough and long enough to not notice the elevator as they open.

Screwdriver in hadn Hanna turn and jumps when she sees Conner. She drops the screwdriver and it clangs to the ground, and she aims two glowing hands his way. So far every time Hanna attempted to escape Conner managed to stop her. But this time would be different. This time she was well rested, fed, and had plenty of light in the room to form several decent attack.

Her hands start glowing and she drops to body defensivley. “You’re not going to stop me this time.” She growls. “My time here, is over.”

Conner frowns and though her desperatly wants to retort with some cheeky comment, he refrains. Instead, he extracts the keys to the blue Jauguar from his coat pocket and gives them a tight squeeze to steady his trembling rage. He looks down to the ground and closes his eyes. Everything his parents ever taught him goes against what he’s about to do.

With angry and forlon expression he averted gaze from Hanna and walks to the driver’s side of the car. He sticks the key in the ignition and starts the engine.

“The nearest town from here is south about fifty miles, so when you pull out of here take a left and keep going straight.” He stands up and watches her watching him with her glowing hands still raised. She didn’t trust him at all, and she was right to. He had held her against her will, humiluated her, tortured her, and starved her. And though he knew he couldn’t make up for his actions, he hoped giving her freedome would help offset some of his sin. “If you open up the engine you should be able to get there in twenty minutes, and from there its another two hours to the closest large city.”

He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. “This baby gets seventy miles to the gallon because its half electric, and it only takes about forty dollars to fill the tank. Here’s all of the cash I have on me. It’s not a lot but it should be enough for you to buy a one way plane ticket to anywhere within the states.” He places three hundred dollars in cash in the glove compartment and then walks to the front of the car. “I would give you my card but then I’ll have to report you for stealing it, and then the police will get involved. Which I’m assuming isn’t something you want.”

Hanna watches and listens to him, but she can't seem to comprehend his actions and words. “What - what are you doing?” She asks.

His brown eyes meet hers and Hanna is startled by the pain and anger within them. “I’m helping you.” He says.

Hanna powers down and her arms drop to her sides. She’s still on guard, but she feels that his confession is genuine. A horrible feeling bubbles in her chest and stomach and she fights against it.

"You're free.” He continues. “Go. Find your friends. Get your family back. It's over. I’m letting you go." He hits a button on the side of the wall and the garage door behind the Jauguar rolls back loundly.

She still doesn’t understand. ‘Her captor had bought her. He liked torturing her. So why in the world, after only a week of possessing her, was he letting her go.’ Hanna continues to stand there stunned. She’s never seen this part of him before and for some reason it’s making her. ‘Was this a trap?’

“Go!”

Hanna jumps like a startled dog being scolded, but instead of moving towards the vehicle, she takes a step away from it. The bubbling feeling in her belly builds, rises to her chest, and squeezes at her heart. The feeling is all to familular and she realizes with horror that she’s having a panic attack. Just like when she was a little girl and a prisoner at Syrtex.

‘But, why on earth was she panicking? This was it! This was her moment. She was so close! All she had to do was jump in the car and drive. So why was she panicking? What triggered her?’ She takes another step backwards and when she bumps into the toolbox it clanks loudly, which startles her even more.

“Hanna?” says Conner with concern in his voice.

Hanna laces her fingers behind her neck and tucks her head into her chest in a desperate attempt to calm herseld down. Closing her eyes, she tries to determine the trigger so that she can stop the attack.

“Hanna?” Conner slowly advances on Hanna and though he’s multiple feet away and not threatening her, she backs away. She breaths harder and harder, unable to draw air, and unable to calm her racing heart. Hanna wraps her arms around her head and slides down the face of the tool chest. Small whimpers escape through her weazy shaky breaths.

Conner’s kneels before her alarmed and with wide brown eyes that are looking for her face. He’s never seen her like this before, not even during their disciplinary sessions. This side of her was completely new to him. “Hanna what is it?” He reaches out to rub her back. “What’s wrong?” His hand touches her and the physical contact causes Hanna to snap.

A sudden burst of light explodes outwards from Hanna’s core and the force it knocks Conner several feet backwards and onto his back. The lights in the room flicker as her rolls onto his side and looks up at her. He still has no idea whats going on.

With her head still pressed into her knees Hanna’s claws and pulls and her hair. Her whole body is glowing faintly and the sight is something Conner has never seen before.

“You need to get away from me.” she moans.

Conner doesn’t get any closer to Hanna, but he fixes himself so he’s sitting upright. “No. Hanna, I’m not -- ”

She cries and releases another surge of uncontrollable power. This one pushes Conner, who had been kneeling infront of her, backwards again violently. On the ground he flips over so he’s on his stomach and looking up at Hanna.

She’s looking down at him with green teary eyes that are wide and terrified. “Please. Just. Go.” She begs with a broken voice.

The desperation in her voice convinces him to move back and give her more space. He moves to the elevator and remains sitting there patiently until it’s over, refusing to leave her alone in this condition.

>>Master List for The Story of Hanna Light<<

#TSOHL #command prompt #way to go pears #you scared Hanna so bad that she passed out #way to go #this was honestly the HARDEST thing I've ever written before #hands down

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honeylikewords · 6 years ago

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What’s this?! My favorite writer is now trying her hand at Peter 🅱️ Parker?!?! *i place an offering of candies and honey at your feet* Please, if you have any: some hcs for this foolish soul...

Aw, shucks, I’m your favorite? That’s so darn sweet of you to say! I feel so honored to be someone’s favorite writer! I accept the candies and honey and, in return, here are some Peter B Ponderings for you!

( @regrettablewritings, It He)

General, Non-Romantic Thoughts/HCs:

Peter is actually lowkey lactose intolerant. It was worse pre-bite, meaning he basically could never have cheese or milk without getting horribly ill, and while it’s better nowadays (with the combination of age, practice, and enhanced health from the spider bite), he still gets a tummy ache if he ingests too much dairy. That being said… he always ingests too much dairy. He just loves that good, good pizza cheese too much to resist.

Peter collects a lot of knick-knacks and tchotchkes. He makes jokes about it being tacky to own one’s own merch, but he does admit he has a fondness for some of the Spidey memorabilia he sees around New York. He’s been known to go to conventions (as a photographer for the paper, documenting the events with his press badge) and end up wandering the artists’ alleys, sometimes buying their unlicensed Spidey stickers or handmade plushies. He thinks it’s sweet that people care that much.

On a similar note, if a child EVER gives him ANYTHING meant for him/Spidey, he keeps it. Every time. Even in his lowest, grouchiest state, he always kept things made for him by children and never declined them. He keeps everything in a filing cabinet in his home, and a couple more in the Spider-Shed/his hideout. The Spider-Shed is wall-to-wall covered in drawings children have made for him, letters from kids he’s saved or who admire him, pictures of him posing with kids who asked for a photo op with their favorite hero. It keeps him motivated: do it for the people who look up to him.

Speaking of his hideout, which is technically on May’s property, Peter B. owns Aunt May’s home. After she passed away, she left the house to him in the will, so he does own it. The only reason he didn’t immediately move in there (and instead got that crappy loaner apartment) was because he felt it would be too big to be in all alone, much less all alone with all the painful memories. He was in a dark, hurting place in his life, and the idea of living in his childhood home without his mother figure, without his loved ones… it ached too badly to even think about. So, instead, he put all of May’s things in storage and rented the house out temporarily. However, after the events of Spider-Verse, he decided to move in, feeling better about himself and his future. It’s what May would have wanted: for him to go home.

Peter is an 80′s kid (born in 1981!), so he has a fondness for the stuff he grew up with, while still being able to enjoy newer things. That being said, he’s a bit of an old coot and codger about certain things. For example, he hated the Star Wars prequels and, if probed, will go on a rant about how they almost destroyed the Star Wars franchise and how, if he could, he’d go back in time and slap George Lucas silly for trying to make all that happen. “Mace Windu is the ONLY good thing about the prequels,” he hisses. “The O N L Y good thing.”

On that note, Peter does actually still own VHS tapes and a player that he keeps fully functional. He’s very techy, very gifted with computers, and very capable of keeping up with every detail of the technical realm, but he also has a fondness for older, clunkier, almost ‘analog’ machines. Plus, there’s just something pleasing to him about the pop and crackle and fuzz of a VHS tape. He has all of his childhood/teenage tapes still, and insisted May never throw away their tapes. Every movie they ever owned is preserved, and he can go back and revisit them any time he pleases. Sometimes, when he’s working on a new gadget, tinkering away at his workbench, he’ll put on a VHS in the background and just let the movie play itself out while he works. He often plays the original Star Wars films, The Goonies, or Jurassic Park. Sometimes he’ll pop in VHSes he recorded of original Star Trek episodes or something like Quantum Leap. He likes sci-fi stuff the best.

Peter’s hair is Like That because it’s the one thing he actually bothers grooming. May used to always get on his case as a kiddo because he had messy hair, and it was the one aspect of his grooming he could control (he didn’t grow facial hair for quite some time, so this was just about the only thing he could do for most of his adolescence and young adulthood), so he knows to at least bother to brush it over. Every time he does it, he can imagine May standing in the bathroom door, watching him brush his hair, and remember the way she’d pinch his cheek and call him “the handsomest boy in Queens”. It makes him smile.

Peter is slightly far-sighted, needing reading glasses. His eyesight was, for the most part, fixed with the spider-bite, but that mostly just gave him incredible long-distance vision. Up close, however, especially now that he’s a touch older, he needs a little help.

Peter B. Parker is, of course, Jewish. He still practices and regularly visits synagogue, and has done a number of community efforts both in and out of the suit. Spider-Man is welcomed at a number of institutions of faith in New York, and Peter has been to at least one service at each (he’s attended church, mosque, temple, synagogue, et cetera) while in the suit. He’s very proudly Jewish, as evidenced by his wedding, and happy to be part of the community.

Peter likes going to the movies, but has found that, now that he’s getting older, if the movie isn’t very good, he might just doze off and fall asleep. It’s embarrassing how many times he’s been caught at the local theatre, slouched in his seat, snoring into his half-empty popcorn bucket. Sometimes the workers will mistake him for a homeless man, and the number of times he’s had to show ID and prove that he’s not homeless is… even more embarrassing.

Peter doesn’t eat too exotically, but he’s willing to try lots of things. He lives in New York, after all, one of the most densely interculturally populated cities in the world! He’s open to experimenting and seeing what lies in the unprobed realms of cuisine. But don’t offer him anything like live animals, slimy stuff, “prairie oysters”, eyeballs, et cetera. Sometimes, you just need to pass on the more questionable dining experiences.

Peter, absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, cannot dance. This video is a reference to how he dances.

youtube

Peter thinks white chocolate tastes like grease, dark chocolate is too bitter, and only super processed milk chocolate is good. This guy eats whole boxes of Goobers, too, just because he likes the chocolate. “I try to ignore the peanuts,” he says around a mouthful.

Peter B. Parker has been hit by several taxis. He now hates taxis.

Peter B. Parker has a love-hate relationship with the new Star Wars sequels. He also thinks Poe Dameron is mad hot, but somehow familiar. Where does he know that voice…?

Peter’s favorite time of year is winter. Summer is a b o m i n a b l e in New York, spring’s fine, autumn beautiful, but Peter loves a good, chilly, brisk winter’s day, and the promise of snow. He doesn’t get especially cold in the suit, either, since it’s perfectly designed to always maintain thermodynamic equilibrium.

Peter loves a good, hard hug. Especially if it’s hard enough to pop his back a little. He’s more of an ‘acts of service’ affectionate kind of guy, but he can really appreciate a good, strong, loving hug. And if it alleviates a little of that pressure in his spine? Well, all the better!

#messages #long post #spiderman #into the spiderverse #peter b parker #gif warning #Anonymous

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baby-blossoms · 6 years ago

Text

A Hint of Scotch

Pairings: Tony x Reader, Peter Parker x Reader (Platonic), Steve Rodgers x Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 3,125

Summary: requested fic from Anon, “Can you write an Tony angst fic where he tries to break up w reader bc he doesn't think he's good enough? fluffy end please?”

Warnings: Just very angsty and over-dramatic because that’s how I was feeling when I wrote this? Some light cursing, I believe. Please notify me if I missed anything.

You were hurt, confused, and frustrated. Tony was ignoring you, or at least that’s what you assumed was happening. You couldn’t understand what you had said to make him so upset with you, but all you knew was that you had spent a weekend together cuddling and laughing, and the next day all you got was radio silence. You called, texted, even went out of your way to ask anyone you thought might see him throughout the day to tell him to call you.

It had been almost a full week and now you stood on the steps of Stark Towers feeling desperate; but isn’t that love? Don’t you deserve to be desperate, to demand an explanation for why the love of your life suddenly didn’t care? Didn’t you at least deserve to try and fix whatever you did? You took a shaky breath, terrified of what you might find in that tower.

What if you found another woman, and Tony had decided he was bored with you? You thrust that nauseating thought from your head. Tony would never do that to you, and he would at least have the decency… Sighing, you walked into the building, your stomach twisting into a knot when you were stopped at the elevator.

“I’m sorry Ma’am, we can’t let you enter the upper floors of Stark Towers without an appointment.”

Your heart felt like it was being squeezed by metal compressor, then stomped on by a spiked boot. Holding back tears, you forced a smile at the security guard you had been greeted by so many times before.

“I’m just here to pick up my things, I guess.”

You said, deciding it was the truth, if Tony went to these lengths, it was obvious you weren’t welcome back into his life, and you weren’t very willing to humiliate yourself by trying to force your way back into it. The tremor in your voice threw out what was left of your dignity, and Alex softened at seeing the pain you were struggling so hard to conceal under your smile.

“I’m sorry he’s doing this, Y/N, go get your stuff.”

He whispered, letting you enter the elevator. When the doors closed, you slowly pressed the button you were so familiar with, and leaned against the wall, letting yourself sink to the floor while you waited to arrive. You stared at the doors, wondering how you should be reacting to this situation, being abruptly dumped by one of the only people you had ever grown to love. You couldn’t even find it in your heart to be mad, you only felt lost.

When the elevator finally arrived, you hauled yourself off the floor and made your way to the bedroom. You slowly gathered your things and stuffed them into an extra bag you always kept at Tony’s. Each thing you packed away felt like another part of you that was slowly being erased from his life, and it burned you even more to remember that this is how he wanted it. He wanted you to disappear from his life, to never see you again. Why else would he go to such lengths to cut you out?

Your eyes burned with the tears you wouldn’t let spill when you picked up the last item you had yet to pack. A picture of you and Tony, he grinned lovingly at you while you smiled at the camera, it was your favorite memory with him. It was a Saturday morning you had spent in bed while he held you and murmured sweet things through even sweeter kisses. That morning was the first time he had said I love you. You decided against keeping the painful memory, not wanting to be reminded of the man dragging you through this waking nightmare every time you looked at it. Quickly, you sat the picture down on the bed, and hauled your bag over your shoulder.

Your knees nearly gave out when you walked into the living room to find Tony leaning against the bar, sipping a drink. In the soft gleam of the fast-coming sunset he looked otherworldly, even if he was violently ripping you out of his life, he still remained beautiful to you. You couldn’t help but feel your abused heart stutter at the sight of the man you were so pathetically in love with. You wanted to scream when he seemed to look right through you, like you were nothing. After putting so much time, effort, and love into your relationship, he looked at you like you were nothing to him.

“Tony… I…”

Your voice sounded like it had been squeezed out of you. He looked past you and took another drink, which seemed to be the last straw for you. Tears finally flooded your vision and ran hot down your cheeks as you covered your mouth for a moment to muffle the gaps you took when you tried hard to stop crying.

“I’m sorry, I don’t- I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry…”

You closed your eyes, feeling like an idiot for caring so much when he didn’t seem to at all. After a moment of deadening silence, you quickly turned away and headed for the elevator, feeling sick to your stomach. You didn’t see Tony break down the minute you left, hating himself for doing this to you, and you didn’t see him practically drown himself in alcohol for the next few days. All you saw was the Stark Towers disappearing from your rear-view mirror as you forced yourself not to turn around and plead for Tony to talk to you.

Weeks had passed, and you had lost hope for Tony trying to contact you and explain that it was all a mistake, or some cruel prank that you would have ended up ultimately forgiving out of sheer relief. You had transferred jobs and moved into a different apartment, hoping a change of scenery would be better for you. As the weeks passed, however, your anger seemed to finally find its way into your haphazardly patched heart. You were infuriated at being tossed out like some worthless garbage, and you were pissed at yourself for falling in love with the very man that had tossed you out in the first place.

“Y/N, here’s the hot chocolate for booth 6.”

You snapped out of your stupor and nodded to your friend, quickly taking the drink and snatching a pre-made sandwich from the front counter. You took the tray to your favorite reoccurring customer, a teenager by the name of Peter who always came back at the most random hours of the day, which always happened to be the random hours you worked, but you thought nothing of it.

“Here you go, kid, I got you a sandwich on the house.” You paused, taking in his disheveled appearance, “I’m glad I did, too. You look like you need it.”

Peter laughed and accepted the sandwich gratefully,

“Thanks. You sound like my boss.”

You shrugged, replying,

“I just don’t want you fainting in the café, kid.”

Peter nodded, bleary eyed.

“I’m just a little tired. Don’t mind me.”

He said, yawning for extra effect. Your smile turned into pity,

“Why don’t you go home and get some sleep, Peter?”

You asked kindly.

“I’m working.”

Peter sighed. The look of confusion you gave him forced him to quickly backpedal,

“I’m on break, but I work an internship, he sends me on odd jobs after school.”

He amended, taking a sip of his cocoa.

“Oh,” you smiled, “no offense, but that sounds awful. Who do you work for?”

You asked, then knitting your eyebrows when he seemed hesitant to tell you.

“I’m not supposed to tell people.”

Peter said quickly, and you nodded, accepting his response, he was probably at risk of losing the internship if he just went around telling everyone who his boss was. You went to take care of your next order, and the moment you walked out of sight, Peter fished out his phone, typing his updates on you at about fifty miles per hour. He frowned, disliking how guilty he felt for spying on you.

The next few days were uneventful, spent delivering orders, making small talk with customers who had nothing else to do, and getting a permanent headache from the overly rude customers.

“Thanks, Y/n!”

Luke said, a newer customer at the café; the man was larger than Steve Rodgers but was somehow even nicer. He had recently gotten sick from the cold weather freezing over the streets of New York, and you had lost count of how many cups of tea you had delivered to him as he tried to soothe his throat.

You quickly shushed him while you handed him his latest cup,

“Stop thanking me. It sounds like an old beat up truck stalling horribly every time you cough, which happens after every time you speak.”

He opened his mouth to respond but you silenced him with an arched eyebrow.

“Good, now stay quiet.”

He nodded, smiling in amusement.

Walking to the counter, you accepted the hot chocolate that had been ordered for booth 6 with a smile on your face. You loved seeing Peter, he was like a ray of sunshine and always managed to make any day better. You walked to his usual booth, happily digging around in your apron, trying to find a postcard you had bought because it reminded you of him.

“Okay, so I found this amazing postcard on the way to work the other day. I bought it, so I could show you.”

You finally found the postcard and pulled it out, handing it to him along with the coffee.

“Thanks, Ms. Y/n! Would you mind if I ordered a black coffee with this?”

He asked, seemingly nervous.

“Sure, that’s okay. Since when do you drink coffee black, Peter?”

You asked while you wrote down the order out of habit.

“I don’t,” he hesitated, eyeing you carefully for a moment before continuing, “my boss wanted to meet me today, he said something about wanting to see someone he thought might work here.”

You nodded, turning to get the coffee ordered. Placing the order, a hand waving enthusiastically at you out of the corner of your eye caught your attention, and you turned to find Luke beaming at you and gesturing to his tea, you laughed and went to bring him a refill.

“Don’t thank me!”

You insisted while you poured his tea. He laughed silently, simply mouthing the words dramatically to you, causing the both of you to laugh even harder.

“All good?”

You asked, and he nodded in response, placing his free hand on the one you had rested on the table. You smiled politely to him, and quickly left when you heard your coworker call you for the black coffee order. Your mind was a frenzy of thoughts, and you weren’t willing to deal with a flirting customer right now, no matter how nice they were. You were annoyed that your shift wasn’t ending any time soon, and pissed that the moment you were shown affection, your mind reverted back to Tony.

Shaking your head, you rid yourself of the negative thoughts, and let a smile overtake your face, excited to hear some of Peter’s stories from his high-school. You found it amusing to hear him talk casually of the classes you would’ve failed miserably to pass when you were in high school. The kid was smart, and you had to hand that to him.

Grabbing the black coffee off the counter, the scent reminded you of Tony, how he would always taste of black coffee with a hint of scotch when you kissed him. He would always smell faintly of it when you went to bed at night with his arms wrapped around you, and you knew most days he would wait for you to fall asleep, then stay up working to the ungodly hours of the morning. No matter what, he always made sure that he was there when you woke up in the mornings.

Realizing you were glaring at the coffee because of the memories it slapped back into your head, you chuckled to yourself and walked toward booth 6.

“Peter, you never told me if that robotics project worked out! Did you and Ned figure out how to get it up and running?”

You called as you walked toward the booth. Peter nodded at you, his posture rigid with anxiety as you got closer. You went to ask him what was wrong, but your voice quickly died in your throat at the sight of Tony Stark sitting across from him.

“Did I not mention that my boss is Mr. Stark?”

Peter asked, his voice taking a higher pitch than usual.

“No, I’m afraid you forgot to mention that little detail, Peter.”

You hissed, practically slamming the coffee on the table in front of Tony.

“Enjoy your coffee.”

You said, venom seeping through your words. You left them at the booth, not bothering to say another word as you begged someone to cover your shift and left the moment you could.

The next few weeks you were bombarded with your favorite flowers being delivered to your doorstep, along with presents, apology notes (you couldn’t stop yourself from reading every single one the moment you got it, even if Tony’s handwriting was atrocious), and teddy bears. You sighed tiredly when you opened your apartment door to find a teddy bear practically the size of the door waiting for you. Somehow, Tony had managed to attach your favorite picture into its paws. You smiled and took the picture, clutching it to you, then remembering the bear dilemma.

“Well, this is just great.”

You groaned.

“Yeah, this is the best one yet, in my opinion.”

You heard and amused voice call out, muffled from behind the bear.

“Steve? What are you doing?”

You giggled as he picked up one of the bear’s arms to wave enthusiastically at you.

“Tony sent me to help you get this one through the door.”

He said while walking around the bear and flashing you his award-winning smile. Your heart soared at the sight of your friend, and you didn’t hesitate to hug him.

“It’s great to see you, doll.”

He hummed, patting you on the back before going to haul the oversized bear in. Tony had bought you a Costco bear, and it made you soften just a bit to know he remembered that you’d always wanted one. You had told him about it such an impressively long while ago, and you couldn’t suppress a smile at the fact that he had remembered something others would deem insignificant. Your eyes wondered back down to the picture, and you felt your smile widen.

“Y/n, why don’t you just talk to him?”

You glanced to Steve, who looked at you knowingly.

“What would I even say? Oh, yeah, it’s fine that you ignored me for almost a full week, then acted like I didn’t exist… Successfully convincing me that you’d completely fallen out of love with me and want nothing to do with me.”

Steve sighed, looking to the bear, then back to you, his eyes filled with sarcasm.

“He ranted to me about why he needed to buy you this bear the entire ride over here.”

Steve pointed to a vase full of y/f/f,

“He ranted to me about why those are your favorite flowers, too.”

He nodded his head to a stack of teddy bears on your counter,

“He also ranted for a good hour on why you liked traditionally colored teddy bears above all, and how you like your stuffed animals to be a very precise amount of stuffed, and he dragged me to about seventy different toy stores to find the perfect ones.”

He gestured to your apartment, which was starting to resemble either a toy shop, a post office, or a garden.

“Do you really think he would go to all this trouble if he didn’t love you? Would someone who wants nothing to do with you buy you an insanely large teddy bear just because you offhandedly mentioned always wanting one since you were six? Just talk to him, Y/n. Please… hear him out. If I have to listen to one more rant about why he’s buying you another extremely specific teddy bear, I’m going back into the ice.”

You forced back a laugh,

“Don’t say that Steve, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grinned at you,

“Then I suggest you talk to him. He’s stressed himself to the point of passing out on the apartment doorstep.”

You nodded, telling Steve to send him upstairs. Steve practically lifted you off the ground in a hug, and swiftly went to fetch Tony. Your gaze slowly wondered down to the picture you held, your anger melting away to reveal the pain that had been hiding behind it.

“That’s my favorite picture.”

Tony’s voice said from beside you. You turned to him, studying him for a moment before replying,

“Yeah, it was mine too.”

Tony frowned, taking a small step toward you,

“Y/n, I should’ve handled it better.”

You were too tired to get mad again, and too tired to yell.

“Yeah, you probably should’ve.”

You murmured, looking back down to the picture.

“I’m never going to be good enough for you, Y/n, and I wanted to get everything over with before you had the chance to realize that. The moment I made you cry, I realized that even if I’m not good enough, I’m too selfish to leave you alone.”

Shaking your head, you sighed, finally looking back to him and responding after a moment.

“For being such a brilliant man, people would never guess what a numbskull you can be.”

Tony grinned, but you held a hand up, silencing any reply he might be forming quickly.

“Don’t you think I should be the one to judge whether you’re good enough for me or not, Tony? You don’t get to stomp on my heart because you’re scared of the possibility of me stomping on yours.”

Tony nodded, agreeing with you silently.

“I would punch you in the face right now,” you started, “but I love you far too much. I mean, even if I beat you to the ground, the obscene amount of teddy bears you sent would cushion your fall.”

Tony beamed when he processed that you had said you loved him, and eagerly brought you into a hug, successfully knocking the air out of you.

“I love you too, Y/n.”

He said, loosening the hug to bring you into a kiss. He tasted like coffee, with just a hint of scotch.

#tony stark #tony stark fic #tony stark fanfic #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark x reader #fanfic #fic #fanfiction #x reader #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #ironman fic #ironman fanfic #ironman fanfiction #marvel #x reader fanfic #x reader fanfiction #x reader fic

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writingwithadinosaur · 8 years ago

Text

“Better Hands” - Part 2

Part 1 - Here

My Masterlist - Here

Leonard “Bones” McCoy x Reader

Word Count: 3693

Key: Y/N = Your Name, L/N = Your Last Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Talk of Abuse, Mentions of Abusive Ex, Cursing, Talk of Injuries,

Summary: After being in an abusive relationship, you have been able to turn your life around thanks to the help of the team. But when you have to go back to your ex for some of your things, some shit goes down.

Author’s Note: So this is my first Star Trek piece and I’m super fuckin nervous about it. I’m not a huge Trekkie, but I am a fan of the newer films. Those are what I base my fics off of unless stated otherwise. But yeah, I hope you enjoy!

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces (All Works, Specific Fandoms, or Specific Multi-Parts), please let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

- DreaSaurusREX

Tags: @goodnightwife @theeactress @the-witching-hours12-3 @amyapathetic @pokeharvest @iwillstaywiththemforever

His grip was tighter than you thought possible. The cuts were deep and your body screamed where he kept punching and kicking you. You couldn’t do anything. You were too weak to fight back or even try to call for help. But you tried.

You managed to get one little squeak out of your vocal chords before they were clamped shut by the same grip that had your arm moments earlier. You clawed and struggled to breathe as you looked at the face of your ex looming over you. Whatever he was saying was muffled as everything became darker and darker.

You shot up out of bed and reached for your throat before jolting from the pains of the real cuts and bruises that littered your body. It was just a nightmare. At least that beating was. You looked at your alarm clock and read 7AM, only 15 minutes before you had to really get up. But there was no point in trying to go back to sleep, so you got up and tried to get ready for the day.

You went into your bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet and searched for a specific medicine, one that would help ease the pain even a little bit. You found a generic pain killer and took two before going to the kitchen and putting a bagel in the toaster.

“I guess I’ll be wearing long sleeves for awhile now.” You muttered to yourself as you found a suitable shirt to go along with some looser fitting pants and your boots. As you were finishing up lacing your boots, your communicator rang.

“(Y/L/N) speaking.”

“Mornin’, lass. You don’t have to come to the office first thing. I need you to get your tools and head to that troublesome pipe in the lower section. It’s goin’ haywire again. You know what to do.” You could hear him walking somewhere, probably another pipe. Usually went one went, another nearby would be next.

“Sounds good, Scotty. I’ll let you know when I finish up there. Stay safe.”

“You too, (Y/N).” And with that, your com clicked off. You gathered your tools in a bag, grabbed your bagel, and headed to the elevator to take you to the lower section. Hopefully the painkillers would kick in soon.

~~~~~~~~

It turned out that it wasn’t the pipe that was messed up, but one of the scanners that was connected to it. You hated scanners. They were more complicated to fix than they should be, but you had to do it. You were on com with Scotty and told him the problem.

“Try your best to get it back up and running. I’ll head over and help. See you in a few.” Scotty was better at this than you, but you did have to at least try.

You knew that you needed to cut a section off and replace it, but in order to do so, you had to use a very sharp knife. Pulling it from your bag, you got to work. You were weaker today thanks to the various injuries on your torso and arms. You tried to put more force into the knife but ended up slipping, hitting your shoulder against the wall, and dropping the knife. You had hit your shoulder right on a bruise and a nasty cut. Just my fuckin luck.

The other tools fell to the floor as you somehow grabbed the knife from mid-air. You did however grab it by the blade side instead of the handle, which caused you to flinch and drop it again. You were leaning down to pick up your tools when you heard footsteps quickly coming down the hall and stopping in front of you. It was Scotty.

“(Y/N)! You okay, lassie?” You were going to respond when you saw his gaze go to your hand. You looked down and saw that you were bleeding, bad. The next thing you knew, you blacked out.

~~~~~~~~

The sterile white walls reflected the overhead light and caused you to squint your eyes as you woke up. You groaned in pain as you tried to sit up. You were up on your elbows when a pair of familiar hands where on your shoulders, helping you slowly get into a seated position.

“Hey! Slowly, darlin’.” Your eyes adjusted to see the calming face of Leonard. Apparently Scotty had called for a med team to come and get you. “Didn’t know you were that queasy around blood, (Y/N).” He sort of joked as he handed you a cup of water.

“Yeah, I didn’t know either.” In all honesty, it was probably a mix of the pain from the injuries all over your body, the new one in your hand, and the sight of blood. Overstimulation.

“(Y/N), what the hell happened? Scotty said he didn’t see what happened, just the blood and you passing out.” You explain to him that you lost your grip on a piece of equipment, hit your shoulder really hard and dropped your knife tool. Not thinking too much, you reached to grab the falling knife and ended up grabbing it by the blade and sliced your hand open before dropping it again along with the rest of your tools.

“I didn’t know about your shoulder. Are you okay? Let me talk a look at it.” You flinched away from him when he reached out and almost touched you. You knew how bad the injuries from yesterday were, and you really didn’t want to worry him.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s just a bruise probably. I really need to get back to work. Am I allowed to do that.”

“Yeah. I guess. Just be extra careful today. Don’t strain anything. If I hear from Scotty that you’re overworking yourself, I will personally walk my ass down there and make you clock out early.” You knew he was serious, so you just nodded and turned to leave.

He grabbed your uninjured hand and turned you to face him again. “Hey. I love you, darlin’. You know I’m just worried about you.”

He really was, and you knew that. You knew that he would never hurt you in any way. You nodded your head and pulled him down into a kiss. It wasn’t long, but it wasn’t short either. It was just enough of everything to be reassuring to both of you and make you both forget about the world for a moment. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his.

“I know you are just looking out for me. And you know how much I love and appreciate you for it. I will try my best to be safe.” He kissed you once more, this one a bit quicker than the last before letting you go.

As you were heading out, he called out to you. “(Y/N)! Dinner. 6 o’clock. My place.” You smiled a big, true smile, before nodding and heading back to work.

Later on, you finally finish work even though Scotty made it almost impossible for you to do anything. He was too worried about you injuring yourself more. You were more of his assistant that his equal after this injury. But you knew it was just temporary.

~~~~~~~~

It was 5:30PM. Finally time to clock out. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t exhausted. You ended up overworking yourself a bit, like usual, but Scotty didn’t notice.

You had just enough time to head back to your room, drop off your stuff and change before meeting Leonard for dinner. So you said your goodbyes to Scotty and took the lift to your floor. Once there, you carefully stripped out of your uniform and put on a dress you had recently bought. It would me a nice surprise for Lee. You looked in the mirror and saw the nasty bruises that covered your upper arms. Sighing, you reached for a cardigan.

“I can at least push the sleeves up to my elbows and say these bruises are from work.” You thought out loud as you fixed yourself. You looked at your watch and saw it was 5:50. Time to head to Lee’s.

~~~~~~~~

Dinner was fantastic, as usual. Not many people knew how great of a cook Leonard was. All they saw was a sarcastic asshole with a short fuse. But you knew him better than anyone.

The two of you talked about having you spend the night. And while you were worried about him seeing your injuries, you agreed. You could just wear one of his long sleeved shirts and your sweatpants that you left here. After your discussion, you got up and tried to help with the dishes afterwards but got a look from Leonard.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing? Go sit down and relax.” He had a smile on his face. He truly loved being with you alone and just living outside of the medbay.

“I am helping you with the dishes, even if all I can do is dry them.” You picked up a plate and tried to dry it when his hand found yours. You looked up and met his eyes.

“(Y/N). Go relax. Or am I gonna have to pick you up and make you go sit down?” The thought of him picking you up hurt. It would definitely push on all the wrong spots. So you gave in, but tried to be playful about it.

“Fine. I’m going to go shower then. I feel disgusting after work today.” He smiled in response and leaned down to kiss you. He put an arm around your waist and felt you tense up. He instantly pulled back and was worried.

“What happened? You okay?” He held onto the tops of your arms, getting another flinch out of you. He quickly pulled his hands off and got even more worried.

“I’m fine! Sorry. I just am really sore after today and yesterday. Lots of heavy lifting and muscle work. I guess my body isn’t used to it quite yet.” You put your hand on his cheek and kissed him once more. “I think a shower may help. Movie after I get out?”

He just nodded his head yes as he carefully looked over you, obviously still worried. You smiled at him and tried to give him a reassuring gaze before turning and heading to the shower. Time to tackle this obstacle.

You’re thankful that the water doesn’t hurt as bad as it did yesterday when the cuts were fresh. That being said, it still hurt like a bitch. You did your best to stay quiet, but when you moved your arm to try to rinse your hair, it must have reopened a wound. There was a sudden intense pain that shot through your entire arm and torso, causing you let out a sharp yelp. You covered your mouth, as if that was going to somehow erase the noise and prevent you from audibly crying cause of the continuing pain.

You knew the Lee most likely heard, and your thought was right. Within seconds of your yelp, there was a knock at the bathroom door.

“Darlin’? You okay? I heard something.” You had to try to steady your breathing enough to respond.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just sore-” You were going to continue but stopped because your voice cracked. You knew what was going to happen next. Time for him to find out what’s actually going on.

As soon as Leonard heard your voice waiver, he opened the door. He hasn’t come in the shower yet, and can’t see you thanks to the opaque shower door. You’ve seen each other naked before, and you were comfortable around each other. You tried to talk again.

“Lee, I’m okay. I am. Just go back to whatever you were doing.” He knew something was wrong and he couldn’t let it pass by. You voice had cracked again and he could tell you weren’t okay, no matter how many times you said you were.

You heard him undressing and got so scared. What was he going to say about the cuts and bruises? He was going to get mad. Its Len we’re talking about, he has a short temper. Just breathe. Maybe he won’t be mad. But what if?

The shower door opened and closed quickly so the cold air wouldn’t get in. You prepared yourself for his shouting. But instead there was silence.

You were facing away from him, trying your hardest not to cry loudly. Because you were facing the other way, you didn’t see his face. It was one of pure worry and fear. He saw a massive series of bruised that trailed from your upper arms to your ribs and stomach. There were tiny cuts in various spots, but then there was one massive one trailing from your left shoulder, all the way down to the middle of your back. It needed the most attention out of all of the injuries.

He gently inspected the wounds. Once he finished looking at your back, he turned you around, looked over you for a few seconds, trying to see the severity of the cuts and bruising. You just cried. You lost it.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lee. I just… I--” He gently pulled you into his arms and very lightly ran his fingertips up and down your back.

“Shhh. It’s alright, darlin’. You had your reasons. Just focus on breathing right now. We’ll get you patched up. You’re safe.”

It had to have been a good 20 minutes before you could stop crying. Leonard helped you get the last of the conditioner out of your hair, being gentler than you thought possible.

“I gotta clean out these cuts, okay? It’s gonna hurt a bit.” You just nodded your head up and down, too tired to talk any right now. He started to wash out the big cut down your spine.

To say it hurt, was an understatement. As soon as he touched the wound, you grabbed for his hand without thinking too much. He held your hand in one hand while he continued to clean all of your injuries. He felt you squeezing his hand and felt bad for having to make you hurt more than you already did.

“I know. I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m trying to be quick with this. You’re doing good.” You couldn’t help the tears that flowed out of your eyes. They were because of the pain, and Leonard knew that.

It took about 5 minutes of cleaning and re-inspecting until he turned off the water and grabbed your towel, helping you wrap in around yourself. Then he grabbed his own and went to go get your pajamas. He came back less than a minute later with a pair of his sweatpants and a long sleeve, saything that they were bigger and would be roomier. You gladly took them and had him help you get dressed.

He quickly put some sleep pants on before helping you into bed. He sat you down and kneeled in front of you and took your hands in his. He could feel you shaking and it broke his heart.

“I’m going to have to close that nasty one on your back. If I don’t, it’s going to keep ripping and get even worse. I know it’s gonna hurt, but I gotta do it, darlin’.” He looked at you with a protective gaze. You knew he was right.

“Okay.” You managed to say, even though it came out very hoarse and quiet. He gave your hands a squeeze and kissed your head as he went into the other room.

Leonard had a feeling he knew what caused these injuries. He knew it wasn’t work. Scotty would never put you in something intensely dangerous. He pulled out his comm and made sure he was out of earshot and even then whispered.

“James. I need you to look into Tim. I have a feeling he lashed out again.” his voice was protective and angry.

“How do you--” James tried to ask, but was cut off by Leonard’s anger.

“(Y/N) is with me, covered in not only bruises, but cuts too. One big enough that I now have to stitch her up. So go get your ass along with two security officers down to that room and bust his sorry ass. Make sure he is thankful that he’s dealing with you three and not me.” James had seen Leonard angry, but this is a new form of anger. He knew better than to mess with it.

“Alright. I will let you know when he’s taken care of.” Leonard didn’t say anything else, just hung up. He took a couple seconds to gather himself and grab the first aid kit before heading back to you.

You had somehow gotten yourself to lay on your side, knowing that your back would need to be exposed for him to work. He came up beside you and put a hand on your waist.

“I’m gonna need to you lay on your stomach. Can you do that?” You nodded your head and slowly shifted yourself and the pillows so you were comfortable but did what he needed. He pulled the shirt up and had you hold it so he could have a clear space. He kept you informed as to what he was doing and when. He knew that comforted you whenever you had to get any sort of medical exam done.

He finished stitching the cut on your back, but now needed to take care of the part that was on your shoulder. To do so, he had to help you sit up and take the shirt mostly off. Enough so he could get to the gash. Now that he was in front of you instead of behind, you decided to tell him what happened.

“Lee?” Your voice was a only a bit louder than a whisper.

“Mhmm?” He was in full doctor mode. Focused on properly stitching the last of the cut.

“None of these are from work.”

“Well I should hope not. If they were, Scotty would be in a coma right now.” He smiled to let you know he was joking, you gave a small smile in return but then faltered when you thought about what you were going to tell him. But before you could say much, he cut you off.

“I know these are from Tim.” You just looked at him in shock and confusion.

“How?” He sighed before talking while stitching.

“When we first met, it was right after one of his beatings. Scotty brought you in and I helped you heal from those. These are similar to the past ones, but with the addition of the cuts. The bruising is the same though. And the only person who would try to take you down like this is that fuckin asshat.”

You both just sat there in silence for a few moments. He finished stitching and was putting a sort of gel over the stitches that was supposed to help it heal faster. You decided to speak up.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought you would be upset.” Now it was his turn to be confused.

“I thought you would be upset that I wasn’t strong enough to handle him or that I didn’t tell you or James or even Scotty about going to face him. I thought I was strong enough but I was just stupid and I should have--” You couldn’t get anything else out because you were forced into a kiss. Leonard knew that this was one of the sure fire ways of getting you to stop talking. When he pulled away, he looked at you with nothing but love.

“(Y/N). I could never be upset at you. You are strong. Maybe not as physically strong as some people, but you have grown and gotten so much better since the moment I met you. Yes, I think you should have told one of us what was going on. But I also understand why you didn’t.” You started crying again. But this time, they were happy tears. You were so thankful to have someone like Leonard in your life. He was everything you dreamed of and more. He moved his hands to your cheeks and tried his best to wipe away the tears.

“Darlin’, why are you crying? You’re gonna make me cry.” This got a laugh out of you, and he chuckled too but you could see him actually getting a bit teary eyed.

“That would be a sight to see.” He looked down, but you brought his gaze back up and kissed him again. This time with more everything. You both got lost in your own world until you tried to lay down and pull him with you. This caused another sharp pain to rip through your body. He instantly got up and went to get some sort of injection.

“This’ll help.” It was supposed to be a pain killer mixed with a small sleep aid. “As much as I’d love to keep going, you need to rest and heal. I’ll be here with you though. Every step of the way.” He paused before adding something else. “And I want you to stay here until you get back to a normal working ability.” You smirked at him.

“Are you sure it’s to keep an eye on me or is it for personal benefits?” He settled in bed next to you and put his arm around you while you cuddled up next to him.

“Maybe a bit of both.” You felt his chuckle rumble through his chest as you playfully hit him. He just leaned down and kissed the top of your head.

“Get some rest, darlin’. You’re in better hands now.”

You settled yourself against his chest and felt the medicine kicking in as your eyes grew heavier and heavier. You were out within minutes, Leonard wasn’t too far from sleep himself. He took one more look at you, making sure your were comfortable before he kissed your forehead and relaxed.

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#leonard mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy imagine #leonard mccoy fanfiction #star trek fanfiction #star trek fandom

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lostmemoriies-a · 7 years ago

Text

frances isn’t jealous . really . she isn’t .

well , okay , maybe she is . but just a little bit . it’s just not fair , though . not fair that jack gets to have a bunch of friends , friends who are cool and popular and frances is stuck . she’s stuck with no friends . jack was really her only friend . it’s sad to think that she’s a fucking junior in high school , her and her brother having turned seventeen just a few days ago , and she has no friends .

it’s halloween and normally frances would be ecstatic . it had always been her favorite holiday . she loved getting to pretend that she was someone else , someone who was happy and confident , for just one day . jack had always hated halloween though . which is why it doesn’t make sense to her that she’s having the worst time while jack is having fun .

this halloween party that thomas fucking jefferson has thrown every year since the seventh grade has been shit . frances had never really had fun at his halloween parties before . but they had been bearable because she’d have her jacky at her side . they’d make fun of drunk girls loudly singing karaoke together . but this year is different . since her brother got on the baseball team , he’s changed . he’s been hanging out with the other guys on the team . hanging out with jocks ( it’s kind of a slap in the face because they used to make fun of the self - absorbed jock assholes at their high school . ) . he’s been distant as hell . hadn’t had time for her anymore . it was always the guys this , the team that . but that was okay . frances wasn’t jealous .

barely twenty minutes into the party , frances locked herself in the bathroom and slid down the door to hug her knees tightly to her chest . she felt terrible . her and jack would always go costume shopping together . and she had stupidly waited until the night before , hoping that maybe that he hadn’t gotten a chance to go to the halloween store yet so they could go together like every other year . but he had already bought a costume , coordinated with the other guys on the baseball team . they were all dressed as fucking marvel characters . it made frances want to hate marvel , but she couldn’t - her , jack , and mom had seen pretty much every marvel movie on opening night together . and frances wasn’t wearing a costume . what a kick to the gut . it was like they changed fucking places , jack loving halloween and frances hating it now . she was wearing her favorite t - shirt , the one with the skeleton ribs on it , with a black and white striped thermal shirt on underneath .

frances wasn’t quite sure , but she’s pretty sure that she was having a panic attack . isn’t that great ? having a panic attack in the bathroom of a virtual stranger at the biggest party of the fall ? if anyone found out , she’d be ruined . at least she could blame the red eyes from crying on weed . that would be believable .

she crawled away from the door and climbed into the bathtub . frances thought that maybe if she was further from the door , then no one would hear her cry or talk to herself ( she had this habit . whenever jack wasn’t there to talk her through panic attacks , she’d just talk to herself . just another thing that would ruin her if anyone found out . )

“ i could stay right here or disappear and nobody would even notice at all , “ frances begins softly , eyes shut tight to try and stop tears from falling . it doesn’t work though . “ i'm a creeper in a bathroom 'cause my jacky kinda left me alone . “ she sniffles and shakes her head angrily for a moment . “ but you know what ? i'd rather fake pee than stand awkwardly , or pretend to check a text on my phone . “ she’s rubbing hard at her eyes now , throat closing up a bit , chest hurting from all the heaving . “ everything felt fine when i was half of a pair . now through no fault of mine , there's no other half there . “

frances silences herself when she hears someone outside of the bathroom . it’s just some drunk girl , though , someone singing along somewhat nicely to the music thumping throughout the house , despite the owner of the voice being completely shitfaced . she thinks it might be maria lewis . girl had a set of pipes on her that frances would kill for . but frances was okay with being perfectly mediocre .

she lets out a breath of relief when the footsteps from the girl retreat , probably off to get some more beer . whatever . frances didn’t care . “ now i’m just frances in the bathroom at a party . i forget how long it’s been since jack wanted to spend time with me . “ she hears a knock at the door , sitting up with wide eyes . “ no , you can’t come in ! ! ! “ whoever it was , they muttered a small ‘ damn , fine then ‘ and walked away . jesus , frances felt like she was going insane now .

“ i'm waiting it out 'til it's time to leave . and picking at grout as i softly grieve . i’m just frances who you don’t know , frances flying solo , frances in the bathroom by herself ! “ the first part is kind of directed towards jack . she knows he’s not there for her to yell at , but it feels good . after all , it feels like they don’t know each other anymore . it sucks . it really fucking sucks . but she can’t do shit about it , she can just wait it out , hope he’ll come to his senses soon .

“ i am hiding , but he's out there , just ignoring all our history . memories get erased , and i'll get replaced with a newer , cooler version of me . “ frances gets kind of choked up at the thought . it seems plausible though . there’s probably a guy on the baseball team who has a sister . a sister who looks kind of like frances , but much cooler . frances wouldn’t blame jack , if he left her for that girl .

“ i half regret the beers . “ frances finds herself mumbling , rubbing at her eyes , letting out a half laugh . she’s kinda glad she had so much already because her anxiety would be killer if she didn’t have some sort of buffer . “ as i choke back the tears , i’ll wait as long as i need . won’t come out ‘til my face is dry . or i could just blame it on the weed ! everyone would believe that in a fucking heartbeat ! “ frances clambers out of the tub now , stumbles over to the sink . she leans on the counter and glares at her reflection .

as she looks at herself , she realizes that she hates everything about her appearance . her eyes are too big . her lips are too chapped . her nose looks weird . her hair’s frizzy as hell . it’s pulled back into a messy bun , but it doesn’t help at all . and her freckles . god , don’t even get her started on her goddamn freckles . there’s far too many of them . she thinks it makes her look stupid , like she’s got specks of dirt all over her face . she spits at her reflection .

“ it sucks you left me here alone , “ frances says softly . she looks similar enough to jack that she can pretend that she’s yelling at him instead of her own tired face . “ you left me in this stupid fucking teenage battle zone by myself . “ she shakes her head , more tears flowing . she thought that she was over this already . “ i feel the pressure building up . big mistake number who - the - fuck - knows of today was showing up . “

frances chokes back a sob as she turns on the faucet . she bends her neck towards the sink , splashes cold water on her face . she takes a deep breath to steady herself . she feels herself slip into a better place after that . it’s nice . she’s finally back in her somewhat - happy place . it’s the one she slips into when she doesn’t want anything to do with jack . the one where it’s just her and mom . her and mom spending time together at the park , going to see a movie , anything . she keeps her gaze on the sink , somewhat afraid of looking back at herself .

“ i can't help but yearn for a different time . maybe middle school ? shit was pretty good then . maybe before we even started school . that’s when shit was still good . “ frances scoffs softly , looks back up at her reflection . “ and the present is clearer . and there’s no denying i’m just . . . “

that’s when she breaks . she collapses onto the floor , curls into a ball and starts fucking bawling . she’s gotten most of her anger out now . now she’s just sad . really fucking sad . “ is there a sadder sight than . . . “ frances wants to finish her sentence . really . but she’s thrown into another sobbing fit , throat tight and chest burning . “ what a heinous night . “ it takes her , like , five minutes , but she’s finally regulated her breathing back into a normal pace . she slowly stands up , rubbing at the tear tracks falling down her cheeks .

“ i wish i had stayed at home instead and watched some shitty movie on fucking hallmark . “ the anger’s back now . “ or , i wish i had offed myself instead ! “ frances is full - on yelling now . “ or maybe , i wish i had never been born ! then i wouldn’t be dragging jack down ! “ she punches the door hard enough to hurt herself , but not hard enough to break the door . her dad would kill her if he had to pay to fix someone’s fucking door because she couldn’t control her anger issues ( she needed to go to anger - management classes . maybe she’d look into it in college . if she wasn’t dead by june . ) “ i’m just frances who’s a loner , so she must be a stoner ! god , what a fucking loser ! frances flyin’ solo , who you think that you know ? ! “ frances covers her face with her hands , screams into her palms before flinging the door open .

as she’s looking for thomas fucking jefferson , she lets herself say one last thing . “ all you know about me is my name , “ frances murmurs as she finally spots the tall boy . one of jacks’ baseball buddies , judging by his iron man costume . she taps him on the shoulder and is briefly surprised to see that thomas fucking jefferson was just talking to jack . “ hi . awesome party , i’m so glad i came . “ she doesn’t want to come off as rude , so she relies on pretending - pretending that she was happy , pretending that she had had fun . frances had even plastered on a wide , rather convincing smile . thank god for taking drama all throughout middle school .

thomas fucking jefferson smiles condescendingly at frances before turning back to talk to jack . frances unintentionally glares at jack before turning sharply to exit the house . jack mutters some half - assed excuse to thomas fucking jefferson before turning quickly to chase after frances .

when he makes it outside , frances is already clambering into her car ( she’s sobered enough to be able to drive now . and they didn’t drive together . it’s weird and abnormal , but they’re not exactly the best of friends anymore ) . jack runs up to her , grabs her arm a bit harshly and pulls her close to him . “ what the fuck is your problem ? “ he says roughly , eyebrows narrowed . if looks could kill , frances thinks that she’d be a dead girl .

“ excuse me ? what the fuck are you talking about ? “ frances shoots back , free hand coming up to try to pry jack’s fingers off of her arm . luckily , it works , and she stumbles away from her a bit . she’s looking at him the way she looks at their dad now and jack seems unphased . it doesn’t sit well with her , the fact that he doesn’t care that he’s equivalent to their shithead dad right now .

“ you’re kidding . you were being so fucking rude to thomas back there ! “

“ no i wasn’t , i was being polite . i told him that his party was awesome and that i was glad that i came . how is that being rude ? “

“ polite ? ! you call that being polite ? ! you were fucking dripping with sarcasm ! “ john’s stepping closer to her and frances is flinching . she doesn’t like this at all .

“ so maybe i didn’t have a good time , what - the fuck - ever ! it’s not like you care anymore about me to want to check on me ! fuck you , john goddamn laurens ! “ frances hisses , gets in john’s personal space before side - stepping to get to her car , purposefully steps on jack’s foot hard . she climbs into the driver seat , slams the door shut , and is soon peeling out of her parking space and is off towards their house .

jack found himself just standing there , eyes following frances ‘ s stupid fucking pt cruiser , completely shocked . frances was never that harsh towards him . he knew he’d fucked up , but he didn’t want to admit that he had done wrong . he was stubborn as shit , and so was frances , so he was pretty much resigned to the idea that they’d never be friends again . but he didn’t care . really . he didn’t . if she’s going to be an ass , then he doesn’t want to fight to be best friends anymore .

#☆.（ᵗʰᵒᵘˢᵃᶰᵈˢ ᵒᶠ ᵖᵃᵍᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ʷʳᶤᵗᶤᶰᵍ）┊❝drabbles !❞#☆.（ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵐʸ ᶠᵃᵛᵒʳᶤᵗᵉ ᵗʷᶤᶰ）┊��verse 003 !❞#( anyways here's fuckin wonderwall.#its 6 am. i havent slept since yesterday. im gonna go pass tf out. love yall <3 )

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