#i forgot what a gauze was called too and had to search what a first aid kit contains in google

[kazumist]

HANDLE WITH CARE .ᐟ

✩ — in which soshiro hoshina finds himself getting treated by his favorite nurse, you.

✩ — includes: soshiro hoshina x gn!reader. fluff. cw: mentions of blood and injuries, inaccurate use of medical terms ?? sorry i just used google uhm. wc: 990. established (secret !!!) relationship. reblogs and feedback are much appreciated !!

✩ — note: i became obsessed with these two that i might just write a part two of reader treating him after the tachikawa base raid arc actually.

soshiro hoshina does not play favorites.

when it comes to his subordinates, at least.

when it comes to the medical team assigned to the tachikawa base, however, that is when he plays favorites (though you would never see the vice captain of the third division actually admit that; he prefers calling it his “preferences”). whenever he finds himself in the base’s infirmary, he will always look for you. and when he’s lucky, which on most occasions he is, then he’ll have you treat his wounds. it’s just something that hoshina has grown accustomed to whenever he finds himself there. nothing more, nothing less (a lie).

you were a special case for the vice captain. there was just something about the way you handled his wounds compared to others. call it picky, but he just prefers the gentle treatment that you give his wounds. (how come hoshina constantly prefers to be treated by you when others would treat him the same? isn't that part of your job in the first place?)

(the answer is simple—it’s simply an act of soshiro hoshina asking for some quality time, even if he’s all bruised and bloody.)

“i’m almost convinced that you do this on purpose sometimes.”

soshiro simply grins at you. you weren’t entirely wrong—but it’s not like hoshina asks himself to get hurt when he goes out on missions in the first place. he could handle himself pretty well; he has the high position of being the vice captain of the third division, for christ’s sake. but perhaps it is inevitable that even the vice captain would come out of a mission unscathed.

“i like the concern from you.”

you give him a lighthearted eyeroll, to which he only grins even wider. "i'm sure you do," yet that grin slowly dissipated as he winced slightly at the feeling of the alcohol touching the wound near his eyebrow. “sorry, did that hurt too much?” you asked him, worried that it might’ve stung too much for his liking. this type of close proximity was normal for you and him. after all, it’s not like this is the first time your face was this close to his—though those are times when hoshina feels rather affectionate with you rather than in pain due to some wound he got.

“nothing i can’t handle, love.” he says, recovering quite fast from the alcohol sting. he was then met with a gentle tap on the lips—hoshina knows it was a warning from you. “watch your words, vice captain.” you say, applying a small gauze pad to his wound and securing it with paper tape.

“can’t really help it when you look so pretty up close, sweetheart.”

you ignored his remark but soshiro could see the smile that tugged on your lips at the petname. you then moved on to his next wound, which is on his left shoulder. his expression softens as he watches you inspect his wound, a small amount of guilt bubbling up inside of him. “this is gonna need a little stitch,” you sighed, grabbing another cotton ball, pouring the right amount of alcohol on it, and preparing to gently dab it on the wound. “and this might hurt a bit again.” you give him a heads up.

“like i said, it’s nothing that i can’t handle,” he reassured. whether it’s you he’s reassuring or himself to convince himself, neither of you really know. he hissed slightly when the cotton ball came into contact with his skin; it was barely even heard that he hissed in the first place. but you noticed it; you always do. you would notice everything about the man before you and he would do the same.

after cleaning his shoulder wound, you proceeded to prepare to stitch it up. there was no one else in the infirmary at the moment; it was now only you and hoshina there. he silently watched you as you quickly arranged the surgical suture. and even when you started the stitching, the deafening silence was still comfortable. 

soshiro gently raised his right arm since it was uninjured and used his hand to smoothly tuck your other strands of hair behind your ear. you looked at him, raising an eyebrow at his gesture. he smiles at you in return. “your hair might get in the way. we don’t want my stitches to have your hair stuck in them now, don't we?”

you quickly finish up the stitch and put gauze on top as well. “i’m sorry.” soshiro’s apology is as genuine as it always is whenever he gets treated in this same room. “i’m starting to feel quite better now, though. couldn’t do it without my favorite nurse.” he continues, as he grabs ahold of your unoccupied hand.

he hears you chuckle at his words as you interlock your fingers together. “avoid arduous training or activities for a good one week and you’ll be good as new.” you said, sighing as now you’re finally done with treating your boyfriend. “eh? no fair. i have to go help the rookies train the day after tomorrow.”

“i’m sure captain ashiro would let you off the hook in the meantime, soshiro.”

“oh, we’re on a first name basis now?” he asks, and this time it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. you bring your other hand up to his cheek, caressing it as your thumb grazes his cheek bone. he leans into your palm as if it were a reflex. “we’ve always been on a first name basis, dummy.” you say.

“maybe all of my pain could go away if you just gave me a little kiss, you know, as your vice captain.”

“now that’s just abuse of authority. do you ask other nurses for a kiss too?” you pouted.

“that’s why your my favorite nurse.” he replies, clearly emphasizing the word “favorite” as he steals a kiss from you.

yeah, vice captain soshiro hoshina definitely does not play favorites.

[davidchiemcore]

transcript for DRDT Prologue Episode One! going to make this a series where i (hopefully) write down all the dialogue for drdt, if i dont get burnt out. at the end, ill post a google doc with them all together

???: ……

???: Fuck!!

???: Fuck, fuck, fuck, this really hurts…

???: Ouch, I really wasn’t expecting her to attack me like that.

???: I made a massive mistake to trust them. I can’t rely on anyone.

???: All by myself, I have to end the killing game.

???: And even if I can’t do that…

???: I have to kill Teruko Tawaki.

???: No matter what.

Prologue: Distrust and Despair

Teruko: …I had a weird dream.

Teruko: Huh? Where am I?

Teruko: When I opened my eyes, I found myself resting on a bed in an unfamiliar place.

Teruko: This looks like some sort of hotel room.

Teruko: Wait, how did I even get here? I have no recollection of coming here.

Teruko: The last thing I remember was–

Teruko: Ah! I was going to the entrance ceremony of Hope’s Peak Academy!

Teruko: But this doesn’t look like Hope’s Peak at all, much less any sort of school. Just what is going on?

Teruko: …

Teruko: No use staying here, I suppose. I think it would be best if I left this room and tried to find out more about this place.

Teruko: I stepped out of the room and found myself in a hall with 15 other doors exactly like the one I left.

Teruko: Do all these doors lead to rooms like the one I just left?

Teruko: They all have nameplates on them. The one I came out of has my name.

Teruko: Teruko Tawaki… That’s me.

Teruko: I don’t recognize any of these other names, though.

Teruko: I tried each door. They were all locked. Seems I’m also locked out of the room I just left.

Teruko: No good, I guess.

Teruko: I should keep exploring.

Teruko: AH!!

Teruko: I walked to the end of the hallway and rounded the corner, when suddenly–

Xander: AUGH!!

Teruko: *CRASH*

Teruko: I crashed into another person pretty roughly, knocking us both to the ground.

Teruko: O–ouch! That really hurt…

Xander: …

Teruko: Are you alright? Sorry for knocking you over like that.

Xander: …

Teruko: Ah-! You’re bleeding! Are you okay?

Xander: Oh. Yup. I’m fine…

Xander: Heh heh……

Teruko: E–eh??

Teruko: All of a sudden, he collapsed.

Teruko: Um–Hello??

Teruko: No use… He’s unconscious.

Teruko: …

Teruko: I can’t believe I accidentally knocked someone unconscious within minutes of being awake. I feel bad…

Teruko: I should find something to treat him with. Maybe there’s a medical room around here.

Teruko: After a little bit of searching, I stumbled upon what looked to be an infirmary.

Teruko: Let’s see. There’s bandages, gauze, various medicines–perhaps some ibuprofen?

Xander: Yeah, that would sound pretty nice.

Teruko: Alright, I see–

Teruko: Wha–AH!

Xander: Oh, sorry, did I scare you? I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that, really!

Teruko: Y-you! Were you just pretending to be unconscious??

Xander: Err, no. You did actually knock me unconscious. Well, I’m fine now.

Teruko: Oh. And, your eye…

Xander: Like I said, I’m fine now. Don’t worry about it.

Teruko: Are you sure? You were bleeding; that doesn’t seem like an injury to brush off.

Xander: Like I said!! Totally fine! I’m a tough guy, I can handle it.

Teruko: I’m still really sorry, uhm… uh, what’s your name?

Xander: Oh! Ack, how rude of me! I forgot to introduce myself. I’m making a terrible first impression.

Xander: Alriiight! The name’s Alexander Matthews. But you can just call me Xander, it’s much cooler sounding. I’m the Ultimate Rebel, nice to meet you!

Ultimate Rebel - Xander Matthews

Teruko: Ultimate?

Xander: You must have heard of Hope’s Peak Academy, right? An exclusive school that only accepts students, known as Ultimates, who possess extraordinary talents.

Xander: It just so happens that I’ve been accepted there! Pretty incredible, huh?

Teruko: Ah,you’re a freshman of Hope’s Peak? I am too. We might be classmates.

Teruko: I should introduce myself as well. I am Teruko Tawaki, the Ultimate Lucky Student.

Ultimate Lucky Student - Teruko Tawaki

Xander: So you’re the Lucky Student, huh, Ms. Teruko? You’re the one who’s got accepted by the lottery.

Teruko: Oh, right. That’s correct.

Teruko: Unlike the rest of the students of Hope’s Peak, my talent of luck is a little unconventional, so I hope you won’t find it too strange.

Xander: Strange? Why would I find it strange?

Xander: Everyone who’s got accepted into Hope’s Peak is given an incredible opportunity to build their own skills and talents so that they can later shape the world!

Xander: Even if you were selected by lottery, not scouted like normal students, you still have got just as much potential as every other Ultimate to develop into an even more amazing person!

Xander: As you know, everyone who graduates from Hope’s Peak goes on to become incredibly influential and important. That’s why being an Ultimate, no matter what kind, is a huge deal!

Teruko: I’m well aware of that. It’s just that… for me, it’s more than just lacking a talent.

Teruko: I’m cursed, you see.

Xander: …Cursed?

Teruko: Cursed with horrible luck.

Teruko: No matter what I do, I always become victim to misfortunes and accidents. I often fall or break things, or worse, injure myself. So do those around me.

Teruko: No doubt, your recent injury is probably as a result of the influence of this curse.

Xander: I see, that makes a bit of sense. It must be difficult living like that, I’m sorry to hear that.

Xander: And yet, despite that, you’ve still been selected to be the Ultimate Lucky Student. Maybe it was some twist of fate.

Xander: Even misfortune can be overcome or adapted, so I would take the fact that you’re here at this academy as a good sign! So, don’t give up hope!

Teruko: Ahaha… Aren’t you full of energy.

Teruko: By the way, just what kind of talent is “Rebel?”

Xander: Oh, are we discussing my talent now?

Xander: To be frank, I’m actually sort of pissed at the Academy for having given me this title. Calling me a “rebel” just makes me seem like some sort of unruly, lawless kid, which I am *definitely* not!

Xander: It's almost an insult to all the hard work I’ve put in throughout my life!

Teruko: Hard work put into what?

Xander: Revolution.

Xander: Simply put, I’m the sort of person who feels very strongly about everything. So whenever I see something that feels wrong to me, something unjust, I’ll do whatever I can to fix it.

Xander: For example, exposing corruption. I’ve got quite a number of corrupt government officials jailed. Society is messed up, and it’s up to me to change it.

Xander: Of course, in order to make any sort of impactful change in this world, you need to break the existing rules. That’s what got me the title of Ultimate Rebel, I suppose.

Teruko: Wow, I’m not quite sure what to think of all that.

Teruko: Or even if I can believe the things you just said.

Xander: Hey! You better not be accusing me of lying!

Teruko: But at the very least you seem to be very passionate and energetic.

Teruko: Moving on… Do you know anything about this place? I seem to have woken up here without knowing how I came here. And I was supposed to be going to the entrance ceremony of Hope’s Peak.

Xander: I was just about to ask you the same thing!

Xander: Have we both got kidnapped, or something?! If that’s the case, I’ll be pretty pissed at whoever’s responsible.

Xander: Err, sorry for getting worked up again.

Xander: But yeah, it looks like we’re in the same situation. Woke up in a mysterious room without knowing how we got here.

Teruko: What a perplexing situation…

Xander: No use just standing here. I’ve got an idea. We should look around, see if there’s an explanation somewhere. At the very least we can examine our surroundings for clues.

Teruko: Right. We may find something new.

Teruko: These large doors are conspicuous. We should check inside.

Xander: Fine by me!

Teruko: Xander kicks the door open forcefully.

Teruko: You could have just…

Teruko: Used… the… han..dle…

Teruko: Eh?

Teruko: We found ourselves in a large room full of chairs and a large, ominous screen at the back. But more importantly…

Xander: There’s other people here?!

Teruko: 14 other people stood in front of Xander and me.

David: Ah, have more people arrived?

Ace: Maybe they’re our fucking kidnappers! We should ask ‘em a few questions!

Arei: Are you two freshmen of Hope’s Peak Academy as well?

Xander: We are. Is this our class?

Whit: Whoa, new people. You guys got any idea what’s going on?

Charles: Don’t be ridiculous. I sincerely doubt that these two can bring any new information to the table on our situation.

Teruko: So, it seems our whole class is here.

Xander: Just what is going on? Have the rest of you blacked out when you were entering the Academy?

Levi: Yes, that happened to the rest of us as well. Our situation is awfully strange.

Veronika: Maybe the Academy is trying to surprise us! Wouldn’t that be fun?

Hu: If you two are in fact our classmates, why don’t you introduce yourselves?

Hu: I know this situation isn’t ideal, but at the very least we should be acquainted with each other before we try and figure out what’s going on.

Teruko: Ehm, introduce myself? In front of all of you?

Teruko: Wouldn’t it be better if I just talked to you individually?

Eden: That’s okay, then introduce yourselves to us one by one.

Charles: Excellent, another 10 minutes of time wasting. Why don’t you two take your time blabbering about insignificant things, it’s not like we’re in a potentially life-threatening situation.

Teruko: …Yeesh.

Xander: Hey!

Xander: Let’s talk to everyone together. That way we’ll both be way less nervous if we’ve got a friend by our side.

Teruko: …

Teruko: Thank you, Xander.

[scientistservant]

Oh yeah!! I completely forgot to mention this, but if any of you remember my posts last year on my old blog about a Long Live The Pumpkin Queen rewrite/fix-it-fic... that's still in the works! I just have a bunch of other projects I'm also working on but the prologue is almost done!!!!!

A small preview under the cut.

On a crisp autumn night in February, Dr. Finkelstein sat at a desk in his bedroom. Unintelligible notes were scattered about the table, the only noise he made was the tap-tap-tapping of his pen, along with a stray hum or two of thought.

The Doctor never liked to be too far from his work, but he greatly enjoyed his privacy — and so his room was tucked, inconspicuously, in a corner of his laboratory and away from prying eyes.

With another hum, Finkelstein opened the metal skull-cap that contained his brain and scratched at it; the Doctor did this whenever he really had to think hard about something — perhaps he was the one who started the phrase, “to rack one’s brain”.

With both hands Finkelstein shut his skull-cap in frustration, and got to his feet to search the desk’s drawers.

“Igor!” The ageing scientist shouted from his room and it carried through the hemispherical lab, the concave walls amplifying the volume and allowing Finkelstein’s hunchbacked assistant to hear, as clear as day, from the observatory’s cold, dark basement, “Bring me my tomes on apparitional properties!”

There was the sound of stumbling feet and panting, and after a moment Igor had entered the Doctor’s private room with a small tower of dusty books.

“I-I thought Master wanted to get rid of these,” said Igor as he tried to crane his head over the books.

“Nonsense,” Finkelstein stated matter-of-factly, “I never get rid of anything! Give them here.”

As the tomes were taken from Igor’s hands, a particularly dusty one slipped out from between two considerably less dusty books and fell, directly, onto the floor in front of the odd pair with a heavy ‘thump!’

The Doctor peered down at the book that now called the floor it's home from behind his small, black spectacles.

“Igor,” he said with a hint of both intrigue and irritation, “what is that?”

Through the dust, the book in question coloured a cool blue, adorned with a sparkling golden border on the covers both front and back. The book’s front bore no title, nor did the spine, yet in place of one was a dark blue silhouette of what appeared to be a lanky, bearded old man.

Not bothering to wait for his assistant’s answer, Finkelstein scooped the tome from off the cold, stone floor with a grunt. It was large in his small hands, and the dust collected upon his gloves, sparkling like tiny stars.

His right hand quivered as it reached for the cover, as though something dangerous would happen if the book were opened.

“Master?” Igor spoke up, seeing the Doctor’s apprehension.

Finkelstein clenched his hand tightly.

“Set the other books on the desk, Igor. I’ll look through them later.”

Right now, this tome was the only thing that held his attention.

The Doctor sat in a large reading chair that was nestled in a corner of his room, and opened the strange book to the first page.

He was greeted with wondrous penmanship, coloured a shimmering gold.

DREAMLAND: THE REALM OF DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES

the first page said. There was no author mentioned anywhere, as though the book had simply come into being one day.

Finkelstein continued to read,

The realm of dreams and nightmares is nestled in the deepest and darkest of wood. One can only find it if They have a strong dream They wish to fulfill. The souls of dreams will call to You.

The Doctor’s brow furrowed. He looked over, staring past the doorway of his private room, and into the laboratory.

On the operating table, covered in a white sheet, lay a body. It was nude, save for several layers of gauze completely surrounding the head and neck to the point of suffocation.

Tightly stitched seams of dark blue thread held the pale, grey-blue body together in sutures.

Finkelstein had been working for a long time on a creation he could spend time with, have conversations with. He felt he was far too old to start a meaningful relationship with anyone in town — that part of life was well past him now.

And so, instead of finding a relationship, he would make one.

But a creation made to converse with, to spend time with, needed a voice. A mind. The scientist of Halloween Town couldn’t simply ask a resident ghost to inhabit his dear creation, no — a ghost already had a life lived, its own memories and loved ones.

But a soul, made of dreams… his dreams — that seemed enticing.

Soon, Finkelstein made his way down to the observatory’s foyer, dressed in a moth-eaten cloak for warmth and an oil lantern in hand. Igor followed behind him.

“I’ll be alright, Igor. Don’t tell anyone where I’m going.”

“Master, is that wise? Going out into the Hinterlands alone? Igor should go with Master.“

“Don’t follow me. You need to stay here and look after the lab.”

“But…”

There was a tug on his sleeve — a useless attempt to have Finkelstein stay — and the Doctor whirled his head to face his assistant, a small hand clutching the door handle in fury.

“Igor, that is an ORDER from your MASTER!”

Silence seemed to fill the entire observatory and, not wanting to anger the scientist further, Igor backed away.

Finkelstein exhaled deeply from his nose, having opened the door. The cold night air greeted him, as did the silence of the town.

“I’ll return soon,” he told Igor, and the door shut behind him, slow and heavy.

The moon hung in the sky, bathing the town in its soft light. It had been a few days since the Doctor was last outside; the air in the observatory was old, dusty. The lab was no better. The strong scent of chemicals and strange liquids from pickled limbs kept in jars were things Finkelstein was perfectly used to — yet a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as the crisp, earthy scent of fallen leaves and cold, wet dirt mingled in the air.

[amalia-uwu]

S K Ó L I X

ΣΚΏΛΗΞ

Undertale by Toby Fox

Horrortale by Sour Apple Studios

Farmtale by GuinongTale_AU

Cover

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 (you are here)| Chapter 4 |

Warnings ⚠️: angst, unrealistic medical stuff, inaccurate medical stuff, blisters, gore, body horror, blood, injuries, tactile hallucinations, hallucinations, mention of / vomit.

🌾

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(Flashback begins / Axe's point of view)

Sans entered home after a long day.

He saluted me and went to take a shower.

When he came downstairs again, he ate a little. I looked at him concerned "Are you okay?",

He told me he was just tired.

We talked a little, then we said goodnight to each other.

He left without another word.

Before bed, I checked up on him. He was sleeping soundly.

In the morning, he didn't show up for breakfast.

I walked towards his room to check up on him. He was still in bed.

I walked closer and gently touched his shoulder blade. "Sans? Are you okay?" I asked.

He was sweating. He complained that his bones, joints, head, ached a lot.

I gave him painkillers. I brought some oatmeal with fruits and managed to feed him a few bites.

He didn't have the courage to even lift his bones a few inches.

He felt as if someone had drained all energy from him. That's how he described it.

I noticed some weird movement on his eyes, but I didn't mentioned it. They looked like they were dancing but it was shown a little ( see: nystagmus). 

He was sweating and... Uh.. Had chills. He was shaking. His clothes were soaked in sweat. I carefully lifted him and changed his shirt.

Anyway, I decided to let him rest.

I left home but kept checking up on him. I fed the animals, picked up some vegetables, watered some plants, cleaned etc.

Around 14.00 pm I returned home and he came down the stairs.

He said that he felt a little better. I warmed up some broth.

He told me that, he wasn't hungry and he made tea.

Still, I begged him to eat even a few bites.

He listened to my request and ate a little.

We had tea, then I told him to go upstairs again and rest. That.. I will handle everything. He.. smiled, thanked me and went to his room.

Around 18.00pm, I was outside in the patio; organizing some stuff (vegetables, jars, fruits tools etc) .

I heard a sound; like someone fell down the stairs. (*THUD*)

I turned and looked from the window.

I.... I... saw him.... on the ground. I called his name.

("SANS?!" Axe's voice echoed as he was recalling what had happened)

I left whatever I was doing..

I - I.. ran in and took him in my embrace. I called his name. I shook him slightly. I begged him to talk to me..

He was hyperventilating, sweating. His magic began oozing from his eyes, mouth, nasal cavity, sternum.

His eyes danced vivider.

With strain he said that he couldn't breathe, that it hurt.

He began vomiting /coughing blood and magic.

His face began  swelling  and he got covered in blisters, rash.

At first I panicked, everything was happening way too fast for me to process.

I sensed him clenching my clothes in a silent plead for help. That brought me back I guess.

Among the chaos I remembered Ophelia.

So, I teleported to Papyrus's room. My phalanges were shaking. I searched frantically among Papyrus's drawers...

When I found the address, I returned to his side.

..... At this point he was... unrecognizable.

He was barely moving, I could only hear his ragged breathing and him gurgling.

I picked him up and.... teleported here..... Sorry I... startle your doctors.. You know the rest...

(3rd person pov)

"you did really good!" Ophelia congratulated as she finished writing some notes.

Axe looked at the floor, focusing and trying to remember if he forgot something.

"If you remember something else please tell me no matter the hour". Ophelia's voice was low and soft. Motherly.

They nodded.

"Can we see him?"  Papyrus asked.

Ophelia gave him a long look "Yyyeees. you can, is just... Uh.. We had to wrap him in gauzes to keep the ointment in place. So Uhm.. try not to freak out.." They nodded.

She lead them to the room. They entered; Papyrus sucked in a breath.

Axe closed his eyes and looked away.

Saejun was laying on bed, his face minus his nasal cavity was covered in bandages.

His left radius and ulna covered in a thick gauzes.

He had bandaids and wrappings in different parts of his bones.

His neck and sternum were wrapped in great amounts of it. Papyrus stretched his arm wanting to caress him.

However, he clenched his phalanges and withdrew his hand. "When is he going to wake up?" he asked softly.

"I expect tomorrow or in two day.." Ophelia replied softly.

Her heart clenched. She didn't have siblings but there were people she cared about and sensed them as family.

She gently touched their shoulders. "Paps? Axe? I recommend you take some rest I'll call you".

They nodded with a forlorn expression.

"Come Axe you can stay with me". "I know a shortcut" Axe said.

Papyrus smiled at Axe. He waved at Ophelia smiling "see you tomorrow Ophelia and Thank you!"

Yet, in his eyes you could see fear, concern and sadness.

"Don't mention it Paps! See ya!" she waved.

Axe gently held Papyrus's shoulder. They teleported to the apartment he was staying.

It was close to the clinic. (The clinic is 3 squares below).

Once in the apartment, each of them took a shower.

Papyrus offered to wash Axe's clothes. He gave him one of his shirts to put on until his were clean.

Okay, Axe was much taller than Saejun.

But still, Papyrus's shirt looked a little like a mini dress; no that he minded, it was comfy.

[Note / Headcanon: Axe's height is 1.95cm. Papyrus's is 2.50cm. While Saejun is around 1.60cm.]

They were ready to sleep when Axe remembered something.

"Hey paps? I just remembered something".

"what is it?" he turned his attention to him.

"For a few days his been scratching, rubbing his body. Now, I know it's normal. Is just the way he did it. As if he was trying to remove something. Eventually, I asked him to be honest. He said that he thought he felt something crawling all over him. Something like maggots crawling all over him. He said that it was nothing to worry about. That his mind was playing tricks".

"Thank you Axe, I'll just notify Ophelia" Axe nodded. Papyrus texted her.

Once he put the phone down he looked at Axe.

"Axe?" his voice soft, small.

"hm?" he murmured looking at him.

"Thank you! It means a lot... if you weren't... there.. I.." he hadn't realized his eyes began watering.

Axe hugged him.

"It's gonna be okay! Paps.. He has us! Ophelia.. Everything is going to be fine!". Papyrus hugged him back.

It took him a while to recollect himself.. Axe said "Maybe we should rest... It's been a long day".

Papyrus nodded and murmured "Yeah..".

Axe looked at him, he put his hands on his shoulder "Papyrus? I am here..".

Papyrus smiled "Thank you Axe, you can talk to me too".

He smiled "I know, goodnight Pap".

"Goodnight Axe" he turned off the light.

They both laid down and tried to get some sleep.

It's been a really long day.

.

.

END OF CHAPTER 3

Chapter 2 Chapter 4

Comments, Constructive Criticism, Feedback, fanarts, fanfics are welcomed! 💙

[west-tokyo-incidents]

Cute little yips and growls barely break the quiet of the forest, lit up by the full moon. Shadows of trees dance across the fallen leaves and little paws chase them in their moon-light pirouette.

Rage and Mizho agreed to watch the pup while Paresse and Fusataro were hunting. Rage was reclined against a tree, watching the cameras they'd set up around the forest where they found people would frequent.

Mizho was sat on the forest floor, laughing quietly at the puppy who just discovered a cricket and was trying to eat it, making a face all the while.

"If you don't like it, stop eating it, Koko."

A little growl rewarded her. She shifted. One of her shoelaces trailed in the leaves. Instantly there's a werepuppy diving after it.

Rage looked up and smiled softly as Mizho started roughhousing with the pup. It's possible he's still caught up in the newness of their relationship... but he can't help it. It's cute when she lets herself smile and laugh like that.

"Hey, don't bite. That's rude."

Fusako had Mizho's arm gently in her mouth, growling and tugging lightly, but let go when Mizho blew on her nose. A tossed stick and the puppy was fully distracted again.

Rage looked back at the cameras.

"Ah, she got me a little."

And he was no longer looking at the cameras.

"You okay?"

"Oh, yeah, it's nothing." She moved over closer to show him. Little imprints of puppy teeth and a scratch from one where she'd let go. There was barely a pinprick of blood from the scratch. "Shouldn't do anything."

"Just make sure you clean it well..." Rage muttered as she grabbed their first aid kit.

She rolled her eyes, "I will, I promise. Fusataro will probably make me take antibiotics for a few days, too."

He nodded. Worry slipped away from his mind quickly. It really was just a tiny scratch, even when Fusataro finally got a look at it, she just shrugged it off. Yeah, maybe three days of antibiotics, but unless it started itching, it should be fine.

The scratch healed up in a few days and everyone forgot about it. Especially as Mizho missed her period and there was a brief panic.

And then.

Her vision started to get worse.

At the same time as Paresse and Fusataro.

And that scratch was at the forefront of everyone's mind instantly.

You know what hadn't crossed anyone's mind?

Paresse searched "werewolf puppy bites".

Turns out, werewolf pups, especially those naturally born and not turned, had a higher viral load in their saliva due to their small size. Even small cuts should be treated immediately.

Well. It's been three weeks.

They certainly figured out why Mizho missed her period, then.

It was a shock. But it was done with. At this point, there was no going back. Mizho was also a wolf now.

Rage had gone to talk privately with Fusataro, and Paresse was quietly talking to Mizho in the living room, giving her a rundown of what to expect in the last week.

The door from the studio opened, Rage holding a shirt around one of his arms and hissing in pain.

"The fuck did you do?" Mizho stood up and walked over to him, anger in her voice.

"I bit him." Fusataro sounded defeated from behind him, "We called Kia. She's going to help keep an eye out for us this moon."

Paresse sighed and got up to tend to the bite, "Well... I can't say I'm mad about it."

There was a quiet that settled over them, Fusataro fetching stuff for Paresse to patch the bite, Mizho leaning against Rage. They all knew that even if it didn't happen now, it would have eventually. With three out of the four turned... Rage wouldn't have stayed human long. Even if he and Mizho weren't together.

Paresse finished and pinned off the gauze... and then nuzzled up against Rage's shoulder, "It's gonna itch like a bitch."

"I know."

Fusataro sighed softly, sitting down with them. She'd never imagined having a pack again, not after the shit she went through before, but--

A whine-cry started up from another room. Paresse sighed and heaved himself up to go retrieve their kid, likely dirty after her nap. Fusataro was glad she'd gotten such a large couch, now, as Paresse came back and settled in with everyone.

She let out a low rumble in her chest and snuggled up closer.

It felt nice.

[lydiamoved]

“the mycologist” is a short story influenced by a 2021 news story of a man who accidentally sends himself to the hospital after injecting himself with shrooms. in this story we follow anne, a mycologist who becomes obsessed with the idea of injecting herself with the insides of fungi - an obsession that costs her her job, as well as some of her humanity. you can read it below - i hope you enjoy!

She knew the risks, as did everyone else. Hell, she could still hear them warning her against what she was planning to do, the way their faces contorted in some strange disgust that was foreign to her – and her line of study.  

Mycology – that’s what the glass paneling of her building said, proudly and in large bold letters. Mycology, and here she was, the head of the department, the dictionary of fungi for all the others who worked underneath her and couldn’t be bothered to remember certain names or attributes. Really, it moved her, the number of doctors and specialists she oversaw day-in and day-out, who paled instantly in comparison to her; everyone who watched her and clapped for her and worshipped her, all turned to cardboard cutouts whenever she opened her mouth, their own words made into a slurry of syllables until she left and allowed them to go back to their meaninglessness. But also, it annoyed her, how these soup-mouthed, so-called specialists, stared at her when she announced her plans. How they all, every last one of them!, managed to wipe the smile off her face with the way they gawked and waited for her punchline.  

“I’m going to inject myself with a fungus,” and? Must it always be followed by an and? It frustrated her, the need for clear-cut results and outcomes, and for once, for once, she would kill to experience a project with a bit of danger! When their reactions greeted her, she became even more determined, the days slowly bleeding into each other as she worked every hour she could, until every hour felt and looked the same. A month had passed, and she had not yet discovered that her eyesight had begun to dim, or that the cramp in her hand was permanent. Her working days, which was every day, were now accompanied by the grumbles of her coworkers, the way they said her name – Anne, in that sighed out way that meant pity. Their sympathy, she knew, was false and forced, a little lie they hoped she wouldn’t detect out of her own desperation.  

She saw through all of them, and they knew.

Naturally, after the condolences had gone around, she was asked into the Dean’s office for a short, friendly conversation. The request made her feel cold, and the walk to the office chilled her to the bone. She stared at pale yellow walls that fell into a mossy, moldy green. The chair she sat in scratched at her legs when she shifted, the fur feeling more like torture than comfort. The air felt stiff, the discomfort building in her arms and chest until she needed to scream. She felt her jaw unclench, forcefully, and her mouth pry itself open bit by bit, until her tongue went cold with a flood of fresh air, and –

“Anne?”

Reality flooded back to her, and she looked up. “That’s me,” and the woman in front of her nodded and gave her the go ahead, a shaky smile. Anne got up from her seat and went into the office, where another scratchy seat waited for her. This time, she didn’t sit; her nails slid into the wooden frame of the chair as if they belonged there, and she stood tense.

The Dean was an older woman, kind in her voice and kinder with her actions. She sat behind the desk that shielded her from acts of passion, but she welcomed any warm response, often initiating the hug or bundle of tissues. Today, she hoped, there would be reason to celebrate, and so she began with a smile.  

“You’re one of our top professors. I hope you know that.”  

She knew. She nodded.

“We don’t want to have to let you go,” and the Dean paused, taking a breath and looking down at her notes as if she forgot something. But, “But, you’re scaring some of the other professors.”

Anne’s chest tightened.

“I can’t begin to tell you how many reports we have, detailing the same behavior.”

Anne’s hands began to shake, her own words slow from her mouth.

The Dean continued, “if you resign, I’ll write you a recommendation letter to anywhere. I will make sure you get an outstanding position, I promise you –” and the rest of her words sounded like background noise. Anne’s ears flooded with static, her nails digging into the chair until they splintered instead of the wood. She heard very little afterwards: something about being transferred, the promise of being remembered, a very short you just can’t work here anymore, and all she could do was nod. The Dean waited a moment, and then stood from her seat behind her desk. “I hope you understand,” and when Anne nodded again, “we’ll be in touch, okay? All you need to do is secure another position and leave the rest to me.” A hand touched Anne’s shoulder, a little slow to deliver the comfort it was supposed to give, and then it was gone. Anne was shuffled out of the building, the door closing behind her, as quick as she had arrived.

 –––

The position she was promised came within a month or two of being asked to leave, and within this month Anne had found herself once again. This job wasn’t based around fungi – her old Dean had recommended something less science-based, for fear of Anne becoming knee-deep in her obsession once more, and so she had traded in her laboratory space for a cubicle, the goggles and lab coat for a nice suit and ballpoint pen, and she settled down once more for an occupation that made her fingers cramp and her mind shrink with disinterest. But the obsession never left her mind; it left a stain between her brain and her mouth, forcing itself between every other interest and her work. She found herself sketching down her plans, her desktop now full of searches of the easiest growing mushrooms, of the fastest growing, the slowest, and so forth. Orders were made, buttons clicked, and boxes shipped to where she lived, and her obsession slowly came into fruition. Her home was now a laboratory in its own right, a little makeshift in design, but it worked all the same: in one corner, a long table held six different bottles of various lengths, each filled with some strangely colored liquids; near her door, the lab coat she threw on whenever she got home, waited patiently for her arms to run through its sleeves; on the kitchen stove and counters, where food should have been, were boxes of that were labeled “FRAGILE” on their sides.  

Anne got home from work a little later than she had wanted and got to work immediately. First, she was to pick which fungi she would use. Lion’s mane was too loose and willow-like, it would be irritating to touch, she thought. Mealy tooth, Hydnellum ferrugineum, was too ugly for her to even consider. Slowly, she went through a list, Amanita franchetii, Calocera cornea, until she finally found the one she wished to take and inject. A beautiful thing, more beautiful than the others she had liked, Hydnellum peckii, Devil’s Tooth, with droplets that exuded from its pink and fertile undersurface. Not poisonous, but not exactly edible, it was perfect – something safe, something that won’t kill her, something that would change her body, but leave her virtually unharmed and unscathed. The other fungi were unpacked and planted in their own respective pots, and the Devil’s Tooth was left in its packaging, where it would wait until its time had come to be poked and prodded.

Second came the experiment itself. Her hypothesis was written out, I predict that when injected with fungi, Hydnellum peckii, I will gain some attributes of this fungi, and now all Anne needed to do was prove herself right. She grabbed a tourniquet from her table, wrapping it around her arm until a vein was visible. Then came the sterilization of her skin, a little gauze drenched in rubbing alcohol, then her skin was made shiny with the new cold dampness. A syringe, fresh and sterile, was brandished against one of the fungi's droplets, and she pulled the handle towards her. Red, strawberry-blood liquid filled the syringe almost immediately, and she smiled to herself, a mutter of finally on her tongue. Finally, finally, finally, the needle was steadily pushed against her skin, into the vein – Anne winced, a little bit of ache worked through – and the contents were emptied into her bloodstream.

Immediately, there was calm. And immediately, Anne bent forwards over her table, the empty syringe dropping to the floor and her hands slamming on the wood. Pain coursed through her body, uncomfortable, and yet it felt as if it belonged there, and then settled. Her mouth was open, as if waiting for a yell or scream to leave, but it never came. Slowly, she straightened out, and began to clean up.

–––

Three days had passed since her experiment, and disappointment was beginning to set in. There had been no results, or anything visible, so to say, from the fungi, except for a bit of nausea that came and went. Anne had gone to work, the same as any other day, and returned home to check her face, her arms and legs, for any sign of change, and then - same as always: nothing new to log. Quickly, she became frustrated. She considered giving up her profession altogether and committing herself to her new mundanity. She thought heavily about throwing away her syringes and beakers, her notebooks and experiment notes, and for once in her career, she felt uneasy. This failure, if she were quick to call it that, felt wrong. Anne checked her notes. She checked her measurements and rechecked after that. Everything was correct, everything was done in the right order, with nothing left behind or overdone, so why was there no change?

 A week had passed since her experiment, a week of mundane living. Nothing but a few aches here and there plagued Anne, and nothing was written down as interesting or special. However, on the beginning of the new week, the normalcy broke. It started faint and almost as nothing, with a bit of red pus oozing from her neck in the shape of a burst pimple. Immediately she was excited for this - something new, something fresh! It was underneath her jaw, the red river that flowed from her skin and stained almost everything she touch, and proved itself to be more of a nuisance than anything. Then the aches and pains started again, this time a bit stronger than before. Soon, she was unable to stand for longer than a few moments without being attacked in her side by a sharp jolt. Within the week, the red oozing spot grew larger, and the pains more frequent, often knocking Anne off her feet and sending her to lay in her bed, where she felt most comfortable and relaxed. Beneath her sheets was warm and soft, the perfect place to house her body just in case any other effects decided to come when she least expected them. Her occupation was forgotten, her mind taken up with how her body finally reacted to the fungi, how her hands shook when she attempted to write in her journal, how her eyes watered when she managed to stand for a mere few moments. Despite these changes, and despite the pain she felt, Anne enjoyed every moment of it. She reveled in the fact that she, herself, had done something deemed impossible and – more importantly – proven her old coworkers wrong. Now, Anne was correct in her experiment. She was correct, and she knew herself to be better than those who shamed her.

After another week, these effects had stopped. The oozing went away overnight, as if it had never happened, and the pains had subsided. She was expected to be at work once more, a duty neglected over the last few days in favor of her own experiments and thoughts. Returning was a dreadful deed, unwanted and frankly unneeded, but she did it anyways. She could barely focus to the words of anyone, to her customers who called or the coworkers who spoke to her or in her general direction. Curiosity had overtaken her, and slight disappointment had replaced the excitement she had felt once again. Why had the fungi’s effects only lasted for a week? She thought, both to herself and to any coworker who would allow her to tell them of the events. Why did they not continue? Why did they stop so suddenly? These questions puzzled her and even troubled her, making Anne scratch her head with a fierceness. Then, a curiosity overtook her: what if she injected herself with too little of the substance? What if she needed more, in order to experience full, more robust effects? Then another thought overtook her: what if she mixed the fungi with another, different specimen? What would happen then? Would she remain as human as she was now, or would she transform entirely into some pain-filled, oozing mess?  

Once work had ended, once Anne had reached home, the curiosity took hold of her once more. It seeped into her bones and sat in her skull like some old friend, banging against her brain - the interest, the intrigue, made her dizzy until she returned to the boxes of fungi, returned to the putrid and smelly things, and grabbed the first one that caught her eye: Hygrophorus eburneus, Cowboy’s Handkerchief. Because of the other fungi packed along with it, this one smelled putrid, the scent filling Anne’s nose and making her cheeks bulge. She wretched and gagged as she removed it from the box, the waxy head brushing against her hands and adding more to the discomfort she already felt. But here she was, consumed with curiosity, with want, and so she pushed through it. Again, she remade her laboratory in her home. Again, she sterilized a syringe and needle, and again she wrapped her arm with tourniquet and carefully, slowly, watched as the syringe inhaled the waxy substance inside the fungi. Then, she watched as the needle-syringe expelled the substance into her ready vein. This time, the effects hit quicker than the first. In an instant, a burning sensation filled her arm, and the wound where the needle penetrated spewed some red-white goo. Anne bent over once more, a pain filling her abdomen and then slowly crawling through her entire body; she opened her mouth and spittle dripped from the side of her lips. She screamed, silently, then lowered her body to the floor, and then, something strange happened - she laughed.

Anne laughed, gentle at first, then a bit louder as she gripped her stomach. Her nails dug into her skin, adding to the pain she already felt, and to stop laughing felt worse than anything she’d ever felt. Anne laughed, and from the needle-syringe wound, still spouting red-yellow ooze, grew a new plant. This intrigued Anne, just as the original oozing had intrigued her. Once again everything else was neglected, and this new plant became her only priority; she watched over it, cared for it the same as she would care for any plant. Once again, she found herself sinking back into bed due to pains that afflicted her, and once again the oozing returned, her own humanity thrown away for the fungi she injected herself with. She found herself calling out of work too often, and her supervisor calling her home even more so.  

“Anne,” she would always begin with a sigh, “you cannot just abandon your desk.” And she would rant on how good workmanship was required for this position, and she would question if Anne actually wanted this second chance at a normal, mundane job. Anne would laugh at her, sometimes under her breath, sometimes aloud.  

“I’m doing great things,” she would tell her supervisor. “I am doing things you can only dream of doing, and I won’t be persuaded into coming back there.”

Her supervisor sighed again, then would hang up the phone without another word or thought. Within the week, Anne received another call that she had been fired, and would be required to pick up her things sooner rather than later.

Finally, Anne thought, she was free to focus on her mission. Finally, she was free to document her fleeting humanity, the plant that grew from her side growing stronger and healthier and more beautiful each day, the oozing becoming almost unbearably putrid as it gushed from her neck. Soon more syringes found their way inside her veins, filled with puss and ooze and gushing stuff from other fungi. She digested the leaves of raw plants, even split them open and drank the water from inside them. Anything she could do to consume them, to speed up the effects, Anne would try, until finally she realized she could no longer. When the pain had become too great, when the way she doubled over caused a permanent stitch in her side, she stopped. When the plant that grew from her broke off and attached itself to her foot, where it grew multiple different children, she stopped. When her humanity had found its final leg, and she was bedridden due to the pain, to the way bile rose and down in her throat whenever she stood up and tried to walk, Anne’s experiment was complete.

Still, she laughed. When she vomited red and white ooze, she laughed. Underneath her warm sheets, covered in a thin layer of sweat and puss, she laughed to herself, until new plant matter and fungi grew inside her throat, and she could laugh no longer.

[genork-the-fandork]

As an add on to the playlists I created for this particular day, I also wanted to do some writing for the 01 kids as well.

For those who don’t know, I love the Digimon Adventure tri. character songs. (I even did a full blown analysis of the lyrics.) So I decided to do some short one shots featuring a lyric from each kid’s character song.

You can find the songs here in case you haven’t heard them. I found the English translations on Wikimon.

I hope you enjoy! <3

Tai

"If you get lost, I want you to hold my two hands"

Agumon hadn't made it home yet. Tai was starting to get worried about the little Digimon, so he grabbed his coat and went to look for him.

As he looked in the usual places (namely, food stands and shops), he was reminded of a time when he and Kari were little. They'd gone to play hide and seek in the park, and Kari had hidden so well Tai had been looking for her for over an hour. By the time he'd found her, she was crying because she had gotten herself lost and didn't know how to get back to him. He'd had to hold both of her hands and lead her back to where their mom was waiting.

Not that he expected Agumon to be sobbing, but he hoped he would at least find him before he got hurt.

It didn't take long. In the same park Tai had once found Kari in, he found Agumon, kicking his feet back and forth as he sat on a bench. "What took you so long, Tai?" he said, the long-forgotten wrappers of crepes and candies resting beside him.

"There was no telling where you were, buddy," Tai shot back, gently rubbing his knuckles into Agumon's head. 

The Digimon laughed and hopped off the bench, gathering up his trash to throw out. "I got lost, but I knew you'd find me, Tai. You always do."

Tai smiled. "I guess I do."

Even though he didn't need it, Agumon held Tai's hand all the way home.

Matt

"The seasons continue to change and we become adults"

"When did we become adults?" Tai complained, his legs draped over the back of the couch.

"About the same time we started college, I'm pretty sure," Matt quipped from where he sat on the carpet, staring out the window. He glanced over at his best friend, who looked put out by this answer. "Has it gotten through your thick skull yet?"

"You're one to talk," Tai muttered, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. "I can't accept it if I refuse to believe it."

"Yeah, yeah." Matt shifted his gaze to stare out at the sunset. His hand lifted and aimlessly searched for Gabumon's head. He'd taken to petting the Digimon's head like this whenever he was deep in thought. The contact kept him grounded; he had no fear of flying away whenever he did this.

"I think it was that summer," Matt finally said, his hand stilling on Gabumon's head. Gabumon looked over at him, immediately understanding his meaning.

"Which summer?" Tai asked. "In case you forgot, there have been many. Nearly ten now."

Matt chuckled wryly. "That summer. Ordinemon."

He didn't have to look to see Tai's eyes turn sad. Matt made it a general rule not to mention Ordinemon in front of his best friend, if only because it reminded him of Nishijima. But he could tell by Tai's silence that he agreed.

Matt murmured, "The seasons kept changing, but we'd already grown up."

They both kind of hated how right the sentiment was.

Sora

"It's alright, my feelings for you will last forever"

Sora sighed at the mess before her. "Biyomon…"

"Sorry, Sora," her partner said meekly, almost shrinking into herself as she refused to meet Sora's eyes.

It was hard to be mad at a Digimon who looked so adorable when remorseful. Sora's mouth quirked up on one side as she crouched down and patted the top of Biyomon's head. "How about you help me clean this up?"

"Okay!" the bird Digimon agreed.

They worked together to clean up the mess Biyomon had accidentally made, humming along to some song they couldn't name as they did so. Despite her occasional clumsiness, Biyomon was quite adept at cleaning up messes. It made Sora thankful to have her around; an extra pair of hands—er, wings—came in handy.

When they were finished, Sora collapsed on a chair. She was suddenly exhausted, and she couldn't really pinpoint why. Maybe she was a tad overwhelmed from all the cleaning she'd done all day, and all the cleaning she had a feeling she'd be doing the rest of the day. Whatever it was, she just needed a moment to sit.

Concerned, Biyomon nervously approached her. "Sora," she began, "you're not mad at me… are you?"

Sora's eyes opened to meet those of her Digimon partner, so wide with worry. "Of course not. What would make you think that?"

"Well… you've just been so tired lately. I thought maybe you'd be mad that I made a mess again…"

"Oh, Biyomon," Sora sighed, folding her Digimon into her arms. "I hope you know I could never stay mad at you. I love you too much."

There was a relieved chirp in her voice as Biyomon said, "And I love you, too, Sora!"

Those three words lifted a good part of the exhaustion from Sora's shoulder.

Izzy

"That fragment of memory I made has disappeared"

Izzy frowned. He lightly placed his fingers on his temple and forehead, trying to pinpoint the sinking feeling in his stomach and the uneasy feeling in his heart. It wasn't a headache, surely, despite him holding his head. And he was fairly sure he didn't have a cold. So what was so wrong?

"What's wrong, Izzy?"

The words weren't coming to him to explain to Tentomon what was wrong. His Digimon buzzed his head, asking him rapid fire questions about his health. He didn't answer any of them, so focused was he on figuring out what was wrong.

"I… forgot."

"Forgot what?" the Digimon asked in surprise.

Looking up at Tentomon, Izzy murmured, "I forgot the first joke of yours I laughed at."

Tentomon landed on the ground and placed a gentle claw on Izzy's lap. "That's it?"

There were tears on his face now, and Izzy had no recollection of shedding them. "It was one of my favorite memories of the time we met."

"Oh, Izzy," Tentomon said fondly, reaching up to pat his cheek. "I'll tell you all the jokes you want."

"I'm sorry," Izzy whispered, leaning forward to wrap his arms around the Digimon. "I didn't want to forget any of that."

"We'll make new memories for as long as we're together," Tentomon reassured him. "That's a promise from Digimon to human."

"Thank you."

Tentomon held Izzy until the pain of losing such a fond memory has faded along with the tears.

Mimi

"I do not want to forget that it happened"

Mimi hummed to herself as she finished stringing the beads on the cord on her desk. Three similar bracelets sat on the right corner of the desk, their beads glinting in the faint sunlight streaming through the window.

"Whatcha doing, Mimi?" Palmon's voice asked from behind her.

"Making bracelets to honor our friends," Mimi declared, sticking her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she finished the knot to tie the bracelet together. "There. Wizardmon, Pixiemon, Whamon, and Chuumon are done. Leomon is next."

"But Mimi," Palmon asked, peeking her head over the desk. "Why are you making them?"

"Because they sacrificed themselves to help us, all those years ago. I wasn't sure how to honor them until now."

Palmon blinked, still not understanding. "But… many of them were reborn, Mimi."

Her hands stilled for a moment. Her determined face melted into a sad one. "I know, Palmon." She turned to her Digimon partner and gave her a weak smile. "But I don't want to forget what they did for us just because they got a second chance."

"Oh, Mimi," Palmon sighed, wrapping her arms around Mimi's middle. "You have such a big heart."

"It's not much," Mimi admitted, stroking Palmon's flower. "But I want to keep their memory alive somehow. It's the least I can do."

"Then let me help you," Palmon decided, and Mimi smiled and nodded.

By the time they were done, Mimi had an entire rainbow of bracelets dedicated to their fallen comrades.

Joe

"I sincerely want the strength to protect you, too"

Joe woke up once again to a breakfast tray sitting on his nightstand. Gomamon had surely left it for him, as he had been doing for the past week. He'd been pulling constant all-nighters and late study sessions to cram for his exams again. If his Digimon partner hadn't looked so happy to help, he would've felt bad for constantly putting the little guy out.

It was one of those days where he realized just how much he loved his Digimon.

Yawning, Joe ate the breakfast Gomamon had gotten for him, wondering what was the best way to thank him. That was when he heard the crash in the kitchen.

"Gomamon?" he called, racing out of his room to see what the noise was all about.

The seal-like Digimon crawled out from behind the kitchen counter, favoring one flipper-like paw. "I'm alright, Joe. You have studying to do, right?" he asked, trying, and failing, to mask the pain in his voice.

"Let me see," Joe insisted, holding out his hand.

With a sigh, Gomamon handed him his paw, and Joe's face fell when he saw the cut. "Hold on." From the bathroom, he fetched gauze and some medical tape to wrap the wound. "Oh, Gomamon, I'm so sorry. This wouldn't have happened if I wasn't so tired—"

"Joe, stop, this isn't your fault," Gomamon interrupted, staring up at his human partner and meeting Joe's desperate gaze. "I was clumsy. That's not your fault."

"I know, but…" Joe paused in wrapping Gomamon's paw. He whispered, "But I want to be helpful to you, too. Just like you are to me."

"Hey," Gomamon said, and Joe looked down at him again. The Digimon was grinning. "What are partners for, Joe? Is it so wrong for me to take care of you?"

"Only if I never get to return the favor," Joe teased, pulling Gomamon into a hug. "You better not scare me again like that, okay?"

"Sure thing, Joe," Gomamon laughed.

For the rest of the day, Joe carried Gomamon on his back so he wouldn't strain his paw. Gomamon told him it was very "doctorly" of him to do so.

T.K.

"What is important to me is right here"

"T.K.?"

"Hm?" T.K. looked up from his book to Patamon, who was flapping nervously above his head. "What's up, Patamon?"

"Don't you have a date today?" the little Digimon asked, looking very concerned about the shift in what was usually a very hectic social schedule.

A smile spread across T.K.'s face. "I canceled it. I didn't feel like going today."

"Is that okay?"' Patamon landed on the couch beside T.K., placing his front paws on his lap and staring up at him. "Are you sure she won't be mad?"

"I told her I had something more important to do," T.K. said cryptically, looking back down at his book.

"Oh? And what's that?"

Patamon yelped as T.K. suddenly wrapped him up in his arms, pressing his face into the Digimon's back.

"You silly," T.K. laughed good-naturedly. "Spending time with you is more important."

The Digimon blushed a tiny bit. "R-really?"

"Of course. You're my best friend," T.K. said, hugging him tighter. "Now, how about I read to you?"

"Or we can go get ice cream!"

T.K. laughed out loud. "Sure thing, Patamon," he said. "Anything for you."

Later, T.K. would remark that he had much more fun with Patamon than he would have had with anyone else that day.

Kari

"A shadow of the tears you've shed remains"

Gatomon had been silent all day. Kari was used to this from her by now. Some days they would sit in comfortable silence, staring out the window at nothing in particular or watching something nonsensical on the television. It was par for the course at this point in their lives, but that didn't mean that Kari was sometimes concerned about how sad Gatomon would look on these silent days.

To others, the cat Digimon didn't look any different. But Kari could tell from the look in her eyes, from the way she brushed one paw over the other, from the way her tail swished in a particular fashion, that she was sad. And she had a feeling she knew what it was about.

Today had been one of the more silent days. Gatomon had barely acknowledged Kari's presence all day. That's how Kari knew it was one of the bad ones. Normally, she would have left Gatomon alone to not disturb her. 

But there were tears running down her partner's face, and she couldn't let them stay there.

Without warning, Kari scooped Gatomon into her arms and embraced her, cradling her as she would the family cat, waiting until the sniffles and warm tears stopped falling onto her shoulder. "Wizardmon," Gatomon mewled at one point, and Kari felt her own eyes prick with tears. Of course. Neither of them had ever truly gotten over it.

"It's okay," Kari murmured, pressing her face into Gatomon's fur. "I'm here."

Yes, it was certainly one of those days. One of those days where they mourned together for the friend who'd given himself for them. A friend who had been there for Gatomon where Kari hadn't yet been.

Yet, as Kari had assured Gatomon multiple times since that day, in the middle of the night after a shared nightmare, she wasn't going anywhere. And she never would, so long as they were together.

[libra-kirishima]

...but the timing is never right. (Togata Mirio x reader)

The pain in his eyes killed you to see.

His words turned into white noise in your mind as you studied his features. Bruises of all colors covered his skin. Everywhere you could see, there was at least one. The skin you couldn’t see was either covered by his hospital gown or wrapped in bandages. There was blood on his knuckles that soaked through the gauze, dried and hardened in the fabric. Instinctively you reached out for Mirio’s hand and stroked your thumb over the bloodied knuckles.

When you met his eyes again, his words came back in focus again as you noticed a single tear drip down his cheek. Your free hand moved to wipe it away. You stayed like that for a while. Eyes locked on his, stroking his cheek with your thumb, not saying a word. A small, sad smile graced his face which you couldn’t help but return.

“I’m sorry.” He told you, breaking the silence between you. “I know the timing has never been right for us, but…” He trailed off, trying to find the right words to say to you.

He was lost. Clueless as to how to convey how he’s feeling.

He thought back to when he met you.

“Hey, I’m so sorry to bother you. Do you know where the first year’s entrance exam is taking place?”

The voice behind him pulled his attention away from Tamaki to the direction it was coming from. His eyes met a girl racing to meet up with the two of them. The first thing he noticed was that she was gorgeous. The second thing he noticed was that she was barreling towards him, lost her balance, and was now falling on top of him. He instinctively reached out to catch her before she knocked them both onto the pavement.

“Woah,” He wrapped his arms around her midsection tightly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m alright. I’m so sorry-”

“No, no, it’s fine. Really.” He helped you back on your feet. Mirio didn’t want to let you out of his arms for some reason, but understood that he had to. “I’m Togata, this is Amajiki-” Tamaki let out a soft and nervous ‘hey’ in response to his name. “Are you looking for the entrance exam too?”

“Yeah, I am. Thanks for all your help…”

After the entrance exam, he searched for you in the crowd. Though tired and sweaty, he searched for you with the same fervent energy he had walking in. When he finally spotted you beside a blue haired girl, he met your gaze and smiled. Before he could make his way over to speak to you, he felt Tamaki’s arm on his shoulder, pulling him away.

“The written test scores were released. Come on.” He muttered.

Mirio shot you an apologetic smile and a shrug before walking away.

He thought back to the next time he saw you.

In the same homeroom class as he and Tamaki, making conversation with that same blue haired girl from earlier across the room. You laughed at a comment she made which Mirio couldn’t hear. He grinned. He loved your laugh. He would do anything to hear it again.

“You’re staring.” Tamaki told him. He looked down in embarrassment. 

“Sorry, I just…” He trailed off, looking back in your direction and letting out a sigh. Shaking his head, he smiled again before telling his best friend. “Hey let’s go make some new friends.”

“Let’s not.” Tamaki protested, but he was already being dragged away by Mirio to the other side of the room to talk to you.

He learned your name was (Y/N), and the girl beside you was Nejire. Before he could say anything else, their homeroom teacher introduced himself as Mr. Aizawa, and proceeded to provide the class with their seating arrangement.

He’d never admit it if anyone asked, but he was thinking to himself the whole class period how nicely your name sounded with his last name in place of your own.

He remembered his first sports festival.

Making it all the way to the end. Victory was right in his grasp. First place was as good as his.

Or he was convinced as much until it was announced that his final battle would be against you.

You knew your strengths and his weaknesses well. It took only a short amount of time for you to realize that he couldn’t breathe while his quirk was in use. And with that knowledge, you were able to quickly thereafter overwhelm him. While he was desperately panting to catch his breath, you in one swift motion knocked him out of the ring.

He thought about how after the match, you ran through the arena looking for him. You found him in a room by himself, and rushed to ask him if he was okay, if you didn’t hurt him too much, how he was feeling, where his head was at. Amidst the bombardment of questions, his mood completely shifted. He couldn’t bring himself to be sour about not winning first place anymore. Not when you looked at him like that. Full of warmth and compassion. Your hands were cool against his skin, but they still radiated a warm energy of some sort that made his cheeks flush red.

Maybe losing wasn’t so bad sometimes.

Before he could say anything further, Nejire opened the door to the room you were in and told you both that the awards ceremony was starting soon and you needed to go. 

He recalled asking you if you wanted to hang out with him before your internships started. 

You spent the next 20 minutes trying to plan something that worked between both of your new work schedules. There was no time either of you could spare.

“Ask me again once our internships are over, m’kay? We’ll work something out then.” You assured him. He was so captivated by the smile you gave him that he couldn’t process your question at first.

“Okay.” He muttered, unable to wipe the goofy lovestruck grin off his face.

He forgot to ask you again once your internships were over.

He recalled an instance that summer where you and Nejire agreed to go see a movie with him and Tamaki.

 With Tamaki at his right and Nejire at your left, that left you and he sitting beside each other in the dark theater. You assured him that you could handle the horror movie everyone wanted to see, but at the sight of the first jumpscare, you reached out to him and held his arm for the duration of the film. Sometimes using his shoulder to shield your eyes from the gore on the silver screen. At one point you laced your fingers in with his and held his hand for the last act of the film, taking comfort in the way he soothingly stroked your thumb with his whenever he felt you flinch. Once you finally calmed down, you looked up at him. He met your eyes and felt so much love and adoration radiate from you. His cheeks started to flush again and he couldn’t be more grateful that it was too dark for you to notice.

It was second nature for him to move closer towards you. Your eyes flickered to his lips, and back to his eyes, and slowly inched closer to him in response.

Though, before he could do anything, the credits began to roll and the lights in the theater flicked on. You two separated before your friends could notice.

But that night that he went home, he couldn’t get enough of the scent of your perfume that lingered on the right side of his hoodie.

He remembered the night your mother died.

All the grief and pain you experienced, and how he would give anything to take that pain from you. He would bear that pain a million times over if it meant taking it away from you.

Of all the people in the world you could reach out to first, you chose him. He was such an important friend to you that you were the first person he called. You trusted him enough to bare your soul for him. To break down in his arms and cry. The following evening, you called again, and without another word he took the first train to your house. A knock at your window brought you face to face with Mirio, in his pajamas, with sleep still in his eyes.

He remembers asking if there was anything else he could do for you. Anything at all that could make things easier on you.

“Tell your mom that you love her.” You answered between sniffles. “Give her a hug, maybe.”

“My mom died when I was really young.” He confessed. Rather than apologizing, you prompted him to tell you more. Even though you were just switching from talking about your dead mom to talking about his, he was relieved that something could get you to stop crying for even just a little while. You listened intently as he told you everything he could remember about his mom. The few memories that resided within him. Once he was finished, he brought you into another tight hug. “Anything else?” He mumbled into your hairline.

“Yeah. Will you stay with me? Just for the night?”

“Of course.” He answered.

Before he could drift back asleep by your side, he watched as your eyes flicked from his own, down to his lips, and back up again.

And once again, like magnets, the two of you were inexplicably pulled towards each other.

He thought a lot about that first night that he kissed you. There was something unspoken between the two of you, which both of you disliked, but understood as necessary.

I want you, but maybe now isn’t the time.

But still, the feeling of your lips on his haunted him like a ghost on some nights. When he was alone, his thoughts always drifted back to you.

He thought back to when his grade in English started slipping.

As another assignment was handed back by Present Mic, slightly folded so nobody else would see the grade while it was exchanged between them, Mirio heard a voice from behind him.

“I can tutor you if you want.” He turned toward the direction of the voice, and was met with you seated on top of the empty desk behind him. “I’m fluent in the language. If you need help with it, I can provide.” You continued with a small smirk.

“I mean if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. We’re friends.” There was a long silence between you after you uttered the word ‘friends.’ You both figured it was better not to address it. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Being tutored in English, I guess.” He chuckled.

“Great! So Friday night is tutoring night then?”

“Yeah definitely. Your place or mine?”

He remembered the train ride back to his house feeling agonizingly long. The entire time he fought with himself not to stare at you. You looked so pretty with the light of the sun illuminating your skin with golden rays. And he couldn’t help but think back to how good your name would sound with his last name. He did his best to bury these feelings though. Despite doing his best to take in the information, something in his brain just wasn’t allowing it to stick. He suspected that it was the part that couldn’t get over the sight of you, but turned your words into white noise as he stared at you.

“Come on, this has to be getting into your brain somehow.” You groaned. “Are you even still paying attention?”

“Huh, what? Oh! Yeah I’m still listening, sorry.”

“Sure you are.” You giggled.

“Tell you what; I’ll go over it all again and then I’ll quiz you on it. If you get every question right, then I’ll reward you.”

“Reward me with what?”

“Anything you want.” You answered confidently. 

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Mirio had never paid such close attention to anything as he did the notebook in front of him, as he scribbled down the words coming out of your mouth.

“-Good. And the English sentence structure?” You asked. Question number 8. Two more to go.

Come on, Mirio, you can do this.

“Subject, Verb, Object?”

“Right again! What’s a noun?”

“A person or a thing.”

“Or...?”

“Or… a, uh, a place?”

“Yes exactly! Okay the last one is harder, are you ready?” You ignored his groans of protest as you gave him the next question. “What’s a pronoun?”

“A word that can substitute a noun?” He answered. He was completely unsure of himself, but was flooded with joy as he watched your eyes light up in excitement.

“Yes! I’m so proud of you.” You squealed. “Okay. I promised you anything, I meant anything. What do you want?”

He didn’t answer your question. Instead preferring to stand up, make his way over to where you were sitting on top of his desk, and pressing his lips to yours. You quickly return his kiss, quickly escalating it and refusing to pull away from him until you couldn’t breathe.

“That.”

“That’s it?” You teased. The surprise in his eyes brought that same smirk back onto your features. “When I said anything, I had figured you would be more creative.” He moved even closer than before, placing one hand to your side on the surface of his desk, and wrapping the other around the side of your thigh. He pulled you in for another kiss, pulling away only to mumble

“Who said that was it?” against your lips.

Your hands moved to unbutton his shirt as he slipped his free hand under yours.

Thank god my dad works late on Fridays. Was all he could think to himself as your nimble fingers swiftly moved to undo his stupid golden teeth belt buckle that you couldn’t help but love on him. You pulled your mouth from the spot it was attacking on his neck after freeing him from the pants of his school uniform.

“Oh, I get why you’re failing now.” You told him between bites to the nape of his neck. “There’s no blood going to your brain.”

Fridays weren’t ever going to be just tutoring nights.

He remembered how hectic the latter half of your second year would be on both of you. 

Both off either at your respective work studies or in class, and using your free time to catch up on the assignments missed while at your work studies. You hardly got the chance to talk to each other anymore, but there were always Friday evenings.

And on each and every Friday, as you were feverishly ridding each other of your clothes, he couldn’t help but wish he had more time with you.

Time to take you out on dates like you deserved. Turn your relationship into something more than friends with benefits.

Would you even want that?

He decided that he’d rather live in ignorance to preserve what you have now than wonder about it later and destroy this.

The feeling of your mouth on him, and his hands tangled in your hair was enough to distract him from it all.

For now.

He recalled the night after his meeting with Sir Nighteye.

He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about their plans to raid the hideout and rescue Eri, but the guilt was eating away at him. His remorse was slowly killing him.

He didn’t even realize where he was going when he snuck out of his room at first. His subconscious did all the work for him, dragging his feet along the wooden floor and up the elevator until he found himself at your door.

He noticed light still leaking from the crack beneath the door, and brought his trembling hand up in a fist to knock against the wood.

You emerged from behind the door a second later, with that smile he just adores gracing your features.

“Hey, how’s it goi- Mirio, what’s wrong?”

The concerned look in your eyes was enough for him to snap. He collapsed himself in your arms and sobbed. He cried until there were no tears left to cry, and then he cried some more. “Is there anything I can do for you?” You mumbled into his hair. The pain he was feeling brought back memories of the loss of your mother the year prior.

“Will you stay with me? Just for the night?” He answered.

“Of course, baby.”

Baby. A name you only ever called him during sex.

His head hurt too much to wonder about the implications of it. He smiled as he nuzzled into your neck.

“Baby, huh?”

“Mhm.”

Nothing else was said between you that night. Nothing needed to be said. You both understood quite well.

I wish we could be more, but the timing isn’t right.

Mirio looks back into your eyes. He wasn’t sure how long you had been sitting on his hospital bed, watching intently as he searched for the right words to say.

“(Y/N),” He started again. “I’m sorry.” Before you could ask what he was sorry for, he went on. “I love you. I love you so much more than you could possibly know. And I know that we always told ourselves that the time wasn’t right, but after almost dying I-” He stopped, trying his best to hold in the tears that threatened to overflow. “I almost died, and the entire time I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wished I got to tell you this sooner. How I could have made more time for you and I didn’t. I hated myself for it. And now that I’ve made it out alive, and I’ve lost so much, I can’t bring myself to risk losing you too.”

Mirio’s tears flowed freely down his cheeks, being wiped away by your thumb only to have more flow in their place.

“You’re so stupid.” You finally answered. “You’re not gonna lose me.”

“I’m not?”

“Are you kidding?” You took his face in both of your hands, kissing him gently. “We’ve been doing this for three years. Do you think I’m gonna give this up now? I love you. I always have.”

“I love you so much.” He tells you again between sobs. “You mean everything to me. I’m never gonna leave your side again. I’m so sorry.”

“Baby it’s okay. It’ll all be okay. The worst of it is over. I promise.” You sit with him in silence for another long while, pressing soft kisses all along his face until the sound of the door to his hospital room caught your attention. In walked a little girl with hair the color of snow and big sad eyes that you couldn’t look away from. Holding her hand was her former homeroom teacher. You smiled brightly at both of them. “Hey, Mirio. You have a visitor.”

[quietlyimplode]

Five Songs.

Day 2 - prompt of Music for @clintasha-week Advent 2020

Five moments in time.

1/ St Ides

Crawling the broken fences, when shit gets hard

You know who your friend is

And when I lose perspective

Need to go to a place where I lose reception

“I just need a friend; not a lecture,” Natasha says quietly.

“Can I sit next to you?” Clint asks standing behind her.

“We’re on the top of a random building in New York, how’d you even find me?”

“Sometimes you come here when you’re sad. How can I not know?” Clint shifts from foot to foot, looking at her nervously. She’s sitting on the edge of the building. A move that would normally be his shiitic.

“You can sit.” Natasha swings her legs from back over the edge and looks at him. Jumping down, she slides down the wall and sits. Crossing his legs he sits next to her.

Tentatively he reaches for her hand, covering her fingers lightly.

They sit in silence, the remnants of the failed mission floating away in the moonlight.

2/ Toy Soldiers

I'm supposed to be the soldier who never blows his composure

Even though I hold the weight of the whole world on my shoulders

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Clint is furious. Angry doesn’t cover it, furious doesn’t touch it.

“I was thinking that we would lose more people if I didn’t.” It’s justified. Natasha thinks. What’s one life if so many more are at stake. Which Clint then calls her out on.

“At the cost of your own life?”

Yes, she thinks. Judging by his pacing, it’s not the answer he wants. She could placate him now or fight on this one. It’s an argument she knows is going to come up again. Fuck this. Let’s fight this one out.

“What the hell do you know? I made the right call. Without me they wouldn’t be on the quinjet back, without me we’d be at a funeral, without me..”

No more funerals. At least in the red room, there was no wakes, no funerals. She can’t stand the grief and the outpouring of emotions.

“You know what? Shut up. You made the wrong call, and it’s shear fucking dumb luck that you all made it out.” Natasha stares at him. Not luck. Clear plan, followed through by skill. Dangerous, maybe but not suicidal.

“So what? Just because you don’t have the guts to do it..” as soon as the words fly out, Natasha knows it’s a step too far.

“Fuck you and your fucking high horse.” Clint stalks out, slamming the door behind him.

.

They’re paired together 2 weeks later in a mission to Latvia. The tension bleeds through every interaction.

They’re made to share a room and it ends in another fight.

This time it’s physical.

It starts by Clint not observing personal space.

By the end of it, Clint has a black eye and Natasha has a knife wound on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t wrong though.” Natasha says passing him an ice pack.

“Maybe not, but either was I.” Clint passes her gauze.

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

3/ Are you with me?

I wanna dance by water 'neath the Mexican sky

Drink some Margaritas by a string of blue lights

Listen to the Mariachi play at midnight

Are you with me, are you with me?

“I love you.” Natasha says flippantly, grabbing her drink and clinking it with Clint's on the table.

“You’re drunk,” Clint laughs.

“Not enough to not know what what I’m saying. I love you.” She repeats.

“You’re serious.” Clint deadpans and laughs. “You’re serious.”

Natasha stretches out on the lounger, “as a heart attack.” She replies.

“I love you too, Nat.” Clint holds out his hand to grab hers and she grabs it, miss reading his intention and kisses the back of his hand.

4/ Konstantine

I can't imagine all the people that you know

And the places that you go

When the lights are turned down low

And I don't understand

All the things you've seen

But I'm slipping in between

You and your big dreams

It's always you in my big dreams

Natasha’s twitchy all day.

And the next.

It sets Clint on edge.

He tries to leave her to her coping. Whatever has triggered her this time isn’t bad (it’s not great), it’s not set off her ptsd (that he can tell) but it is frustrating (him).

She doesn’t stop moving, she doesn’t sleep and she’s more short tempered than usual. He forgot to take out the washing and she all but bit his head off.

He tries to stay away from her, spending more time in the gym, goes food shopping and the hides with Maria in her office.

By day 3, he’s had enough. Calls her out on it. Asks her what’s wrong and gets his head bitten off. Wrong move apparently.

He’s in the kitchen where he finds the writing pad where they write shopping lists, notes and messages to each other. There’s ashes in the sink next to it, a tell tale sign Natasha has burnt whatever her brain has been thinking. He shouldn’t. He wants to know. Any insight is better than not knowing.

He takes a pencil from the drawer and rubs it over the top of the paper. He feels more detective like than he’s felt in ages. She hasn’t hidden what she wrote well. But, he supposes, she didn’t expect him to be snooping.

There’s four sentences, written in her small neat handwriting. Each one drops him harder than the last.

I don’t know what’s wrong, I try and sleep and my dreams are..

He’s going to leave.

This is an exercise in futility

What’s wrong with me?

He covers his tracks, ripping the paper up and depositing it in bins around the apartment and goes in search of her.

She’s at the gym, sweating through whatever is going on. Acknowledging him with a nod she continues. He waits til she’s done and when she’s finally finished half an hour later, she turns.

He stands and goes over to her, and hugs her. Holds tight when she tries to pull away. Continues to hold it til he feels her melt into him. He tries to convey everything into it and squeezes tighter when she finally wraps her arms around him.

5 / work song

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

They’re in the hospital laying in beds side by side.

Clint wakes first, panicking she’s not next to him.

Setting off all the alarms, he falls out of bed and pulls himself over to her, pushes her across and lays next to her.

Safe at last.

______________________________________

1/ St Ides - Macklemore and Ryan Lewis

2/ Toy Soldiers - Eminem

3/ Are you with me - Lost Frequencies

4/ Konstantine - Something Corporate

5/ Work Song - Hozier

[casual-eumetazoa]

two boring sane guys having a normal time

just 1k words of M rated brotzly with no plot and no meaning based on a thing i posted like a week ago

(kinda fluff, kinda hurt/comfort, kinda hell knows)

*

It is day seven of knowing Todd, and Dirk is anxious.

The car is parked sideways next to the entrance and someone might bump into it at any moment. He can see it from the window, the same window he climbed through a week prior: climbed and burst into Todd’s life like a bright yellow hurricane.

Now Todd is quite close too, picking up the things he forgot. The apartment is utterly trashed; cracked walls and shattered glass, destroyed along with their previous lives. Apartment’s a mess and Dirk’s mind is a mess and there is absolutely no point in trying to sort through any of it, so he just sort of sits there on the couch. Thinking.

-You okay? – Todd asks, noticing his absent stare.

Dirk considers the gnawing ache of the wounds and the kaleidoscope of feelings wrecking through his head and how he still hadn’t quite processed the words “because I am your friend”, and gives a singular nod.

Todd seems satisfied with that reply. He returns to searching for his wallet, and Dirk’s glance moves over to the pile of clothes to his left. The disposable hospital clothes must go. He has a new shirt to wear… Though changing from one to another might be easier said than done.

-Todd? – Dirk says, not quite believing his own bravery.

-Yes? – Todd is standing a few meters away from him, wallet found and returned to the back pocket of his trousers.

-Can you… - Dirk begins, gesturing vaguely at himself and the clothes. – The shoulder’s bad. – He elaborates. – I have the motion range of a well-trained seal.

-Oh you want me to… - Todd begins as well, and stops as well, and smiles, just a dash of surprise on his face. – Okay. Um. – He approaches the couch. – Stay like that, don’t stand up.

And then it happens. Todd helps him undress. 

He slides down the zipper of the jacket, slowly, and pulls it off his shoulders, slowly, and Dirk flinches ever so slightly when flexing his arms. Raising them is even worse. He stays as still as possible while Todd grabs the edges of the hospital t-shirt and pulls it up, revealing bit by bit the outline of his stomach, the naked skin of his chest, the muscles in his arms.

It’s awkward. They both feel awkward. Looking away, afraid of their eyes meeting, afraid of feeling something they’re not supposed to. Todd’s fingers brush against Dirk’s wrists and palms as he pulls the t-shirt off him. A moment of silence passes by. Dirk feels exposed, and yet safe. He already trusted Todd with his life. What’s a bit of tender physical contact between good friends…

Both are eager to limit all touch and both want nothing more than to fail completely at it.

The Mexican funeral shirt goes on, this time with even more fingertips against skin. A brush of Dirk’s hair, a millisecond slide on the side of his neck, a gentle pat on his back as the shirt is pulled down and stays. The yellow jacket is next; Dirk feels like a prince, being clothed like that. He thanks Todd quietly and gives him a soft smile. Todd smiles back and assures him that it’s his pleasure.

That phrase slipped before he had time to think it through.

They both decide not to dwell on it.

They sit side by side in the car, and they sit closer still at the diner with Farah. The conversation flows like a feisty river and the dull ache of his wounds is so far at the back of Dirk’s mind that he hardly notices it. He’s okay. He’s surrounded by friends. And life might not be any less complicated than before, but at least he has real, not imaginary reasons to be happy.

He has known Todd for seven days and there is something he feels about him but he cannot for the life of him figure it out.

It’s not love; it’s not even a crush, not yet – but it is A Thing.

And Dirk doesn’t want it to stop.

*

It is day one hundred and twenty-seven of knowing Todd.

Dirk is exhausted, but relieved.

The subsiding adrenaline levels that follow a successfully concluded case is an unforgettable rush. The chase is long over, the danger has passed; he’s safe and sound in his apartment.

His and Todd’s apartment.

And Todd is sitting close.

-I want coffee. – Dirk declares.

-You hate coffee. – Todd points out.

-I want the kind of coffee where it has so much milk and sugar and vanilla in it that you can’t even tell it’s coffee.

-I’ll make you hot chocolate later. – Todd suggests a compromise. – After I deal with your battle injuries.

Dirk chuckles but obeys, sitting down, a model patient. Todd has gotten quite good with a first aid kit since they’ve first met. He goes over his every cut and scrap – most acquired honorably when he tripped over a pipe and fell face-first into a pile of bricks – cleaning and covering every tiny gash.

-You have a knife wound somewhere on your side. – Todd says.

-Oh it’s hardly a knife wound. – Dirk scoffs. – It’s a scrap. It’s what happens to knife wielding criminals when they skip lectures and drop out of knife college.

-Shut up and take off your shirt. – Todd says, and, without waiting for a reply, pulls the shirt off of him.

He examines the wound carefully and a frown creases his nose bridge.

-Okay that is not a scrap. – Todd mutters, dabbing at the sides of the wound with a piece of sterile gauze. – It looks pretty bad, actually. Like, close to the liver. And that’s, well, I don’t know what it means exactly but hitting the liver is bad. I know that. – He pours antiseptic on the gauze and Dirk flinches as he presses it into the wound. – You could’ve gotten seriously hurt.

-Well I didn’t. – Dirk replies.

-I don’t think it went in very deep but it still looks nasty. – Todd frowns again. – Jeez. Why didn’t you tell me when that she stabbed you this bad?

-It’s fine. – Dirk rolls his eyes. – It’s not bleeding anymore, it will heal. Why are you so worried anyway?

-Because I am your boyfriend, dumbass, and you could have died. – Todd blurts out.

There is a moment of silence. Dirk blinks. Todd busies himself with covering up the wound.

-You’ve never called me your boyfriend before. – Dirk says, softly, meekly.

-You don’t like it? – Todd asks. – Cause if you don’t, there are other words like, you know, partner, and…

-I love it. – Dirk grins. – I love you.

 The air grows still and the world ceases to spin for a moment, and time belongs to them and them only. This isn’t the first time The Words have been said and not the last, but they always sound fresh and bright and sincere; the most sincere words Dirk have ever said, Todd has heard.

The wounds are dealt with, he’s hardly aware of them now. Adrenaline is still pumping through his veins. They are sitting so close to each other, their faces just a few inches apart. Soon their lips meet, bridging the gap; Dirk’s finger’s in Todd’s hair, Todd’s hands on Dirk’s naked back. Next, the other’s shirt is off, discarded somewhere on the floor. Their bodies are pressed tight to each other, hot skin against hot skin, and Dirk can already feel rise somewhere low a tingling fire, burning bright.

Hands are wandering idly along their bodies. Lips locked, one’s tongue in another’s slightly opened mouth, completely consumed by the moment. Blood leaves their stomachs, setting butterflies free, and rushes down and down. Every touch burns pleasure, eyes closed shut, concentrated on the feeling of naked flesh, the sound of sharp breaths and tepid moans. The world has stopped, stopped for them, and given all its time to these lovers.

  There will be more cases, and more danger, and more daring pursuits, and, knowing Dirk, probably more falling down face first into a pile of bricks. This hardly matters – as long as Todd will be around to take care of him afterwards.

It is day one hundred and twenty-seven of knowing Todd, and they are sharing one joy for two, utterly lost in each other’s bodies and happier than happiness gets.

It’s not just a thing, it is not just a crush, it’s love. And Dirk feels like it will never, ever stop.

[archived-gtronpa-account]

It’d be interesting to see a giant Rantaro

Yiiis!! I don't recall seeing a whole lot of giant Rantaro (or even tiny Rantaro) around here so this is the occasion to give the cool//hot avocado man some 💚🥑💚🥑

____

Word count: 2700

Summary: After one of her friend's dares goes awfully wrong, Himiko makes the unlikeliest encounter.

____

During one of the numerous festivals at Hope’s Peak, three classes gathered up to share their ghost stories.

“… And if you go to the girl’s bathroom on the third floor at three thirty-three, they say you’ll see the lonely spirit of a girl with round glasses and long twin braids. And if you try to confess your love to her…” Sayaka stopped her narration, the pause punctuated by the crackling of fire. The moon shone bright overhead and cast a gentle light on the pop star’s face; a serene atmosphere that certainly didn’t help set the eerie ambiance she was going for.

“Wh-What happens?” Kaito kept a tense, stoic face, but his deathly grip on Maki’s arm was enough to betray his discomfort.

“Oh, oh! She’ll slice you up with her scissors and leave your body crucified,” Hiyoko cried out.

“Well yeah,” Sayaka sighed and shot a glare at the smaller girl, “Apparently, her body was found like that after she confessed to someone.”

“She was probably killed by the rich prick she was stalking,” Hiyoko sent a smirk to the ultimate writing prodigy.

“Th-That wouldn’t be such a bad way to die.” Toko kept a firm gaze on her lap and hid a smile behind an awkward grimace, unaware of the attention on her.

A new silence settled in among the group, most creepy stories having already been explored.

“Hey, hey! Anyone hear of some monster lurking there?” Ibuki nodded towards the forest near the academy.

“Some kind of green, hairy beast, I hear,” Hifumi nodded solemnly to himself and readjusted his glasses, “Kind of like Shaymin.”

“Soo, anyone wanna go check it out? Kazu’?”

“No way I’m going in a forest at night! Don’t wanna get caught in a bear trap or somethin’. Why not, uh… Chihiro?”

“A-Ah, I think I’ll pass as well.”

“Then what about Himiko?”

The mage in question stirred and lifted her head up from Tenko’s lap. “Don’t,” She yawned, “… wanna. It’s such pain…” She closed her eyes and went on to resume her nap, but Kokichi woke her up again.

“Shouldn’t be such a pain with your amazing magician skills, right?” Himiko’s eyes shot open to glare at the boy.

“’m not a magician, I’m a mage.” She grumbled out.

“Dunno ‘bout that,” Akane looked up from her meal for the first time that night, “Magic, huh? Kinda sounds like one of Hiro’s scams.”

Himiko’s chest burned at the comment. She straightened up and glared around at the group. “My mage skills aren’t a scam. My magic is real, it’s real, it’s real, it’s real-”

“Tenko won’t let anyone doubt Himiko’s magic.” Tenko stood and stepped in front of Himiko in a battle stance. The smaller girl frowned at the gesture; it made her somewhat feel like a defenseless pet in Tenko’s eyes. She could take care of herself.

“My magic’s real, ‘nd I’ll prove it if I just…” She looked behind her to the looming trees, ready to swallow whoever dared venture in, “… Gotta go there. Even if I’m really tired.”

Tenko looked back at her with wide eyes and opened her mouth for a rebuttal, but was cut off by Kaede chiming in, “Don’t worry, Himiko, I’ve already been there and it’s safe.”

“Take this with you then,” Mahiru held a camera out to her, “You can take a picture if you find some monster or anything interesting.”

Himiko took the small device and turned on her heels, ready to ignore a certain aikidoka’s protests and go prove her worth. Armed with a little camera and her spells, the mage ventured deep in the dark woods.

…

The air started to get thicker, cold seeped under her skin. Himiko wrapped her arms around herself and muttered some spells she could only hope would keep her from freezing. While she’d been taking a nap close to the campfire, she had forgotten how chilly the night was. The prospect of going back right then was tempting, but the image of her classmates calling her magic a scam and Tenko coming to her defense with some poor excuse was enough for the mage to chase off the idea and keep going with all the passion and determination she had in her (it wasn’t much, but it would have to do.)

…

Himiko could swear that at some point, the trees around her had hit a growth spurt. They towered far over her head and no matter how hard she squinted, the girl couldn’ catch sight of a single star past the clutter of leafs. If she’d had enough mana, she would’ve made the trees go back to normal, but she was too tired for that, so she only walked further down her path in search of some monster she wasn’t even sure existed.

…

Himiko was so tired. She had no idea what she was even trying to prove to her stupid classmates. She could go back and say she hadn’t found anything and lay her head back on Tenko’s lap and drift off into a nap. But… Not yet.

“Hey…” She called out, “If there’s any monster in here or something, ‘m not afraid. Show yourself!” Brave mage she was, Himiko brandished her camera up to the sky, (almost) defying any scary creature to come at her.

In her feat of bravery, she forgot to keep an eye on her path, and her mind went blank with terror when the next step she took was on thin air.

Her grip on the camera tightened. There was a flash of light before she shut her eyes and bursts of pain overtook her small body. There were cuts and hits and cracking and rustling and freezing air rushing past her burning skin- Then everything stopped, and she didn’t feel a broken bone among the mess of pain in her body when she met solid ground.

Himiko’s hand slowly reached to her shoulder. She shuddered and panted as she let all the small shots of pain through her body melt into a single feverish sensation.

For maybe hours, or days, or only minutes, Himiko lay there, silently letting the pain sink in and holding her body back from jolting. With a groan, the girl cracked an eye open. It was still night time and there were no starts shining over her head. She glanced back at murderous slope she’d slipped on, and tried to understand if her vision was hazy or if she’d really fallen from that height without even getting concussed.

Lazy, unfocused brown eyes drifted further off ahead and met an odd tuft of green that wasn’t a tree. Further down, there was a-… There was a pair of eyes of the same green focused on her.

And no stars shone over her head because there was a massive head blocking them out.

Himiko’s mouth fell open to scream, but the sound died in her throat into a near speechless, panicked, “A-Ah…”

“Hey now, calm down, it’s alright.” The soft voice was that of a human boy, but it was the giant’s lips that were moving. There was a giant, absolutely massive monster in the forest like the legend said, and Himiko couldn’t think of any spell or any trick to get out of his clutches, and she found her mind stuck on a single thought, ‘I should have listened to Tenko.’

The mage rose to her feet, ready to run and hide, but something twisted in her leg and made her fall back on her back with a gasp. The only sensation that registered for her then was the warmth and softness of the large hand she realized she was on. The stark contrast to the rest of the forest was jarring enough that she had to hold back from retching.

Gravity pulled her down once again, and the massive face slowly got further and further away from her hazy vision. Then there was warm flesh all around her, blocking her view and pressing against every inch of her body and ready to suffocate her-

And all at once, it came to an end, and Himiko exhaled a shaky breath of relief when she felt cold, damp soil on her back and neck.

“There, not so bad, was it?” There was the whispering again. Himiko closed her gaping mouth and attempted to steady her breathing as she tried to take in the sight before her eyes. The giant’s lips still moved and he talked to her more and more. He looked like a human boy in every aspect, save for the terrifying height. The words –of comfort, she guessed,- fell on deaf ears for the mage who was caught up in whispering protective spells and incantations to herself, over and over until the words got tangled on her tongue and lost all meaning and comfort.

The offending hands came for her again, and despite her body’s screaming and protests, the girl pushed herself upright with her good arm and scooted back, only stopping when she caught sight of gauze at plate-sized fingertips.

Tentatively, Himiko allowed one of the fingers to brush over her injured leg. She hissed when a tender spot was pressed. “D-Don’t…!”

“It’s fine, sorry. Does it hurt here?” Instead of answering, she kept her eyes downcast and reached out to snatch off the gauze before backing away again. Compliantly, the hand backed off as well, and the giant stayed quiet.

If she remembered well, Mikan didn’t wrap wounds without cleaning them first, but the mage didn't have the luxury to ask for disinfectant from the beast boy that kept her cornered, so she had to do with less than that. She worked with one hand and left her right arm to hang lame at her side. More hissing and pain later, the unwelcome hand reached back to her leg. Himiko bit her lip and glanced up at the giant boy, but found his pressuring gaze only focused on her injury. Compliantly, she accepted the help and stayed quiet.

“Hah, I know I look scary, I get that a lot.” The whole way through, the strange giant kept talking to her. His voice was hushed as a whisper, but it still was louder and more powerful than the cheers of any audience she had ever performed for. “Don’t worry though, I promise I’m not a baddie.” It was unnerving and left her uncomfortable, but at least it served to distract her.

“I don’t…” sometime after most of her injuries were tended to, Himiko found her voice and courage again, “I don’t need your help.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” His hands still worked to patch her up, “But that arm of yours isn’t looking too good. You shouldn’t move it much for now.”

“Then I’ll use my magic.” That caught the massive boy’s attention, and his focus shifted from her injury to her face.

“Magic? So you’re a magician, huh?” She pulled her hat lower down her face to avoid the attention.

“’m not. I’m a mage, a real and true mage who does real magic.” She bit her lip and looked up at the giant boy in the eyes, “And I’m really powerful, so if you try to hurt me or something…” She left the threat hanging, unsure what she could do against such a strong guy with her currently low mana.

“Ah, that doesn’t sound too good. I better…” Himiko winced at a sharp tug at her side, but then the pair of hands hovering over her finally retreated, and she had room to breathe again. “… Not try anything then.” The giant held his hands up over his head, and they went past the tallest trees. If he reached higher, she was sure he could grab the moon in a fist. “Will you show me some of your magic when you get better?”

Himiko checked over her wrapped injuries, absently nodding. She noted that her earlier protection spells had worked and turned the legendary scary green monster into a friendly (and quite handsome) man.

When both of them stopped talking, Himiko had expected silence; instead, she heard rustling and crunched leafs and cracking branches. The sound was rhythmic and getting louder by the second, like steps walking her way- or rather, running.

“Himiko!” The girl in question nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden familiar voice.

“Hey,” she was startled again by the giant boy whispering to her. In his company, Himiko had forgotten that her classmates were still waiting for her to come back. She had no idea how she could explain the situation to Tenko, and she had to come up with something soon before the other girl found her and her new titanic aquaintence.

“Himiko? Shh,” Himiko watched the giant stranger bring a finger to his lips in a secretive gesture. Before she could question it, he got up on his feet and took several, quick steps back. The entire forest shook with his every step, and mere seconds later, before she even had time to gape at the sight, he had completely disappeared beyond the towering trees.

"Himiko! Are you alright?" Tenko's voice came above the smaller girl, who looked several feet up to where she'd been before her fall. In the darkness, she could barely make out a tall form in a blue girl's uniform.

"I-I'm fine!" Soon, her classmate would come down and join her. Himiko tugged at her bleazer and skirt to hide as much as she could of her injuries, and she barely had time to pick the discarded camera up before Tenko got to her. Besides the leaves and twigs stuck to her, she looked fine; and hopefully, her slight limp wouldn't be too noticeable

The taller girl fussed and worried over her, and Himiko only listened with one ear, gaze set instead where a titan had stood only seconds ago. She could have thought the encounter a dream if not for the bandages carefully wrapped over her wounds. That alone wouldn't be enough to prove she'd met a monster and gotten away thanks to her mage skills. The giant boy had seemed to prefer staying secretive anyway, so maybe that was for the best.

On the way to the academy, Himiko lingered behind Tenko with the camera in her hands, checking for any damage to the ultimate photographers' device. Curiously, she checked for the pictures saved in, and nearly sputtered when she saw a green tuft of hair and a pair of eyes of the same green.

[endless-whump]

A Gamble

CW: Attempted suicide, medical whump, panic attack, attempted suicide to escape torture, razor blade mention, threatened caretaker turned unwilling whumper, implied past noncon, dead dove do not eat, this one is heavy

Masterlist

--

“They’re sending people after you, Simon. People like you.  This is getting serious.”

Oliver stopped in his tracks, overhearing the hushed, urgent whispers.  His tired smile faded from his face, fingers grabbing at the sleeves of his oversized hoodie as he paused to listen, willing his breaths to become quieter.

“You know the type of training they get, this isn’t something you can easily hide from.  What if they get a hold of an address? They’re box boys, they could access a safehouse.  What if..Simon, what if they get a hold of you?”

“Mia, I’d never-”

“That's not the point, Simon.  We both know what you’re trained for.  Do you really think you could resist a direct order from him? Even if it was about Oliver?  Be honest with me, Simon.”

“I-”

There was silence for a moment, and Oliver took a hesitant step backwards, shoulders hunched as he remained hidden in the corner of the hallway.

“I don’t know, Mia. I honestly don’t know.”

No..

“Oliver trusts you, Simon.  We both know you wouldn’t be able to deny an order from Cedric, and Oliver wouldn’t be able to deny an order from you.  It's a huge liability and you know it.”

Oliver stumbled backwards down the hall, not quite sure where he was trying to go.  He just needed to go, to get out.

He couldn’t go back, no no no he couldn’t go back.  They were going to use Simon against him.  Simon was supposed to be safe, he always protected him.  He always did.

He knew Simon always protected him, but he also never forgot what he was.

He knew Simon was trained to bring him back.

He was barely aware of what he was doing as he shut the bathroom door, hands trembling as he fumbled to lock it.

If Simon told him..ordered him to come back..he was right.  He wouldn’t be able to say no.

The cabinet was opened, Oliver’s hands almost moving on their own, pulling things out and looking desperately for what he wanted, what he felt he needed

He kept looking, vision blurred with tears and heart racing with panic as he found what he was looking for.

A razor.

He stumbled backwards, back hitting the wall.  He almost dropped the razor, clutching it shakily as he slid to the floor, staring at the door.

He didn’t want to go back, he liked it here. It was safe here. Here meant mornings baking muffins and laying out on the couch and being held. Here meant a warm bed that didn’t carry any expectations, it meant people who were nice to him.

He couldn’t go back, not to him.  Not to Mr Cedric.

He couldn’t bear the thought of going back to endless nights and silk rope and the burning feeling of being hurt and used over and over and over again until he couldn’t breathe and couldn’t think and couldn’t seem to even bring himself to want to exist anymore.

He didn’t want to exist, not if Cedric was what existing meant.

--

“Oliver?”

Simon sighed, looking around for the younger boy. Maybe they could go for a walk or something, or start making lunch. He needed to cool off, to reassure himself Oliver was ok and that they were all still here. He needed to ground himself.

He searched their room to no avail, their bed neatly made with no Oliver in sight.  The other rescues just shrugged when asked if they’d seen him, and Simon continued his search in annoyance.

He knocked on the bathroom door, the last place in the small house he hadn’t checked. He was met with silence, and when he tried the handle he found it unlocked. Might as well check, he supposed. It wouldn’t be the first time he found Oliver hiding in an odd place.

“Ollie?”

He pushed the bathroom door open, scanning the small bathroom. His heart stopped at the sight he was met with.  There was a pool of blood on the floor, and it registered half a second too slow whoseblood it was.

His knees hit the floor hard, training taking over and fronting for him, desperation buzzing in the back of his mind.  His jacket was off in a second, the fabric wrapped around Oliver’s arms and pressed down hard, probably harder than it needed to be.

He was trained for this, he was trained to keep Oliver from doing this.  The thought disgusted him, because he knew it wasn’t for Oliver’s own good.

It wasn’t for Oliver’s benefit.  It was an insurance of the safety of merchandise.  An insurance the romantic had no chance of escape, even a desperate one.

Even a fatal one.

That didn’t matter right now, he reminded himself.  Oliver was what mattered, and he was unconscious on the floor covered in his own blood.

“Mia!”He called out, when it finally dawned on him to do so.

He reached up a hand to cup Oliver’s cheek, his skin too pale. He was too pale and too cold and oh my god is he breathing?

He couldn’t lose Oliver, nonono he couldn���t lose him. He was too young, too young and hurt and he was supposed to be happy, he was supposed to get a chance to be happy.

His fingers quickly pressed to Oliver’s neck, eyes trailing down to his chest.  A wave of relief flooded over him as he felt the faint but steady pulse under his fingers.

“Oh my god..Simon is he..?”

“M,Mia..Mia please, he’s alive, please help me-”

She was by his side in an instant, observing the blood soaked shirt and the discarded razorblade on the tile floor.  She paled as the realization set in, moving to help apply pressure to the bleeding wound.

“Simon, I need you to carry him, get him to the couch.”

He nodded shakily, hooking his arms underneath Oliver’s knees and around his torso to pick him up.  They quickly moved out of the bathroom, hurrying to the main room where Mia shooed a group of rescues, playing cards in a circle on the floor, out of the room.

He set Oliver down on the couch, brushing the boys hair out of his face.  Mia was back at his side, a medical kit in hand as she pushed Simon out of the way.

“Has the bleeding stopped?” She asked, opening the kit, her hands shaking as she hastily got out supplies.

“I..I don’t know, I-” He felt like he couldn’t speak, staring, stunned, at Oliver as Mia worked.  He felt numb, like autopilot had taken over as Mia wrapped his arm in gauze, checking him over and getting medication out of the kit.

“Did he take anything?  Were there bottles or pills on the floor?”  She demanded, and Simon couldn’t do anything but shake his head mutely, settling heavily on the floor next to the couch.

“It looks like a lot of blood..I need to call Sandy,” she muttered. “It doesn’t look like he...hit anything, though. I think he’s gonna be fine as long as we get somebody in here to look at him.”

It was probably in a blind panic, Simon thought to himself. Barely knew what he was doing, only responding in a way he felt he could escape.

This is my fault, he thought distantly

“Simon,” Mia said gently, and Simon blinked, looking up at her.

“He’s gonna be ok, I promise.”

She handled his bandaged arms carefully, settling them over his torso as she tucked a blanket around him. He looked so small, bundled up on the couch.

“Can you keep an eye on him? I’m gonna make a few phone calls, try and get someone with a bit more medical training in here.”

He nodded, reaching a hand under the blanket to hold Oliver’s hand. He’d stay there as long as Oliver needed him here.

And so he did

—

Simon startled awake when he heard a loud thump, a body falling to the floor.  It was dark, crickets chirping audibly outside that could be heard clearly in the otherwise quiet house. He blinked tiredly and turned to look where Oliver shouldhave been, only seeing the discarded blanket where he previously laid, unconscious.

“Oliver?!”

He stood, looking around frantically. He was about to call for Mia when he heard a whimper of fear, and Simon’s head snapped to where it came from.  He saw Oliver on the kitchen floor, curled in on himself.

“Oliver-”

“No,nono please S,Simon please..I..I can’t..can’t go back-”

He was trying to drag himself across the floor, red visibly staining the bandages wrapped around his arm.  Simon took a step towards him carefully, and that's when he saw the knife Oliver was trying to get to.

He lunged forward, falling to his knees and grabbing Oliver’s wrists to keep him from grabbing the blade.  The boy wailed, struggling weakly and trying to get away.

“N,NO!” He screamed, kicking uselessly.  “N,No, hhn, no stop, Simon stop, nhh-”

He was in pain, Simon could tell, but he wasn’t relenting. He pulled Oliver to his chest, holding his wrists and crossing his arms to hold him securely as he thrashed, quickly losing his energy.  He sobbed, his begging turned incoherent.

Mia burst into the room, looking around frantically and spotting the pair, but Simon just shook his head.

“I’ve got him,” He murmured

Keeping one arm holding Oliver’s, he pressed his palm against the boy's forehead, forcing his head to rest against Simon’s shoulder so he wouldn’t thrash around as much, staying still and letting him tire himself out.

She darted out of the kitchen, probably to get her med kit, while Simon waited for Oliver to calm down.  He could hear murmuring from the other rooms, probably the other rescues wondering what was going on so late at night.

“S..Simon please..I can’t..Simon..please,”  Oliver gave up fighting, sobbing weakly as he was held in place against the other.

“Shh, you’re ok,” Simon hummed soothingly, trying to comfort him. “You’re not going back, I promise. You’re ok, you’re safe.”

“No,” He begged, but it was quiet, his voice hoarse. “I can’t- you’ll take me back, p,please don’t t,t,take me back, p,please Simon..”

Tears were streaming down Simon’s face, his heart twisting in guilt. He didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t know how to promise Oliver he’d never take him back..when part of him didn’t believe himself.

“He..h,he hurts me, I can’t- it h,hurts, Simon, i,it hu,hurts,”

“I know,” Simon whispered, hugging him tight. “I know it hurts. Need you to let me take care of you, Ollie. Can you do that? Please? Need you to trust me.”

It almost felt like a betrayal, asking Oliver to trust him when they both knew he couldn’t, not really. It felt like he was lying as he reassured the boy, and he slowly relaxed, breaths still shallow and desperate.

He glanced at the window as he heard a car pull into the driveway, Mia probably was able to get a hold of their volunteer emt. That, or a neighbor made a noise complaint.

He ran his hands through Oliver’s hair, glancing down at the red soaked bandages, his wounds most likely reopened. Whether that was accidental or on purpose...

That didn’t matter right now

There was a conversation happening at the doorway, hushed and worried voices drifting to where Simon could hear them in the kitchen. Emt it was, then.

A woman who looked in her mid 30s appeared in the doorway, dressed in casual clothes but carrying a large duffle bag with a medical symbol on it. She dropped to the ground beside the pair, grabbing something from her bag.

“I’m Sandy,” she said softly, meeting Simon’s eyes. “Am I ok to touch him?”

Simon nodded, eyeing her as she gently grabbed Oliver’s arm, pulling it out to expose the inside of his elbow.

Oliver tensed, cringing back against Simon in panic at the unfamiliar touch.

“N,no, please don’t-“

“I need you to hold him steady,” the woman said gently. “From what Mia told me, I’m not gonna be able to treat him properly unless we sedate him.”

Simon swallowed heavily, tightening his hold on Oliver to hold him still even as his struggles started to renew.  

“What are you giving him?” He asked warily, watching her bring out a needle and line it up carefully with Oliver’s arm.

“Ketamine,” She hummed, inserting the needle. Oliver whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as she administered the drug. “It’ll calm him down and act as a pain reliever, it'll probably knock him out in his state.” She retracted the needle, putting it aside and reaching up to press her fingers against Oliver’s pulse.

Simon relaxed a fraction as Oliver went limp, head falling forward and tension leaving his body. His breathing became deeper and more even, his hand falling from where he had tried grabbing at Simon’s arm.

“He’s out,” she murmured.  She helped him lower the boy to the ground, setting out an array of gauze and a suture kit on the ground. Simon cringed as she unwrapped his arms, the angry red cuts still bleeding a little.

He could see the smaller lines where Oliver tried to scratch and tear the bandages off, maybe hoping to just bleed out before somebody noticed.

It was reckless. A desperate, panicked attempt that lacked thought-through execution or knowledge. A gamble.

A gamble Simon intended to not let Oliver ever, ever take again, if he could help it.

---

taglist

@insanitywishes @18-toe-beans s @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @spiffythespook@simplygrimly @cinnamonflavoredhugs @finder-of-rings

[har-rison-s]

heaven: 16

nothing lasts forever

request/plot: Stan x Reader where they were together back in Derry and kind of forgot about each other after moving away but they always had a void in their lives. And then when Stan is just about to do it after Mikes call his phone rings and it’s you and you’re crying after just getting off the phone with Mike to come to Derry. You both end up going back and seeing each other at the restaurant and you guys just catch up after all these years that passed and old feelings come back.

A/N: Hi! Part sixteen already. Whew, last one was quite long, wasn’t it? It’s one of my best works ever, I think. Has me feeling so many emotions, and quite strongly, idk. Welp, here goes one of the last chapters. I still haven’t decided how many more chapters there will be, but I just know this Heaven is nearing its end. I hope you all like how this turns out. I’m still a bit conflicted between a few characters and plot points of the ending, like I have a few versions of the ending in mind, and I wanna execute all and none of them at the same time. If I decide on this one ending that’s the most strong out of all of them, I hope y’all won’t kill me. I just finished rewatching the 1990 mini-series. Damn, that’s messy. The dialogues, the special effects… Don’t even get me started on the acting. Anyways, happy quarantine reading! Love you lots <3

warnings: long as always hahahah, wounds, blood, food, nothing else

word count: 3.7k

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Gif credit goes to owner, which isn't me! (Also, it's raining in the gif but idc! Y'all know it's morning and sunny as hell in Derry, Maine rn!)

“Could we have six menus and a first-aid kit?” Richie Tozier asks the young waitress who has approached their miserable-looking table. Her eyebrows raise and she scans the eight adults to see why they would need a first aid kit—not that it’s any of her business—and she screams, coming across Eddie’s bleeding side. The Losers flinch at the high pitch of her scream.

“You need to get to the hospital!” She says, tears streaming down her face. Now this one’s quite emotional for six o’clock in the morning, the Losers think in unison and exchange looks between themselves, finding it imposible to say any words at the current moment. 

“I promise, he’s fine.” Richie tells the girl, looking at her through his thick glasses.

“It’s just a scratch.” Eddie says non-chalantly, and the waitress thinks to herself that these really are a bunch of crazy people, as she presumed when they walked inside the diner. “Besides, I’m a doctor. Could you please bring the menus and a.... uh, a first-aid kit?” He squints and tries his best at a smile at the crying waitress. 

She gathers herself, wipes her tears and smiles as wide as up to her ears. “Right away.” She says in a squeaky voice and leaves their table. The Losers exchange looks between themselves once again, overwhelmed by the events of the night and by the heavily emotional waitress that they have to deal with. They huddle closer together to one another in their red-and-white leather seated booth. 

The place smells of freshly cooked food, coffee and cigarettes. Oh, they’ll all definitely have coffee. A mood and energy booster, that’s for sure, that’s what they need. Though none of them are sure they even have such a thing as a ‘mood’, or ever will. This morning they’re certainly not in any kind of mood. To be completely honest, the Losers feel quite hollow. They feel completed, and they feel a lot of love and pride, but they feel empty inside, as if there’s a hole in their chests and it keeps getting more hollow. 

Stanley’s head rests on Y/N’s shoulder, his hair fallen against her delicate neck. She runs her fingers slowly through his semi-dry curls. Only the roots have dried, and slowly the draught moves further through his jet black strands, taking its time. Stanley places his hand over Y/N’s in his lap, their fingers intertwining seconds after. She lays a kiss on his forehead, and he closes his eyes. You can be at peace.

Y/N looks onto Eddie and Richie, both anxiously waiting for that requested first-aid kit. But they look more peaceful than ever before and Y/N thinks, they all must look that way. Richie’s arm has fallen with natural force around Eddie’s shoulders, and Eddie holds that slack hand in his own, creating a lock of security around himself. Richie’s other hand is drumming against the marbled surface of the table, and he looks at Bev and Ben across the table.

They’re talking to themselves abotu something so quietly that no one can hear them. Their foreheads are pressed together and they’re playing with each other’s hands softly, playfully. Bev’s crimson locks touch Ben’s cheek ever so softly and he closes his eyes. January embers. He opens his eyes again and looks strongly into Bev’s. My heart burns there, too.

Bill tries not to watch them too strikingly. But it’s hard, his first supposed crush and love sitting at the other end of the table with his best friend, completely in their own world, completely in love. It’s hard for his heart, to be precise. His mind knows better. You know better, Bill, you have a wife that you love and, now that you think of it, looks a lot like Bev here. And Beverly’s happy. So are the rest of your friends. You’ll go home and you’ll be happy, too. Back home with Audra, her movies, your novels and their shitty endings. 

Maybe I don’t want to go home, he finds himself thinking. And he’s a bit surprised by that thought. Hmm. What does that mean? Maybe I could live in Derry, spend the rest of my days here, watching as the town, hopefully, evolves, changes. Maybe he can live with Mike now. Bill looks over at his friend. Mike’s smiling, smiling for his friends and his own self, but he’s not looking at them. Mike is probably gonna stay, isn’t he? So what’s so bad about me staying here, and with him? 

Actually Bill doesn’t even wanna think about going back what’s been, for the last thirteen years, considered home. The thought of it makes him sick, for some reason. Maybe he’s not yet ready to think about it all, think about the possibility of going back to England and telling Audra they’re moving to Derry. Yeah, she is not gonna like it at all. And he’s not gonna like that she won’t like it. The thought of it makes him sick, as already said. 

“Here are your menus and the kit.” The waitress has returned, and she doesn’t look shabby anymore. She lays out the menus on the table with her delicate, seemingly teenage hands, and puts the first-aid kit on the table in front of Eddie. 

“Thanks so much.” Eddie speaks his thanks the loudest, and the young girl leaves again. Eddie immediately opens the red box and searches for disinfectant and bandages. He finds a bottle of Equate antiseptic and hands it to Richie, continuing his search for cotton gauze and pads, assuming he won’t find plasters as big as he needs in here. 

Richie unscrews the antiseptic and lifts up Eddie’s shirt. Jeez Louise, it’s a bloodbath. Eddie’s started to bleed onto the seat. Y/N sees their desperate situation and hands the box of tissues on the windowsill to Richie. But Richie gives them to Mike, so he can help clean the wound while Richie cleans it with wipes Eddie’s found in the box. 

“You’re losing a shit ton of blood, dude, you feeling okay?” Richie asks Eddie, carefully cleaning the scrape in his side. Eddie winces here and there, and even draws back when it really stings. 

“I’m fine.” Eddie replies in that same non-chalant voice he’s used for the past half hour. “It’s not that much, anyway.” Richie shakes his head at that statement. They’re almost done with cleaning the skin and wound. The blood still flows, though. 

“We’re going to the hospital later.” Richie states in a soft, commanding voice. Eddie doesn’t really pay mind to Richie’s words, having trouble connecting to thoughts about the next five minutes. He’s gathered some bandages from all that he could find in the kit. Then Eddie looks down at his left side and groans.

“Looks like something took a bite out of me.” He states, looking at the obvious strike in his skin and a bit further than that. There’s other layers visible already, a darker red than his skin. Muscle, that is, and he can see some blood vessels too. Oh, dear God, he’s going to faint. The blood flow is not stopping. 

“Be thankful it didn’t.” Richie reminds him. Eddie takes some medical wool and gives it to Richie. He puts it, as softly as he can, directly into the wound after it’s disinfected, to hopefully stop the blood drip for at least a while. Eddie winces, and his face scrunches so much he feels tears squirting out at the corners of his eyes. That is not a nice feeling at all. 

Mike presses his hand on the wool to keep it there while Richie gets bandages from Eddie. He puts the biggest plasters at the top and bottom of the wound, securing the wool, and Mike lets go. Then Eddie adds more wool, puts tissues and bandages over it, and Richie helps him secure it all with gauze. Quite messy, but for the time until they’re in the hospital, this will have to last. Richie cleans up the blood around their make-shift work place and puts Eddie’s shirt back down. They throw the tissues in a trash can under their table—wow, they have that kind of thing here?—and lean against the sofa, both tired, more tired than before.

“No staph infections in our lifetime.” Richie states between yawns. The ones who were there, in the back alley where the two holy words were spoken first, laugh. But Mike and Bev only share looks of confusion. Richie lays a kiss atop of Eddie’s head and embraces him back in his arms. Now they have time to look at what the menu’s offering.

Y/N opens the menu in front of her and Stanley so they can both read it at once. Stanley sighs. “I don’t have my glasses.” He mewls. The words printed on the laminated paper are blurry to him, and he realises his obstacles are either back at the  hotel or lost in the over-flown sewers or the underground lair. He blinks his eyes twice, but he still can’t read anything except for Derry Diner Menu, which are much larger and in bold. 

Y/N tilts her head to rest on his. “Breakfast. Pancakes - ones with caramel, ones with chocolate, ones with bacon and cheese, ones with berries and fruit, ones with ice cream…” She reads out loud. “Country breakfast - ham, eggs, fries, baked beans. Eggs Benedict, Lobster Benedict, Irish Benedict, Eggs Florentine, waffles, steak & eggs.” She sighs. “Anything strike your fancy?”

Stanley shrugs. “Keep reading.” He says, and feels his eyelids and chest heavy. Her voice is so sweet and soothing. Y/N nods.

“Breakfast burrito, mac and cheese, mac and cheese with lobster,” she widens her eyes, “chili, chicken pot pie… turkey, roast beef sandwhiches… sea food, side orders…” she flips through the menu, which requires to move the arm that’s around Stanley. And she finds that his body is limp against hers. She worriedly looks down. 

His breath passes through his slightly parted lips, his eyes are closed and his face is completely relaxed. He’s asleep. Y/N almost laughs into his face, but she turns away and suppresses her giggles. Her friends look at her. “He’s fallen asleep.” She tells them in a whisper, pointing down at Stanley. They nod and most of them smile. No wonder. They feel like doing the same, and they’re actually on the verge, if they weren’t concentrating on reading the menu and hoping for coffee soon. 

Y/N stops her giggling fit and looks down at the menu again. What do I want, what do I want… “What are you guys gonna order?” She asks her friends. 

“Probably pancakes.” Comes from Bev, who’s decided for both her and Ben.

“Us too.” Mike informs. “Bacon?” He asks.

“Berries.” Ben responds. 

“We’re gonna get that country breakfast or whatever.” Richie says. “To get proper fat, you know, grow into Eddie’s mom.” He explains further and everyone giggles, even Eddie himself. 

Y/N hums. “I’ve got no idea. I want everything, but it just won’t fit.” She states and Bill chuckles. “I know what to order for Stanley, but myself…”

“Take the same and stop working your brain.” Mike suggests. Y/N looks at him.

“It’s worked enough for the past hours.” Bill supports his argument. Her eyes shift to Bill, and then she looks down at the menu again, a smile on her face now. 

“I guess it’s just that easy now.” She admits and closes the menu, putting it on the table instead. Making decisions really is that easy now. She leans back into the seat, Stanley’s body moving with hers. He gets more comfortable while sleeping, his face nuzzling into her neck, tickling her a bit, and his arms going around her, securing themselves together at her waist. Y/N smiles and hugs him back, resting her cheek on his curls. She closes her eyes. 

“What will you have?” Bill asks her and she opens an eye to look at him, her own eyelids feeling sort of heavy now. “Before you join him.” He whispers, smiling. She smiles back.

“Love you, Bill.” She tells him sincerely. “Eggs Benedict for us both.” She says and Bill nods. “And coffee, too. Both black, but two sugars in Stanley’s.” She’s surprised herself that she still knows how he likes his coffee, or which breakfast option he’d always choose. It’s like it’s basic knowledge now, something that’s imprinted in her mind and feels like it’s been that way since she can remember. She closes her eyes again and lets her exhaustion take over. She wants to rest, just for a little bit, just lay with Stanley for a while.

She did join him in sleeping for a while. Bill wakes her up when the food and coffees have arrive, starting to tickle her, Ben doing the same to Stanley. The two adults jolt awake, eyes wide and confused, and make their friends laugh. 

“Morning, sleepyheads.” Richie nods to them with a smile. Stanley nods right back and Y/N and he both right themselves, sitting up straight. Y/N moves her hair behind her ear and Stanley flattens his shirt. They look down at the fresh food in front of them, though their vision and look on their environement is still hazy from the good-as-hell nap they just woke up from. 

“Bone, apple, tit, was it?” Richie suggests as a toast for the Losers’ diner breakfast. Everyone laughs once more, but they clink their coffee cups together, repeating Richie’s ridiculous words and they laugh again, harder this time. Languages have never been Richie’s strongest side. 

They all drink coffee in unison and regain some amount energy at that, then delve into their steaming breakfast which fill their noses up to the maximum with utterly irresistible aromas. Richie, like the beast he is, devours half of his plate in the first few minutes while everyone else devours their food bit by bit. But everyone is so endorsed in eating that they don’t pay mind to their friends, for the time they’re eating they even forget they’re with their friends, lest someone else entirely. Food is very good right now. Heavenly, if you might.

When they’re done, they all slump into their seats, letting out groans of content and holding their bellies. “For a diner, that was really good.” Bill says. Y/N laughs. Bill, Eddie, Stanley, Ben—cross that, all of them, except herself and Mike, have grown used to dining at fancy restaurants where it costs to even reserve a table, grown used to making great mega-dishes at home for themselves. They’ve grown used to business events with crazy dinners and a wide range of appetisers. Champagne, wine, whiskey of the highest classes. So this is entirely out of their usual menu, and Bill is, of course, taking it like a snob. Hence Y/N laughed. 

She and Mike have not lived the life their friends have. Not that it’s bad lives they’ve been living upto this point, just different, way different from most of the Losers Club. Y/N hasn’t become a famous writer, architect or fashion designer, neither has Mike. So for one, their daily routine differs, and two, their eating habits differ from their friends’. Diner food may be the lowest of them all, considered so by the highest class of society, but Y/N can safely admit that she likes diner food and doesn’t mind having it once in a while. And what can Mike have in this shithole town, anyway, other than make-believe restaurant meals, takeout and diners? Neither of them mind eating here now or any other time. 

“I want more.” Y/N manages to croak out, and everyone laughs. “Anyone up for a sundae split?”

“Ugh, we’re really gonna get fat.” Eddie sighs. 

“Haystack’s gonna have a come-back!” Richie announces and changes his face into an excited expression. But he still makes his friends laugh, including Ben himself. His laughter rumbles deep and low like a bear’s roar.

“I’ll have a sundae split with you, Y/N/N.” Beverly says, then. Y/N smiles at her. 

“Anyone up for a Diet Coke and salad?” Mike asks now, and they all laugh again. Richie joins the girls for a sundae split, and the rest agree with Mike’s offer. 

“Wait, wasn’t Y/N working in a diner for a while? In, like, high school?” Eddie asks now, as they wait for the waitress, and he looks at Y/N. She looks at him, tired and full from the eggs, but nods. 

“I was.” She confirms. “Not this one, though, the one in the center of town.” She leans towards the table to sit proper and rests her elbows on the surface. She crosses her arms and puts her chin on top of them. “After Bowers and Cockstetter were… out of the picture, I had the freedom to work in the skirt the diner required me to.” She recalls. Those boys were always onto her and Beverly, while they were still alive, which made it hard for them to ever wear something remotely feminine. They always got some sort of cat-calls, and groping was the worst of what would come from them. “Jesus…” 

“What scumbags they were.” Beverly joins in, also leaning against the table. She moves her hair out of her face, and looks to Y/N, but Ben’s worried gaze catches her eye instead. She turns to him. He only reaches for her hand with his own. I’m here now. 

“You working in a diner was the best thing, Y/N.” Richie says, putting emphasis on ‘best’. She looks at him now and smiles, remembering how stoked they all were for free food and the food that she actually made. Mostly deserts. Stanley’s arm makes its way around her waist. She leans closer to him. “I mean, the birthday parties there were amazing. Nothing could top them.”

“Wow, Rich, even college and work parties?” Mike asks, and they both chuckle.

“You bet your fur, Mikey,” Richie says, patting his friend’s shoulder. He looks reminiscent for a second, his head hangs down, and then he tries to put it into words, “you know, I think—I think because childhood, and teenage years, were the best part of my life. I mean, I’m forty now, so I’m old enough to say shit like that, you know, but… It’s true. I know that I thought it then and I know it now—those were the best parties of my life.” He admits and looks around at his friends. “Because—because I was still young, and because it was the best childhood, I think, any kid could wish for. Even counting in all the shame, the fear, and IT. And because I was with you guys.” 

A silence falls upon the Losers Club. But they smile at Richie, and at each other, realising that’s true. Those were the best years of their lives, and actually, taking the horrible parts, the best childhood any child could wish for. The best friends anyone could wish for to spend that childhood and those confusing, difficult teenage years with. Without each other, they wouldn’t be the same, and they wouldn’t be as strong and as full of love and, perhaps, belief. 

“You know…” Stanley starts to say, they look at him, “nothing lasts forever.” He states, shaking his head with a dreamy look in his eyes. Nothing does seem to last forever, that is true. But he has a feeling of differing in opinion with his own statement. Nothing lasts forever—the monster they thought had lived under Derry forever, eaten its kids and other residents, cast a spell on the adults and the whole air of Derry, is now dead. So that doesn’t last forever. The promise they made—it is fulfilled now, meaning it won’t last forever, either. It lasted as long as needed to unite them all again. But this… what they have…

“Except for friendship.” Y/N says, looking at him. “And love.” Yes, friendship and love. Those will last forever. The love they have for each other will outlive all their future deaths, all their future kids’ deaths, and their kids’ deaths. This love, and this bond, it will last forever. It will always be somewhere in the predicted long life of the Earth and humanity. It will fly with the wind, blossom in flowers and rosy cheeks, it will swim with the ocean and breathe with the air. Always.

“And love.” Eddie says it with Y/N in unison. They smile at each other. Love. What a wonderful thing. It might as well be a living creature, like fear was. Only much stronger.

“Desire.” Ben suggests. Beverly closes her eyes and leans her head on his shoulder. I know, Ben. But we’re here now. All the desire pent up in teenage and adult years seems much lighter now. For Beverly, Ben and for Richie and Eddie, too. And for Stanley and Y/N. All their desire towards each other has finally been released, even if the door to it is only open in a narrow slit now. Desire might as well live in all eight of them, desire for each other, desire to meet each other again, desire to have that unbreakable friendship again. Desire for that lived in their hearts all these empty years, it was unknown and mysterious, a feeling they could not guess. Now it’s known, and out in the open, nothing to hide from each other. Or anyone else, for that matter. They’re proud.

The Losers Club fall silent, but comfortably so. They’re finally in a comfortable state with themselves and each other, and with the world around them. Strange, vile and ignorant as it may be, the world is truly amazing, though, and much bigger than they all thought. Brought them together that one summer, made a bond that will last forever. They’ve got a lot to thank it for. But they’ve also got every reason to kick the world in the butt and other places. 

For now, they’ll let it slide. For now, they’re only focused on being in the diner, getting desert and then showering. Most importantly, for now, they’ve got each other, safe and healthy, and that’s all they need. That will do. 

“Anything else you’d like to order?”

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[not-the-cleavers]

Target II - Chapter 3

As promised, chapter 3 - now the reason for posting them both on the same day should be clear, this one is from Fours POV and things get a little spicy Tags; @adrenaline-roulette​ and @amy-brooklyn99​ - if you would like to be tagged just let me know 

This is a second upload as the first freaked out and kept only the title

Pairing; Four x Eight (female reader) Fandom; 6 Underground Warnings; Swearing, little teeny hint of something smutty  Word count; 1.6k (total so far 4.5k)

Summary; The team has moved onto their next target after dealing with Rovach Alimov, a war criminal named John Dough. Eight has just joined the team and is dying to show how much she deserves to be there

Catch up; Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Five was hurriedly making her way across the lot, seemingly walking towards Eight’s trailer, looking like she was on a mission all her own muttering to herself under her breath. “Hey wait up” I called after her, jogging to catch up. “Look I can’t talk I’ve got a lot to do before One’s next brief” she huffed “most importantly I’ve got to check that Eight it healing ok, no one has seen her since the mission” “Do you want me to check on her? I’m not doing anything right now” I asked, but in reality I wanted to see her again, the last I saw she was unconscious and slowly bleeding out as Five worked on her “Oh that would be great! Come find me after you see her to let me know how she’s doing” she called out as she turned on her heel and darted off in the opposite direction. Dread filled my stomach when I reached the trailer door, she may not be ok in there and I wasn’t sure I was ready to witness that.

With a deep breath I knocked on the door and Eight’s quiet voice could be heard from inside. “Good to hear you’re alive” I called out as I walked up the two steps into her quarters. She was leaning up against the back wall sipping from a bottle of water, she was paler than usual which caused a beautiful contrast between her skin and her black bra and leggings. Shit, she’s not exactly dressed, am I staring? I feel like I’m staring. “Oh sorry, do you want me to come back in a moment?” I quickly blurted out hoping she didn’t notice the elongated pause. “Nah it’s alright, chuck me that shirt and I’ll cover myself up for you.” Right, shirt, I know what shirts look like. ‘Calm down man, you’ve seen naked women before, why are you acting like this?’ I asked myself as my fingers wrapped around a shirt, which she struggled to get over her head, I held myself back from helping her out, unsure that she would appreciate it. “So what’s up?” she asked, completely unfazed about the fact she was healing from a bullet wound. “I just wanted to check you’re ok, and apologise for not realising you had been shot, I was supposed to be covering you, and I fucked it up” I said, not daring to take my eyes off the floor, trying desperately to keep my voice from breaking. It was my job to get the team up through the skylight in one piece, and she ended up with a bullet in her side, and I had no idea. “Four, let me sit down and we’ll chat about this” she said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear her. She was desperately trying to lower herself into a worn brown chair next to where she was standing. I jumped to action and quickly ran to her side to help her down gently so to not cause her any pain. Once she was situated I stepped back and started to slowly pace in front of her “That’s better. Right, the easy answer, I’ll be fine. Now as for you thinking you need to apologise for this. I need you to know that this is not your fault. I got shot, it happens, but I’m alive. The only person to blame for this is the guy who pointed his gun at me, and he’s dead now, and I’ll get a cool new scar at the end of this.” How was she so nonchalant about this? She was fucking shot and she’s acting like its nothing. I turned to say something but she hissed and I noticed her eyes were shut tight. I quickly sat myself in front of her, worried she had hurt herself. “Did you just pull a stitch? Are you ok?” I asked frantically, searching her face for clues as to what had happened. She placed her hand on my cheek, lightly stroking her thumb across my skin, instantly calming me down. I instinctively leant into her palm, not wanting this feeling to end. “I’m fine, I swear. I’m just tender. I’ll be back to normal in a few days.” She spoke softly, and it was reassuring to hear her say that. “Four, I need you to know that what happened is not on you. Hell I didn’t even realise I had been shot, how were you supposed to know?”

I was about to go into the speech I had been practising in my head over the last few days, how it didn’t matter, how I was supposed to look after her and keep her safe, but the door to Eight’s trailer blew open and an extremely worried Five appeared. As soon as she spotted me her worry turned to anger. Fuck. Eight asked her a question but I didn’t hear her, I was too busy fearing for my life as Five was gearing up to tear me a new one. “Seriously! You volunteer to check to make sure she’s still alive and you don’t come back? I thought she might have been bleeding out and instead you’re doing….what exactly are you doing?” she was yelling and I knew I was dead, Five is terrifying, but I knew I had to own up to my mistake. I completely forgot to go tell her that Eight was fine. “Five it’s my fault I’m sorry, I didn’t know you wanted Four back right away and I kept him here” Eight piped up, covering for me and saving my ass and calming five right down. Now I really owe her. “That’s ok Eight, while I’m here I may as well check your wound” she said in her normal, happy voice and looked down at her gloved hands. “Right, I can’t dirty these gloves; Four help her out.” It took me a moment to realise that Five needed me to help get Eight to her feet, and in that moment Five started moving her hands as if to tell me to hurry up. I grabbed one of Eights hands and wrapped it around my shoulders, then slowly pulled her up. I took a step back so Five could get to work but Eight suddenly piped up. “Dude, I need you to help me with my shirt as well” her small hands grabbing mine and directing them towards her shirt. I completely froze. I had always imagined the first time taking her clothes off would be in a feverish rush of passion, and definitely not with someone else in the room watching us. I helped slip the oversized shirt off her body, trying not to stare at any one place too long, fighting the urge to place my hands on her soft curves and pull her close. A wolf whistle came from behind me where Five was standing, causing me to jump to the back of the room and try to take my mind off all the raunchy things that popped into my head.

Five was talking to Eight, but I wasn’t listening. Eight started to unravel the bandage that was tightly hugging her body and that’s when I started to see the real damage. A deep blue and purple bruise had made its way around her body, looking quite sore and swollen, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight under the medical gauze. Stitched up cuts had spread on her torso like as if she was cracked glass, jagged lines leading to the round bullet wound that looks like it had been burnt closed. Just as I was starting to get nauseated Five placed a fresh piece of gauze down and taped it to her body. “One wants us all in the hanger in 20 minutes. Don’t be late” I heard her say, like a mother talking to misbehaving children.

“Hey I desperately need to get changed, could you wait outside while I do that and we’ll walk together?” I heard Eight say softly. With my mind still reeling from everything that had just occurred all I could muster was a nod.

In the heat of the California sun my mind was a blur of Eight’s face, her body, me removing her clothes and then her wound, it was a strange mix of arousing and horrifying. I wanted to grab hold of her and make sure she wasn’t in pain, but also make her moan my name.

The sound of trailer door opening one last time brought me back to reality and we started to walk towards the hanger that One had decided would be our base of operations. It wasn’t long before Eight spoke again. “I mean now you owe me one because I just saved your ass, but regarding what we were talking about before, are we good?” I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and explain that I would never let anyone hurt her again, that I would protect her until the day I actually die, instead I just nodded, keeping my eyes glued ahead of us. “Talk to me man, what’s going through your head”

“I just hope I didn’t cross a line before” I muttered softly, waving my hand towards the trailer we were slowly walking away from. What I want, I can’t have and if for some unknown reason Eight wants the same thing, it would make us less effective out on missions. It would be best to ignore what I want and just focus on the job at hand.

“Don’t worry about that, and you don’t have to worry about doing that again.” Wait is she disappointed? Does she really want the same thing here? My mind was going a hundred miles an hour and I couldn’t focus on one thing. Without realising it, we had almost made it the rest of the way to the hanger in complete silence. I’ll have to continue this after the brief.

[frightgothcar]

HEY! Hey, you, reading this!!! I fuckin love writing but what I need to be able to write is a little thing called approval!! If you like this please comment and/or reblog!!!!!!!!!!

Area 51 au thingy. Danny/Wes. Songfic? Not really but the whole idea came from this song. V is based off of @its-towarzysz (main)/ @we-all-horny-here (sanders sides sideblog)/ @cockworktower (dp side blog) you should check them out, they make hella good content. Thanks to all my friends who helped me with motivation/proofreading. Tw for Death, Blood, Guns, and Violence. (Tell me if I forgot anything). I love this pairing and the lack of content sparks deep anger in my soul!! :)) Thanks for reading, enjoy!!

EDIT: Posting this on ao3 also @/godcannotdefeatfanfic 

September 20th, 10:30 am

Area 51

Wes Weston had nothing to live for. Ever since his Mom had gone out for cigarettes on his 6th birthday and never come back his life had been a constant downward spiral. Maybe that was why he was in the middle of the Nevada desert, preparing to attempt to rush a highly armed government facility with a million other suicidal Millenials.  

He fanned his face with his hand. It was over 86 degrees and he was practically melting in his Casper High spirit T-Shirt and blue jeans. He contemplated getting into his pickup truck and blasting the a/c but considering he only had a quarter tank of gas left, and it was a good 20 miles to the nearest gas station, he decided against it. Instead, he got onto his phone and texted his friends for the third time that morning. 

Basketball-Boi: where r yall? its hot.

Phurry: we’re just driving in!! Do u see us?

Basketball-Boi: uhhh whats ur car look like

Phurry: the silver one

Basketball: V there are like a million silver ones what kind of car

Phurry: uhh Val says its called a subaru we’re right by a black car

Red_Huntress: They’re standing on the roof and waving. Can you see us now?

Wes looked up from his phone to see a person, about his age, standing on the roof of a silver Subaru, wearing a black band t-shirt and neon green booty shorts. Their long blond ponytail swished around their face as they jumped up and down excitedly. A girl stepped out of the car and began scolding her friend. She was wearing a matching red pair of shorts, there was black lettering on her backside that he couldn’t quite make out. He began waving back, which only excited the blond more. They lept over the brown-skinned girl and bolted towards Wes.

“Ready to fuck some aliens, Basketball-Boi?” They pulled him into a tight embrace.

“I was born ready!” He laughed, “How are you, V?”

“Pretty gay, thanks for asking.”

Wes opened his mouth to speak but V cut him off with an excited shout.

“Oh! That reminds me!” They slipped their arms out of their backpack straps and dug through the mint green bag for a minute before pulling a pair of hot pink shorts, “I wanted us all to match! Made ‘em myself!”

They flipped the shorts around to reveal ‘100% Nasty’ embroidered onto the ass in black. They then turned around to show off their own message, that read ‘Trash Man’.

“I made one for Val too, c’mon, we have to wear them!!”

Wes grabbed the shorts and held them to his hips. “Is this what you needed my measurements for?”

They nodded enthusiastically, “I was gonna make us team jackets, but that’s so cliche.”

“Huh, I mean, don’t get me wrong, these are… great, but are you sure pink is my color?”

V rolled their eyes, “Of course I’m sure, Wes! Just put them on, you’ll see.”

Wes sighed and walked behind his red truck for some privacy, not that there was much of that, the field was crowded with cars. He pulled down his blue jeans, thankful for the breeze on his legs, and pulled on the shorts. They were a perfect fit, clinging to his waist, and resting on his barely existent hips. The feeling of showing so much skin was odd to him, he’d never worn anything that short in public, but the look on V’s face made it all worth it to him. They didn’t laugh like he’d been expecting them to, instead clapping their hands and going on about how relieved they were that the shorts actually fit. He did a quick turn for them, and they nodded in satisfaction.

“I think it’s about time we caught up to Val, did y’all remember to bring soda?”

“Only the finest Mountain Dew the 7/11 could provide, M’lady,” V grinned. 

“Than shall we be going, M’lord?” Wes held out his arm.

“Indubitably.” V linked their arm through his and they wandered through the crowd, searching for Valerie’s silver Subaru. 

“Wes! V! Over here!” Val called, waving the hand that wasn’t holding a Mountain Dew at her friends. The two of them waved back and jogged toward her. 

“Hey Val, long time no see,” Wes grinned as he pulled her into a hug.

“I missed ya, Weston,” Val reached up to ruffle his hair, but Wes dodged, pulling her into a headlock instead. 

“Missed ya too, Grey,” He gave her a noogie and released her, leaving her free to jump onto him and boost herself high enough to get revenge.

“Aww, adorable! Old lovebirds rekindling an old flame?” V fluttered their eyelashes at their friends, who immediately recoiled.

“Ew, no! Wes? If I had to pick a guy, maybe. And that’s a hard maybe. I’m too gay for this.” Valerie picked up her can from the hood of her car and took a swig.

“Yeah! She’s like my little sister!”

“Hey, I’m older than you!”

“By like two weeks!”

V broke into laughter, “Cool it lovebirds, I’m only joking.”

Val and Wes rolled their eyes at V, who was now on the ground, rolling with laughter. 

“Permission to pour some soda out onto our hilarious friend’s head?” Val asked teasingly.

“Permission granted! Fire at will!” Wes saluted. Val tipped her can enough to sprinkle V with the sticky green drink. They got to their feet, still laughing, and lunged for Val’s can. They knocked it backward, spilling soda all over Val’s shirt.

“EEK,” She squealed, “You’ll pay for this, Trash Man, If it’s the last thing I do!” 

She tried to push the can towards V, but they still had a grip on her arm. They tugged the can back and forth for a few seconds before it crumpled under the pressure.

“Shit!” Val swore, letting go of the can and cradling her palm. “I think I cut myself.”

V dropped the can, game of tag forgotten, and crowded next to their friend. Wes joined their huddle. 

“I think I have a first aid kit in my truck. How bad is it?” He asked.

Val opened her hand to reveal a small, but deep wound on the side of her palm.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault, if I hadn’t-” V began.

“Naw, it was as much my fault as yours. Anyway, we were having fun, and it’s really just a scratch. Keep focused on those Aliens, Private!” Val reassured them.

“Aye aye, Captain!”

Wes walked back to his truck, ignoring the stares of passerby. He grabbed his first aid kid (thank god for boy scouts) and walked back to Val’s car.

“So,” Wes ripped open a disinfecting wipe with his teeth and got to work cleaning her hand of blood. “How’s your dad?”

“He’s doing-” She drew in a sharp breath as he dabbed along the wound with a clean wipe. “Fine. The new job’s working out great, he’s happier than I’ve seen him in a while.”

Wes nodded and began wrapping her hand in gauze, “I’m glad. He wasn’t himself when you left.”

“It really all did work out for the better, didn’t it,” V smiled and handed Wes a length of medical tape. “Oh! I forgot! Val, show Wes what your ass says!”

She groaned, “Do I have to?”

V scowled, “Of course you have to, it was your idea!”

“I was just joking!”

“Tsk tsk, I think you’ve known me long enough to know that when it comes to cursed content, there are no jokes.”

“C’mon Val, it can’t be worse than ‘100% Nasty’,” Wes smirked.

V gasped dramatically and feigned offense, “You’ve wounded me! I work so hard, and for what, ungrateful friends?”

“Fine, if it’ll make you happy I’ll show him my ass. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She winked at him before turning to show her backside. Black embroidery spelled out ‘Booty Hunter’.

Wes burst out laughing, which quickly turned to hysteric noises only vaguely resembling laughter, squeals, and snorts with shrieking giggles between them. V and Val couldn’t help but join in. The second one of them stopped laughing someone would whisper Booty Hunter and it’d start all over again. 

“Okay, okay,” Wes gulped in air, “We- hic -should calm down now.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Val wiped a tear from her eye, “I am the Queen of Calm.”

V got to their feet and dusted themself off. “Totally calm. Calmer than a… something calm.”

“When does the raid start?” Wes pulled out his phone and checked the time. 12:00.

“Around, 12:30ish, we have time.” V waved their hand.

“I dunno, it’s already 12, maybe we should start getting ready.”

“What do you mean it’s already-” V snatched the phone from his hand, “Huh. Time sure flies when you’re having fun.”

“Wait, get ready for what exactly? I mean, we’re here, we’ve got our shorts on, there’s enough Mountain Dew in my car to drown an elephant, what else is there to get ready?” Val questioned.

“Uhhh, I dunno, stretch?” Wes shrugged, “It just feels like we’re forgetting something. What exactly is the plan for this whole thing anyway? Are there gonna be waves? Do we all go at once? This is a pretty poorly organized event.”

Val shrugged, clearly unphased by the lack of organization, “We’ll just go when everyone else starts running. I’m sure the start of gunfire will tell us when.”

“Look, if it’s making you so worried, we can stretch before. I’m sure everything will be fine. Plus, we all get alien Girlfriends, so it’s a win-win!” V put their hand on his arm. Wes smiled thankfully down at them.

“Yeah, that’s probably it. Yall must think I’m being a nitpick-”

“Not at all! You’re probably right, after all, it must be at least a mile to the base from here, and we can’t let cramps keep us from sweet sweet alien romance.” Val propped her leg up on the hood of her car and pressed her head to her knee, “Plus that’ll give us an advantage over the Kyles.”

V nodded and fell into a lunge, “We’ve been training since July for this, can’t let it get away now because we forgot to stretch.”

Wes bent over and touched his toes, “Thanks y’all, you’re really the best friends I could ask for.” 

The screech of a megaphone rang out through the valley. A voice came through the static, “Raiders! Get into position, we’re storming the gates in exactly fifteen minutes!” 

A cheer broke through the crowd as people began chugging what was left of their sodas and migrating towards the front lines. 

“Well, this is it I guess. If I don’t make it out of the raid, put this on my tombstone.” Wes gestured downward, where he was holding his hand in a circle. 

“Dammit!” Valerie chuckled as Wes gave her a playful punch in the arm. 

“You’ll never take me alive!” V shouted and sprinted forwards as Wes moved towards them.

“On your marks!”

“Wanna bet on that?” Wes shouted back, weaving through the crowd to catch up with them.

“Get set!”

V pushed forward, using their small frame to their advantage, easily losing the taller one in the crowd.

“Raid!”

The mob roared, then began thundering forward, but the deafening sounds of the people were nothing compared to what followed. Thousands of guns began firing at once, hitting everyone and everything in the vicinity. Wes watched with horror as the first wave of people were mowed down right before his eyes. A flash of neon green caught his eye through the carnage. He ran towards his friend, who was standing, paralyzed, next to a few other survivors. He shouted their name, and just as they turned their head another hailstorm of bullets rained down. The first one embedded itself right into V’s chest, right above their heart. Wes sprinted to catch his injured companion, but by the time he got there the life was already draining from their eyes.

“V! V, can you hear me? Don’t go into the light, hold on, ok? You’ve got this, V, answer me!”

He pressed his head to their chest, a weak heartbeat answered him. “It’s gonna be okay. Shhh, you’re okay.” 

Something wet dripped down his face, and he realized he was crying.

“...Wes,” V rasped out, then began violently coughing up blood. Little flecks of red peppered Wes’ face like freckles. “Fuck an alien for me, okay? Can you promise me that?”

Their body went limp in his arms. 

“V? V! V, wake up, please, that can’t be it, please V, you’re only 17, please!” He shook their corpse, but to no avail. V was gone. He closed his eyes and let out a shuttering breath before standing up, still clutching their body in his arms. 

“Second wave! On your marks!” The megaphone blared to life.

The crowd let out another, less confident cheer. After seeing all the carnage most of the raiders were less enthusiastic to ‘see them aliens’. But this time Wes had made up his mind. He was going to make it into that Government facility, and he was gonna burn that motherfucker to the ground.

“Get set!”

He laid his friend on the ground and pressed a kiss to their forehead. If it wasn’t for the massive amount of blood they could’ve been sleeping.

“Go!”

Wes screamed with all the anger he had in him and charged forward. Bullets rained down near him, but this time there were less of them. This time he had a chance. He saw the gate coming closer. He was only 50 feet away, he could make it! He hopped over the fence, ignoring the blaring of sirens, and kept running. He pushed his way into the building, where, surprisingly, there was no security. It looked like they had invested all their soldiers into protecting the outside of the base. His adrenaline rush began to slow down. He dragged his feet down the linoleum hallway, looking at his bloodsoaked hands. 

“What the fuck just happened?” He whispered to himself, still shellshocked. A flicker of light caught his eye. Grateful for a distraction, he turned his attention to what looked like a futuristic control panel. The buttons were labeled in some sort of code, their luminescent surfaces grinning up at him.

“Looking for me, Short-Shorts?” A calm voice echoed through the hall. Wes whipped around, ready for a fight.

“Why so on edge, Ginger? Surely I’m not that intimidating.” It purred.

“Who are you?!” Wes shouted. He winced at the echo. Did he really sound that unhinged?

“On your left.” 

He turned and found himself face to face with the most beautiful boy he’d ever seen. He looked about his age, maybe 17. His skin was tan, but had a slight blueish tint, as if he’d been without oxygen for a while. Poking from his tuft of pearly white hair was a pair of blur antenna. He had a small build, maybe 5 feet tall at best, but was floating at eye level with Wes. Speaking of his eyes, they were quite possibly the most gorgeous thing about him. He had eyes greener and glowyer (is that even a word? Either way it was true.) than toxic waste, his pupils were like a cat’s, slit down the middle. He was clothed in a baggy black prison jumpsuit. He looked almost alien. Wes realized with a start that he must be an alien. 

“Are you done staring?” The boy asked, snapping Wes out of his trance. “It won’t be long before the guards realize you’re in here, and I’d rather get out without a bullet hole.”

“I- I don’t- what are you?” Wes stammered.

“I’m Project Phantom, or Danny if you prefer. What’s your name?”

“I’m… Wes?”

[daenyara]

At Her Side - Theonsa

anonymous asked:  theon/sansa with “i think i forgot what human contact felt like?”

words: 1.2k

synopsis: Theon survived the battle of Winterfell, but his wounds still have to heal.

warnings: fix-it fic, blood/wounds/death mention, abuse mention (just a quick reference to Ramsay), cheesy romantic tropes aka Sansa tending Theon’s wounds bc why not

a/n: this was partially inspired by one of @leroichevalier​‘s edits that made me go “hey what if Theon’s still alive and we all say fuck canon?”

The door flies open and a few awaited words are spoken.

“My lady. He’s awake.”

The maester’s voice sounds muffled over her heartbeat, but Sansa rises to her feet at once and rushes out.

There’s an intricate labyrinth of pitch-black hallways that lead to the infirmary, but Sansa knows exactly where to go without even needing a torch. Despite the years she spent away from home, Winterfell is part of her, and she knows those hallways and dark rooms by heart.

When she enters the infirmary Theon is laying there, almost in the exact same position he was when she has left him the night before. His eyes are shut, but she can tell he’s awake by the way his chest rises and falls.

She gets closer, her step light as a snowflake and her heart heavy with pain as she studies the dark circles under Theon’s eyes, which throw livid shadows over his eyelids. He looks so pale, so fragile. The battle against the dead drained almost all the blood from his veins, and the cold sucked away his life till there was barely any of it left.

When they found him in the snow, injured and unconscious, they thought he was dead. By the grace of the gods, there was still the phantom of a heartbeat keeping him alive as if he wasn’t ready to leave this world, not just yet. Sansa had watched over him day and night, bowed over his bed, her auburn hair spread over the fur cover as she squeezed his hand. Eventually, they had to force her out of there because she refused to rest.

Maybe she should say something, she thinks. She should probably be praying, that’s what a lady is supposed to do. But she doesn’t pray anymore, and all she wants to do right now is to scream in anger. Because the Night King did not almost kill Theon, it was his own honour that did it. Ah, heroes and their stupid honour. Wouldn’t it be better to live at the side of those who love you, despite not being the most honourable of men? Sansa surely thinks so. Valour almost ripped her love away from her.

“Sansa?” 

Theon’s voice is weak and croaky, and it’s clearly difficult for him to speak, but he immediately cracks a smile as he catches sight of her.

“You’re alive,” she breathes out, and it’s the first time she’s let herself saying it out loud.

He moves a little, just enough for his hand to brush against hers, and his smile grows brighter. “You’re here.”

The corners of Sansa’s mouth quirk up a little and she glances away for a moment before speaking again. “How are you feeling?”

She has a soft, kind voice. All the anger and frustration have disappeared, melted along with the lump in her throat.

Theon chuckles, trying not to wince in pain. “I’ve seen better days.” 

He tries to recall the events of a few nights before, but everything in his mind seems blurry and dark. Did he fail to protect Bran? The thought makes him shudder with terror. Are Jon and Arya alright? And what about his Queen? He groans when he tries to sit up and falls back on the bed. “The battle… what happened?”

“It’s over. We won, the dead have been defeated.” Our home is safe, she wants to say, but instead, she squeezes his arm in an attempt to reassure him that she’s speaking the truth.

Theon’s jaw tenses as he searches for her eyes. The Tully eyes, they say, with all the colours of the rivers, like the eyes of her mother Catherine. Same as Robb, whom he had once called ‘King’… those were the eyes he had followed into battle, right before betraying his brother and his home. Now he’s almost too scared to ask, but his mouth moves on its own accord. 

“Bran?”

“He’s alive.” The words linger in the air, and Sansa let them sink in before grabbing Theon’s hand. “You protected him, Theon. My brother is only alive because of you. Thank you.”

There are a few tears in her eyes, and a rebel strand of her flaming hair fell on her face. She looks lovely, so lovely. ‘Kissed by fire’, that’s what they call people with red hair among the Free Folk. While he feels his heart burning for her, Theon can’t help but think that she’s not the only one who was kissed by fire.

He cannot tell her, though. Not just yet. He cannot confess that he’s only breathing because of her, and that the fear of never seeing her again made him hold on to such a cruel and sorrowful life.

The wooden door opens and Sansa quickly let go of his hand, turning away.

“I’m sorry for interrupting, my lady, but the wounds need to be cleaned.”

“I’ll do it,” she assures after a moment, eager to be left alone with Theon, so the maester gives her the clean gauzes and leaves.

Sansa is not a maester, but she can handle cleaning wounds. She had to learn the hard way. Her fingertips lightly touch Theon’s skin while she removes the old bandages, soaked with death and half-dried blood. The cut is deep but the edges are clean, and the blood ceases to pour to out almost immediately as she eases the injury. As soon as she starts wrapping his chest with silk, Theon flinches.

“I’m sorry, I-” she stumbles on her apology, mortified, but he shakes his head.

“No, it’s alright.” He’s silent for a minute, while she continues her task. Suddenly, his lips curve into a sad smile. “I think I forgot what human contact felt like?”

It comes out as a question as if he’s not sure and he’s waiting for her to correct him. In reality, Theon is not able to remember the last time someone touched with such tenderness and care. In fact, he’s pretty sure no one ever did.

Sansa doesn’t say anything, she simply stares at him in silence, her hand resting on his bare shoulder. He knows she understands, and she knows how he feels. Mostly because she feels the same, most of the time. Ramsay really did break them, didn’t he? They’re stronger, now, but still broken. Some shattered parts of them will never be fixed, nor forgotten.

Sansa looks down, clenching her jaw. “It doesn’t seem infected, but I’ll have the maester check on you again. Rest, now.”

“Don’t,” blurts out Theon before he can stop himself, and he reaches to grab her hand as she’s standing up to leave. “Stay with me. Please.”

The pleading in his ocean blue eyes hits her, sweet and bitter, just like their story. A most loving smile graces her features and she once again sits at his side.

I won’t leave you and you’re not allowed to leave me, either. Your place is at my side and in my heart, Theon Greyjoy.

Their story hasn’t ended, yet.