#i had a block about doing liquid meds because i had fucked it up before and traumatized myself about it years and years ago

[letmeliedown]

toast finally managed to poop earlier and i was finally able to get liquid meds in her mouth without help (can't mix buprenorphine with food because it has to directly contact the mucus membrane). her vet appointment is on tuesday (right after the pain clinic appointment i thought was last week and showed up on the wrong day for)

[jangofctts]

Ma’am I’m dying out here. It’s always “Void will wreck you in the fresher” and “Void has the third best stroke game of the squad” but never “Here I wrote a lil blurb of Void wrecking your shit”

Please I need we need it

smH YOURE RIGHT IVE BEEN DENYING YALL KJEKEJH

ct-7775 void // fem!reader

warnings: shower sex 

You’re not quite sure when this became a regular occurrence--a couple months ago you think. Sorta like date night, except in the fresher...naked and undoubtedly against regulations. That’s what makes it fun you suppose--a little late night thrill.   

Not like anyone would find you, you specifically chose time slots around midnight so you’d have the entire fresher block to yourself--an ingenious idea and totally worth waking up with wet hair in the morning. You just--well you didn't expect someone else to have the same idea. Safe to say it was a little jarring to cross paths naked and afraid, soaped up and scrambling for a towel with Sunburst squadron’s finest and only medic. Void. 

To be fair, he hadn't even seen you. It was the end of your shift, tunnel vision on one thing, and one thing only. A nice hot fresher and certainly not a naked you. 

With neither of you willing to budge and shuffle around schedules, you came to the brilliant conclusion that you could both shower at the same times--just so long as you both kept your eyes to yourselves. Funny how that rule barely lasted two weeks.    

Safe to say, it’s been the best sex you’ve ever had. And all done in a fresher for kriff’s sake. 

Once or twice every week you have Void all to yourself--that permanent scowl and grumpy mannerisms washing away with the flow of water and the warmth of your skin. A completely different man--one briefly unburdened with the weight of keeping his brothers alive and well just to send them off to battle the next day. You don’t mind being his distraction--as fleeting as it may be.   

Tonight is no different as the solid line of his body slips in behind you, filling in the limited amount of space left in the tiny space. And you mean tiny. You can move without challenging your flexibility or banging your elbows and knees against the walls.

The touch of Void’s palm over your ribcage pulls a pleased sigh from your lungs. His fingers tickle up your shoulder blade and sweeps your hair, plastered to the nape of your neck, to the side. “Let me see you...”

You turn without hesitation, giggling as Void’s hand cups your cheek, his thumbs jumping up to smooth down your eyebrows and wick away the rivulets of water. Before you have the chance to greet him, Void tugs you forward into a deep, toe-curling kiss, shuddering as the cool durasteel of the wall touches your back. You break away and place your palm over his cheek. leans into your palm and smiles as your thumb lands right over the little blue dot tattooed onto his cheek.

“How was it today?”

“Sweets got a splinter and Fuse burned himself playing with matches again.” Void grumbles, sliding his other hand up to cup one of your breasts. He pinches your nipple and rolls it between his forefinger and thumb, plucking out a gasp from your parted lips. “All I could think about was you--always distractin’ me.”  

You roll your eyes. “Boohoo--baby is distracted by my tits. You’re lucky I like you.”  

Void buries his face into the crook of your neck, nips at your ear and hooks his arm around your waist. “Mhm. If I accidentally kill someone, s’because of you.”  

You slide your fingers through his hair, a bit long once it’s wet and free from his headband--you give the strands a playful jostle. Void tilts his head, skims his lips over the line of jaw and steals another kiss--when he pulls away he hesitates here for a moment--simply drinking in the shape of you, every freckle and little wrinkle, grafting it into his memory for eternity. It’s a two way mirror however--

The bags under his eyes, like two swaths of purpling bruisers, are worse than last week and Maker--do they ever give this man a break? “Void--when’s the last time you slept?”

He blinks rapidly and shoves his head back into the crux of your shoulder to avoid your scrutiny. “Don’t worry about it.”

You frown. You’ll push him about it later, because right now? He’s trailing tiny, addicting kisses from your shoulder up to your ear, your blood already singing even though the chaste pecks border innocent. You gasp as those kisses morph into nips, sucking sure to be bruises into the flesh, marking you just below the line of where the collar of your uniform ends.

The arm around your waist skims further down, grabbing a handful of your ass and roughly squeezing.  You whimper, curling further into his hold as liquid heat races from the pit of your stomach and outward to each and every limb. He worms his muscled thigh between your legs, pinning you further against the wall, the hand on your ass snaking back to massage tiny circles over your thigh. You whimper and thread your fingers into the wet strands of his hair, arching into his chest.

“Fuck--you’re a vision,” Void pants, “So beautiful.”  

He moans low in the back of his throat as your hand gently encompasses his cock, thick and swelling to its full length in your palm. “I could say the same about you, handsome.”

 Void shudders and sags into your hold, huffing out curses and roughly parting your thighs further apart. You whine and press your head into the wall as he hikes your thigh up and around his hip. He then slides two of those thick, calloused fingers pass over your clit, throbbing and aching to be touched. Your own slick mixed with the aide of the water let the two digits glide with ease over your lips, rocking down to circle your clenching entrance then back to lightly trace the little bundle of nerves.

His cock jumps in your grip as you whine his name, needy and desperate as you roll your palm up and down his cock. He curses under his breath, and bites your earlobe. “You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

You groan as he pushes a finger into your cunt, the muscles squeezing around him for just a shred of pleasure. “Yes--please, Void--fuck me.”

“Such a filthy mouth.” He chastises with a dark chuckle.

You groan out your frustration as you roll your hips, your nails digging into his bicep to pull him closer. He must take pity on your squirming, pathetic display as he abruptly extracts his finger and drops your thigh. 

Your stomach drops as your bare feet slip off the tiles, yet the heavy muscled weight of Void’s chest pinning you forward saves you from landing ass over heels. He’s stronger than he looks, a fact you’re confronted with as he scoops your knee over his elbow and squishing you further into the wall. “Careful, mesh’la--wouldn’t want a trip to med bay, now would we?”  

You swear and dig you nails into his shoulder, slippery from the water. He grips his cock in one hand and slides the thick head over the wet slit of your cunt, the tip of him catching against your dripping entrance.

You jerk and press your hips back. “V-Void…”

Your breath catches in your throat as the very tip of him, searing hot and harder than tempered steel, pushes into you. It feels the same with each time he fucks you, that pinch and fluttering panic low in your stomach that he’s too big. You squirm and whine as he rocks his hips forward, the little motions seating him deeper into your greedy center. Maker— you think it’ll go on forever, with no room to accommodate him.

“There you go,” he babbles, his breathing a mess of pitchy moans and praise, muffled by the spray of water. “Fuck—such a good girl. Taking it all.”

You shiver despite the temperature of the water, twitching in his hold as the narrow dip of his waist slots against your cunt. Your name flows past his lips, the enamel of his teeth tugging at the fragile skin lining the base of your neck.

Stars— your thoughts are pulverized into dust with the first tentative rolls of his hips. There’s no buildup to the pace he sets or patience as his fingers dig into your ass while the other anchors to the wall. 

It’s a ridiculously short amount of time, you think, as your orgasm creeps down each vertebrae, your cunt clamping down on his cock tighter than a fucking vice. One last roll against your clit and you’re done for. So fucking gone.    

The edges of your entire universe drop off into some unknown mystery--bursts of white light igniting behind your eyelids as you're brought over the edge.

“Shit—get so fucking wet when you cum,” Void snarls. “And tight. S-so fucking tight.”

You’re not allowed to float down from your high, not until he also reaches his end. Until then you’re forced through the rough scrap of the last dregs of your pleasure, his abdomen scraping agains your throbbing clit. The loud, wet slaps of his hips meeting your cunt echoes in the tiny space, accentuates every hitched moan and sharp whimper. Void’s hand slips off the wall and buries it into your hair at the base of your skull, tugging sharply as your core clenches around his cock.

“M’close,” he pants, his breath humid against your skin. “Can I—fuck--can I cum in you?”

You nod with a shuddering whine. 

Your nerves burn as you slip your own hand down to toy with your clit, a simple brush over the nerves and your careening off the edge again. Your cries are a jumble of incomprehensible babbles--the only thing you manage to latch onto is his name. 

With a dangerously loud curse, Void’s bruising pace quickens, frantic as he chases his own release. Void’s hips stutter, the hand in your hair tightening into a fist as his teeth embed themselves over your shoulder. With one—two last thrusts of his hips, he cums. Ropes of his release coats your insides, throbbing and twitching until he’s spent, left with the ambiance of quick panting and the trickle of water.

Stars, you can’t fucking think.  

With a grunt he stumbles back as much as he can in the limited space, the absence of his cock leaving his cum to dribble out and slip down the inside of your thigh. You’re still squeezing your eyes shut, jittery and unable to move from your current spot without the risk of stumbling to your knees.

Void dips his head and steals a kiss, dragging his tongue deep into your mouth. He groans and keeps you here, leading you through soft kisses and a careful dance of something more than just a simple fuck in a fresher. You’re not sure if you’re allowed to breach that gentle space between you—grasp something tangible with uncertain promises and stolen minutes as sunlight fills the space between your heart and lungs.

He kisses your cheek, breaking away before either of you slip and tumble into uncharted territory. Another time maybe—not in the middle of a war and certainly not in a communal shower.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. And it’s enough—it has to be enough.

[goodlucksnez]

a sky full of stars

Hello everyone so I wrote a er//aserm//ic fiction and it’s 5513 words I know right what the fuck I just kept writing and I didn’t want the story to end but it came to a lovely end

TW WARNING it deals with sui//cide depression,anxiety,panic attacks as well as medical surgery

TO NOTE In the story endeavor is not a hero and is a local tea maker and his wife is the surgeon which I just think it’s cute it comes together in the story it will make sense don’t worry

This is using my original AU with the Quirk flu

And lastly I hope you enjoy it I had a lot of fun riding and it has definitely improved since my last fic enjoy

you can read it on A03 or down below

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33360760

How Shouta got here was anyone's guess. Sitting on the edge of the roof of UA looking at the shifting colors as night began to fall around him. As the shades of reds mixed with the blues and yellows, how they washed over the buildings and trees with a gentle golden glow, Shouta closed his eyes and smiled. The tear-stained face of the Pro was hidden from view under foundation and tired eyes. With the still night air, he heard the roof entrance unlock and movement behind him.

“Hello, old friend,” Shouta said not even turning to look at him.

“What the hell are you thinking, step away from the edge now.” Mic's voice boomed over the concrete and echoed in the tranquil night air. “Please, people need you…. I need you.”

Shouta took a deep breath and stood to face his old friend. Mic’s face was panicked and he could see the crumpled note in his hand. Shouta was glad to see his friend one last time. He shook with adrenaline as he spoke in a quiet voice barely louder than a whisper. Years down the road Shouta in the confession of therapy would say he said it this way because whispers make people listen while shouting just falls upon deaf ears.

“All my life, I have been in love with the sky. Even when everything was falling apart around me, the sky was always there for me. I’m glad to see it hasn’t changed. Goodbye old friend.” And he stepped off the roof Mic’s voice echoed in the night sky as Shouta plummeted down and down until darkness.

---

That was five years ago. Shouta had been getting better about talking about his depression and the struggles but the one thing he could not do was hurt Mic again. Hizashi also died that day, his cheery disposition of the world changed, and he hasn’t been the same since. He had improved but Shouta still had guilt deep down but would never admit it. Hizashi's confidence was always so fragile, like a child’s, it took him years to return to radio and music. He once in a foggy drunken state told Shouta that music died the day he fell and all the sounds of the world that created such unique and beautiful different melodies, fused into one agonizing wave of sound that made Hizashi hate music and his Quirk. He had gotten better they both had recovered from that day but if they were both being honest, they were still those scared little Pros inside.

When winter came the vows of in sickness and in health were tested. Hizashi got sick first and Shouta played the role of nursemaid and helped him get better therefore it was no wonder Shouta got sick. When he was a child Shouta would hide under his bed to avoid being seen as sick, he had enough of name-calling at school he did not need it at home too. This continued into his adult life even after the accident 5 years ago.

The next time he had woken up he almost suffered acute heart failure from the number of stress hormones that were immediately pumped through his system as long-term best friend and husband Hizashi better known as Present Mic had busted through the bedroom door with a shout of “Shouta” with his remarkably deafening voice. “Wow were you sleeping?”

As if it would be a shock that he was. He has been up most of the night coughing and generally feeling ill. Shouta was having trouble getting out of bed today as a dull pain racked through his body pulsing through every limb. He merely grunted in response and the strawberry blonde-haired man sat down and rubbed his back.

“Shouta,” he asked his voice worried with concern and suddenly Shouta was back on that roof. He shut his eyes and winced at that memory and shook his head. The movement of his head caused the room to spin and he reached out to grab onto something stable the only thing near him being his husband.

The pressure in his cranium had built itself up to the point where he knew he had to get away to get checked out. Somehow, he had to take a trip to get medicine, the question was how would he succeed with such a mission when Hizashi worried about his every movement.

Mic continued to rub his husband's back. After receiving no answer, his usual jovial expression continued morphing into one of pure concern. “Hey, Shouta are you okay?”

The tired pro sighed but when he went to open his mouth the tickle which had been prominent in his sinuses flared to life and he quickly turned his head to the side gripping the side of the bed as the sneezes ripped through his body.

“Heh-R'SSHH! Hh-Hih-AET’SCHHH! ESCCH!”

Hizashi jumped in surprise. “Woah, many blesses,” he said. “I’m going to pick you up some meds, okay?”

Shouta grabbed his arm and said, “no you barely over being sick, I can get some.”

As he went to put on his shoes, he sniffed back the congestion that was threatening to flow. Hizashi watched him gathering his wallet and keys before hugging him tightly and whispered in his ear.

“I know how you get with these things; I call you in a few hours and you better pick up or you’re in trouble. I love you Sky.”

Shouta hugged him back and said, “I love you to songbird.” And he left the house with the sound of thunder in the sky boomed over him.

---

His feet hurt.

It was a stupid thing to focus on. Stupid because Shouta was still heavily limping his way through darkened alleyways and shuffling through crumpled up newspapers and puddles of...something. His breath came out in ragged gasps, the medicine still clutched close to the chest. Shouta had no idea where he was going. He just kept moving- one hand drifting along chipped brick walls and graffiti-stained cement, something to keep him steady. Focused. Home was the mission but it wasn’t the goal. The goal was-

Freedom from the pain.

His knees buckled and Shouta couldn’t stop himself from tumbling forward. He smacked into a dumpster; the weak thump of a body against rusted metal ringing in his ears. The stench of rotten food clawed its way into his nose; the pain now liquid fire in his veins. Get up Shouta told himself even as his eyes started to flutter close. You have to get up. His fingers twitched; they landed in a puddle of something gross. “Please,” Shouta whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please~” Thunder rolled off in the distance- a heavy, almost shuffling sound. Maybe- maybe he could get clean in the rain? Maybe-----

“Ah, your awake!”

Fuck! Shouta started, brain a sluggish mess. He- the last thing he remembered with solid clarity was collapsing against a dumpster. Rain pattered against the rooftop- a strange melody that did nothing to put the Pro at ease as he stared at the old man before him. He was heavyset, a long red beard neatly trimmed and a topknot giving him off an old school look. Shouta glanced around the room, just a little more awake now. He still felt like shit, wet from the clothes he had when-

“My shoes,” Shouta rasped, gaze falling to his feet. They were bare, his socks neatly placed on the floor with his shoes beside this...futon. A sad, threadbare thing on the floor. It took all he had not to run his hands over himself-no. No injuries. The only thing Shouta wasn’t wearing was his shoes. Shouta inhaled congestion thick and he wiped his nose on the back of his hand. An oven mitt was sitting on the floor between them, a teapot gently clutched in the old man’s hands. “You put band-aids on my heels?”

“I did,” came the quiet hum. “You’ve traveled quite a way. Those blisters are impressive.”

Shouta’s gaze flicked to the two clay cups- one by his feet, the other next to the old man’s knees. Steam started to curl out of the teapot; a fire Quirk perhaps? “...You’ve got a fire Quirk.”

The old man smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’re very observant. Yes, I do. Would you like some tea? I have some delicious Herbal Spring at the moment it might help with that cold you got.”

Shouta eyed the teapot in question- the steam was barely more than a little trickle of a cloud. Could he have poisoned it while I was out? He shrugged, looking away.

“Ah good!” The old man leaned forward to pour tea- Shouta first, then himself. “Herbal Spring is a very fragile tea, you know. Raise the temperature too much and you’ll ruin it. Keep the water too cold, and it loses its flavor.”

Shouta didn’t reach for his cup. He heard the soft clink of China being set down on the oven mitt. He- he saw the near-empty room he was in. “Where am I?”

“My tea shop! Aaah well,” the old man smiled again as he reached for his cup. “Soon to be my tea shop. This is a storeroom of sorts.”

Shouta watched the old man drink first. A happy hum, a deep sip that made the Pro finally reach for his cup. He brought it to his lips, taking a tentative sniff. Even with his blocked nose, it smelled sweet. Shouta took the tiniest of sips; the warm liquid sliding down his parched throat with ease. It had a soft note to it; sweet and almost fruity, enough to make Shouta …breathe. “Who are you?”

“Just a simple tea maker.” Another calm sip, the old man closing his eyes for a moment. “Who are you?”

It...it lacked the same venom that Shouta’s question had. The same cautiousness, an almost feral edge to it. The old man’s question was simple. Calm and steady; Shouta bit the inside of his cheek before he took another tentative sip. “No one.”

“It is an honor to meet you, No One.” The teapot was held out like a porcelain olive branch. “More tea?”

Was this...a joke? Shouta bit the inside of his cheek before he held out his cup. There was still plenty of tea left in the small cup and it took all the Pro had not to wince at how hands were still shaking. Hot liquid sloshing about, threatening to go right over the dull rim. Yet...if the old man was going to say anything, he didn’t. He merely poured Shouta more tea, careful to keep the liquid from the rim.

Shouta brought it up to his lips, taking a bigger sip. “You’re,” this time he winced. His throat was still a raspy mess. “You’re not going to ask me why I was outside?”

“Mmm, you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

Shouta watched the teapot be set gently on the oven mitt, the old teamaker once more quietly enjoying his cup. The two sipped their drinks in relative silence- only broken by the steady drumming of the rain overheard and Shouta sniffling. An odd sort of silence, almost peaceful; Shouta wasn’t bombarded with questions. The old tea maker was content to drink his tea; he’d already downed three cups by the time Shouta had managed to finish one. He sneezed 3 harsh sneezes and drank more tea hoping to soothe the throat. The teapot seemed to rise without being asked; a second cup poured, a second cup that Shouta found himself willingly drinking. “Aizawa,” he whispered, staring down at the amber liquid. The Pro’s voice was painfully loud in the quiet. “My name is Aizawa Shouta.”

The old man gently smiled; callused hands curled around his cup. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Aizawa Shouta.”

“What-” Shouta shifted on his futon; the tremors had finally left his hands. “Who are you?”

“Just an old man with wisdom and regrets,” came the happy reply. “You can call me Enji if you wish.”

Enji? It was a familiar way to address someone he’d just met. Right. “...I’m not calling you Enji.”

“Fair enough,” the old man chuckled and there was something warm in his voice that begged the Pro to relax. Maybe he has another Quirk? Can someone have two Quirks?

Shouta glanced down at his cup, his thumbs brushing the rim. “Why are you doing this?”

“Sharing tea with a fascinating stranger is one of life’s true delights~”

That...was not what Shouta was expecting. He frowned; was it too late to make a run for it? He was pretty sure he had strength in his legs now, even if he still felt awful. “That’s some bullshit,” the dark hair huffed, settling on something solid. Something he could trust. He attempted to rise to his feet and he wobbled for a moment. Pain that rolled through Shouta, begging for him to plop his ass back down. “You’re crazy, old man.”

The old man didn’t move from his spot on the floor. He merely hummed, a red eyebrow rising at the uptick of rain against the roof. “You will need a proper raincoat then. You’ll be soaked if you leave now.”

“...You’re not going to stop me?”

“I cannot stop you from your long journey, Shouta. Just as we cannot stop the fire from burning the log or ice freezing a pond.” Shouta watched the old man set his cup down; empty. “But please,” he groaned as he lumbered to his feet and Shouta was pretty sure he heard joints pop. “Let me get you an umbrella at least.”

His chest hurt. Shouta’s throat was stupidly tight. Painfully tight as he stood there, watching Enji dig around in the storeroom for an umbrella. “...You,” Shouta tried to clear his throat. To stop himself from crying like the idiot he was. “You don’t have-”

He shouldn’t have wasted his breath.

The umbrella was pressed into his hands with care. It was an old thing that had seen better days- a raggedy blue thing with a few frayed strands and a scuffed handle. It was old and worn and the most precious thing Shouta had ever held in his life. “Thank you,” the Pro whispered, clutching it close to his chest.

“Of course,” Enji hummed, bowing in return. “Please stay dry.”

---

Shouta descended the step of the tea shop, his body aching with every step. The medicine still clutched to his chest. The words still echoed in his mind. “You tell me when you’re ready.” He found himself walking the feeling of cool water running down his wet body was quite unpleasant. The wind blustered and the rain pattered on the antique umbrella and the way home seemed twice as long as usual. His mind raced, how could a stranger see so clearly into his mind was it that transparent to everyone that he was broken. As his feet hit the sidewalk a single thought crossed his mind. Hizashi. His songbird. His love. He was probably worried sick. As he pulled out his phone, he saw the screen was broken and as the light lit up his face, he could see 54 unread messages. Fuck. He ran, he didn’t even notice the tightening of his chest and the pain in his limbs, as he rounded the corner almost slipping on the wet pavement. He saw the lightly tan building of his home; the outside light was still on. As he unbolted the door and took a step inside, his heartbeat deafening in his ears, a pair of arms wrapped around his torso and pulled him inside.

As Shouta panted, Hizashi's grip gets getting tighter and tighter. No words were said but the silence spoke volumes. Shouta felt tears spring to his eyes and choked back a sob as Hizashi guided him to the living room sofa and sat him down. Wordlessly Hizashi began to take Shouta's shoes off, gently searching his dark eyes for some kind of answer of where he was. Shouta could not meet his gaze, and just shook from the wet clothes and clutched the sofa tighter. Hizashi nodded and went off down the hall. He returned a moment later with fluffy towels and the first words were spoken.

“Out of those clothes.” Shouta blushed but did as he was told and as each soaked article of clothing was removed from his body it was replaced with a warm fluffy towel. However, it didn’t stop his shivering and Hizashi started rubbing the frozen skin of his lover. After a few minutes, Hizashi suddenly stopped and stood up, turning his back from Shouta.

Suddenly the blond jolted forward. “heh… ehh…. heh'ISSShooo!" and went into the kitchen to grab a box of tissues.

As he sheepishly returned and met the gaze of his husband, he muttered an apology. “Sorry.”

Shouta was at a loss for words. Why was he sorry? It was not his fault Shouta got sick, not his fault he was broken. He had done everything right, Shouta was wrong. He blinked in rapid succession before finding his voice. The voice of Enji filled his head ‘When you’re ready. He spoke with a voice broken and small.

“The day that the rain smelled like ice cream, my cat went to heaven in front of my eyes. The day that the copper pipes in the old building smelled like burnt food, my best friend... went to heaven in front of my eyes. I couldn't save them. It's sad. Neither one had the chance to become an adult. They should have become adults. They should have had children of their own and loved those children. And I want to make that possible for other people. So don’t be sorry. You saved me. I love you.”

He had never expressed that amount of raw emotion in his whole life, not even to his therapist but it felt right. The nerves he felt flowed out of him as his tears decorated his face. As he sat covered in the towel he sobbed, all the emotions he had been holding released like the steam from that teapot that brought him warmth not a few hours before.

Hizashi cradled him, as his body racked with sobs, gently like how a mother would cradle a baby, pausing to kiss him and repeat gentle nothings. As Shouta began to wind down, all the strength he had been pretending he had disappeared and he slumped against Mic and closed his eyes and soon unconsciousness took him.

--

Shouta slept for hours it seemed like. Each dream he had was confusing and odd as if he had two brains competing for the dream. His tired muscles ached and the dull pain between his eyes had increased to a dull migraine. Truth be told he felt awful. But soon his body had had enough and he felt the being of a sneeze. He tried to hold back for a while longer but found it futile. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling as the tickle reached its climax.

“Eschht, Eschht eh ugh sniff heh hhh AET’SCHHH!”

The last sneeze ripped through him with such force all the blankets and towel that had kept him warm fell off of him and he was left sniffling chest exposed to the room and his husband who look just as surprised as himself.

“Goodness bless you Sho, you have caught my cold.”

The tired man just groaned and said with a voice still raspy and strained “Not a cold, it's probably the flu, I should have told you sooner, I just- ugh sniff again heh hhh Hit'choo!! Hih-tschh!! Hihh…hih-tsCHEW!”

With the last sneeze, he felt his Quirk go haywire and soon his hair was floating above him and his eyes had turned a red hue. Luckily for him, no one was in the radius but he still felt awful. A hero could only depend on two things in this world, their Quirk and the one they loved. If Shouta could take one of those away without realizing it, it could mean trouble.

Mic had knelt in front of the laying down Pro and gently cupped a tissue around his husband's nose. “Bless your hon, come on blow for me.”

Shouta did a wet gurgling blow and groaned as the Quirk deactivated his dry eyes yearning for water. Mic dabbed at Shouta slowly being red nose and stood. He made his way over to the linen closet and grabbed the warmest winter sweater and returned to his sick husband.

“Arms up you know the drill.” As Mic helped the Pro get dressed, he called out to Siri.

“Hey, Siri, text Doctor Green we are coming in an hour.” As Shouta's head came through the sweater hole he simply frowned. This Doctor had treated him after the accident but was a close friend of theirs. As Siri confirmed the appointment Mic sensed Shouta's discomfort and replied to him. “I know sweetie you don’t like the doctor but you know he can help better than over-the-counter drugs. He continued and I will be there the whole time.”

Shouta shook his head. “Together,” he said in a small voice

Mic helped the sickly Pro stand and guided him to the mirror next to the door and kissed him on his flushed skin. “Forever Together.”

--

The train ride for the first leg of the journey was uneventful. The hum of the fluorescent lights and the moving subway train was distracting enough to distract other passengers from Shouta's constant sniffling. Mic was stood holding on to the overhead bar while Shouta was sitting with his head in his hands. Mic was constantly asking if Shouta needed anything even though he would not be able to provide much relief besides encouraging words. As the overhead speakers announced their stop Mic helped Shouta stand as the train came to a hard stop be cursed in English as Shouta stumbled forward again him.

The misty afternoon after the rainstorm was heavy in the air but still, Shouta shivered a clear sign of a fever and the couple picked up the pace to the doctors. As they rounded a corner a few blocks away they were met with the flashing blue and red of a line of police cars. As heroes, they knew a situation was happening. Mic half dragging Shouta went to them who seemed to be in charge of the crowd of citizens and asked what was happening. The short man with light brown hair replied with the normal answer for any citizen. “Nothing to worry about Sir heroes will handle it.” Mic frowned and dug in his pocket and grabbed his Hero license and flashed it at the man. Taken aback the man quickly responded. “Oh, um sorry, a Jewelry store has been taken hostage, he paused before continuing “my chief might need an extra few hand…he paused and looked at the struggling man Mic was holding up “is he also able to help.” Mic didn’t have time for this and he ducked below the police tape and began walking to the line of cop cars. Shouta followed but sluggishly. As he neared the chief of the police, he quickly scanned the street. He could see the jewelry store in question had a broken window and was heavily surrounded by local heroes as well as other members of the police task force. As Shouta caught up his eyes were half-closed and looked like he was going to pass out any second. Before Mic could attend to Shouta a round of gunshots filled the air and out of instinct he grabbed both of them and they hit the pavement hard. After a few moments, he helped Shouta lean against a cop car tire and checked over his body. ‘No wounds’ Mic thought ‘I don’t have time for this we need to get through this street.’

Mic looked at the task force and saw the numbers had decreased whoever was in the store had an amble firearm. As a local hero approached the car Mic asked what the status was and what they know. The local hero stating that the man inside the store had a bullet-type quirk and could shoot many rounds of ammo and was demanding everyone to leave and no one would get hurt.

Mic thought ‘a bullet type quirk, like Pro hero Edgeshot’ Mic continued to question. Did they have any other people with them? The local hero shook his head no they are alone. Mic could work with this. He waved over the chief, a man he had worked with a few other times.

If they could stop the man quirk do, they have enough to help the hostages and defeat the villain. The chief simply nodded his head and Mic set to work.

He gently shook the arm of Shouta who barely raised his head. “Hey love I know you are exhausted but we need you Quirk right now can you aim your Quirk over to the storefront.

Shouta tried Mic had to give him credit for that, but as soon his hair started to rise it quickly fell. Shouta mumbled a response thick with congestion. “I. Can’t…tired”

Mic rubbed his arms in understanding and replied “What about if we use your illness as an advantage, you can’t control when it happens right, what if we use that.”

Shouta turned to look at Mic. “What are you suggesting?”

Before he could reply another round of gunshot shot at them and he quickly covered Shouta's body with his. He immediately felt the sharp pain as a bullet entered him under his ribs, and he could feel the blood start to spill. With an adrenaline-filled body, he quickly pulled Shouta into a somewhat kneeling position and aimed his head toward the storefront. “I’m sorry about this love this isn’t going to be big on dignity.”

He grabbed the end of his ponytail and brought the split ends to the underside of Shouta's nose. The already irritated organ began to twitch as the strands of hair slowly twisted around.  

Shouta tried to ignore the incessant prodding of the frizzy hair against his sensitive nose, but with each swipe, the tiny hairs that shook loose were soon sucked up into his twitching and quivering nostrils.  He shuddered and froze in place a tear slowly trailed down from his eye to his cheek as his nose began scrunching and wriggling from the irritation.

“Come on Shouta you can do it,” Mic said. Shouta’s chest heaved and he couldn't help but give in to the itchy and tickly urge to expel those irritants from his nostrils.

“H...hhih...” The beginnings of a sneeze showed as his eyes began to droop. His chest expanded further “Haaahhh! Aaahhhh!”  His eyes fully closed, head tilting back and signaling the oncoming release.  Mic aimed his face toward the storefront and sent a silent prayer that this would work.

“Hit'choo!! Hih-tschh!! Hihh…hih-tsCHEW!”

As Shouta sneezed his hair lifted with ease and soon the storefront was temperately Quick free. Mic activated his Quirk and told the task force to go. Shouta was still panting from sneezing but his eyes were open however Mic didn’t know how long he could keep them open. As the task force ran in the subject found his Quirk would not activate and soon found himself being put in handcuffs and a medical device being placed that would stop his Quirk without the help of Erasure.

As Mic received the thumbs up, he spoke to his shaking husband who was struggling to keep his eyes open. “Bless your hon you did it, you can relax now.” As Shouta did all the energy slipped from him and he lost consciousness and slumped over on the wet pavement. Mic grabbed the fragile man and began to walk to the nearest ambulance, as he stepped into the back of the ambulance the medic and himself helped Shouta into the gurney, and soon the siren wailed and they were finally off to their destination.

--

As they entered the hospital fast lane and the medic was ready to receive both of the ProS, Mic was insistent to be placed near Shouta as he wasn’t comfortable around hospitals. The medic nodded and escorted them to their joined room. Shouta was seen to first. They took blood and gave him fluids; they also provide pain medicine and sadly they had to wait until he woke up.

Mic surgery was quickly scheduled. He met with the surgeon while sitting next to Shouta and rubbing his arm. The female was fairly tall and had blue tint to her eyes and white hair. She explained the surgery before Mic consented.

“Upon examination, we identified 1 cm diameter entry wound at the left lower abdominal wall, Sir. The images we took showed the bullet in the peritoneal cavity but no injured intraperitoneal and retroperitoneal viscera. We decided to remove the bullet laparoscopically.” Mic nodded. She noticed the band around his finger and smiled. “How long have you two been together?”

Mic smiled and replied “4-year next month, but I have known since we were 14 that this is what we both needed.” He paused before swallowing hard “We've been through a lot but I can’t imagine life without him. He is my whole life, my Sky. He bent down and kissed the sleeping man's hand.  The surgeon smiled and spoke “I see, well that must be hard with both of you rushing into battle all the time,” she looked down at her clipboard before continue “I have treated a lot of patients in my day but never have I seen a love quite like your, it’s very special.”  A monitor beeped and the surgeon motioned him to follow. “Well, shall we take care of the bullet Mr. Hizashi. Mic kissed Shouta’s hand before leaving the room.

--

Shouta was hot. It was too bright wherever he was. His mind was foggy. He groaned as he sat up, he immediately recognized the smell of a hospital. What happened. The last thing he remembers is the sound of gunshots and Hizashi…Shit Hizashi he jerked into a sit-up position and looked around. The nurse that had been changing his fluid jumped back. “Calm down you’re okay! Just relax.”

“Where is he…what happened?” He asked rage filling his croaky voice. The nurse replied, “Sir he is in surgery he will be out soon don’t worry he is okay.” She laid him back against the pillows before continuing “We need to make sure you’re okay Sir make sure you don’t have a concussion. He pulled out a light and shown it in his eye without much warning. The tickle flared to life and he turned his head.

“Issh’iIEWW!....hhh..heh… “TSCHTIEW” Thankfully his Quirk did not activate he wiped his nose on the back of his arm as the nurse apologized.

“Sorry Sir, but the good news is you don’t have a concussion so you will be out of here as soon as we can get some medicine and your husband is awake.”

Shouta relaxed slightly and closed his eyes and tried to keep the panic from getting too much to handle. Within the next 2 hours, Shouta tried to not be a bother to any of the staff but his flu had proven a little too much for him to handle.

As a nurse with a gravity-type quirk was walking down the hall with floating plates of dinner, he groaned as another tickle forced him to sneeze and he felt his quirk activate and he heard the crash as the dinner plates fell and crashed on the floor. Many of the nurses were understanding but he still felt awful. When his husband was wheeled into his room Shouta's eyes began to water and he had to fight back tears. The surgeon explained the surgery was a success and he would be discharged later today. She told Aizawa in a voice soft and comforting. “He loves you so much, you are a very lucky man.” She sat on the edge of his bed and looked into his eyes. “I know you feel broken but he is trying so hard to make sure you are taken care of. The world is a cruel place and I know you have suffered more than most. But know this, he loves you and has sworn to protect you. You might be a Hero to the public but he is your Hero, let him save you. She wiped a tear from her eye and turned to leave. Before leaving the room, she said “Oh and you have a gift make sure to grab it before leaving.” And placed a small box on the counter next to the door before leaving him.

When Hizashi woke and passed all the discharge tests and Shouta had his medicine they left the hospital holding each other’s hand and holding a box of tea that they would use for the rest of their life.

The end.

[starksvixen]

Best Shot - Part 2

Warnings: mild blood and gore, mentions of death, shooting scene, some harsh angst, mentions of sexuality (no smut), swearing

Word Count: 1325

Prologue - Part 1 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 (finale)

-~- 

Here’s the plan. Burgess and Ruzek had gotten in contact with one of Quentin’s sellers. Jay would go undercover as a buyer, inquiring about buying one of the girls. He was to talk to Quentin about the specific Jane Doe to try and locate the rest of the girls that the trafficker had hidden. Once there was enough information, Jay would position Quentin into a specific spot where you could knock him with a bullet.

That’s where you were stationed now, watching as Jay spoke with Quentin, his hands in his pockets. You trailed the duo through the scope of your sniper, watching each step with your finger ready to fire. Suddenly, you see Quentin reach behind him and pull a gun on Jay. He had been compromised. Only problem was, Jay was in front of Quentin, blocking your shot.

“(Y/L/N), do you have a clear shot?” Voight’s voice echoes in your ear.

“Almost, I just need Jay to move a little bit to the left.”

“No, it’s too risky, don’t take the shot. Do you hear me, (Y/L/N)? Do not take that shot!” 

Quentin steps closer to Jay, shakily adding pressure to the trigger of his own gun.

“Sir! He’s going to fire on Jay, this is my only chance!” you say into your comms.

You inhale, your finger slowly beginning to add pressure to the trigger. A sigh reverberates in your ear.

“Do it.”

Jay moves to the side just in time for you to exhale, sending a bullet narrowly close to Jay’s head but a dead hit in Quentin’s shoulder. The offender is shot to the floor, sending blood everywhere, and Jay quickly disarms him before holding pressure to the wound. 

You quickly pack up your gun and make your way down to the scene. By the time you arrive, Quentin is being loaded into an ambulance with cuffs on his wrists. Laying your case into a squad car, you spot Jay exiting the building. However, when his eyes meet yours. it’s obvious he’s ticked. Storming over to you, he runs a hand through his hair.

“Do you know what you did in there! He was going to give me all the locations of his girls but you shot him!”

“He was just going to kill you after telling you, Jay! I couldn’t let him do that! Voight told me to take the opportunity I had!” 

“Yeah well dying is part of the job description. You got lucky, (Y/L/N). One inch off and it would have been me in that ambulance...”

“So what? You don’t trust my shot anymore?”

“I don’t trust your judgement to keep your feelings out of our work!” 

That was the last straw. You hide your tears and rip off your bulletproof vest, shoving it into Halstead’s chest as your glare daggers at him. 

“Don’t expect me home tonight,” 

And with that, you walk away. Little did you know, the minute those words left Jay’s mouth he was filled with regret. He had hurt the woman he loves the most.

-~- 

“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight, (Y/N).” a familiar voice says from beside you.

Gently slamming the whiskey glass to the bar’s top, you look to see Connor seated beside you fresh from a shift at Med. With a soft, slightly tipsy smile, you wave down the bartender and order a drink for both of you.

“It was a hard case tonight,” you reply.

“Was it the case that was hard or the guy you had to work with?” 

You both take a drink of the hard liquor at the same time, a soft sigh ghosting your lips. Connor and you were friends with benefits, especially after you were hurt by your perspective partners. When Jay told you about him and Erin, you fell into the handsome doctor’s arms. When Robin left Connor to go home, you had to help him sneak out of you and Jay’s apartment the next morning. After Jay asked you about the ring he picked out for Erin, you helped christen Connor’s new apartment. After Ava killed herself in front of him and Jay had pushed you away because of his heartbreak, you and Connor practically didn’t speak for a week. Just sex. 

Because of your many encounters, both of you had grown close as friends. Both of you knew each other’s work and romantic hardships. Without the sex, you guys were close drinking buddies. The bed hopping was an added bonus. A release of anger and frustration from your perspective situations. 

“He kinda made it clear tonight how he felt,” you reply, taking another long sip of the burning liquid. 

“Yeah, that always sucks,” 

“Says you! You’re nothing but a chick magnet!” 

“Hey! I’ve had my fair share of losses,”

Both of you end up in a fit of laughter, sharing drink after drink as the night goes on. Eventually, as the bar begins to close, you find yourself riding to his apartment in his Porsche. His lips upon yours in a drunken frenzy. Your naked selves tangled in his sheets as you sleep the night away.

-~- 

The smell of fresh coffee and scrambled eggs battles the killer hangover headache that greets you when your eyes open up. Where Connor always slept is empty, but he had laid one of his shirts there for you to wear when your body decided it was time to fight your hangover. With a soft smirk, you put it on and walk out to Connor’s kitchen. 

“Thank god for days off,” you say as you grab a mug from the cupboard.

“No such luck for me, I got a surgery in an hour.” Connor replies as he finishes cooking. 

“Damn, what a shame.” you say as you steal a piece of cheese from beside Connor, earning a slap on the hand and a smirk. 

“Hey! That’s meant to go in the eggs, not your mouth.”

“There are a lot of things that can go in my mouth, Dr. Rhodes” you say with a wink.

A knock on the door reverberates in the semi - empty apartment as Connor hands you the plate of eggs. He walks out to answer it, leaving you to eat and enjoy the gracious sip of coffee. Your little moment is interrupted when you hear Jay’s voice raising. 

Quickly putting your meal down, you rush over to the front door. Jay hasn’t changed from last night but to you, that didn’t matter. He still made the feeling of butterflies rise into your stomach.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as you back Connor away from the door.

“You weren’t answering my calls or texts, I thought something had happened,” he replies, not noticing Connor’s shirt on you.

“Yeah, you being a dick happened, Jay.”

“Look, I’m sorry, (Y/N).” 

That’s when he notices Connor’s shirt on you, the hickies from last nights events making anger fill his eyes.

“But I can see you had other plans...” he growls.

“What does it matter to you who I sleep with?! Jay for fucks sake, ever since Erin left you act like you own me! But you don’t! You chose her over me!”

Tears fill your eyes as realization fills his. 

“I’ll pick up what I need from the apartment later on. I can’t do this anymore, Halstead.”

You slam the door as tears race down your face like race cars on a track. Holding a hand on your mouth, you muffle your cries as your free hand holds onto your torso. Gently, Connor pulls you into a hug, giving you the comfort you needed but from the wrong guy. 

“I’ll help you get what you need and you can crash with me.”

With a soft nod, you wrap your arms around him tightly. 

Not once had you missed a shot in the past 10 years. But here you were.

You had missed your shot with Jay.

Tag List: (leave a comment to be added)

@annaallicce​ @ikleesfiction​ @weepingfestivalmentality @ shipshipshipau

[littlekatleaf]

The shape that I'm in now

(It's 1 am, I must be posting Roadrat snz fic. This takes place in the same 'verse as 'Buried in a burning flame' and 'My heart as spent as ashes, but takes place before them. Not that it's necessary for the story, just to orient.)

Whatever here that’s left of me Is yours just as it was ~ Hozier, As It Was

Junkrat rolled over, trying to ease the ache in his hip, but it didn’t help. Sheets scratchy on oversensitive skin. Eyes hot, dryer than the fuckin’ desert, nose running like to make up for it. Flipped the pillow, but both sides were already too warm. Everything hurt, from toenails to eyelids. Even his fucking missing limbs hurt, however the hell that worked. What sucked the most, though was the silence. It pulsed against his eardrums, buzzed in his head.

Had told Roadhog to go. No choice about it. Bones’d been aching with impending fever, head felt packed with sand. Knew what was coming and didn’t want Roadhog to see. Didn’t want to be seen. Not when felt like his skin was peeled back, leaving all of his quivering insides bare. Being sick was being vulnerable. In Junkertown being vulnerable meant you was good as dead.

Felt Roadhog watching him from the first handful of sneezes. “Nobody fuckin’ cleans this shithole,” Junkrat had grumbled, trying to play it off. Roadhog said nothing.

Didn’t say a word when Junkrat blamed the spices in the stir fry for the second fit.

Unfortunately the third handful of sneezes seemed to have blown all thoughts from his brain and he was still trying to recover when Roadhog asked, “All right, Rat?”

“‘M fine. If you want to get in my pants just say so.” Might have intended it to sound flirty but it came off pissy.

Roadhog crossed his arms over his chest. “Ain’t like that. You just look…” “Ain’t neither of us winning a beauty pageant, Hog. Mind your business.” Least that time sounded like maybe he could be joking, even with the edge in his voice.

Tried to bite the sneezes back after that. Pinch them off. Smother them in his sleeve. But every single time he felt Roadhog’s eyes on him, watching. Made the hairs raise at his nape and finally he snapped, shouting at Roadhog to get the fuck out and leave him alone.

Roadie had, and he was fine with it. Just perfectly fuckin’ apples, mate. Went to bed, tried to sleep it off. But couldn’t. Now he tossed back the sheets, pushed himself up, buckled on his prosthetics. Make himself tea. Caffeine might dull the headache. Heat’d feel good on his throat.

You wanted to be by yourself... teasing whisper of her voice through the buzzing. You told him to go. You should be happy - here all alone with your disease. Could practically feel her breath at his ear and he swayed for a minute, dizzy. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near you.

“Shows what you know. Roadhog likes it when I sneeze.” Hated how defensive it sounded. Proof that he was only good for one thing.

Perhaps, but this is beyond even his depravity. Look at yourself, Jamison.

Without really meaning to, his gaze flicked over to the mirror that hung above the washbasin, then away again. Not before he’d seen himself though - scarecrow hair, singed in more places than he’d realized, skin and bones, dark circles around his eyes, nose red, lips cracked from breathing through his mouth. Expression going blank as the need to sneeze came over him. “Huh-R’iiishh! Isshew! R’iishew!” Managed to catch them in a tissue at the last minute, but it was a close thing.

Disgusting. And weak. I absolutely cannot fathom why he has not left you behind yet. Ill so often. Missing half your limbs. In need of protection. What kind of man are you?

“Shut it,” he said. Much as hated to admit it, she was right. Knew full well all the ways he was lacking. Rubbed his dripping nose on a handful of tissues.

Perhaps he just enjoys toying with you. Drawing things out before he takes your treasure and returns to the Queen. Her tone is a purr. A predator does love to tease its prey.

“Roadhog ain’t the Queen’s. Not anymore.”

No? He told you that, did he?

“Yes.” Sort of. What had Roadhog said when they met? Freelance? What did that mean? He wouldn’t… would he? If he got pissed off enough? If Junkrat was enough of a pain in the ass? A sudden chill whipped through him and he shivered. Grabbed a windcheater off the hook on the back of the door and yanked it over his head. Roadie’s, he realized as the soft cotton engulfed him. At least he was warm. Tugged the hood up over his head. Maybe that would block out her voice.

Pathetic… The whisper echoed in his ears, then faded - taking his energy with it. Giving up on the tea plan he curled up in a corner of the couch. Pulled in his knees, tugged the windcheater down over him and tried to disappear. Just needed to get smaller. Smaller.

A sneeze jag shook him awake. Took him a second to catch his breath and open his eyes. There was Roadie, holding out a tissue. Didn’t want to take it, but the alternative was worse. And messier. “Thanks,” he said, stuffiness blurring the consonants. Blowing his nose helped, but only a little.

Roadhog didn’t say anything, just turned on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen. Kettle rattled, water hit the basin. Click snap of the flame catching on the stove. Clink of spoon against mug.

Apologize, Jamison. Unless you want to test his patience even further.

Don’t need your input, he said, but only in his head. Always weirded Roadhog out when he answered aloud. Cleared his throat, attempted to pitch his voice loud enough to carry, even though felt like he’d been swallowing sandpaper in his sleep. “Oi, Roadie?”

Nothing. Sighing to himself, Junkrat untangled his limbs, ignoring the shivering. Maybe Roadhog wouldn’t notice. Managed to reach the kitchen this time. Roadhog’s back was turned, head slightly bent over whatever he was doing.

Rat hesitated in the doorway. While his mouth usually moved faster than his brain, at the moment neither seemed to be online. He leaned against the jamb, waiting for inspiration to strike. Instead he sneezed, catching them in his sleeve, then coughing after. “Ugh, fuck. I’ll wash this I swear.”

“...” The skepticism was clear even without words.

“Ain’t gonna forget this time.”

“...”

Junkrat coughed a laugh. “Yeah, you’re right I probably will.” Rubbed the back of his neck where it ached. “Roadie, I’m…” sorry he was going to say but Roadhog turned, offering a steaming mug.

“I know. Drink.”

Couldn’t smell anything through his clogged nose so he sipped warily. Then sighed, relief and gratitude. “Where the hell’d you find Lemsip?”

“Bobby had some.”

“An’ he just gave it to you?” Meds were hard to come by, even stupid shit like cold medicine.

Roadhog shrugged. “He owed me somewhat.”

The steam made his nose run and tickle and he sniffled a little. Which only served to trigger another round of sneezes and he slopped hot liquid over his hand. “Ow, god fucking dammit.”

“Here, let me…” Roadhog reached for his hand, but he stepped back.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Rat. I said let me.”

The darkness of his tone sent a shiver down Rat’s spine. The command in it was as unmistakable as the warmth. Junkrat stopped, pinned, barely breathing. Roadhog wiped his hand, carefully, like the burn could have been serious. Then he laid a palm over Rat’s forehead, fingers pleasantly cool. Junkrat leaned into the touch.

“Really got a fever, don’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, exactly but Junkrat nodded anyway. “Feelin’ shit, to be honest.” A hot flush chased the chills. Had to tell Roadie the truth, but didn’t make it any easier.

“You hurting?”

Rat shrugged, nodded again.

“Come on,” Roadhog put an arm around him, led him back into the bedroom. “Lie down.”

“Ain’t tired,” he tried. Not quite enough energy to be a proper brat.

“Not planning on sleep. Lie down.”

Junkrat did as he was told, but closed his eyes as the bed dipped and Roadhog sat down beside him. With gentle fingers he disconnected Junkrat’s prosthetics and set them aside. Even though he’d only been wearing them a short time, they’d already rubbed sore spots on his skin. Roadhog knew to avoid those places as he began to massage the muscles in Rat’s forearm, kneading until the knots loosened, then moved on to Rat’s thigh.

As the tension drained away, Rat sighed so deep was almost a groan. “God, that’s good.” Roadhog let go of him, but didn’t move away. There was the soft sound of a jar being opened and a teasing scent of menthol that Rat could smell even through the congestion. Vicks, of course. “For the cough,” he asked, smirking.

“It’ll help,” Roadhog said, but this time Rat knew it was a question. Making sure he was okay with it.

“It will,” Rat agreed. Put him back on easier footing. Hog gave him a little care, he’d get Hog off. Fair and square.

Roadie slid his hands up under the windcheater and goosebumps rose in the wake of his touch. Junkrat’s back arched, “Oh,” he breathed. “It’s so… Itchew! Huh-Itchh! Itchhuh!” Luckily he’d pulled the sleeves over his hand because he covered just with his hand before realizing.

“Bless you,” Roadhog said, without pausing from the massage.

“Th...thank y-Ihchuuh! Ah’tchh! Chh!” The sensations together were almost overwhelming. Felt like he was tingling along every nerve, shivering with both chills and desire, surprised to find himself going hard, even as he kept sneezing.

“You blushing, or is that the fever?” Roadhog’s voice a rumble in his ear and even that made a shudder run through him.

“Both,” he sighed. Nothing he could do about it, body betraying him with every sneeze.

Roadie chuckles. “You do that so well.”

“Wh… Huhitch!... Itch! Ishhew! … what?"

“Lose control.” An answer but also a command as he tugged Rat’s boxers down and slid inside, surprisingly gently.

“Oh…” Words gone. Thoughts gone. Only feeling left. Heat, fever, want, like fire in his blood. Waves of trembling over him. Hog deep inside, moving with a gentle but implacable rhythm, driving him higher, stoking the flames. He clenched his mech hand in the sheets, clung to Hog with his flesh hand, fingers tightening convulsively. And as the flames built so, too, did the need to sneeze. Little panting breath, interrupted by sniffles and teasing hitches.

“Lose it, Rat,” Roadhog said.

“Ah’Rrrishhah! Ushhew! Isshah!” The flames engulfed him, he shook with release. For a long, long moment he could only blink blearily at the ceiling, utterly spent. “Holy shit,” he managed, finally.

At some point Roadie’d gotten a cool washcloth and he wiped it carefully over Rat, washing away sweat and the vaporub. Just when the cold was about to set him shivering, Roadhog pulled a blanket over him, then leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You did good, Rat.”

A burst of warmth flowered in his chest and tears sprang up. Rat blinked them back, scrubbed his face with his hand. “‘M a fucking mess,” he said.

“...”

“I mean, sure we have fun. But look at me.” Waved a hand over himself. “Missing a piece or two. Fuckin’ sick all the time. Maybe we should just… go our own ways.”

“...”

“Got enough of a haul to make up for the fight in the bar. Enough to make this bodyguard gig thing worthwhile. We should maybe quit while we’re ahead.” Before you get tired of me, he didn’t say, but it was there on his tongue.

“Rat.” Clink of buckles as Roadhog took off his mask.

Junkrat resisted the urge to look at him. Didn’t want to read the truth of his feelings in his eyes.

“Look at me.”

He does, for a second, then away again.

“You see the scars. All of them. You think they make me ugly?”

“No!” Surprise had him actually meeting Roadhog’s gaze. Caught, he couldn't look away. “Just part of who ya are.” He reached up and traced one from the corner of Roadie’s eye, curving down and along his jaw. No, the scars had surprised him at first, but never bothered him.

“Need the hogdrogen. The mask. So I’m weak?”

“Course not.” First person to mistake Hog for weak wouldn’t live to regret it.

“This place tried to kill us. In so many ways. But it fucking hasn’t. Don’t let it win, Jamie. Don’t let it.”

Junkrat swallowed hard. Nobody called him that, not for years and years. “I won’t,” he said.

Roadhog lay next to him and Junkrat curled into him. Roadhog pulled him closer, carded his fingers through Rat’s hair. “Sleep, Jamie.”

I’m yours, he thought as he drifted away. Whatever’s left of me.

[vintagedolan]

mixtape | track one

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

Six. There were six different lines, tiny plastic tubes that hung down from the side of the bed, making the shape of a U in the air. Too many, but still, one less than yesterday.

“Is it alive?”

“No.”

“Is it a vegetable?”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“But is it a vegetable though?”

“No.”

“Aw shit.”

Indiana looked up from her hands then, brows furrowing at the small figure who had huddled herself under the thin cotton covers. You’d think, with how expensive hospital bills were that they could at least afford a real fucking blanket for their patients. Especially the kids.  

“C’mon now, watch the language.” She said. It was a half-hearted reprimand at best.

“You told me I could curse!”

“I told you that you could curse about your meds, there’s a difference.”

“Bullshit. I should be able to curse about anything I want to.”

“Bekah.” It was her mom voice – an instinct.

“Indiana.” The younger girl mimicked the tone as best she could.

There was a beat of silence then – well, as silent as a hospital room ever could get, that is. The monotonous song of machinery beeps, the muffled car horns outside on the streets, and nurses footsteps outside never truly faded.

“If the nurses hear you cursing in here they’re gonna say I’m a bad influence.” It was almost time for rounds and meds, 7pm on the dot - they’d be there any minute.

“Speak of the devil,” Bekah grumbled, eyes flitting to the door that was swinging open, the nurse bumping against it, her cart hitting the walls right on schedule.

“Hi miss Bekah, how’re we feeling this evening?”

“Shi-“

Indiana threw her a look, the kind she imagined her mom would give if she were there. Bekah sunk back into the pillow, rolling her eyes.

“-very. Shivery. It’s cold in here.”

She earned a thumbs up for that one and a wink that made her smile.

The nurse – Jennifer, Indiana realized – was as sweet as ever. She was one of the nicer ones, always let things slide, always let her stay 30 minutes after visiting hours if she really wanted to.

“That’s probably just the meds from earlier darling, they always make you a bit chilly.”

“Can’t wait to take more.” Bekah sighed, wiggling up in the bed and moving her shirt down, her collarbone prominent under her dark skin. Next to it sat a small bulge, surrounded by medical tape, two small tubes peeking out from underneath. They’d done a good job at making it subtle, unnoticeable if you weren’t looking for it – Indiana’s mom’s port had never looked like that. She wondered if it was because the technology had improved in four years, or if they were just more careful about it when the patient was young.

Because it’s okay for an adult to have cancer, but a kid? That’s where we draw the fuckin’ line.

“Is it food?”

“What?” Jennifer asked, quirking an eyebrow as she continued to hang the bags on the IV pole.

“None of your business. Indiana, is it a food?”

“Now now,” Jennifer tutted.

“No, it’s not a food.” Indiana sighed, knowing better than to try and keep Bekah’s attitude in check. That was a battle she’d lose before it began. “Keep trying.”

She paused while the nurse took her time in getting her meds set and ready, attaching them to her port. She didn’t even flinch at the needle, the brown skin of her forehead as smooth and perfect as ever, not a worry line in sight. The game picked up as soon as Jennifer walked back out of the room.

“Is it something you- something you wear?” That was always the first sign that the meds entered her system – the ‘brain fog’ as she called it. Bekah sucked in a deep breath, her seemingly tiny chest rising up as she tried to settle herself. 

Indiana’s eyes flickered over to the IV bag – the clear liquid looked harmless enough as it dripped down. She knew it was anything but – just Bekah’s hair was enough to attest to that. She wore it in a wrap mostly these days, but she’d seen what was underneath. Her beautiful curls had started to fall out only a few weeks prior, and it was only a matter of time before they were gone completely. If she had to guess from what she’d seen when she fixed the knot of her wrap, the last of it would be gone after today.

“Yes, it’s something you wear.”

“So it’s clothes.”

“Not necessarily. You wear other things,” she explained, scooting her chair a bit closer to the bedside, reaching a hand out.

In the three years that Indiana had known Bekah, she was always amazed at how strong she was. It had impressed her from the first time she’d mustered up the courage to sign up for the volunteer program at the hospital two blocks away from her college apartment. Bekah was twelve then, a spunky young girl with big headphones over her ears and thick rubber bracelets on her thin wrists.

“Stop looking at me like that,” was what she’d chosen as an introduction. She’d looked up at Indiana with accusatory eyes, wide and dark and annoyed in the middle of the overly colorful pediatric wing hallway.

“Like what?”

“Like I have cancer. Don’t treat me like I’m sick and I won’t act like it. Capeesh?”

She’d only been able to swallow and nod, somewhat embarrassed but mostly just in awe.

So, when Indiana got matched with her as her ‘buddy’, she tried her hardest to do as she’d agreed to. Or at least, she did her best to be subtle about it. She could sneak in her moments of worry at times like this, when Bekah’s eyes were scrunched closed and she didn’t bat away the hand holding hers.

“Damn. The BBJ is not making me feel very BB esque today,” she grumbled, breathing deep in through her nose. Indiana’s other hand inched towards the bedpan resting on the table – the nausea usually kicked in right about now, and her deep breathing was always a tell that her stomach was churning. BBJ stood for ‘Bad Bitch Juice’ which was just the fun term for chemo that Bekah had come up with during one of her rotations a few years back. The nurses hated it, gave Indiana dirty looks when she let her say it around them.

“Bed pan at the ready,” Indiana reassured her, making sure it was in reach in case it got to be too much.

“Just keep playing the game, it’ll distract me. What do I know so far?”

“It’s not alive, it’s not a vegetable or a food, you can wear it but it’s not clothes.”

“Makeup?”

Indiana shook her head, doing everything to avoid reacting to the way Bekah was squeezing her hand. It was so tight that she felt her bones were probably touching each other in a way they weren’t meant to.

“Shoes?”

“No.”

“Do you wear it on your head?”

“I mean… technically?”

“That’s a cop out answer.”

“Don’t dwell on it, just keep going.”

She saw it coming before it happened – the turn of Bekah’s face, the way her body jolted just barely. It’s a good thing it wasn’t her first time, or she wouldn’t have gotten the bedpan under her fast enough to catch her vomit. She held her breath, tried not to listen to the sounds of retching so she didn’t get sick herself, holding steady until Bekah’s stomach was empty and she’s laid back against the pillows, exhausted. Indiana followed the motions, got up and walked to the bathroom, dumped the contents down the toilet and flushed it, left the plastic basin on the floor for the nurses to get later and washed her hands. By the time she made it back to the side of the bed, Bekah’s eyes were closed.

There were three marked stages of a chemo session with Bekah: the ‘this doesn’t affect me’ phase, the puke phase, and finally, the sleep phase, which seemed to be fast approaching. Even with her eyes closed she felt Indiana join her at her bedside, and she sighed in defeat.

“What was it? I don’t wanna ask more questions.”

“Earrings.”

“That’s two things, you cheated.”

She could have argued, but you just don’t argue with a kid with cancer if you don’t have to. It’s an unspoken rule.

“You’re right. You win.”

Bekah seemed content enough with that, but her eyebrows scrunched up again like they always did when she was focusing.

“Where do you get earrings in your teeth?”

“Huh?”

“Earrings in teeth… there was a guy… yesterday… earrings.”

Indiana just held her hand as she rambled, drifting off as she turned her head into her pillow. Not that she knew personally, but she’d never seen anyone be comfortable during a chemo treatment. But there was a peace that took over when their body decided that it was too much to handle in the realm of consciousness and they drifted off into their dreams.

So she was happy to look at the bed after she picked up her backpack and see that Bekah’s was asleep. She closed the door on her way out, moved to the nurse’s desk to sign out like she always did. The nurses always smiled at her, sitting back there in their colorful scrubs and big headbands. This time, it was Valentina who beamed up at her.

“Indiana, honey, how’s school going?”

“It’s going.” It’s killing me. “Just one semester left to go!”

“Don’t you overwork yourself now, we need you around here,” she threw a wink with her long lashes, opening her mouth to say something else before her phone rang. “You have a good one honey, we’ll see you next week.” Valentina picked it up, another call to another room for another sick kid.

 With as many times as Indiana had made the walk, she was pretty sure she could do it with her eyes closed. Straight, past the forest murals, press the button on the left to open the doors. Then it was the ocean hallway on the left- the blues were peaceful, little sea turtles and fish floating on the walls. At the end, by the jellyfish, was the last door of the pediatric wing. Somehow, it always felt colder past that point, inside the ‘real hospital’. The nurse’s scrubs were plain blue there, the walls taupe and bland with paintings of trees and lakes instead of Winnie the Pooh and Dory. Indiana’s shoes squeaked against the polished floor on her way to the elevator, picking up her pace. She didn’t like this part. It was too familiar, too many memories of walking down the same hallway for much different reasons. Past that it was down two floors, out and to the right to get to the front doors.

As soon as she walked out into the New York city street, it was a breath of fresh air; if you could ever consider city air fresh. Still, she always preferred the smell of exhaust and cigarettes over the bleach that stung her nose inside the hospital. And if she sniffed hard enough and the wind was right, she swore she could smell Jet’s Coffee all the way from the small store that resided three blocks down the road. 

Want anything from Jet’s? She texted Charlie, hoping for a quick response from her sister as she hurried down the sidewalk, pulling her shirt sleeves down over her hands in a bid to ward off the brisk late September air.

Nah, Devin’s making dinner. Should be done by the time you get here. 

Also, where tf is your strainer?

Bottom cabinet by the oven, she answered, shaking her head.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her sister. She did, with her whole heart. The same went for her sweet almost-brother-in-law Devin- they were both supportive pillars in her life, always there with a listening ear, a warm hug, or life advice.

But god damn did she miss having her apartment to herself sometimes. The peace that came over her when she walked into her cozy apartment, saw the rest of Chelsea through the high windows, her view over the river? Unmatched. It was still there - the fog over the river in the cool autumn mornings, the bustling streets of people wrapped up in their coats - but now, her sister was there too, catching her at the door with the latest story of the day before she could even let out a breath. Charlie could never understand how her younger sister wanted to live alone in college, wanted a place to herself ever since she even knew it was an option. Indiana was the opposite of her in a lot of ways- the older of the two was a social butterfly of sorts who always surrounded herself with people, with loud voices and louder personalities that could keep up with her. She was wild - dropped out of college after her first semester, spent her last dime on a camera so she could grow a photography business from the ground up.

Their mom always said that Indiana was the calm to Charlie’s storm, her little angel who hardly ever cried, who just fit into the family like a perfect final puzzle piece, completing the picture. The puzzle was long forgotten now, disassembled in a box in the attic somewhere collecting dust over the last five years. She didn’t have to wonder if it would make her mom sad - she knew that it would be devastating for her if she were still there to see what had become of the Cross clan.

“There she is, the myth, the legend, thee Indiana Jamie Cross!” 

Caught up in her mind, Indiana didn’t even realize that her autopilot route home had taken her all the way into the door of Jet’s, and she found herself in the familiar lobby when she came to. The walls were charcoal gray, with the delicate little single-line white flowers painted on them that she remembered them putting up a few years ago, back when she worked there. Her old manager, Patrick, beamed at her from behind the counter, wide smile framed out by his ever growing hair.

“What’s she gonna get today, wait don’t tell me, don’t tell me. Today is a… caramel macchiato with one less pump of vanilla? Hot?” He mused, raising his eyebrows in question.

“Oatmilk, then yes, you got it.”

“Of course I was gonna give you oatmilk, what do I look like, an amateur?” He scoffed, shaking his head as she went to reach for her wallet. “It’s on the house today.”

“You can’t give me my coffee on the house every time Patrick, it’s bad for business.” 

“It’s my business, so shush and go wait at the end of the bar like a good customer,” he rolled his eyes, sending the scribbled cup down the line. She rolled her eyes and dropped a few one’s in the tip jar before she went over to her favorite chair, the big blue one by the windows where she could people watch while she waited. She always wondered what people did in small towns while they waited for things, without the bustling streets outside full of people in their own little worlds. 

Her phone buzzed in her lap. Marty. 

Hey girlie, are you busy tomorrow? We’ve got a new orientee who needs the run down, and nobody does it better than you! 

Marty’s speciality was buttering people up. Which explained why Buddies had over 200 volunteers like Indiana - with Marty in charge, it was hard to say no, even if she had planned on spending a chilled out day tomorrow with her sister and Devin.

Fine by me, just let me know what time

Awesome. He didn’t give me a specific time so I’ll just give him your number if you’re good with that.

She sent back a thumbs up as her name was called at the counter, got her coffee and headed out the door.  It was another block to get to her apartment, and when she got there the elevator ride up to the 18th floor was almost as long as the walk. She didn’t mind though. It was her own little welcome home ritual that she’d grown fond of over the last few years of living there. 

As she predicted earlier, when she opened the door, her usually peaceful space was in a bit of chaos. There were four bowls out on the counter, measuring cups everywhere, two pans out in addition to whatever smelled so good in the oven.

“Don’t start Indy, I’m gonna clean it, I promise.” Charlie appeared around the corner, already on the defense of the look she knew she was going to get. It felt a lot like Indiana was the older sister despite the three years that Charlie had on her. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Indiana mumbled under her breath, clearing a small spot on the counter and hopping up.

“It’s all in your face,” Devin teased from in front of the oven. “Scootch, unless you want me to burn you with this casserole dish.” 

She grumbled and hopped down from her much too temporary spot so that he could open the oven, deciding it was probably best to leave the kitchen until everything was done. 

Her kitchen was the only ‘small’ part of her apartment. The rest was plenty big, and she was proud of all she had done over the years to make it her own. The living room was cozy, with a dark gray couch and a reasonable (Charlie would say excessive) amount of decorative pillows and blankets. The shelves on the wall had a few house plants - fake ones, of course, and picture frames that had moved with her each time she called a new place home. The white frame that contained an old picture of her and Charlie as babies, white-blonde hair wispy as they played on the swings in their backyard. The most recent addition was the rose gold frame, a picture of her, Devin and Charlie at their engagement last July in Zion National Park - she could practically feel the heat of the sun every time she looked at it. The last frame stood alone on the smaller shelf, a wooden frame with a small heart carved in the corner. Inside, a black and white picture of her and her mom. She was about one in it, in a little crewneck sweatshirt and tennis shoes, holding onto her mom’s hands as she walked, both of them beaming. She’d been told by so many people over the years that she had “Nicole’s smile”, and she tried her hardest to not cry nowadays if anyone ever mentioned it. 

“You know, our parents weren’t glassmakers, I can’t see through you,” Charlie grumbled from her spot on the couch, gesturing to the TV that her sister was blocking.

“You know, this is my house, you could just leave,” she countered, offering her fakest of smiles.

“You know, Dad pays the rent so it’s not technically yours.”

“Alright, dinner is ready, dinner is ready,” Devin called out, knowing that Charlie had already stepped one toe over the line, desperately trying to keep her from throwing herself fully over the edge.

Charlie popped up to her feet, unfazed by the glare that followed her all the way to the island as she went on to scoop out her pasta. 

Indiana didn’t have the energy to even think about her dad, much less talk about him. Kenneth Cross was a good father when she was little. He was attentive, taught her how to play basketball, how to ride her bike without training wheels. On a paper list, he checked off most of the dad boxes. And then his wife died, and he decided the time was nigh to abandon ship with very little regard for his 16 and 19 year old daughters. But if you asked him, he’d be sure to let you know that he took very good care of his kids, even put up his youngest in a nice New York apartment so she could go to school and not have to work a job. Taking care of things meant throwing money at them, whether it was at work or at home. His best, and only, sign of affection was the direct deposit that hit Indiana’s bank account on the 31st of every month. 

Needless to say, he was a sensitive subject.

She bit back the words she really wanted to spit out and made her way into the kitchen, grabbing her bowl a bit more aggressively than she needed to. As soon as she found her spot back on the counter she stabbed into the soft noodles and shoved them in her mouth, proceeding to burn the shit out of her tongue. 

Lovely.

Devin made small talk as best he could around the awkward tension - he was an only child, and anytime the two sisters fought he tried to fill in the void with anything he could. It always baffled him how the two of them could be pissed one moment, and then back to normal a few seconds later.

“Wanna go shopping tomorrow? And don’t say you have school shit, it’s a Sunday.” Charlie asked.

“A, I always have school shit, and B, I can’t anyways, I’ve got an orientation to do for Buddies.” 

“There’s no way you actually have that much school work to do, I think you’re just trying to avoid us,” she countered. 

“CJ she’s gonna be a doctor, that shit ain’t easy,” Devin piped up, eager to boost his almost sister-in-law up. Indy tried to ignore the little pang of jealousy she always felt when he called her sister that. Charlie Jo. CJ. She’d had her own fair share of nicknames over the years, shortened little versions of her name that everyone liked to use. But Devin was the only one who was allowed to call Charlie CJ, and there was something about the intimacy of it that had Indiana wishing someone was there to give her a cute nickname, just for them.

She held out until Charlie started in on the dishes that she promised to do and then she was headed to her room, social battery depleted. Despite her sister’s doubts, she did always have some form of school work that she could be working on, slowly chipping away at the constant stream of assignments and notes.  She liked to break it down into sections, tackling a certain class each night of the week. Saturdays were her ‘easy’ nights, reserved for reviewing her medical terminology notes and quizzing herself on new terms.

As nerdy as it seemed to anyone else, she actually found it fun. 10 year old her would have thought it was the coolest thing that she actually knew what choleodechojunostomy meant, though she was pretty sure she was never going to actually need to know. 

She was halfway through the abbreviations portion, stuck on the ‘G’ of esophagogastroduodenoscopy when her phone buzzed against her leg. She expected to see a text from Charlie asking her to join in on whatever movie they were watching in the living room, but instead she was met with a new number and an unfamiliar area code - 818. 

Probably spam. She left it alone, moving back to her cards, flipping between as she mumbled them quietly to herself.

“PRN. Pro re nata.”

Buzz

“EEG. Electroencephalography. TIA”

Buzz

“TIA. Transient-”

Buzz

“Jesus,” she huffed, grabbing her phone and swiping it open to her texts, all from that same 818 number.

Hey, Marty gave me your number, I’m your new orientee :)

My name is Grayson btw, probably should have started with that 

She told me to figure out a time with you but I’m p flexible so just let me know

And idk how to get to the pediatric part of the hosp so if you could meet me somewhere else and show me how to get there that would be awesome

Why he couldn’t have sent it all in one text she had no idea, but at least he was nice. She typed back quickly.

Hey! I’m Indiana. We can meet by the front doors if that’s easier, how about 9:30?

She didn’t even have time to pick up her next flashcard before the typing bubble popped back up.

Early riser, I like it. 9:30 is chill, I’ll see you then. Have a good night :)

You too :), she answered, quickly saving his contact as ‘Grayson’ before putting her phone back down on her comforter and diving back into her flashcards. She had 200 more to get through by the end of the night, and all she really wanted to do was get under her covers and go to sleep. By the time she reached the end of the stack, the definitions were just as hard to understand as their latin based counterparts. As soon as she flipped over arthralgia to reveal joint pain, she was moving the pile to her desk, pulling on a t-shirt and curling up in bed.

..............................................................................................................................

Indiana had never been a breakfast eater. She was always too eager to get to school, occasionally running out the door with a granola bar in hand at most at her mom’s request. The trend continued as she got older, though now she used her morning coffee as sustenance for the first few hours of the day. Which was why she found herself walking right back through the glass doors of Jet’s again, a mere 12 hours after her last visit. It smelled like fresh beans and vanilla soy as soon as she made in over the threshold - a comforting smell, familiar and warm. Patrick beamed at her from behind the espresso bar. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a day off.

“I’m paying today, no arguing,” she called out, giving him a serious look until he mouthed ‘fine’ at her over the bar. Satisfied, she pulled out her phone, surprised to see a text. Grayson.

I’m by the front doors on the left. I know im early so no rush :)

She checked the time at the top of her phone. 9:10.

I’m getting coffee and then I’ll be there

Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, contemplating. Was it weird to buy coffee for someone you’d never met? She sent another text anyway.

Want anything?

The bubbles popped back up as she stepped up in line.

Biggest cup of the strongest stuff they’ve got please. I’ll shoot you a Venmo for it

She liked his response and slid her phone back in her pocket before she stepped up to the counter. The barista was a new face, someone that had been hired after she had left.

“What can I get started for you?”

“Can I do a 16 ounce vanilla oat milk latte and a 20 ounce dark roast please?”

“Absolutely, that’ll be-”

“Give her the drip for free,” Patrick interjected. “We don’t charge past employees for drip coffee.”

The barista looked a bit flustered but took the dark roast off anyways, quickly spouting off the total and taking the cash that Indiana handed her. She turned around and poured the dark roast, passing it over with a smile. An older man was sitting in the blue chair when Indiana made her way to the other end of the store, so she settled by the bar instead, watching Patrick pump syrup and steam milk in a bit of a sequenced dance. She missed being behind the bar sometimes, but not enough to justify going back and getting talked down to by shitty customers. 

He finished her latte in record time, only having a spare moment to blow her a kiss before he was right back to the next drink. She didn’t mind - the thought of Grayson waiting on her made her nervous. She tried to remind herself that she wasn’t running late. It wasn’t her fault that he liked to show up twenty minutes early to things and she only liked to show up ten minutes early. Ten minutes was reasonable and showed dedication - twenty was a bit excessive. 

The cups kept her hands warm for the three blocks to the hospital, her pace a bit quicker than usual. She kept her eyes peeled for someone who looked like a Grayson once she made it. A tall, lanky man passed by her, headed towards the doors, but he didn’t seem like he was looking for anyone. She remembered the text. Front doors, to the left.

Sure enough, there was someone sitting alone.

He took up about half of the bench, his shoulders broad under a charcoal gray sweater that went well with the olive green of his pants. He looked well put together - a bit intimidating, but nice enough to send someone a have a good night text. He looked like he could be a Grayson. He must have felt her watching him, because he lifted his eyes from his phone and looked directly at her, taking in the two coffee cups in her hands with a smile.

“Indiana?”

His voice was deep, a bit commanding. It made her hesitate for some reason, panic just barely. “Uh yeah, that’s me.” Stupid.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Grayson.”

[we-always-hit-our-ass]

Heyyyy uh I love your stuff and I had an idea that wont let me sleep 😂 What if like the reader was mia or something and everyone was really upset and nervous and cobb kept saying how you were dead until doc roe just has enough of his bullshit and just punches him. (Feel free to change the character i just thought doc losing his composure was an interesting concept) bonus points for romantic connection? Im sorry if this is horrible im vry vry tired

Taglist: @radiantcade, @deldontplay, @thatsonefishyboi, @noneofurbusinez, @meteora-fc, @hufflepuffpancakes

yo i can totally get why this idea wouldn’t let u sleep. its because its damn good-  

lovely anon, this one is for you ;))))

also italic means past events-

words: 2.8k words (aww srry if its shorter than my other fics)

warnings: some violence, cursing, ANGST and sadly no resolved or happy ending :’((((

btw thank u @radiantcade for tellin me to make a taglist, major kudos to u ma’am. btw if you want to be added just hmu, no worries ;)))

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder (Eugene Roe x Reader)

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

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

“Aw, Genie! Don’t look at me that way!”

“Looking at you like what?”

“Like you’re mad! C’mon Genie, it was only a joke! Y’know I didn’t mean to make you upset by taking your morphine-”

Gene shot you a look which seemed to look like a mix of exasperation and annoyance. He stiffly grabbed the small packets of morphine that were being held in your grip. Eugene then quickly stuffed them in his pocket before walking away from your position with his signature blank look.

“I’m not mad.”

“Hey! You are! I can tell by your face.”

You followed after him, desperate for him to accept your apology, or at least for him to give you a smile. You desperately tried to keep up with him, his brisk pace making it a challenge for you to walk by his side.

“Well, this is the face I got.”

He walked faster, seemingly trying to avoid or lose you. He walked through buildings, dove straight forward into crowds of people, or even going as far as to tell someone to block you. You still made haste though, and in no time were already hot on his heel. 

You grew tired of it and reached out to grab his hand. After you had his hand in yours, he stopped immediately and turned slowly to face you.

“For someone who’s mad, you’re acting awfully childish.”

“(Y/N), for the last time, I’m not mad. I can never get mad at you”

“Then what are you?”

You stood in front of him with one eyebrow quirked up and your hands on your hips. You tapped your foot on the ground as you waited for an answer.

You were left shocked as he pushed by you. He was only a couple steps away from you until he turned with a small smile and gave you a shrug before heading back to the Med Bay.

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

It was that day, the day that Eugene Roe realized how much he cared for you.

It’s been four days since you disappeared from Easy Company. Four. Fucking. Days. Everybody was extremely worried and your absence has made everyone tense. 

If someone as lovable and skilled as you was missing, then they certainly wouldn’t stand a chance.

The men weren’t the same and it took a significant toll on every single one of them. But it especially took a large toll on the Cajun medic. Eugene couldn’t believe it. He refused to. He refused to believe that you weren’t there with them for four days.

Where the fuck were you? That was the thought on everyone’s minds. 

Eugene couldn’t comprehend it. It felt like only yesterday that you were there right beside him, making him turn as red as his nose and making his heart pound like a drum. 

Memories of you were still fresh on his mind, and they always seemed to taunt him.

He’d think of scenarios of you not being missing and how’d it was all just a big stupid joke or dream. Your face was all he could think about and his heart clenched every time.

It was soul-crushing, and he despised it. Eugene couldn’t focus since the day you were reported gone. Of course, he was fine after a few days, but the feeling of unease and tension grew with each passing moment. It gnawed on him continuously, but he couldn’t stop it.

(E/C) eyes and (H/C) hair was what he only wanted to see. But then he would see those beautiful eyes of yours dull and void of life, your once soft hair then greasy and matted with dried blood. Eugene would wake up in a cold sweat, the beating of his heart deafening him.

Everyone noticed his changed demeanor. Eugene got more cold, a little more distant and stand-offish. His personality mirrored everybody else’s after they got the news. But he was the one that was most affected. That was a fact.

Eugene was spacing off more than what was necessary. He was constantly in a daze and of course slower in his work. It was only when someone was injured that he was moving fast. But even then, he still wasn’t focused.

The spark of life in him was extinguished and that affected his work. He’d sometimes forget what he was doing, causing one of his patients to scream at his ear. 

It wasn’t the first time it happened. As the days went by, the more Eugene got caught up with his thoughts on your being. 

It caused him to get a nice chat with Winters on why he was acting like this.

“Roe… I know that it just might be nothing, but I noticed that you aren’t the same. Like something’s been bothering you. May I ask why you’re acting like this.”

“Sir, I think you already know of (Y/N) being MIA.”

Winters immediately looked down, as even someone with such authority like him was distraught about you. Winters quickly looked up and cleared his throat, eyes full or sorrow like Gene’s. 

Eugene straightened his back and he gripped onto the fabric of his pants.

“Of course… It’s been affecting everyone. I just wish that she was back with us. Do you still believe that she’s alive, Roe?”

“Of course, sir. I’m sure that she’ll turn up. Someday.”

“Maybe, Roe…” Winters nodded towards Eugene with a tight smile. “Dismissed.”

Eugene was being hit with numerous waves of anger, sadness, and worry. All five stages of grief were being experienced at the same time. He walked away, and even if he was supposed to be used to it by now, he couldn’t muster the courage to do so.

Images you being held prisoner and being tortured by the German Army scared him. Then images of you lying on the ground, fresh bullet wound on your head, the crimson liquid running down your face and onto the ground to create a morbid halo flashed afterwards. 

Eugene did nothing but drown in his thoughts underneath a tree nearby after that.

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

“Gene?”

“Yes, mon ange?”

“Why do you always call me that?”

“For starters… You are one.”

“One of what?”

“An angel. ‘Mon ange’ means ‘my angel’. I also call you that because… Like I said, I am sure that you are one yourself. I wouldn’t believe you if you said you weren’t.”

The sun beamed down upon the two of you as you sat upon the grassy field. Your eyes were on the lush green trees in the distance, Eugene’s eyes, however, were fixed upon your face. You seemed oblivious to it, fortunately for him. 

You smiled and you turned your eyes to meet his, and you reached your (S/C) hands to intertwine with his bigger ones. You turned back to set your gaze on the forest, but the dark-haired man’s look never averted.

“Gene…”

“Hm?”

“You really think that?”

“Of course I do. God forbid the day I stop calling you mon ange.”

You rested your head on his shoulders, as the sun set over the horizon. Eugene tensed up momentarily before he relaxed, taking in your warm presence and happy demeanor. You tightened your hold on his hand and a smile crept on your lips.

“Je t’aime, mon ange…”

“I love you too, Genie.”

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

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

It had been more that a week since any sign of you. Some of the paratroopers had already seemed to have given up hoping for you to magically come back. No one dared to mention you, it was already too much to handle. Some of the privates that you knew couldn’t say your name without tearing up.

 Eugene felt like that too, but he was too cold to let anybody see him that way.

Most of Easy Company still held on to their feeble thoughts and dreams however. Eugene was one of them.

 He waited for a sign. Any sign. No matter how insignificant or small, he wanted one. He just wanted a sign that reassured him that you were indeed fine and well.

Eugene of course waited patiently for it. His nights were spent praying for you to return to them. Most importantly, to return to him.

 By then he would make sure that you would always be by his side. By then he’d also make sure that he won’t take those fleeting moments he spends with you for granted.

Eugene already did that too much and those were one of the many things he regrets. If he ever sees your face again, he’ll make sure to make you his the moment he lays his eyes on you. That was exactly what he was going to do.

For the time being, Eugene and a few of the boys from Easy Company were lazing around in their bunks, and some already sleeping. They were practically waiting for anything. Orders. An attack. Maybe even you returning...

Moments like these passed uneventfully. That was what Eugene always thought. The soft rumbling and muffled sounds of German artillery hitting something didn’t surprise them anymore. 

“Why are you all so quiet?”

A familiar annoying voice rang out through the room and most heads turned towards the culprit. Eugene mildly disliked Cobb, he was annoying sure, but he didn’t really do anything to make Eugene’s blood boil. Others ignored him, seemingly thinking that dealing with Cobb just isn’t worth it.

Cobb had a different plan. As soon as he saw that nobody paid attention and answered his question, he opened his mouth and crossed the line that no man in Easy Company has ever dared to step over.

“Are you guys still thinking about (Y/N)?

The air immediately grew stagnant and sour, and the men of Easy turned to face Cobb, who had a very shit-eating grin on his face. Eugene was one of the men who turned to him, and he glared hard at Cobb. 

“Oh come on, she’s clearly dead.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Cobb.” George snapped at Cobb, who didn’t seem to listen.

 The air was full of tension and every man in the room wanted to throw Cobb into a fucking fire. Eugene then turned away, anger gnawing at his mind. Some of the men were clearly in discomfort, one of them even excusing themselves from the room.

“Just think about it, a girl, like her? She’s clearly gone, I mean she’s been missing for what? A week? Take a look at people who’ve been missin’ for a day. Look where they ended up. They ended up dead.”

“Do you not know when to shut your fucking mouth?”

“Well all of you are really stupid for believing she’s going to come back! She’s fucking dead, get over it. What’s so special about her anyway, huh?”

Liebgott sprung from his seat and walked to stand face to face with Cobb. Eugene begged for Cobb to shut up for once. The dark-haired man narrowed his eyes at Cobb, his lips pursing as he sat tense in his seat.

You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to disappear and to be talked in this way by a man who had the same brain capacity as fucking rock. 

Eugene clenched his fists as he looked down on his lap. It took all of his will to not strangle Cobb right then and there.

Cobb’s pestering voice kept ranging out throughout the room, the men were trying their best to make him stop his bullshit. It was like a buzzing mosquito next to Eugene’s ear, and he wanted it gone.

“(Y/N)’s dead, you fucking idiots. All of Easy Company would be way better without her anywa-”

“Shut up. Shut up!”

Eugene lunged from his chair, the creaking of the wooden air on the cold ground rang throughout the air. But it wasn’t the harsh creaking that made everyone silent. It was the fact that Eugene Roe, the cold medic who kept to himself, snapped. Immediately everyone’s eyes widened as they eyed Eugene.

The Cajun man felt nothing but pure, unfiltered rage as he looked straight into Cobb’s eyes. He couldn’t tell, but Eugene was shaking. His clenched fist raised up in the air to direct itself into Cobb’s jaw.

 A sickening crack was heard as Cobb fell into the floor and Eugene only looked in indifference.

Cobb fell down on the floor as he cried out, the eyes of the men in the room only widened further as they looked to each other for any sort of answer as to what came over Eugene. 

Everyone knew that you and Eugene were close, rumours were even spreading around that you two were dating, which turned out to be true.

They weren’t anticipating Eugene almost knocking out Cobb though. It was bound to happen, anyway. Eugene couldn’t let you get insulted by Cobb, he didn’t stand up for it. The angry red feeling was intense as it coursed through his entire body as he opened his lips to speak again.

“Do you even hear yourself, you selfish bastard? You only care about yourself and you never take into consideration what's going on, do you? If (Y/N) is dead, so what? She’s still a better soldier and person than you are.”

Cobb sat still as Eugene went on his rant, his hand clenching his aching jaw and head. Eugene was seething beyond recognition and everyone just looked in shock.

“-I don’t get it! How come she gets to die while you stay here with us? How come it isn’t you in her place? How come you’re the one here instead of her?”

Harsh words flew from Eugene’s mouth, each syllable was laced in venom and his accent making each word hurt more. Eugene pointed at Cobb repeatedly as he raised his hands. During his anger-filled speech, the photograph he kept with him fell to the ground.

Eugene fell silent as he went up to pick up the picture. It was a photograph of you. You were smiling with not a care in the world. You were wearing your uniform proudly as you showed off your jump wings to the camera. You were beautiful...

But most importantly, you were still there with him. As reality dropped down upon him like a pile of bricks and he hurriedly shoved the faded photograph into his pocket.

 His eyes fell upon a shaken Cobb and his anger was only fueled more. He stood up straighter and his eyebrows furrowed more.

“She deserved it way more than you! (Y/N) didn’t need people talking about her behind her back! (Y/N) didn’t need to be separated from us! So tell me, why on Earth are you not gone, but she is? Give me a good reason!”

Cobb stayed silent as he mumbled angrily under his breath while clutching his jaw, his eyes were narrowed at Eugene who stared back. 

“Get the fuck out.”

Immediately Cobb git back on his feet, his hands grabbing the wall for support before stumbling for the door to outside. Cobb threw one last glare at Eugene before opening the door and heading out of the building.

The slam of the door echoed in the building, and heads turned towards the medic. Eugene stood in his spot, eyes glued to the closed door where Cobb had just left. 

His chest was still rising up and down heavily, and exasperated breaths were pulled from his mouth. George slowly brought up a hand to go onto Eugene’s shoulder, but Eugene pulled away before he could.

“Eugene?”

“I’m going outside…”

His deep voice was menacing, but they held deep amounts of pure and utter despair. The boys decided to let him go as they saw his state. Heavy footsteps were heard as Eugene walked to the door. 

He hesitated for a moment before heading out in the cold, biting air. Eugene gingerly took the photo from his pocket and he held it by his fingertips as he lovingly gazed at your smiling face.

He sat on the debris near the stone building, but it was hidden from sight, giving him time to himself. The medic looked at the photograph with a melancholy expression, another tight smile was brought on his face.

The world was cruel, Eugene knew that, but he never experienced it this hard. The pain from losing a patient or friend in his hands was incomparable to the pain he felt at this moment. The snow fell on the ground, a calm and serene sight. Which was a complete opposite of Eugene.

Soft yet clear sniffles were heard as fresh tears dropped on the snow below. He tried to choke back tears, but they ran down his cold cheeks.

 Eugene brought his hands to wipe them away, but they were quickly replaced. His lip quivered and Eugene attempted to stay as quiet as he could. He stifled more cries and whimpers and he leaned his head back.

That photo taunted him.

Your smiling face in the photograph only brought him temporary relief and happiness, but he needed the real you. Eugene loved you so much. Maybe a litte too much. 

But you would never know the extent of his love… Your fate was unknown, but his hopes were crushed as soon as those dreaded words left Cobb’s lips.

Eugene Roe, the now dazed and distant medic of Easy Company, has finally broken.

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

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

im not crying i swear-

btw sorry this is shorter than my other fics but i hope you liked what i did! im sorry if it didnt come up the way you would have wanted but hopefully you still enjoy it!

but this request got me fucked up and i sort of wanted to torture myself by writing angst-

anyways thank you sweet anon!😭💕💕

[dakarimainink]

Chapter 2: Blood Money

WARNING: 18+, violence, blood, body burning, language, hint of sex

Characters: F!OC, River Ward, M!OC, Wakako Okada

Wordcount: 6,6K

Note: Not betad, all mistakes are my own

Ch1

Masterlist

               Aria’s body was sore and it begged her to stay in bed when she woke up that early evening, but her daily routine was not going to be broken due to the inconvenience of pain. She had crawled out of bed, forced on a pair of yoga pants and tied her jogging shoes while mentally preparing herself for her jog. Her wounds were aching and sensitive, especially the sown hole in her abdomen.

She took another route than her usual run. She jogged along the road towards California and Cartwright to have a look at the ocean. The air was crisp and the sun had just raised above the tall buildings, casting long shadows and drowning away the neon lights. Her earbuds were pumping out music from Body Heat Radio. The beats made her push through her groaning muscles and go a little longer.

Through the upbeat music, she heard the scream of a woman. She immediately popped one of her earbuds out, letting it hang down on its string. A woman ahead of her were running and pointing towards a man with a bright yellow handbag.

“Please, someone, thief.” The woman yelled while trying to stay in pursuit of the escaping man.

Her body were protesting before she could even think of what to do, but it didn’t help. She immediately darted forward, rushing down the road to try and catch up with the fleeing man. Aria passed the yelling woman who seemed surprised that someone actually listened to her pleas.

Slowly she caught up with the man, he took a sudden turn down an alleyway and she almost slipped on the road to follow him. She felt the stitches on her abdomen almost tear at the movement. She let out a grunt as she found her balance and dashed down after him.

The man stopped at the end of the alley, finding it blocked by a tall concrete wall. The only door available was locked as he tried to tear it open. Aria caught her breath as she realised he had nowhere to go.

She straightened up and looked at the man. “Nowhere to go, just hand over the bag and I won’t take you in for stealing.”

The man clutched to the bag with big eyes, but his expression changed to a smirk. “Fuck you.” He spat out.

Aria was pushed against the wall by a second man who had managed to sneak up behind her. Her head hit the concrete and pain shot through her body. A closed fist met her stomach, tearing at the stitches. She gasped in pain, holding on her wound. Another fist came flying towards her and she ducked away.

Before he could retrieve his hand, she grabbed it, twisted his palm up and pushed his elbow up, popping it out the wrong way. The man howled out in pain and she quickly jabbed him in the throat, rendering him silent as he choked on his Adam’s apple. He fell down on his knees while struggling to breathe.

The man with the purse jumped past her, but she grabbed his sweater and pulled him back. She kneed him in the groin, making him drop the purse to the ground. She fisted her hand and punched him in the stomach before grabbing his head and slamming it to her knee. The man tipped backwards unconscious.

The rush of adrenaline made her hands tremble and she stared at the two men lying on the ground. She picked up the purse and brushed away the dust.

The owner of the purse jogged up behind her and let out a gasp at the sight of the men. “Did you do this?” She asked.

“Yes, just call the police, they’ll pick them up.” Aria handed over the purse.

The woman let out another terrified gasp. “Oh dear, you’re bleeding.” She pointed at her stomach.

She looked down and saw the red stain on her top. Fucking great. She placed her hand over the wound and pressed down. The blood seeped between her fingers and a hushed moan slipped between her lips. “Would you mind calling a taxi as well?”

Aria was sitting on the floor in her bathroom with a vodka bottle and first aid kit next to her. She hissed as she poured the clear liquid on her open wound on her abdomen. She breathed as slowly as she could as she pulled out the last string of suture in her skin.

She took a swig from the bottle before she prepared the new string of suture and needle. She looked down on the hole and her spine trembled. “Okay, okay, okay… You can do this. You can do this.” She tried hard to encourage herself, but her shaking hand proved otherwise. She took a deep breath and forced the needle through her flesh. Her teeth were clenched as she fought to keep herself from screaming. As she pressed the needle through her flesh a second time, tears rolled down her cheek. She didn’t realise it was this painful to stitch herself up.

Blood kept running out of her wound as she kept sewing herself back together. By the third stitch she couldn’t hold herself quiet anymore. She wailed out and slammed her head back into the wall.

Several loud bangs against her door made her freeze. “Aria?” The familiar voice called out. “What’s going?”

Fuck, it’s River. She darted her eyes from her wound to the living room. Ah shit. She gulped, knowing he had heard her scream.

“The code is my birthday.” She yelled out. She heard him tap it in before she could even take in another breath.

The door opened and River charged in with two grocery bags in his hands. He dropped them when he saw Aria sitting on the floor with a half stitched wound.

“Aria.” He gasped and rushed over to her side. “What happened?”

“It got torn open on my run.”

He sighed and shook his head. “This is why you should have stayed in the hospital, you stubborn woman.” He shrugged out of his jacket and threw it behind him. He reached over and put on the gloves from the med kit. Without a word, he took the needle from her and glanced at the bottle of vodka.

“For the pain.” She smirked through the ache. She picked the glass bottle up and took a few chugs. “For the pain.” She whispered to herself and leaned her head back.

Her hands were fisted and jaw strained as River closed up the wound. He cleaned away the blood on her skin and placed a fresh bandage over the sore flesh.

“Next time, you stay in the hospital.” It sounded like a scolding rather than a plea. He pulled off the gloves and stood up. She looked up at him and silently agreed to his words. He helped her up to her feet and over to the sofa where she sat down. He went back to the bathroom to clean up the blood, alcohol and the old bandage.

“You’re here early.” She noted.

“Yeah, and glad I am too.” He walked over to her with the vodka bottle. “Your stitching skills are not up to date.” He handed her the bottle with a smirk.

She grabbed it and rolled her eyes. “You try and sew yourself up with no painkillers.”

“I wouldn’t have to, because I would stay in the hospital.”

She chuckled and took one last swig from the bottle. She handed it back and he gulped back the remaining liquid.

“So, are you here to teach me a lesson or to cook for me?” She teased and grinned up at him.

He shook his head and walked over to the grocery bags. “Cook for you?”

“Well yes, I am, after all, a helpless woman in pain.”

He snickered. “Helpless? You’re probably the least helpless woman in this city.” He walked into the kitchen with the bags. “So unless you want to miss the delicious taste of my Jambalaya, you better get your ass in the kitchen.”

She got up from the couch and ambled over to the kitchen. River was already unpacking the groceries. He peeked over his shoulder when he heard her approaching steps. She leaned on the kitchen counter and glanced at all the groceries laid out before her.

He handed her an onion without a word. She shrugged and found a cutting board and knife, peeled the onion and started cutting. She had barely cut half of the onion when tears gathered in her eyes. She squinted as she tried not to let the tears roll. River found the sight amusing and sniggered while he stirred the food. For each vegetable she cut and added to the pot, a new one was placed next to her. Somehow she managed to keep the knife away from her fingers and blood away from the food.

“Alright, now we just gotta let it simmer.” River walked over to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer. “Let’s sit down in the living room.” He popped the caps off with his right metal hand and both wandered back into the living room.

They sat down next to each other with a huff. Aria snuggled up in the corner of the sofa and stretched her legs out, placing them over his lap.

He rose an eyebrows at her.

“What? Not my fault you sat down exactly where I was going to lay my legs.” She flashed him a smug smile and took a sip from the chill bottle.

He shook his head in response and took a swig from his own bottle.

“Any update on the case?” She asked.

He sighed with a faint smile. “Eager as always, Aria.” He turned his head to look at her. He scanned her face, her beautiful clear face with a pair of curious brown eyes. “The tech department is still trying to recover whatever they can. I’ll let you know as soon as they find something.”

Her eyes lowered and she chewed on her inner cheek.

“What?”

She shrugged. “It’s just that…” She hesitated. “I feel like I screwed up.”

He furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“Because I damaged the chip.”

“Aria, you defended yourself. I rather have a useless chip than a dead partner.”

She looked up at him with big eyes. “Really?”

He let out a half supress chuckle. “Aria.” He turned in the sofa towards her, holding her legs in place so they didn’t slip off him. “Your life is worth more than anything.” His fingers caressed her leg carefully, nipping at her grey joggers.

Aria pulled her legs back and stood up. She walked across the living room to the big wide window looking out on the city. She crossed her arms, still holding the beer in one hand, and scanned the people walking down below. “Our line of work should tell you a lot about my view on that topic, River. I wouldn’t even consider waking up every day for this job, if I for even one second believed my life was worth more than the people begging for scraps on the streets.” She turned to him. “I put my life out there, to protect everyone else. We are a shield to be used and to be sacrificed, not to be hung up on the wall like a decoration, useless and gathering dust.”

He got up from the couch and left his bottle on the coffee table. He made his way over to her and placed himself right in front of her. His head was tilted down, catching her gaze. “Aria, for me your life is worth more than anything else.”

She turned her head and gazed out the window. “It shouldn’t. You shouldn’t get attached like that.” She sounded frustrated. “One day, suddenly they will be gone and that’s it. You will constantly drown yourself in pain until you’re either numb or dead.” Her words stung deeper within herself. Her mind almost went numb and her eyes pricked in the corner.

To hold back the tears, she took a few gulps from the beer and stepped past him. “Let’s check up on the Jambalaya.”

Aira and River sauntered down the hallway next to each other. A light breeze from the late evening rustled through their clothes. It sent a light shiver down her spine as River tried to explain the difference between a raven and a crow.

“Crows are more social and will often travel in larger groups, while ravens like to travel in pairs. They also make different sounds, so when you hear cawing sounds, it’s a crow, while a raven make a more croaking sound.” He was deep into explaining the difference, while Aria tried her hardest to keep her focus on him. She found it harder than she wanted to admit.

She sighed. “River, I’m never going to have use of this information.”

“Never say never.”

She rose an eyebrow at him. “Actually, this time I will.” She shook her head while rolling her eyes. He bumped her shoulder with his and chuckled.

Aria stopped mid step and stared to her right. River stopped a step ahead of her and looked back at her. “What is it?” He followed her gaze and ended up looking at the half open door to an apartment. He furrowed his brows at the sight. In the corner of his eye, he saw Aria walk towards the door and he followed her.

Aria placed her hand on the chill metal door and slid it open. Her eyes widened at the sight. Harry’s apartment was turned upside down. All his belongings were torn and shred all over the floor. His couch was ripped apart and all mirrors were shattered. There were blood splatter on the floor and up the walls.

Aria gaped in disbelief and felt a knot in her stomach. “I am afraid that next time you pass this door, I might not be here.” Harry’s words echoed in her head and she felt nauseous. She gasped and covered her mouth. Fuck Harry, how deep were you? She stepped into the apartment slowly and remembered the terrified Harry lying on the floor. She knelt down and touched the floor, her fingers brushing against the broken glass and dust. She looked over her shoulder at River.

“Aria, we should leave.” He suggested and met her low gaze.

Her lips were parted as she scanned his face. “I need a ride.”

He knew what she wanted; he could read it in her eyes. He didn’t like it; it was obvious some shady shit had gone down and she wanted to go chase after it. Her determination would get her killed one day and knowing that made him sick to the core.

Aria got out of River’s truck. The pink neon sign of Jig-Jig Street reflected in the several puddles on the ground. The people wandering the streets did not try to hide their intentions of getting laid or getting high. The place was known for its darker alleys, but still it attracted everyone who looked for the more exotic wares of Night City.

River jogged around his truck and stopped next to Aria. He scanned the neon lit streets in front of them. He did not like the fact that they were here, but even less considering it was Tyger Claw territory.

“Remind me again why we’re here.” He looked at Aria who seemed uncomfortable of being here.

She sighed, not out of annoyance, but because she felt she had to be here. “You don’t have to come with me, River.”

“What? And watch you walk into these dangerous alleys by yourself? I don’t think so.” He seemed offended that she would even suggest such a thing. “I just don’t get why we have to be here.”

She turned to him. “Because Wakako Okada is here and I know she has relations to the Tyger Claws.”

“We have several files on the TC at the office.” He advised and rose his eyebrows at her suggestively.

She titled her head and shook it. “River, they took him. I know they did. And I…” She choked at the image of beaten up Harry.

“Just… if I go missing, promise to look for me. I don’t want to rot in an abandoned building or container. Find me and burry me, anywhere, even a dumpster, but just burry my body, please.” His frail words echoed inside her mind. His plea was tearing her heart. She never were close with the man, but that moment, when he was truly at the breaking point, she felt for him. He had no one else and they both knew that, and he had asked her to find him and to bury him, because they knew the Tyger Claws would never bury his body in a proper way. They would probably chuck him in a container or at the side of the road in the Badlands.

“Let’s just go.” She was about to walk when River’s hand grabbed her arm. She halted and looked at him.

“If something feels off, we’re out.”

She nodded. He let go of her and they begun their cautious walk down the wet and somewhat crowded horny streets. The first thing to meet them were the almost blinding neon signs begging the wanderers outside to come in and let off some steam. Every now and then, a person would call out for you, tempt you to come inside and have some fun. The place were covered in some kind of lingering fog that smelled of sex, drugs and alcohol.

Aria had never been here before, but heard other colleagues talk about the place. Often people would walk in with a wallet and leave with a broken nose and empty pockets. She couldn’t understand how someone would even consider wandering these streets when they knew the dangers lurking. But considering the many empty and easily fooled minds of NC, it wasn’t hard to believe the place managed to bloom.

River seemed equally uncomfortable, she saw his tense shoulders and strained face. He was walking as close to her as possible without bumping into her. While he kept his eyes forward, Aria couldn’t help but look at everything around them. She was curious, even though it was a lot to take in.

“Hey, you lookin’ for some company tonight?” Aria stopped when the female leaning on a concrete barrier purred at her in a suggestive way.

Her eyes immediately were caught by the leopard bodice and fishnet stockings. “I’m sorry, what?”

The woman took a drag from her cigarette and winked at her. “Do you wanna have some fun?”

River’s eyes darted from the lady to Aria and back again. Before they could exchange any more words, he hooked her arm and pulled her with him. “Moving on.” He said as he kept her arm hooked in his as they walked.

They stopped outside of Wakako’s Pachinko Parlour. It was a small establishment with several pachinko machines lined up against the walls. A few of the seats were taken. The place was dimly lit, most of the light coming from the beeping machines.

The walked down the small pathway, trying not to bump into the men with their faces glued to the gambling machines. They passed through the door opening on the left side.

A big man dressed in a silvery tracksuit and black boots held out his arm, stopping them in passing through the bead curtain. Aria peeked at the figure of a female inside the room in front of them, before her eyes dragged up to the wide man who had stopped them.

River straightened his back, making himself half a head taller than the impassive man.

“I would like to talk with Wakako Okada.” Aria said, more like a request than an order.

The man shook his head, still no expression on his face.

River crossed his arms and puffed his chest. “Come on, we just want to talk.”

She wanted to skip under his arm and rush in, but the thought about being dragged out of there, probably by the hair, was not tempting.

“It’s okay, Benjiro, let them through.” A raspy female voice came through the beads.

The man’s arm lowered and they both passed him into the room ahead. As soon as they stepped into the room and met the scrutinizing gaze of the silver haired woman, they both felt small. Her eyes were fixed at Aria, who tried hard not to hide behind River’s broad frame.

“I assume you know who I am, considering you came to me.” Wakako crossed one leg over the other and entwined her fingers in her lap. “And I know you are the police girl.” She darted her eyes at River. “But you, I do not know.”

He crossed his arms and leaned his weight to one side. “And you don’t need to know either.”

She scoffed. “Don’t worry, I’ll know soon enough.” Her eyes returned to Aria. “Your friend kept crying about you when he was here.”

Aria’s eyes widened. Harry?

“Of course, he had difficulty saying it, considering the amount of blood pooling in his mouth.”

Aria tightened her hands into fists. It was a test, she knew it, but she wouldn’t fall for it.

“It took a bit of time to get the floors cleaned up, but I believe we got it all out of the wood.” A sly smirk grew on her lips. A degrading smile that spat acid at her. Wakako really wanted to see how far she could push.

Aria clenched her teeth. “Where is he?”

“Last I heard, he was lying in a pool of his own blood with most of his teeth missing.” She seemed comfortable in her seat, considering the picture she was currently painting with her words. “And a few fingers.” She added.

River noted the tension in Aria’s muscles and took a step closer to her. “Aria, relax.” He whispered.

“I imagine he doesn’t have much time left, if any at all.”

“Aria, do not let her get to you.” His voice whispered over her shoulder.

“I am scared, Aria.” It shouldn’t have cut this deep, his words shouldn’t have gotten to her, but she knew the feeling of being helpless, of knowing you’re fucked.

Aria exhaled deeply. “Where is he, Okada?”

The silver haired lioness shrugged.

Aria slammed her fists into the shiny wooden desk. A tense silence swept over them. Her eyes were drilled into Wakako’s gaze. Her heart sank when she realised what she had done, but it was too late to take it back. She kept her fists on the table, waiting for a reaction.

Nothing.

Wakako sat there quietly, examining the seemingly pissed of young woman. She hadn’t flinched when Aria’s fists had hit the surface, she knew it would come, mostly because she knew exactly how to read people. She leaned forward and picked up a half smoked cigarette from the ashtray on the table. She lit it up with a golden lighter and took a deep drag. She blew the smoke in Aria’s face, who still stood still bent forward.

“I will tell you, in exchange for a certain file you have at the NCPD.” She finally said.

Aria slid her hands off the desk and straightened up. “What file?”

“El Víbaro.”

“That’s just a myth.” River shot in.

Aria glanced over her shoulder at him with furrowed brows.

Wakako chuckled with a smirk. “If it’s just a myth, then why do you have a file?” He had no response. “Do we have a deal?”

Aria looked back at Wakako. “Deal.”

River grabbed her arm and spun her to face him. “Aria, we can’t just hand out files from the NCPD. It’s confidential information.”

“I am fully aware of that, but if you claim that it is a myth, there can’t be much information on that file that could be confidential. Please, help me out with this, we need to find Harry.” She begged and grabbed his hands.

He held her gaze for a moment. He could drown in her pleading eyes. He sighed. “Fine, give me a minute and I’ll make a call.” He let go of her and left the room.

“You should be careful around a man like him.”

Aria turned to Wakako, her words a surprise. “I thought you didn’t know who he was.”

“I know every cop in this city. What kind of fixer would I be if I didn’t.” She took another drag from her cigarette and placed the stump in the ashtray. “Do yourself a favour and stay away from him, his obsession for revenge is one day going to drag you down.”

His obsession? She must speak of his parent’s murder. She is somewhat right about it, but he hasn’t spoken about it for years, he has moved on. Right?

Aria crossed her arms. “He hasn’t mentioned in for years.” She pointed out.

Wakako shook her head. “Perhaps not to you, but what do you think he’s doing when you’re not around? What do you think he was doing when you were unconscious in the hospital? Where do you think he goes when most of the city sleeps?”

Aria opened her mouth but was interrupted by River entering the room.

“I got the file transferred; do you have a chip?” He asked and stepped past Aria.

Wakako looked through her drawer and handed him a small chip. He slotted it into his head and his eyes turned bright blue for a few seconds before he pulled the chip out. He handed it back to her. “There, now tell us where he is.”

Wakako inspected the chip in her hand and placed it on the desk. “He is in a dark blue metal container marked with three red claw marks. I’m sending you the coordinates.”

Their eyes turned blue for a second and Aria looked at them in silence. She knew what the colour meant, but she couldn’t help but wonder if they felt anything when they did the exchange. If they felt some kind of tingle or electricity, or if they felt absolutely nothing.

River looked down at Aria. “I got it, let’s go.”

Aria jumped out of the truck and splashed right into a puddle. Fuck. She shook her head in frustration before she walked forward. Her eyes glossed over the several containers in front of them, her lips partly parted.

River rounded the truck and stopped next to her. He crossed his arms and leaned his weight to one side. “This shouldn’t take too long.” He breathed and looked down at Aria. His brows furrowed. “You alright?”

Aria swallowed thickly. “What if we’re too late?” She turned her head towards him. “What if she lied?”

“She wouldn’t gain anything by lying, Aria. That woman might be dangerous, but from what I’ve heard, she’s an honest woman, at least about stuff that doesn’t regard her private life.”

Aria exhaled and stalked towards the big blue metal boxes.

The city air was thick and a low fog was lingering around the corners of the streets. The people who had lost their mind to drugs were babbling in their small tents. The slight layer of gravel crunched beneath their footsteps as they scanned for red claw marks.

“You never told me…”

Aria stopped and blinked at him. “Told you what?”

“Why you’re doing this. He was just your neighbour, wasn’t he?” River stopped a few steps ahead of her and turned to look at her.

She regarded him, feeling the somewhat passive tone in his voice. “I told you, you don’t have to come with me.” She reminded him and started to walk again. As she passed him, he grabbed her arm and stopped her.

“Why are you avoiding the question?” He asked with a stern voice.

She sighed heavily. A flash of feeling warm blood splatter across her face made her shiver. She forcefully held back a gag.

Her eyes rose up to his face. “It’s a long story I rather not get into, River. Just accept that I am doing this to hopefully save a life, or at least honour one.” He lightened his grip on her. “Now can we please try and find the container? I don’t want to waste more time.”

He studied her face and finally let go of her. He nodded and turned to continue the search for the mark.

They both roamed between the containers and looked at all possible graffiti tagged on the outside. Every little red streak caught Aria’s attention, desperate to just find the god damn box.

As she passed between the containers, she spotted a lone blue container at the end of the lot. On the front where three red marks. Her heart thumped against her ribs as she jogged over to the box. A rusty old padlock hung on the handle, keeping her from unlocking it. She gave it a few kicks, but to no avail.

“River.” She called out.

Within a few seconds he appeared behind one of the containers. He strode over to her and noted the padlock too. Without a word, he grabbed it with his bionic hand and jerked it, making the lock break.

“Thank you.” She nodded and they grabbed a handle each and pulled open the doors. They creaked in harmony and the smell of urine and blood filled their nostrils. They both gagged in reflex and took a step back for clean air.

She peered into the darkened shadows and noticed a black figure slumped together at the back. “Harry.” She whispered and rushed into the container. She fought not to throw up from the smell.

She knelt down next to the figure and lifted up the head by the chin. Two dark red and black empty sockets met her. She snapped her hand back and threw her head to the side, letting the vomit spew out of her.

“Aria.” River yelped out and hurried over to her. He held back her hair as she finished up throwing up. “Are you okay?”

She groaned in disgust. “His eyes, River. His fucking eyes.” She whimpered with tears rolling down her cheeks. She straightened her back and glanced over at River.

He was knelt down next to her and examined Harry’s face in revulsion. “Fuckin’ hell.” He breathed out.

His jaw was dislocated and probably most of his teeth were missing. He had several cuts on his chest and all his fingers were gone.

They sat there in silence, neither not knowing what to do or say. The sight was horrifying enough, just because he owed them some money. He had an addiction and they knew it, exploited it, but why? Did they do it just to have an excuse to torture him? They could have just taken someone off the street if that was the case.

Aria wanted to tear them all apart, to hunt down the fuckers who did this to Harry. She couldn’t imagine the pain he must have gone through, or what he was thinking when it all happened. “Your friend kept crying about you when he was here.” Did he think of her in his last moments? The thought sent unpleasant shivers through her whole body.

“What now?” River snapped her back from her thoughts.

She shifted her eyes between Harry and River. “We need to bury him.” She said and wobbled onto her feet.

“Bury him?”

She nodded. “We’ll take him to the junkyard.”

River shot up on his feet and shook his head. “No way this body is getting in my truck. The stench will be stuck for weeks.”

Her shoulders lowered. “Come on, River, please do this for me. I’ll pay for a thorough cleaning of your truck for a year, just please don’t leave me now.” She begged.

He regarded her for a moment, sometimes he glanced down at the slumped body. He bit his tongue and let out a deep sigh. “Fine but let me get the tarpaulin from the truck.”

Aria wiped the slight layer of sweat from her forehead with a deep exhale. The smell of death was soaked into her clothing and skin. She looked up at the clear sky above as the crisp air rustled through her hair.

River cleared his throat and her head snapped to his direction. He gestured to the rolled up tarpaulin on his truck reeking of piss and blood.

She swallowed thickly and threw the shovel on the ground. She stepped over to him and they grabbed one side each and lifted the covered body of Harry. It felt just as revolting as the first time she had carried his body to the truck. His soft limbs and horrifying smell had made her gag several times. She believed the only reason she wasn’t throwing up, was because she had no more to throw up.

They swung the body to the side and let it fall into the pit Aria had dug in a secluded area of the junkyard. His body made a wet slap sound when it hit the ground and body liquid seeped through the crevices of the tarpaulin. They both gagged as the smell of the fluid hit their noses.

River went back to the truck and pulled out a cannister with gasoline. He glanced at Aria before pouring the content over the body, the smells mixing up, making it somewhat more bearable. He pulled out a lighter from his pocket.

Her eyes snapped to the silvery box in his hand. “Let me do it.”

Without hesitation, he handed her the lighter.

She felt the smooth metal between her fingers as she stared at the soaked covers in the hole. Something in her wavered.

Harry had no family, no true friends, no one, yet he found friendship with her. She might have been the only one who knew who he was, who knew about the few stories of his life he had told her as they had chatted. She wasn’t sure if she should feel honoured or depressed. Here she was, burying and burning his body after being tortured to death. His last moments might have been of her and she honoured his death by burning him. It didn’t feel right, but it was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

He had asked her to bury him, they both knew he had no money to get a proper burial, so what did he expect? She didn’t want his body to rot somewhere above ground or be forgotten in some dump, at least here he could rest in peace, even though it was in the middle of the junkyard.

She lit the lighter and held it for a moment, pausing just one last time to consider her actions. This was the best option, he wanted it, she knew it. She flicked the small metal box forward and it landed in the hole.

The gasoline was set on fire immediately and grabbed a hold of the tarpaulin, before edging its way to the flesh inside. The smoke rose to the sky and the once disgusting smell of bodily fluids, blood and piss, turned to a mix of beef and fatty pork.

Aria took a few steps back and slumped down on the edge of the pickup bed. She watched the fire dance in front of her as River sat down next to her. He handed her a bottle of whiskey and she took a swig.

“What you have done today is commendable, Aria. You truly went the extra mile for someone who could never pay you back.” He took a swig from the flask.

“This wasn’t about payment, River.”

He looked at her. “Then what was it about? You avoid the question like the wasting plague.”

Aria sighed heavily. She lowered her head and closed her eyes. The tall shadows danced on the ground and along the piling trash pyramids.

“When I saw Harry in his apartment, beaten up, it…” She choked on the word.

River moved closer and placed an arm around her. “Aria, you don’t have to…”

“Yes I do.” She interrupted him. “It reminded me of my mother after one of the men had been to visit.”

His lips parted in shock. “What men?”

She had never told anyone about her past life, not a single one. She was living with these memories by herself and now she was going to share it with the one person who had been there since she was alone.

“Remember when I told you my mother was a cleaner at a hotel?”

He nodded slowly.

“Well, my mother had a second job to keep us afloat, so we didn’t have to lose our apartment.” She gulped and her eyes looked at the warming flames. “To make ends meet, she exchanged intimate moments for money.” She didn’t want to say the word, not in the context of her own mother. She always knew it came from a good place. “Sometimes, not often, but sometimes the men wouldn’t pay, and instead of just leaving the place, this one guy…”

She fisted her hands and clenched her teeth together. River wrapped her closer, letting her know she could stop whenever, but she had already made up her mind. She was halfway, so why not tell it all, even though they both knew the ending.

“He punched my mother in the face and she fell to the ground. I was standing in the corner, frozen at the sight of the big man. He pulled her up to her feet and punched her again and again and again and again, until a few teeth fell out, followed by blood splatter across the floor and walls. Some of the blood landed on my face. I can still feel the warm liquid slowly run down my face.” Her body was trembling with anger and sorrow. “He finally stopped and dropped my mother to the floor. She didn’t move. The man regarded me for a moment, I was terrified he would come for me, but all he did was giving me this disgusting smirk. Then he left.

I stood frozen for a long time until I finally collapsed and dragged myself next to my mother. I was afraid she was dead, but the shallow breath between her lips let me know she was still there. I couldn’t call anyone because I didn’t know anyone to call and we couldn’t afford to get a trauma team to us. I sat next to her the whole night, not knowing if she would survive or not.”

River pulled her onto his lap and she wrapped her arms around him.

She felt relieved to have told him, but the lingering pain was too great to ignore. Usually she would suppress the memories, but to tell them out in the open had brought her to a breaking point. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she buried her face into his chest.

“What happened to the man?” He asked carefully.

She shook her head. “Never caught. My mother never pressed charges because the police wouldn’t care considering what she was doing.” Her heart sank. Injustice.

“I am sorry, Aria.” He pressed her closer to him, enveloping her in his warmth.

“Thank you, River.” She sniffled. “Can you please drive me home? It’s been a long day.” She sat up and looked at him.

“Of course, would you like for me to stay with you?”

“No, I need some time alone.” She admitted with a frail voice.

He nodded understandingly.

They sat there for a moment longer, only listening to each other’s breaths and the distant sounds of the city.

(Want to be tagged? Let me know :D)

[lloftvlly]

something i never really talk about but felt like ranting about right now.

hi, i’m may, i stan fictional villains, and i have a shitty autoimmune disease.

i don’t make a big deal of it because i don’t think it’s defining who i am but i won’t pretend it’s not a huge part of my life. 

just a little backstory. my disease started to kick in in my teens. it started very slowly and snuck up on me. the first time i noticed something was off, was when my right knee started hurting. back then i didn’t think of it as much though, just maybe i was getting hurt at the concert i was at a a few days prior (it was good charlotte, my friend is a huge fan and dragged me to their live it wasn’t bad but lol). it started to bother me when the pain in the knee didn’t go away after i kept applying some cooling gels and whatnot and my knee kept swelling up. my cousin, who’s a doctor got me some cortisone cream too and it helped a bit but you can’t use this for long. so as soon as i quit using it the pain was back just as bad, if not worse. 

i started seeing doctors and they were just confused. i got my knee punctured and liquids drained by doctor 5 times. (long-ass needle goes under your kneecap and liquid gets pulled out)  this procedure hurts like shit but it always gave me a little relief for a few days. but after that it still got progressively worse. it started to also affect my left knee and my right wrist and eventually my lower back. and at this point i was taking a lot of pain meds to at least be able to have pain-free days. in the mornings i couldn’t get out of bed, i couldn’t walk. i had to always take pain meds in bed, wait until they kick in, then force myself to get out of bed and try to walk. always stiff, always having to keep my legs moving if i don’t want them to turn stiff like rocks again...  my knees were too weak to keep me on my legs for long so whenever i was in situations i had to stand a lot, i would threaten them cos i would have to find something to lean on and that wasn’t always an option.  shitty fucking situation.

i kept seeing doctors who were not sure what it was. idk how many times i left a doctor office and then had a mental breakdown, crying cos no one could tell me what’s wrong and i just wanted it to be taken care of. like lit felt like i was left so alone with my pain and no one did anything to help me with it. i even felt like i wasn’t taken serious enough. one doctor even made some comments that it might all just be in my brain. because i am also diagnosed with GAD and clinical depression he was like “this could be part of that.” such bullshit. sometimes doctors don’t take you serious for having mental illnesses is what i learned from that. 

anyway, things were looking up a little after that. 

about 7 years into living with pain i was finally getting a diagnosis. all this time it had been psoriasis arthritis, an autoimmune illness that attacks my joints. the reason why it took doctors this long is because this condition rarely ever comes without the skin condition psoriasis. i didn’t show it on my skin, and even my blood tests seemed to not show the results doctors needed to diagnose it. the only reason doctors did find out, was because i had googled my symptoms a lot and i brought up the idea to my doctor that this would be it. plus my grandpa and my aunt have the same disease and it’s something genetic. honestly without me telling the docs i think i have psa i think i wouldn’t have a diagnosis even now. 

idk what changed on the day i got my diagnosis and why it suddenly showed in my blood tests also. but i was relieved to say the least, knowing what was rly going on with my body. but the thing is, i lived 7 years undiagnosed with it and now have to live with the consequences of that time: these being, i was always walking cautiously because of the pain in my knees, it ended up in me now having a crooked walk, i can’t stretch out my legs completely anymore, neither bend them completely. it’s now just something i have to live with, that i won’t prolly never walk normally again. i’ve ruined my posture thru that, and now have chronic back pains caused by it and i get lots of migraines that result from the back (idk how it works i aint a doctor) 

now i am on strong medication called mtx, it’s kind of a med that many ppl are critical of, because of its strong side effects and it not being rly good to the body. i have my blood checked all 6 weeks cos i gotta make sure they don’t slowly kill me lol.  but for me this med is rly saving my life like holy shit. i do physical rehab in a program whenever i can, i stayed there for weeks before and it was kind of nice. the issue with my medication, however, is that i have to pause them whenever i even have as much as a small cold. since they suppress my immune system or whatever, i can’t take them when i am sick or i won’t ever have a immune system to get me back to becoming healthy again or some sciency shit idk lol. 

either way that brings me to now. i had a fever not long ago and had to pause my meds again. mtx stays in the body for like 2 weeks or so, if you pause any longer than that, your body is set back to the state it was before you started therapy on this medication and mtx takes up to ten weeks to even take effect. meaning, when i pause it, i am set back to before i started the medication and have to wait at least 6 weeks for them to kick back in and make the pain slowly go away again. now, currently i am in one of those in between times before the meds work again. i am in quite a lot of pain,  i can barely get out of bed. not only do both my knees rly hurt but so does my back. and i am like /: well that sucks. 

it’s hard to focus when you’re in pain. as i am right now. i try really hard to focus on anything other than that but no matter what i do, my mind’s always going back to the pains in my back and knees, my wrists feel surprisingly fine and thank fuck cos i need them to write lol. point being, my focus is gone. i wanna write, i wanna create, i wanna draw but it’s rly hard man. i feel whiny and like overly dramatic... nothing should keep me from writing, realistically. look, i mean, i just typed out this wholeass essay. i honestly think i am blocking myself. i’m like ‘woe is me.. i have some pain’ and somehow almost use this as an excuse, i guess, to be a lazy pos. 

someone gotta tell me “stop being a bitch and get to work” so if you read this and if you would lol. just don’t pls, for the lov of king shiggy , don’t feel bad for me or say anything to pity me. that’s not what i want /at all/. i’m a badass for living with this pain, lemme feel like one at least lol.  if you can sympathize that’s nice but i didn’t write this to make anyone feel bad for me i promise. i don’t feel bad for myself either, i honestly think i am lucky in many ways that i get to live in a country with free health care, get to work from home, get to be a lazy pos when i am in this type of situation without having to worry about anything rly. 

i’m also writing this rant to kind of push myself. get out of this stupid slump DO SOMETHING. 

anyway, that’s all. 

also: if anyone got stories to share about their own experiences and they want me to hear it, please do. ithink we all have things we struggle with. 

[hailey-halstead]

Revelation

a post 7x10 fic! hope you all enjoy, and as always i don’t own anything!

—————

A feeling of relief coursed through Hailey as she saw the familiar figure of Jay waiting behind the doors of Chicago Med’s main entrance. Every time she left him she couldn’t help but fear she’ll come back and he’ll be gone.

She put her car in park and stepped out. Jay had spotted her as she was approaching, so they ended up meeting half way.

“Ready to go home?” Hailey felt the corners of her lips turn up into a smile due to being in her partner’s presence again. She found herself doing so ever since he woke up.

Her stomach flipped at the reminder of why she was this happy.

Fuck. Why did Rojas open her mouth and get thoughts into her head?

As quickly as the thoughts arose, she stuffed them back down. She couldn’t think of herself right now. What was important was helping Jay.

“Hell yes.” He gave her a returning smile. The eagerness was easy to see in his body language. Despite having a major surgery days prior, he was moving with haste. As if a doctor would suddenly appear and tell him he needed to stay in the hospital longer.

“Take it easy there.” Hailey warned him, reaching out to grab ahold of his non-injured elbow. “You just had a bullet in your chest.”

When her voice wavered at the end, Jay thankfully made no comment on it.

He did however turn to her as he approached her car with a teasing look on his face. “Do you think I can get in by myself?”

She rolled her eyes at his joke. “Do you want me to leave you here?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

She was joking, but fear still appeared in Jay’s eyes. He really hated hospitals. He mimed locking his lips with his fingers, and once she unlocked the car, began to get in.

Hailey took steps towards the driver’s side, but purposely took short and slow ones to keep her eye on Jay. It was only when he was completely situated that she actually got into her own seat.

None of this went unnoticed by Jay. Instead of resuming his earlier teasing, he went for comfort.

Hailey released the tension in her body she wasn’t aware of when Jay reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. It was a physical reminder that he was here, alive, with her.

It was probably best she kept her mouth shut. Not only was Jay going to have to emotionally recover from this experience, she had to as well. Putting feelings in the mix could have been disastrous..

“I’m okay, really.” Jay’s voice interrupted her musing.

Hailey nodded, focusing on starting her car up and driving instead of a verbal response. She knew he was okay. Hell, he was right next to her, alive and breathing. Except for his brace and cuts on his face, he looked like normal Jay.

But with how much she drove her mind to exhaustion over finding him, and then worrying if he would make it... she found herself struggling to believe reality.

The rest of the drive was quiet. Everything she thought about saying either felt too heavy or too light. It was hard to ignore the elephant in the room. His kidnapping, his injury. Her reaction, both before and after.

And of course her new revelation: she was in love with him.

Thankfully she didn’t have to ignore Jay. He was scrolling through his phone, probably updating himself on whatever news he had missed the past couple days.

This unfortunately meant that she had no distraction from her thoughts.

By the time they arrived at Jay’s apartment, she felt like she had just ran a marathon, not drive a car for 10 minutes.

Of course there was no available parking in front of his place. She had to settle for a spot a block away.

By the time she unbuckled her seatbelt, Jay was already out of the car. She swore in annoyance, and sped up her actions to catch up with him.

He was walking down the sidewalk by the time she reached him, slipping to his right side.

The sidewalk was narrow enough that she couldn’t walk completely on it, her right foot was in the grass instead.

This also meant their shoulders brushed with every step forward. “Did I have to end in the hospital for you to tolerate me?”

He was teasing again, but she couldn’t stop the thoughts of what his hospital trip has brought onto her. Worry, fear, love. A different kind than the one she thought she had for him.

It was a good sign he was joking with her. She should at least try to meet him there too.

“Just amuse me, okay?” She wished she said it as a joke, but it came out more like a plead.

To his credit, when she helped him inside, with his coat, and got a glass of water for him, he didn’t say anything.

But she could tell he had questions he wanted to ask. Answers he wanted to know. She didn’t think he knew anything on how he was found, or how the unit dealt with him being in surgery.

He deserved to know what happened. She needed to face this head on as if it was a case. Put her feelings to the side and get the job done.

“You can ask me.” She folds her legs underneath her, wanting to get herself comfortable before the uncomfortable conversation topic.

He was still hesitant. It was written not only all over his face, but in his body language. Instead of leisurely holding his glass of water, his fingers were fidgeting around the cylinder.

Hailey was glad she was on the other side of the couch because if she was closer, she knew she would be putting a hand on his shoulder or leg for comfort.

Which could potentially help ground him, but would only make her head whirl more with confusion.

“How did you find me?” The question that was slithering through the room, a noticeable presence, was finally voiced aloud.

A brief, selfish thought of wishing someone else could tell him went through Hailey’s mind. But she knew it was best if he heard what happened from her.

“The younger brother.” She spoke, taking her time in order for her voice to sound smooth and unbothered. “We used him to make the father talk. Said we found drugs in his car.”

“Damn.” Jay had placed his drink down on the coffee table, giving Hailey his total attention. “And you were okay with that?”

Hailey couldn’t help but let out a humorless laugh. Looking back, she didn’t regret her decision. Hell, she would absolutely do it again. They were able to find Jay just in time because of it. But that didn’t mean she didn’t feel a twinge of guilt at putting the boy through the stress.

She grabbed one of the throw pillows and pulled it over her chest. “I suggested it.” She said with her gaze on the fabric, eyes following the stitched pattern.

“That’s not like you.” He doesn’t ask her why.

“It wasn’t a typical case.” She felt herself getting defensive for no reason. Jay wasn’t judging her call, she knew that.

They were getting into uncharted territory though. This conversation topic tied dangerously into her newly surfaced feelings for Jay, and she wanted to keep them as far apart from each other as much as she could.

“It wasn’t.” He softly agreed.

She knew without looking up that his eyes were on her. Her pride kept her from returning his gaze, not wanting him to see her cry.

He continued talking. “I’m sorry. For putting you through that.”

The acknowledgment of what she went through, what she experienced, was enough to break her.

Hailey managed to place her hands over her face before her mask finally fell. Tears spilled down her cheeks in waves, unable to be completely shield from the man in front of her due to the the splotches appearing on the satin.

The silent cries turned into sniffles. Sniffles into sobs. By then, Jay’s healthy arm was wrapped around her, his casted one pressed against her stomach.

Not wanting to get tears and snot over Jay, Hailey kept her hands on her face. It was her own gross liquids, she had to be the one to deal with them.

It felt like forever, but her cries began to soften. Her breath was able to relax, have longer breaks in between.

Her surroundings became noticeable. Jay’s hand rubbing her back, slow and steady and safe. Jay’s aftershave overwhelming her sense of smell, not surprising as the only thing keeping Hailey’s face from touching his neck was her hands in between them. And Jay’s voice, low and reassuring, telling her that he was fine, he was okay, and he was sorry.

She meant to say that she was sorry, as she was the one crying over him, but instead “You scared the shit out of me.” came out instead.

His hand stopped moving, right at the middle of her back. “I know.”

Tears pricked her eyes again. Knowing continuing talking would cause another crying spell, she detached herself from Jay. “We’re partners.” She managed to get out despite her emotions catching her again. “We’re in this together, remember?”

Jay nodded, seemingly deep in thought. Looking at her. It unnerved her, especially with her current physical and mental state. She was a mess, her hair a frizzy mane, eyes bloodshot from crying. She was positive snot was dripping down her nose.

Not only that, she just sobbed her eyes out in front of him. Hell, on him. Did he end up figuring her out?

Simply put, his silence was anxiety inducing.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” He finally spoke up, bringing her mind back down to Earth.

She blinked. “Hm?” She wasn’t expecting those to be the words exiting his mouth.

“Earlier.” She knew exactly what he was talking about now. “You said you had to tell me something, but then took it back.” Somehow it felt like he was eyeing her more. As if he was trying to pry away her barriers with his vision.

Her mouth felt dry at Jay’s direct statement. Her brain was again tempting the idea of confessing, but she shut it down, quicker than she did in the hospital.

“Trying to get me emotionally vulnerable and share all my secrets, Halstead?” She croaked out, cringing at the clear weakness of her voice.

While she hated her current vulnerable state, at least it kept Jay from questioning her further.

He began to stand up from the couch. Alarmed, Hailey instinctively reached out her hand, fingers skimming briefly against his jeans as he took steps towards the kitchen.

He spoke up before she could interrogate him. “I’m just going to the bathroom. I’ll be fine.”

She hesitantly leaned back into the couch, trying to relax her body against the cushions. Her eyes and mind remained alert though, following him as he made his way into the bathroom, until he shut the door behind him.

Now that she knew she loved him, she wasn’t sure she could turn it off.

[the--sad--hatter]

Ice Cream and Grass Stains (Bucky x Reader)

Requested - #15 from My Avengers Prompt List 

Person A: This isn’t how I imagined saying this but… take all your clothes off. – With Bucky, for the two anons who requested it.

Warnings - Violence, Gore, Swearing and Really Bad Flirting...

Ice Cream and Grass Stains

When The Black Widow tracked you down and dragged your ass back to the Avengers compound, you’d really thought she was arresting you. She had jumped you in the middle of a heist after all, but she knew more than you thought she did. She’d known you were stealing classified files from a Hydra Agent and she presented those files and you to the team and recommended you join them. And the rest was history.

That had been three months ago.

Now, you were a fledgling hero on her first team mission. You had hoped for something easy, like taking down a base in the middle of nowhere. Not a knock down, free for all, fight to the death with aliens in the middle of Chicago.

 “Newbie, Falcon needs help getting civilians to safety, three block south of you.” Clint said in your ear, through the comm unit.

 “On it.” You said, running towards where you’d been instructed.

 You saw Sam pulling a group of people out of a café and pointing them towards the safety of the police blockade.

 “Little bird, big bird said you needed a hand?” You said as you jogged up to him.

 “Yeah, get these people to safety. I need to get back up there.” Sam told you, clasping you on the shoulder and making sure you were ok with it.

 “Fly away my friend, I’ve got it from here.” You assured.

 He gave you a toothy grin and took off.

 “Folks, if you’ll follow me?” You asked politely, trying not to show them how nervous you were.

 They dutifully followed you until you handed them off to the police officers who’d set up a perimeter around the battle.

 “Civvies are A-Ok, where to next, eye in the sky?” You asked Clint.

 “Barnes has been cornered in an office block not far from you. He says he’s fine but just tell him you got lost and needed his help to find your way back to the rest of the team.” Clint suggested.

 You bit back a snort of laughter at the fact Clint had Cheat Codes for dealing with The Winter Soldier and let him direct you to the office building.

 Bucky was on the fourth floor and he was decidedly NOT fine. He was fighting off twelve of the outer space bad guys with a pocket knife. Though to be fair to him, he was holding them back and looking unfairly hot whilst doing so. You sprung onto the backs of one of the aliens before they could even notice you were in the room and used your own knife to slice it across the throat, landing in a crouch when it fell dead.

 You spun around in the crouch, slicing through the calves of a second alien and angling your knife so it impaled its own skull on the blade as it fell. Out of the corner of your eyes you saw him take down three of them in rapid succession.

 “What are you doing here?” He snarled while he broke the neck of another with a sickeningly satisfying crunch.

 “Helping?” You offered, ducking under the swing of one of the extra-terrestrials coming at you.

 “Get out of here, go find the others.” He commanded.

 “But…”

 “Get out!” He shouted, kicking one of the ones coming after you in the ribs.

 You ignored him and tackled an alien round the middle of it’s long body, piledriving it to the ground and stabbing it through the eye socket. One of it’s friends grabbed your shoulder, fingernails piercing your skin. You hissed in pain as it bodily picked you up and flung you a good twelve feet across the room. You smashed into the wall, cracking the plaster and landing on the floor with a thump.

 You were seriously winded and it took you nearly a full minute to stand up. There was a horrific burning pain across your back and you saw the sharp jagged edge of a piece of metal on the wall. You must have caught your back on it, which explained why you felt so very dizzy and weak.

  Bucky saw your body sail past him and heard the impact it made with the wall and he snapped. Red clouded his vision and he tore through the remaining aliens viciously, destroying them before they could even think about going after you while you were vulnerable. When the last one died under his metal grip he whipped his head around to look at where you were landed and he felt relief flood his system when he saw you standing upright and looking sheepish.

 “Are you ok?” You called over to him tentatively.

 “Unlike you, I can take care of myself. Unlike you, I can heal on the off chance I actually do get hurt. I don’t need a pathetic, unskilled, wannabe hero to jump in and save me. You just ended up getting on the way and I had to save your ass.” He snarled.

 “Sorry.” You mumbled.

 “What, no snappy comeback? No witty one-liners?” He snapped.

 “Not today.” You said, hanging your head low.

 “Are… are you crying?” he asked derisively, noticing the sheen in your eyes.

 “You know what? I am. Because I’m bleeding to death over here and you STILL have to take the time to make me feel two inches tall.” You choked out.

 He rolled his eyes at you and stomped over, pulling the tact suit away from your injured shoulder.

 “It’s barely bleeding. You’re fine.” He told you, his eyes widening when he was the smear of blood on the wall and the puddle of the thick red liquid pooling at your feet.

 He cautiously leaned over to look at you back and let out a sharp intake of breath when he saw the large gash from your right shoulder to your left hip. It was deep and ragged, bleeding heavily.

 “Shit!” He swore, springing into action.

 “I need a med evac on the south side of the west building here.” He said into the comms, ripping his own jacket off and trying to use it to stem the bleeding.

 “Damnit. Ok kid, they’re coming but it’s going to be a while. I can’t move you, I’ll tear up your wounds worse.” He told you.

 You mumbled something in reply, swaying slightly.

 “Whoa, stay with me. I need you to watch my six while I’m cleaning up this mess.” He joked, gesturing to your back.

 “m’kay.” You muttered.

 “This isn’t how I imagined saying this but… take all your clothes off.” He instructed, getting up to search the room for anything that could be even remotely classed as medical supplies.

 He heard you fumble with the zipper of your tact suit as he tore through desk drawers, until he lucked out and found a first-aid kit with sterile wipes and a suturing kit. He also found a half-empty bottle of vodka. When he turned back to you, you were wincing in pain and trying to pull off the tact suit without moving.

 “I’ve got you.” He said softly, grabbing a hold of you.

 You were losing more blood than he had initially realised. He shoved stuff off of a desk and picked you up, gently laying you down on your front on the desk.

 “Sorry about this doll.” He apologised, using one of his many knives to cut the tact suit off your back.

 “How did you imagine it?” You asked him weakly.

 “Imagine what?” He replied, using someone’s discarded scarf to mop up as much of the blood as he could.

 “You said, you imagined it differently. Telling me to take my clothes off.” You told him and he briefly faltered in his actions.

 He hadn’t even realised he’d said that. He’d been distracted by your injuries, it must have slipped out.

 “Sorry.” He apologised, wiping his hands with a sterile wipe before gently probing at the edges of the gash.

 “Tell me…” You pushed.

  He sighed wearily and let out a self-deprecating laugh.

 “You’re not gonna let me live this down, are you?” He asked.

 “Well you’ll probably get lucky and I’ll die before I have the chance to tell anyone.” You laughed softly.

 “You’re not going to fucking die. That’s an order, do you understand me?” He commanded.

 “This isn’t how I imagined saying this but… Whatever you want, Sergeant.” You said cheekily.

 He laughed at your wit, even in the throes of agony.

 “I can stitch this up, there’s enough supplies but I need to clean it first and I’m sorry, but it’s going to hurt.” He apologised, holding the bottle of vodka.  

 “Gimme.” You demanded, gesturing to it and he sighed, but opened it and handed it to you.

 You managed to angle your head to the side and take several long gulps before handing it back to him. Before you could think about what he was going to do, he poured the alcohol directly over the gash.

 “MOTHERFUCKING FUCKER! FUCK YOU BARNES!” You screamed and he had to pin you down to stop you from thrashing.

 “Sorry.” He winced.

 “Don’t apologise you absolute wanker, I’m going to give you something to actually be sorry about. As soon as I can stand up.” You vowed.

 “I believe you sweetheart.”

 Oh so now I’m your sweetheart? Few minutes ago I was a thorn in your side.” You scoffed.

 He swallowed thickly, guilt seeping through his bones at the harsh words he’d spat in your face.

 “I was angry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.” He said, threading the needle and pinching the edges of the gaping wound together.

 “Well, fuck that hurts, I forgive you. Especially since now I know it was mostly just your pent up sexual frustration.” You said.  

 “We’re back to that huh?” He sighed.

 “I wanna know how you imagined it.” You pushed.

 “It starts with me finally working up the nerve to ask you to let me take you out.” He admitted.

 “And if I said yes? How would it have gone?” You asked him.

 “I would have picked you up at your door and given you flowers, the one’s you always stop and look at through the window in the grounds. We would take my bike, you’d have to sit behind me and wrap your arms around me.” He chuckled.

 “And where we would we go?”

 “Somewhere quiet, where nobody else was. I would have said a picnic but I know you, I’d just take you to the fucking McDonalds drive through because you’re a cheap date.” He scoffed and you tried to hold yourself still while you laughed.

 “I’d get a McFlurry right?” You checked.

 “With an apple pie to smoosh into it.” He confirmed.

 “That sounds good right about now. So then what?” You asked, biting down on your lip when he got to the widest part of the wound.

 “I’d take you to the park, and I’d lay my jacket on the ground for you to sit on. You always look so fucking beautiful in the moonlight you know?”

 “I didn’t know actually.” You giggled.

 “Stars have got nothin on you sweetheart, surprised they don’t just stop shining altogether.” He said, his old Brooklyn accent coming through.

 You let out a low, impressed whistle.

 “You’ve got lines Barnes.” You teased him.

 “And I’d pull them all out on our date, I’d make an ass of myself trying to impress you.” He laughed.

 “I’d think it was cute.” You assured him.

 “Yeah, you would. Eventually you’d get tired of it though and you’d kiss me just to get me to shut up.” He revealed.

 “Devious plan, I like it.” You sniggered.

 “I’d kiss you till you couldn’t think straight doll, then I’d keep kissing you. I think once I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop.” He admitted.

 “And when I was all dumbed out from your kisses, then you’d tell me to take all my clothes off?” You whispered.

 “You know me too well.” He confirmed.

 “Bucky?”

 “Yeah, sweetheart?”

 “I can’t believe you wanna fuck me in a public park, I didn’t figure you for such a pervert.” You said and his shoulders shook with the force of his laughter.

 “Couldn’t even spring for a motel room huh?” You continued and he had to stop stitching for a second he was laughing so hard.

 “You want The Ritz doll? I’ll get us The Ritz.” He asked, continuing with his task of sewing your back together.

 “Nah, I want Ice cream and grass stains.” You told him sleepily.

 He chewed his bottom lip anxiously as he tried to figure out if you were humouring him, or if he might actually stand a chance. He would have never have admitted any of this if he hadn’t accidentally blurted it out and needed to distract you from the pain.

 “So Doc, I’m I gonna live? My Sergeant says I gotta and I hate to disobey an order.” You asked.

 “You’re going to be just fine. Banner and Cho can fix this in no time, you’ll be up and about in a couple of days.” He promised.

 “Good, good. I’ve got a date this weekend.” You sighed.

 His heart panged painfully in his chest. You had a date… So you were only humouring him. You probably thought he was joking around, trying to keep you amused while he stitched you up.

 “Anyone I know?” He asked with a false cheeriness.

 “Yeah actually. Sam finally got it together and asked me out.” You told him.

 “Sam? Sam Wilson? Sam Wilson the Falcon?” He stuttered.

 “That’s the one, not sure if he has anymore nicknames though. I’ll let you know once I’ve seen him naked if there’s anymore we can add to the list.” You joked as he pulled the final stitch through your skin.  

 He felt physically ill at the idea of you and Sam, never mind you and Sam naked. Of course someone else would have asked you out though, you were beautiful and funny and brave. Even if he had moved faster, you would have probably turned him down, he wasn’t

 “You do know I’m joking right?” You interrupted his internal takedown of himself.

 “Oh. So it’s not Sam?” He said, almost relieved.

 But if it wasn’t Sam, it was still someone else.

 “Bucky…”

 “Yeah?” He said softly.

 “Ask me out you fucking idiot.” You commanded.

 “What?” He said, choking on his own saliva and scooting back from the desk so he could see your face.

 “I told you, I want ice cream and grass stains.” You said, smiling at him softly with so much fondness in your eyes it literally took his breath away.

 “Me, you want to go on a date with me?” He checked.

 “Unless you didn’t mean it? Oh god, you didn’t mean it. Ugh, I’m such an idiot.” You groaned, burying your face in your arms.

 “I meant it!” He exclaimed loudly.

 You peered up at him with a mischievous, cocky grin and he huffed out a laugh as he realized you’d played him.

 “Sweetheart, will you let this idiot take you out?” He asked, grinning.

 “Hmm, I’ll have to check my diary… make sure Sam’s not free this weekend.” You joked.

 “Doll…” He groaned.

 “You can take me out Barnes. I’ll wear something easy to take off.” You said.

 A/N - All is ok in my world again so I’m coming back to writing :) 

[need-a-fugue]

We Grow Together (8)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Summary: Relationships can be tough, especially when one person is a recovering-from-being-brainwashed-and-tortured former assassin and the other is an overworked mutant scientist. But hey, every couple has their struggles. Right?

Warning(s): some angst, some emotional and mental turmoil… some bad language words… much fluff

Chapter Summary: The world has been saved - check that off the list. Now it’s time to start planning for the future. But why does that feel so much harder than fighting a killer robot army? Luckily, Natasha’s around to talk some sense and help screw Tessa’s head on straight.

“I am not freaking out!” she shouts at the redhead before downing the shot of bourbon in front of her. She makes a pinched face as the brown liquid sets fire to her insides, then she holds out the tiny glass and shakes it, begging for a refill.

Natasha goes into the cabinet and pulls out two lowball glasses before settling in beside Tessa on the couch. She delicately folds her legs beneath her, leans forward to pour a few fingers into each glass, and hands one to Tessa. “I’m not judging,” she says slowly as she leans back.

With everything that’d been going on lately, most of the team has been pretty damn frazzled. The world didn’t end, which felt like a win. But a lot of innocent lives were lost when Sokovia was attacked. Jarvis got a body and became something… more, which everyone still seemed to be a bit on the fence about. Ultron was defeated. And all of the Avengers survived the battle, some coming out the other side in better shape than others. But the recovery and cleanup had only just begun, and man was it going to be a bitch to get through.

After Ultron and the other killer bots destroyed a good chunk of the tower, Tony had sped up the timeline on moving the Avengers’ home base upstate. Which meant that almost everyone was having to pack up their lives and slowly transition into the half-finished space. Natasha knew it was worse for Tessa because she had to move an entire lab and get to work on designing the new med floor, which Tony only just mentioned to her last week. And there was the more personal issue of deciding on living arrangements in the new compound – which apartment layout to get, what view was preferred, the types of amenities, and of course whether or not to take on a roommate.

For as long as Nat had known Tessa – and that was, what, four years now? – she had never known her to actually date anyone, not for more than a couple of months at a time anyway. But now she had a notorious assassin staying at her place nearly every night. And while they made no secret of their affair, they never actually publicly admitted to being in a relationship, let alone being in love. Even though both were painfully obvious.

“So…” Natasha starts, casually drawing out the word.

Tessa just looks at her with a confused quirk of her head. “So what?”

“Maybe you’re not freaking out, but you’re obviously upset. So…”

She takes a long, deep breath and leans back into the couch with her bourbon in hand. “I don’t know. I’m just… stressed out.”

Natasha lets loose with a small snort. “You thrive on being stressed out. You wouldn’t know how to slow down and relax if someone put you into a coma.” Tessa ducks her head and smiles a bit bashfully, knowing full well that Nat’s words describe her to a tee. “So what’s really bothering you? Because I feel like you’ve been… off for a while now.”

“Since Ultron, you mean?” she asks, sarcasm dripping.

“Yeah, since Ultron.” Natasha shifts into the couch and purses her lips as she thinks of something. “Since the thing with Wanda, really.”

Wanda. There is that. Tessa had gone along with the Avengers to Africa in large part because of the enhanced girl who had the ability to manipulate energy. From the rather limited amount of data that they had at the time, she was confident that the girl’s powers would be no match for hers. Turns out she was wrong. And Wanda was able to fry her brain just like the others.

“I hate that she’s here,” she mumbles into her glass as she finishes off the liquor.

Nat reaches over to hand her the bottle. “She’s just a kid.”

“A kid who tried to kill us and fucked with all our heads.”

“Not Clint’s.” Natasha sips at her drink as she pulls at a loose thread on her yoga pants. “I think he’s ready to adopt her.”

“Good. He can take her home with him.”

Nat gives her a questioning look. “You’d rather have her out in the world right now? With no one to help her hone her skills? She’s dangerous.”

“And we’re going to make her less dangerous?”

“You could.”

“Jesus,” Tessa sighs dramatically. “You sound like Steve.”

Natasha laughs. “Yeah, he said he was working on you.”

“Harassing me, you mean?”

“He thinks you’re the best one to help her, and honestly, he’s right. Your abilities are so similar… no one can identify better with what she’s going through.”

“What she’s going through?” She makes no attempt to hide the disdain in her voice. “She asked someone to experiment on her. She wanted powers so that she could exact revenge.”

“And now she has those powers and she doesn’t know what to do with them. Look, I’m not 100% sold on her either. But she’s here. She’s trying to make up for what she did. And she could be a huge asset to the team.”

Tessa gives a psh and downs some more of her drink.

Nat gives her an assessing look, gazing intensely at her friend for a long moment. “What did she do to you?” she finally asks.

“What do you mean?”

“That day, at the base, she really fucked you up,” she says, no question to her voice.

Tessa looks away as she replies, “She fucked all of us up.”

“Yeah, but I think the rest of us kind of got over it.” Tessa leans forward, reaching for the bourbon, and Natasha stops her, grabbing her hand when she wraps it around the bottle. “What did she show you?”

Tessa looks up into Nat’s eyes, sees that she’s truly interested in knowing, in helping. Natasha isn’t exactly a gossip. She’s usually more than content to be left out of other people’s drama. So the fact that she’s pressing her right now shows how much genuine concern the woman feels for her. “My sister,” she says simply, falling back into the couch cushions.

“Did you see her die?” she asks without preamble.

Tessa shakes her head and squints as though she’s trying to recall. “No. Not really. I just… saw her.” She takes a long pause, a confused and almost pained look on her face. “It was that night, though. The night she killed herself. But…” She shakes her head again, this time her eyes are tightly closed like they’re desperately trying to block something out.

“But what?” Natasha asks, extending her hand and slowly, softly beginning to stroke Tessa’s arm.

When she opens her eyes, they’re glassy and paler green than Nat’s ever seen them. Maybe it’s the bourbon. Maybe the lack of sleep and the abundance of stress. Maybe it’s the thought of a long-lost sister that she never talks about. “I wasn’t there.” She locks eyes with Natasha and repeats, “When she did it, I wasn’t there.”

“Okay,” she says, encouraging her to go as she maintains the delicate eye contact.

“But in the… vision… I was there. And I saw her.” She shakes her head and huffs out a breath. “But in the mirror. I saw her in the mirror.” She looks away quickly, almost seeming embarrassed by her words.

This time, when Tessa goes for a refill, Nat lets her have it. “You were twins, right?” She nods as she takes a long sip from her now half-filled glass. “Identical?” Another nod. Natasha leans back and sighs. “Well, that kind of makes sense, right? Our worst fears, our worst memories… that’s what she called to the surface. It makes sense that you’d regret not being there, and that in this… dream –”

“No,” Tessa interrupts quickly. “No, it wasn’t like that. It was… I don’t know how to explain it. I was her. I was Anna. And it didn’t feel… weird or anything. It felt… real.” A sudden shiver takes over her body. “I think…” but she can’t quite finish the thought. Instead she shakes her head again and then shakes out her arms to rid herself of the chill that suddenly overtakes her body. “Never mind. Just… forget it.” She looks up and takes note of the concerned look on Natasha’s face. “Let’s talk about something else. Can we talk about something else?”

Natasha changes her expression on a dime, going from worried frown to sly smirk. “Okay,” she starts. “Are you and the soldier gonna make it official?”

Tessa rolls her eyes. “I’m not sure what official means.” She shifts in her seat, seeming antsy and self-conscious. “I think… it sounds like we might share an apartment. I guess actually live together.”

Nat finishes the rest of her drink and sets the glass down on the coffee table. “You’re okay with that?” she asks, voice thoughtful and sincere. “That’s what you want?”

She shrugs. “It makes sense. He spends the night most nights anyway. It’d be dumb to give him his own place if he’d hardly even use it. And he doesn’t want to keep living with Steve… he deserves his own space back.”

She cocks a brow and gives a gentle mm-hmm. “And how does Steve feel about all of this?”

“Oh, mother Steve is very upset.” Tessa nods dramatically.

“Is he?” she mocks.

“He told James that if he loved me, then he’d marry me and not make me live in sin.” She takes one last sip and sets her glass down beside Nat’s. “They haven’t talked in two days.”

“Damn. I did not know that.” Natasha leans forward and takes Tessa’s hand. In a low, serious tone, she asks, “Is he making you live in sin?”

Tessa holds the eye contact for as long as she can before collapsing into a fit of hysterics. “Oh God,” she says through the laughter. “Will you save me?”

Natasha chuckles softly, which is about as emotive of a laugh as she ever allows. “Sounds like Steve’s already trying.”

“It’s dumb,” she says lightly, shaking her head as the giggles subside. “I know it is. We’re together all the time. He stays at my place all the time.”

“You’re completely in love,” Natasha supplies. Tessa gives her an incredulous side eye. “You’re not fooling anyone, golubushka. Sleeping with the man is one thing, but it’s so obviously way past that. And it has been for a long ass time.”

“I feel like I need wine to continue this conversation,” she says, hauling herself up off the couch and heading into Nat’s kitchen. She goes straight to the cupboard in the corner and pulls out two glasses before eyeballing the wine selection on the second shelf. “It’s so weird to me that the Black Widow’s taste in wine goes from sweet to practically Kool-Aid,” she mumbles, mostly to herself.

“There’s a Riesling in the fridge, you lush,” Natasha shouts from the other room.

Tessa wrinkles her nose. “Of course there is.” But her near disgust doesn’t stop her from grabbing the mostly full bottle of wine from the refrigerator and pouring two giant glasses.

“You know,” Nat starts, accepting the glass of wine as Tessa settles back onto the sofa, “Mixing bourbon and wine is rarely a good idea.”

“I’ve done worse,” she counters with a shrug.

Natasha raises a single brow as she looks at her friend with a smirk. “So… where were we?”

Tessa offers another shrug. “I love him, sure.”

“Sure? That does sound like love.”

“Feelings aren’t the problem.” She turns to face Nat, curling her leg up underneath her and throwing one arm over the back of the couch. She locks eyes with the redhead. “Relationships,” she says, a sort of fear and awe twisted into her voice. “That’s the part I suck at.”

“Don’t we all?” Natasha offers with a small smile. “We live strange lives here.”

“Even before here,” she says with a slow shake of the head. “I’ve always been… single minded.”

“You’re heading up the medical research lab for Stark Industries. You’re the official physician of the Avengers. And you’re not yet thirty. You don’t get here without being single minded.”

“A workaholic, you mean.”

“How about dedicated? Passionate?”

She shifts again, seemingly uncomfortable in her own skin. “It’s just… any other guy… I might’ve felt bad about not giving him my full attention, I should have. But I never really did.”

“You’ve never been in love before.”

“Oh no,” she says, eyes blown wide. “I’ve been in love before. And it did not go well.”

Nat cocks her head to the side. “Interesting…”

“Not today, no,” she responds to her friend’s fishing. That’s a looong story that’ll require more than a half a bottle of sugary Riesling to get out of her.

“Fine. But we will come back to this.”

“I’ve no doubt.”

“Are you afraid to live with him?” Natasha asks, taking no time at all to transition back to the topic at hand.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “Right now, he doesn’t really have a place of his own. It’s either he stays with me or with Steve. So even though he’s usually at my place, it’s easy enough to say that he doesn’t really live there with me. But if he does actually live there… then it’s… I mean that’s…”

“Serious?”

Tessa nods, then stops short, crinkles her nose, and begins to shake her head. “It’s not just that. Or…it’s not that simple. It’s not like I’m afraid of commitment, per se.”

“Really?” Natasha asks with a smirk.

Tess rolls her eyes. “I just mean, I don’t have a problem with intimacy. Or committing to just one man. Or being in love… even though none of that has gone well in the past.” She sips her wine and stares off into the distance, focusing on nothing. “It’s… I don’t know… reliance. Dependence?”

“Explain please.”

“I can love James. I can be in love with James, and I can be intimate with him. Maybe even stay in the same apartment with him. But that’s different from being… with him.”

“How do you figure?”

“Because… I don’t know. Because if we’re together, really together, then I depend on him and he depends on me. And we’re…”

“A team?”

“Yes. I guess so.”

“And you don’t want to be part of a team.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“That wasn’t a question.” She shifts so that she’s sitting upright, and she levels Tessa with a confident stare. “When Clint first met you, you were freelancing for Genetech. Before that you were investigating – on your own – genetic anomalies. Then Clint convinced you to help out with SHIELD, which you would only do on a temporary, contract basis. Tony hired you as an independent contractor. And I know how hesitant you were to take the position as the head of the tier 1 med team. I know how long it took Tony to wear you down.”

“So you’re saying I’m not a team player?”

“Not at all. I was with you in Africa. And in Sokovia. I was part of the debrief on Mexico. I think you’re great on a team. And in case you’ve forgotten, I’ve seen your SHIELD file. So I know that you were an integral part of another pretty big team for quite a while.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Did the X-Men fuck you up that bad?”

She shakes her head emphatically. “I don’t talk about that.” She pauses for a moment, takes in Natasha’s words and says, “But… maybe it left me feeling like I shouldn’t be part of a team. Yeah. Maybe.”

“Well maybe it’s time to get over that.”

“Did Tony bribe you to try and get me on the team?”

She smiles and leans forward. “Tessa, you’re already part of the team – part of the Avengers team and, I’m pretty sure, part of the Sullivan-and-Barnes team. Whether you like it or not.”

She nods gravely and takes another drink, and the two sit in silence for a long moment. “I don’t want to disappoint him,” Tessa says softly.

“You think he’ll expect something different if you live together?”

She shrugs. “Right now, we’re just… I don’t know… we’re happy together. But – God, this is going to sound so cliché – we’ve never labeled it.”

Natasha snorts out a laugh. “Labels are for children. You don’t have to put a name to a relationship to be happy in it. You’re adults. If you’re happy together, then just be together.”

“That may be the most naïve thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Nat merely shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m a genius and you’re just too threatened by my intellect to admit it.”

“Maybe. Doubtful.”

Natasha sets her mostly empty glass down on the coffee table and leans in toward Tessa. “You want to know what I think?” Tessa raises her eyebrows and nods. “I think that he knows you – gets you – in a way that no one else ever has. And I think that you, weirdly, get him too. And all of us in the tower think you both are disgustingly, adorably enamored with each other. And I don’t think that’ll go away because you work late and miss dinner a few nights a week, or because he leaves the toilet seat up, or because one or the other of you drank the last of the milk and put the carton back in the fridge, or whatever other ‘living together’ issues may come up.”

“I got yelled at for putting the empty OJ carton back in the fridge just last week.”

“See?!” She tenderly lays her hand on Tessa’s knee and levels her with an intense stare. “I think you’re nervous because you’re overthinking it. And if you just let go a little, which I know is crazy difficult for you, then you might just end up being happy despite yourself.”

Tessa drops her eyes and feels a hot blush slowly creep up her neck. She knows Natasha’s right. “I think…” she starts slowly, “that you’re a really good friend.” She looks back up at Nat and sees her eyes soften a bit. “And I think that we should go out and get you laid. Because you clearly have forgotten what it’s like to be with a man.”

“That might piss Bruce off.”

Tessa scoffs. “If he doesn’t make his move soon, he’s gonna piss me off. And he wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

[jctko]

Jetko week, day 1: Confession

Hi folks, here’s my shitty late contribution. I had a world of difficulties with this piece, but I also enjoyed it and felt like I got to vent a little. It’s a bit more Gen than most of my fics, but it was made with Fleabag in mind so...

i. confession

Dear Jet

Please come to my wedding.

Thanks,

Katara.

-

The first time Jet sees the priest, he’s in the bar on the way to Katara’s house. It’s a little bar on the corner of a main street, with a green sign and blinking lights. It is very distinctly English, in the sense that the mist and fog clambers up the windows. But the warm light beckons him in, and before he knows it he’s sitting at the counter waiting for a beer.

Jet lights a cigarette just as the door opens once again with a jingle of wind chimes. 

He’d be a young man if not for the red scar stretching his skin taut. It kind of makes Jet’s heart drop to his stomach, if he’s being honest. From the moment he appears, Jet identifies him as a man of contrast. Sharp white skin beneath a black turtleneck, interrupted by violent red.

The man glances at Jet and narrows the one eyebrow he has left. “Something interesting?” Jet shakes his head. “Not at all.” Then, before he can even feel it, a smile is splitting his face in half. “Hi.”

The man ignores him, instead going to the other end of the bar and ordering a scotch on ice. Red-gold liquid slides, languishing around white ridges of ice. Jet snorts and finishes his beer, leaving a tip. “See you,” he says to the man.

-

It’s Katara’s engagement dinner. Technically, Aang should be there too, but he’s doing something with the rest of the monks. It’s a nicer restaurant than Jet’s used too, a barn location with minimalist food. It’s not exactly what Jet would choose. Glasses swirl around him, and a lazy jealousy fills Jet’s chest. He knows that he needs to reassess his meds, but recently they fill him with an icy numbness that burns as much as it chills. 

“Putting pine nuts on your salad doesn’t make you a grown up,” Katara is laughing.

“Fucking does,” Jet mutters under his breath. 

There’s a bit of a rustle, and then someone is sliding into the one vacant seat. “So sorry, I was- traffic,” Jet is wondering how there could be traffic in a town as small as this when his eyes make contact with red. That’s all there is.

Katara moves in for a hug and then turns. “Jet, this is Zuko. He’s the priest! And Sokka’s best friend.” Jet nearly scoffs but simply waves his hand in a friendly gesture. Zuko just watches him, which makes things really awkward considering they’re sitting adjacent. The two of them sit around their meals, listening to the conversation as it sloshes around the table like water in a fishbowl.

Jet’s gaze slides around the table, and he allows himself a moment to think. There’s Katara, of course, and her father. Then there’s Sokka- who is clearly not going to address Jet in the time of this conversation. Her eyes are alight with that practiced happiness that has eventually become real. 

There’s a crash and some yells, and Jet realises he’s dropped his glass. Red wine has splashed out across the tablecloth, leaving everything a kind of musty pink. 

“Shit,” he mutters, and then repeats it so everyone can hear. “So sorry, I’ll just grab a- some tissues- ahah.” He gets up and is blocked by a speedy waiter. That’s the kind of restaurant this is. Jet turns back to the table, and is met with multiple pairs of second-hand-embarrassed eyes. “I need a piss.”

He turns and goes not to the bathroom, but past it to the alleyway.

The lighter sparks in his fingers to the point that he nearly drops it. Who in their right mind has a wedding in November! He curses, but halts at the sound of a soft voice. “Careful.” He looks up and sees a woman; red hair bobbed to her shoulders and eyes the type of blue he can’t catch in the moonlight.

“Thanks,” he says, but all there is is shadows passing over a dumpster. The air smells kind of like blood, so he covers it up with nicotine.

He’s halfway through his cigarette when the door opens and the priest steps out. There’s no eye contact, but Zuko awkwardly shuffles closer. 

“Want a cig?” Jet holds it out and Zuko takes it in silence. “So you’re a cool priest, huh? Cigarettes and alcohol,” Jet laughs as Zuko glares. They don’t know each other well enough for this kind of banter. 

Smoke drifts through the alley in its comforting disgust. “Who were you talking to, just then?”

“What? Oh, nothing.”

Zuko turns to go, clearly satisfied with their interaction.

“I wasn’t staring because of your scar,” Jet says suddenly, and Zuko stops at the end of the street. He makes a half-turn, and his gaze glances over Jet’s body. “I have a few grizzly scars too, so it made me-”

“Our scars have nothing in common.” Zuko raises his speed and is soon gone. Jet chuckles to himself, pitifully.

He leans his head back against the brick and feels static in his scalp. Cool wind soaks over his skin, bathing him in a type of quiet light. 

“That was smooth.” It’s the same voice of the woman before. She’s amused. “Thanks, Suki.” He doesn’t open his eyes, instead hearing the soft ramble of her voice. The cigarette burns to the filter and he finally drops it into a pile of trash. His stomach burns something awful, like he’s going to throw up. He turns and heads to the car. 

-

Over the next day, Jet finds himself thinking about the priest. There’s not any reason to, it’s not like they’ll bump into each other before the wedding. But there’s something about that frightened scowl that reminds Jet of the kids he helps in social work. He’s known several kids who go to religion as a source of healing, but most of them haven’t exited it.

He doesn’t know what it is that brings him to the churchyard. Not the building itself, of course, but he finds himself lingering among the gravestones. Part of him feels slightly dead, he thinks. He finds kinship with these people below the ground; no doubt by now rotting and hollow like old fruit. 

“Are you stalking me or something?” His attention is tugged to- of course- Zuko. He’s even in his priest habit, a black thing with a white collar. It looks good on him, Jet thinks, in the time it takes to process Zuko’s presence.

“It’s illegal to go for a stroll through the graveyard now, is it?” 

“It’s morbid,” Zuko tilts his face so that he’s giving Jet his good eye. “You don’t know anyone here, do you?”

“Sure I do,” Jet grins and puts a piece of grass between his lips. He found it on the border of the property, “Or- I don’t know them yet, but I will one day.”

If his eyes don’t deceive him, Zuko makes a snort. He twists away from Jet, catlike as he starts to walk along the path. He stops down by a grave and reaches to pull weeds from the flowerbed. Florence Doyle, 1874-1917. Beloved wife and mother. 

“Poor woman,” Jet mutters, tracing his fingers along the stone rendered green by time. Some of the other headstones are now so old that they are illegible- this woman will join them one day, Jet thinks. And so will I. “I wonder if anyone at all visits her.”

“The dead don’t care. Those aren’t them, just skeletons under the ground. They are with God now.” Zuko pauses, because he is currently doing just what he thinks strange, “This is my job. For the presentation of the church.” He frowns a little and pulls out the final weed. 

He starts to head back to the parish but Jet clears his throat. “Have dinner with me tonight, at the pub.”

Zuko doesn’t answer.

-

Jet goes anyway, waiting at the bar for someone that might not even come. He’s got a pint of beer inside him already, but all he does is watch the horse races on the pub TV’s. It makes him feel like more of a waster than usual. He sips foam from his glass and sighs. This is hard. Zuko sets down beside him, and sniffs. 

“Why’d you come?” Jet asks, and then regrets it. His voice sounds slightly raw under the influence of alcohol, and he’s been finding it difficult to sleep. Someone behind him reminds him that alcohol is a depressant, but he ignores it. “You didn’t have to.”

“You are very uniquely irritating,” Zuko shrugs and the bartender immediately goes for the usual. Jet is quiet; watches the man unscrew an amber bottle and pour it over rectangles of ice. It burns like fire, like Zuko’s eyes, swirling around the shimmering ice. Jet realises he’s missed hearing that. It feels like years.

“I am very unique.” Zuko laughs at that. It’s a frightened sound, like a mouse. Jet doesn’t dare look in his direction as he says, “Would you like to walk back to the parish after this? I could do with some night air.”

-

They walk in silence through the streets. Jet knows him. This is a sensation that grows inside him over the moments that they spend together. They go for almost an hour without talking, and the sounds of Zuko’s breath makes something clench in Jet’s chest. 

Without speaking, they drift into the church. Jet has never been religious. He tried to be for a time, but it didn’t really gel with him. He believes that something might be out there, but it certainly isn’t embodied by men of cloth- God would never exist inside a capitalistic system. He smiles at his own predictability.

A shadow moves at the corner of his eye and he turns without thinking. A curve of red hair glances out behind a pillar. He twitches, takes in a deep breath, and accepts the fact that Zuko is looking. 

“Who are you looking at?”

“No one-”

He winces at the twist of his words. “I would like to make a confession.”

-

He sits awkwardly on the wooden seat, his hands fumbling. He doesn’t know how to do this. “Well, I have a lot of sins to begin with,” he laughs awkwardly, “Sodomy, self-pleasure, queerness. I’m a manic depressive wreck who is clearly possessed by something wicked, and I think my former self drowned a village or something because I just can not get a break.” He laughs around his fist, his fingers gripping his skin a little too tightly. “But mostly I think I’m just- everything is wrong. It’s never felt right. And I wish- I wish I could believe in God, because I just wish I could step in a direction without wondering where it’s taking me.”

He waits for something, anything, but Zuko remains quiet behind the wooden screen door. Not a breath escapes either of them, the tension lingering in the atmosphere that smells of pine and sweat of thousands before him.

“I want love but I don’t know if I can get it. Because I- I had love once and- and I lost it.”

“Katara?” “No. Some- someone else. And it was a different love.” He closed his eyes, “The kind of thing that makes me know what I’m going to do tomorrow. I’m going to call her, I’m going to arrange tea, I’m going to compare traumas. I’m going to look after her and I’m going to be looked after. I had it, once, and it was so much more beautiful than anything I can describe to you. Not a thousand encounters with heaven could ever compare to the beauty of that stability. But the stability was broken, and I can’t ever get it back.” His hands shake. “You can’t fix a relationship with a dead woman.”

He swears he can hear voices travelling past the confession box. He hears his name in a soft, cool voice. 

“The only reason I was invited to this wedding was pity and concern.”

Zuko makes a sound and Jet feels like he’s crumbling inward. He’s not okay. He wishes he were okay. It feels so much less escapable the older he gets, as if he’s wandering the earth in a cage of his own mind. Something burns, like alcohol, and he wishes he were still at the pub. The opposite of taking his suffering away, he feels it washing through him like a tsunami of pain. He is silent, not even making a whimper. Not a tear leaves his eye, and yet he sits there feeling like a marked Cain. A struck Abel.

The curtain slides open and he tilts his face upwards, to where Zuko stands above him with a face of calm understanding; pressed into that testimonial frown like paint over cement. He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t move. His golden eyes look like honeycomb moons; and before he knows it, Jet’s starting to cry. At least a year’s worth of tears build up and crash; and he rocks his body forward so his face is buried in Zuko’s habit. He shudders and sputters, nearly gagging from the pain of it all. A hand rests on the back of his head, holding him stable. 

He cries so hard that hours must have passed; though it is still dark. All the energy is gone from his body by the time he wipes his eyes. Zuko doesn’t look at him, but it’s not from embarrassment. It’s from respect. 

It’s pretty obvious that Jet can’t walk home tonight. Silently, Zuko leads him back to the parsonage and gives him a bed to sleep in. Jet’s words are all gone, his throat completely wracked. Still, Zuko senses the note of panic at the motion of leaving. Still clothed, Zuko slides into bed beside Jet. 

He’s still there when Jet wakes up.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Consequences

Another trip to the big supermarket, and something occurred to me that’s been sort of nudging at the back of my brain for awhile: while we do have the queue system in place where we stand about six feet apart and only a few people are allowed into the store at any given time? ...Once you get into the store, people are actually less likely to give you space than they were before the pandemic.

I mean, I try. Gods know I try. I can’t always avoid people or stand as far apart as I probably should, but I try to minimise the amount of time I spend in close proximity to people. Yes, even though I have already had COVID-19 and at least in terms of breathing on people am probably one of the safest people in the damn store half the time. Doesn’t matter - rules say approximately six feet? I will damn well try. So if someone’s blocking the shelf I need, I’ll wait. I’ll hit another section of the store if there’s a three-cart pile-up in the Baking Supplies aisle. I’ll try very hard to avoid touching anything I’m not going to buy - though that one I fall down on more than I’d generally like because my sundry dietary restrictions mean that if I don’t read the labels on a lot of this stuff, I am in for a world of hurt.

But do people extend the same courtesy? Nope.

I get people squeezing in front of me when I’m trying to read the label on a tin of soup, brushing my arm and shoulder to get what they want instead of waiting thirty seconds just so I can check there’s nothing containing gluten in the damn soup. I get people causing three-cart pile-ups in the Baking Supplies aisle - literally three carts crammed up right next to each other, blocking the entire aisle while the people using said carts are squished up together in front of ... honestly, I think it was the custard, but I’m not sure because I just wanted some damn sugar for my coffee and when I saw the squish, I went the other way. I get people refusing to fucking wait long enough for me to even just pick up a jar of coffee before reaching in front of me to get what they want. They seem to have run the numbers and the need to get out of the shop quickly seems to have trumped the plea from the supermarket staff and the fucking government to stand farther away from people.

Of course, then there’s the ones who clearly just don’t give a shit. The ones who dawdle in front of the shelves debating the relative merits of one thing over another (or maybe just marvelling that the shelves are actually properly stocked at the moment, I don’t know) for several minutes at a go, making waiting a) difficult and b) more likely to result in blocking another set of shelves. This happens a lot. I mean, I don’t bring a list out, but every time I go out grocery shopping, I have a pretty solid game plan of what it is I want, and thus can map out my trip to make it as brief and painless as possible. Quick stop in the produce section for potatoes and some fresh fruit, over to the meat section for the usual cheap-but-filling meat cuts (and, as always, one steak because a) I have low-grade anaemia and I start to go really wonky if I don’t get red meat regularly and b) I deserve a treat, godsdamnit), down to the tinned foods aisle for some soup, cruise the crisps and snacks aisle for munchies, hot drinks aisle for coffee, booze and mixers aisle for squash (kind of like liquid Kool-Aid mix), baking supplies for sugar, from there down to the frozen food section for frozen veg. Occasionally slight detours if I need, like, butter or loo roll (not this trip, thankfully), or a stop at the pharmacy counter for mallet-meds (which I very much needed to do this time), but you get the idea. I know what I want, I know where it is, I get it, I get out. Other people seem to think that this particular time, the time when we want to be in as little direct contact with human beings as possible, is the best time to go dawdling daydreamy-like through the aisles.

I think both things can be ascribed to isolation fatigue. Those who haven’t been ill with COVID-19? They don’t take it seriously anymore. It’s kind of hard to, when the government is consistently lying and insisting they did everything right when we have the highest death toll of any country in Europe. I mean, we have the highest population of any European country except Germany (I’m leaving out European Russia because trying to figure out the population statistics of a Eurasian country with 23% of its border being in Europe but with that same 23% of one country taking up nearly 40% of Europe’s land mass is ... it’s weird), and our population density is pretty insane because of how small our land mass is, but a lot of the reason our numbers are like they are is ... well, two reasons. One: lack of PPE, lack of ventilators, lack of NHS staff. Hell, the Nightingale Hospitals they put together in various venues in this country have basically been put on standby and were refusing patients because they didn’t have the nurses to deal with the load they were built to take. Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that elderly people testing positive for COVID-19 were discharged to care homes where, again, no PPE for the staff...

Anyway, that’s the first major reason our death toll is the highest in Europe. The other reason, though? Isolation fatigue, which set in early and still runs rampant today. Our police haven’t been given proper guidelines on when to call people out on breaking isolation, or how to handle it when people do. Also, while we don’t have the kind of protests the US do, people here are ... uniquely British in their disrespect of anyone trying to insist they stay home, up to and including law enforcement. They don’t protest loudly. They don’t wave signs and gather in unsafe numbers and scream. They just ... quietly and nonchalantly ignore any rule they don’t want to follow as regards to isolation protocols, at least in part because there have been no consequences. That’s kind of how it works here - if they don’t like the rule, they’ll ignore it until there’s a true consequence to breaking it. Since most of the people breaking this particular rule haven’t got sick, don’t have direct contact with an elderly or immunocompromised relative, probably refer to the deaths of the young as ‘fake news’ and/or try not to pay attention to the news at all, and aren’t being challenged by law enforcement or even shop staff when they flagrantly violate the rules put in place for their own protection ... well. To them, “no consequences” means they can do what they want.

I work in hospitals, when I actually have work. I have had this. I know the consequences. I’ve suffered them. It just feels stupid, that’s all, that I had the consequences when I’ve done my level best to follow the rules, and people who ignore those rules either don’t get it at all or get the mildest possible version that they probably tell themselves isn’t really COVID-19. Then again, I guess it’s not like pandemics play fair.

Summary: I went out grocery shopping today and I’m not going back out there unless I have to, mostly because other people are stupid and make it impossible for anyone to follow the isolation protocols no matter how hard they try. So the only way to actually follow them is to stay the fuck inside.

[scaredandbored]

.ok i caved and wrote spones. academy au spones. with a really, horribly out of character spock. was this purely self-indulgent? yes. i’m not even 100% sure what im doing with this story, only that its spones, they share a dorm, and its going to be a gross, borderline self-insert fic lmaoooo. playing fast and loose with the academy’s curriculum because i’m a lazy piece of shit who won’t research the actual structure. also, idk if it even counts as slash, because it contains what i consider flirting, which is ACTUALLY just bickering and academic/scientific discussion combined with gentle physical contact. let me have this. 

additional note : i snuck in some pining at the end! so it’s definitely romantic! ha! (it’s not worth it dont bother)

additional additional note : i fucked up a perfectly good spones fic by trying to add jim but it turned into McSpirk 

Collectors poke and scalpels ring

(title from billy corgan’s poem “a wax seal”)

warnings : don’t read this spock is so badly written in it.

                 blatant abuse of the comma, oxford and otherwise

                 someone gets burnt but it’s not severe and it’s off of tea 

                 cursing. a lot of it. 

words : c.6’000 (i’ll count properly tomorrow, it’s hard to get a word count on mobile)

If Leonard was being completely honest with himself (which he tried to be, dammit), his studying had stopped being productive at some stage between midnight and one a.m, but he’d be damned if he was going to grant his smug-enough-already roommate an “I told you so” by going to bed. Not that Spock would use such colloquial, illogical language. Resisting the urge to groan, Leonard let his head fall to his desk, confident the pile of pages he had accumulated while studying for his assessment in Standard Procedures in Classifying Non-Humanoid Life-Forms would muffle the thud enough to prevent upsetting his roommate’s meditation in the bedroom next to his. Walls were thin at the academy, that was the whole reason he’d had to turn down Jim when he’d requested Leonard to bunk with him for their second year in the academy. Bones loved the kid, he really did, but if he wasn’t blasting his frankly awful study music through the whole night, he had someone over from wherever he’d been that evening, and Bones had come to learn (quickly, and unwillingly), that Jim was loud in bed.

Making the decision to go make a coffee (not with one of those godawful replicators, but with some decent coffee beans that his younger sister had brought as a present on his birthday, for which he’d had to actually purchase a grinder and coffee press for afterwards, but it was the thought that counts), Bones couldn’t help but miss the all-nighters he and Jim used to pull together in their previous year at the academy, using each other to keep awake and motivated. The kid’s taste in classical music left much to be desired, but he didn’t seem to mind Bones’s preferences, so they’d throw on the med student’s study playlist on Jim’s maybe-technically-banned-but-no-one-is-going-to-snitch-on-us-because-we-all-have-one-Bones-relax speaker and bounce flash cards off of each other, explaining things to one another, and sharing notes. Jim had always been very much an aural-oral learner, unable to retain information unless he had explained it to someone, or had it explained to him, and while Bones definitely did not mind helping his friend out, he’d always been a more individual learner, preferring to take his notes and summarise them, re-writing the most important points until he had them ingrained in his subconscious. Which was all well and good, except it was a pain in the ass of a technique that only became more frustrating when it was employed in a long night of cramming.

Quietly, Bones took his mug as well as the rest of the required paraphernalia from the almost-bare shelf in the equally almost-bare cupboard he and Spock had voted to dedicate to Bones’s “illogical need to entertain guests with a strange variety of baked goods paired with one of two hot beverages” and Spock’s “ostentatious pots and probably poisonous concoctions”, all while chiding himself for reminiscing about study sessions. Of all the stupid shit he could reminisce about at the ripe age of twenty-two, study sessions with a friend he could easily invite over to join him was probably the one of the most stupid. Bones was forced to pause and evaluate his situation as he realised that all his quiet tip-toeing about in an effort to leave Spock’s meditation undisturbed was probably null and fucking void, seeing as he had to manually grind the coffee beans, which would indubitably create enough noise to irritate those over-sensitive ears. Not that the vulcan could feel irritation. Fucking asshole.

Rolling his eyes at his own cankerous mood, he began to prepare his coffee, keeping half an ear on the sudden rustling noises from Spock’s bedroom as the disturbed vulcan did god-knows-what before coming out to lecture Leonard. Or to glare at him. Or condescend him. Maybe criticise him on how late he’d left it to study for this godforsaken exam. Or maybe Leonard was projecting onto his poor roommate, who he’d only known for the better half of a month. (During which, the cranky bastard side of his brain argued, said roommate had made his distaste for human culture and illogic clear, his particular dislike (it was dislike, regardless of whatever “vulcans don’t feel” bullshit he was trying to pull) of Leonard thinly veiled, and his disinclination to speak to Leonard in general blatantly obvious.) Most likely Spock would simply head into their shared living area to procure a cup of his noxious evening teas before returning to his meditation, not stooping so low as to acknowledge the source of the disruption to his nightly routine. Leonard’s mission to caffeinate himself was not under threat. It took more energy than Leonard would ever admit to quell the disappointment that bubbled up at the thought of Spock just ignoring him.

It was stupid-o-clock in the morning, of course the vulcan wasn’t going to engage in a full-blown academic conversation with him, what was he thinking? Bones haphazardly plopped the filter over his mug just as the kettle came to a boil, doggedly ignoring the squeak of Spock’s door and the sound of his bare feet against their tile floor.

“It is not recommended for humans to ingest beverages of such a high caffeine content at this hour.” Spock’s voice breaking the eerie silence of the late hour was enough to make Leonard’s usually still hands jerk, splashing his knuckles with the hot water. He managed to suppress a hiss of pain, determined not to let the vulcan see any weakness.

“It’s not generally recommended amongst humans to get your medical degree at Starfleet Academy, yet here I am, Spock.” Griped Bones, turning to face Spock with his mug in hand, the eye contact he made intended as a challenge. Try and stop me, Pointy.

Spock raised an eyebrow, which alerted Leonard to the vulcan’s significantly slower than normal movements. The damn vulcan was sleepy, he realised. In an infuriatingly adorable way, Spock blinked slowly twice before responding, a significant delay in his usual response times to Leonard’s taunts. “On the contrary, an education in Starfleet Academy is highly coveted amongst humans; its expansive curriculum makes its graduates highly sought after in careers outside of the academy. I see no logic in your statement.”

Bones rolled his eyes, knocking back half his coffee in a matter of seconds, and burning his tongue in the process. “I don’t see the logic in continuing to hold conversations with an individual you find so distastefully illogical, Mr.Spock.” He passed the strange traditional vulcan teapot out to his roommate along with the decidedly terran-style mug Spock seemed to prefer using.

Spock offered three more of his slow, dazed blinks before responding with a tilt of his head that was slightly more pronounced than the one he tended to make during the day. “Distasteful? I do not believe I have ever said as much, McCoy.”

Bones gave a single, barking laugh, shaking his head as he began to move back towards his bedroom. “Careful, Mr.Spock. Keep up the flattery and you might say something you regret.”

“You are studying?” Spock called after him, just as Leonard was closing his door.

Leonard watched Spock as he shuffled around their kitchen, preparing his tea, his normally purposefully brisk steps reduced to a half-asleep stumble. His roommate gave no indication of having spoken to him. “In my usual, time-consuming way. Yes I am, Mr.Spock.”

Spock did not face him, but the delay in his response was still significant, for the vulcan, “You study using this highly inefficient method only when learning independently, correct?”

“What is it you’re getting at? There’s only so many hours in a night, and some of us have work to do.” Growled Leonard, his prolonged view of the back of Spock’s house robes frustrating him. Their arguments were much less entertaining and all the more aggravating when he couldn’t look Spock in the eye. Spock attempted to answer while turning to face Leonard in his sleepy daze, forgetting that he was halfway through pouring the boiling water over the strainer, effectively dousing his front in the scalding liquid. There was a brief pause where Spock blinked down at the front of his robes, while Bones processed what had just happened before jerking into action. “Get that glorified dressing gown off of yourself, Spock!” He whisper-shouted, determined not to wake the entire residential block. Spock just blinked at himself, then at Leonard.

“It is burning.” He deadpanned, prompting Bones to roll his eyes and cross the room in a few quick strides.

“It’s boiling water, Spock, of course it’s burning.” He hissed tapping the lapels of the robes. “You need to get out of this so we can get you under some running, room temperature water, try and stop any blistering.” Spock finally seemed to register what was going on and began to unwrap the ties of the robes, turning away from Leonard as he did so. Leonard noticed his roommate look uneasy at the prospect of being shirtless around him, and decided to leave him to it. “I’ll go run the shower, you dry yourself off a bit and run any part of your arm that got caught in the stream under the tap. I’ll call you when the shower’s the right temperature, ok?”. Leonard waited for Spock’s nod before bolting off to their shared bathroom to start working. 

So much for his productive night studying. It was starting to look like he’d be playing nurse for Spock until the on-campus medbay opened at five am. He was just beginning to realise exactly how fucked he was for the exam the following day when the door to their bathroom creaked open slowly. “Nearly there, Spock. I don’t recommend using any of your pungent herbal shit, we don’t want anything getting into any burst blisters or anything.” 

“Your alarm is unwarranted, Leonard. There is no lasting damage done to my person.”

“Congratulations on your medical degree, Spock, didn’t realised you’d discovered a fast track. Y’could’ve told me.” Leonard drawled, not taking his eyes off of the shower, his wrist under the stream of water to monitor the temperature. 

“You know I have done no such thing.” Spock huffed, his less alert state loosening his restraint enough to allow for such blatant emotionalism. 

“Sarcasm, Spock. Somethin’ you’re gonna have to get used to if you plan on launching into the void canned in with a bunch of humans once we graduate.” Leonard was angling for a mild version of their normally acerbic exchanges, but Spock didn’t seem willing to take the bait.

“If you insist I must bathe in tepid water, I will comply, but I trust you understand the state of my health is my concern alone, and you have no power to forbid me from assisting you with your studies.”

“Bold of you to assume I want your assistance.” His final attempt to goad Spock fell just as flat as his others, and he gave a defeated sigh. “Please stay in until your skin’s returned to its normal complexion, alright?”

Spock gave a half nod and stood to the side to let Leonard pass out of the bathroom, which he did a mite faster than was strictly necessary. Sighing as Spock closed the door, Leonard began weighing the benefit of trying to study against the fact he was just worried enough to be distracted from anything too difficult. Leonard scoffed. “Who am I kidding, everything in this module is difficult enough to make me want to rip my fucking eyes out.” He continued grumbling incoherently as he made his way back to his room, throwing a dirty look at the mess of teapots, mugs, and cafetieres as he walked past it. Spock would have a hissy fit. Or, the closest thing the teachings of Surak would allow to a hissy fit. “Goddamn, green-blooded, neat-freak.” Leonard groused, frowning at the state of his room.

Leonard often consoled himself for his lack of cleanliness within the confines of his bedroom using the fact he very rarely sullied shared living areas. He liked to think of his room as a sort of nesting area; cluttered, but cosy and homely. Spock thought the state of his room was indicative of his disorganised mind and illogical outlook on life. He looked around his room, trying to decide how to partially tidy it most effectively before Spock got out of the shower. 

Ultimately, he decided to leave anything that could be passed off as studying material (including, but not limited to the notes Jim had left behind on Starfleet-approved mixed martial arts) and to gather all clothing into one pile behind the door. He had just finished that and was contemplating moving some of the collection of unwashed, half-empty mugs he’d forgotten about into the sink when someone cleared their throat at the threshold of the door, causing Leonard to jump. “Goddammit, Spock, y’could’ve killed me!” He snapped, subtly kicking the sleeve of one of his hoodies behind the door. 

Spock’s eyes followed his foot as he attempted this subterfuge, which lead him directly to the pile of clothes. He raised an eyebrow, looking back at Leonard. “I was unaware the human heart was so poorly designed that even one belonging to a relatively fit for duty, young man was susceptible to cardiac arrest caused by unpredictable scenarios. It leads me to wonder why Starfleet consists mostly of such an inept species.”

The adorable, sleepy Spock had disappeared, leaving the sharper, more alert, more dangerously attractive Spock that Bones was going to have a hard time not coming onto over the next year. “I think I preferred you when y’couldn’t string together a sentence.”   

Spock’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally as he stepped purposefully towards Leonard’s desk. “You are hardly the image of a functioning officer after your rest cycle has been disrupted, McCoy.” He quipped, pouring over the notes Leonard had been working on before the whole tea-spilling fiasco. “You have been repeatedly transcribing the same five notes for upwards of an hour, if you maintained a constant rate of words per minute.” 

Leonard shrugged, striding over to his desk to snatch the notes back defensively. “What of it?” He snapped, picking up his pad of paper (not good for the environment, but he’d loaned his PADD that he usually used for revision to Jim a week ago and wasn’t due to get it back until that weekend) and old-fashioned pen that used to belong to his mother. 

Spock raised an eyebrow at Leonard’s odd behaviour, picking up the textbook that had started to slip down the back of the overcrowded desk to leaf through it. “It is a highly inefficient method of study. Particularly given your current time constraints.” 

“Spare me the lecture, Spock. It works, and that’s all that matters.” Leonard drawled, having already resumed his scribbling, desperately attempting to commit one of the longer definitions required for the exam to memory. 

“That statement has no grounds in fact, nor does your extension based on the untruth follow any semblance of logic.”

Leonard uttered a string of curses in his native tongue, making Spock consider taking Earth English classes on the side, if only to aggravate the med student in his own native tongue. Not that Spock would ever admit to such irrational motivations.  “Dammit, Spock,” Leonard’s familiar growls in Standard had less venom than they usually did this early in their verbal sparring, a fact that drew Spock’s concern sharply onto the med student. “,either sit down and help a guy out, or get out and let me be. Ain’t that hard.” Spock eased himself down onto the human’s bed carefully, sitting cross-legged beside him with the textbook balanced carefully on his knee.

“I have heard you listening to music whilst studying on previous occasions. I have noted you do not tend to do so while I am meditating, however, I am doing so now. If it assists you, I would recommend you indulge.” Carefully watching the human for signs of distress while he spoke, Spock decided another snip at him would not hurt him. “Your human focus is dismal enough without depriving it of the stimulus necessary for it to operate at an acceptable level of efficiency.”

Spock watched with mild satisfaction as Leonard threw his archaic study materials down in a small rage, his eyebrows practically dancing as he spluttered furiously for exactly 3.2 seconds before responding coherently. “Why, you listen here, you green-blooded son-of-a-bitch, y’ain’t doin’ much good in this here bedroom, so you’ve got about three seconds ‘fore i throw you out!”

Spock unfurled himself and stood, but he didn’t make a move for the door. Instead, the stoic bastard moved back to Leonard’s desk, sorting papers into piles as he systemically searched the surface for something. Finally, he picked up Leonard’s music device: a miniature PADD his younger sister had constructed for her first set of practical engineering exams, programmed to run audio files only. “A’ight, give it here.” Leonard stretched out his hand, palm up, waiting for Spock to hand it over. Spock took a moment to briefly page through the audio files Leonard had equipped the tiny device with, the corners of his mouth turning down fractionally. “Somethin’ the matter, Spock?”

“I was under the impression that humans preferred to listen to classical music whilst studying?”

“That is classical, Spock.”

“I do not recognise it.”

Spock looked up just in time to watch the furrows between Leonard’s brows deepening. “Well, it’s classical, terran music, not vulcan, so I don’t suspect y’would.”

Without thinking, Spock said, “My mother made sure I was acquainted with many kinds of classical terran music as a child. I expected to recognise at least one of these songs from the information she provided me with.”

“Your mother liked terran music?”

Spock didn’t even pause to consider the trust required for him to offer an insight into his personal history. He just did. “My mother was human. I am only half-vulcan.”

“Might be half-vulcan, but you’re still a whole pain in the ass.” The rapidity of Leonard’s answer set Spock totally at ease, and the vulcan allowed himself to relax slightly in the presence of the human. “Y’still’ve done absolutely fuck all to help me, and I really do need to study. Y’can stay if y’want, but I can’t be shootin’ the breeze with you all night, y’hear?”. Spock’s look of confusion at the idiom was enough to send Leonard back on the defensive, and he was about to launch into a strong verbal eviction from his room when something almost-but-not-quite-clear quickly swept over Spock’s eyeballs. “What in the fucking HELL was that!” He shrieked, immediately grabbing his training tricorder from under his bed and scanning Spock, studies forgotten.

Spock’s alarm was only notable in his shoulders, which tensed as Leonard crowed into his personal space to a degree that would’ve been considered improper on Vulcan. Spock did not make any movement to rectify this situation. “McCoy?”. Leonard was muttering to himself as he scanned Spock for a third time. “Leonard?”

“What was that, Spock?”

“I am unclear on what it is exactly you are referring to.” Spock maintained solid eye contact with the Leonard, concern for the human’s mental well-being bubbling under his cool exterior. Leonard blinked, twice, incredulously, before putting his hand on the junction between Spock’s neck and shoulder, which was covered by his turtleneck. He looked at though he was going to say something before he went extremely pale and spluttered incoherently for a few moments before beginning anew with his tricorder scans. “Leonard?” 

“Spock, something’s happening to your eyes.” He growled in response, pressing at the junction where his hand rested. “Turn your head, I want to scan it from another angle. Do you feel dizzy, nauseous, anything out of the ordinary?” 

“Nothing. The level of confusion I am experiencing is within normal parameters for my interactions with you.” Spock felt a wave on content pass over him when McCoy stopped scanning for a second to glare at him, before shaking his head and resuming his activities.

After a few minutes, he withdrew the scanner, dragging a hand down his face. “Spock, I don’t suppose vulcans happen to have a second pair of eyelids, do they?” 

“Have your anatomy classes failed to cover that of vulcans?” Spock narrowed his eyes, deflecting from the fact that he didn’t actually know if the second eyelid was still a functioning part of vulcan biology. He’d learnt about it as a vestigial organ, but his hybrid nature had fascinated many scientists back home. One of the reasons he had decided to leave for Starfleet; Spock had hoped to avoid the invasive poking and prodding done in the name of research. That being said, the soft poking sensation of Leonard’s fingers through his shirt was far from uncomfortable, and Spock felt strange when the sensation stopped. 

“We do, but the piss-poor files the VSA are willing to relinquish to us mere humans are so fucking full of redaction and contradiction that all we’ve left to work with are a few vague diagrams and thoughouly unhelpful paragraphs on the composition of vulcan blood.” Leonard took a step back from Spock, restoring the traditional respectful distance between them. Much too distant for Spock’s liking. “You’re sure you’re not going to die in the next few hours until we can get you to the sickbay tomorrow?”

“I do not need-”

“Spock, you’ve not only burnt yourself-”

“It is superficial at most, and does not require-”

“-but you’ve just discovered what might maybe be an eyelid but could equally -for all we know- be-”

“-medical attention. Your anxiety is unwarranted and your focus on your studies has waned to what could prove to be a detrimental degree if you do not-”

“-a malignant growth of some sort, you have to go to find out if that thing is hurting you or not at least-”

“-cease your illogical fussing and resume.”

“-and I- Spock are you even listening to me?” Leonard’s gradually increasing volume finally peaked out, and Spock raised an eyebrow at the outburst. “Ah. shit, the neighbours.” 

“At this hour, we can hope they are in a deep enough sleep not to have heard-”

“Are you kidding me Spock, I practically screamed-”

“If we continue in this vein, you will lose what little volume control you posses. Please sit down once again and I shall try and gauge how much you have prepared for this test already and we shall start from there.” Spock’s eyebrow lowered itself slowly as he relaxed once more, Leonard sitting down on the bed close to the headboard, making it easy for Spock to sit relatively close to him without making it look like anything but a logical decision for optimum viewing of the human’s notes. Not that it wasn’t motivated by logic. The fact his side was pressed soothingly to Leonard’s was a pleasant bonus. “That eyelid thing is a bit strange, you’re sure it doesn’t hurt?”

Spock levelled him with a flat stare. “I shall visit the nurse tomorrow if you cease this discussion.”

Leonard shrugged and dropped his head down and began working on a list of things he felt confident on for the next day in an attempt to hide his smug smile. It didn’t work, but Spock didn’t say anything. 

A few hours later, they had taken a break from Spock’s relentless verbal assessments for Leonard to give his brain a chance to process the points they had been drilling and for Spock to asses the data he had collected on Leonard’s rate of retention of information to try and streamline their next bout. Except Leonard’s head had dropped onto Spock’s shoulder, and the heat from where their sides were pressed tightly together was relaxing Spock into a borderline meditative state. It was only when his chest started to vibrate lightly when Spock snapped himself back to reality, confident he had not woken his study mate with his unfortunate vulcan habit. Hubris was not a trait vulcans were capable of possessing, so Spock classed his slide in judgement as a calculation error, not as a result of unfounded pride.

“Were’y’... purrin’, Spock?” The human’s voice was muffled by Spock’s turtleneck, so the flush high on the his cheeks went unnoticed by Leonard. 

“It is... an unfortunate, involuntary response of Vulcans.” Was Spock’s clipped answer, suddenly awake and almost frantically pouring over the notes he had made on Leonard’s progress. 

“Mmm, sounds like more of y’all’s goddamn cagey nature. Outta be somethin’ your doctor outta know.” Leonard slowly picked himself up off of Spock’s shoulder. Spock felt irrationally irate at the loss of contact, despite the fact their sides remained pressed together. “Ah, shit. How long was I out?”

“Twelve minutes.” Was Spock’s response, glad to have moved on from his embarrassing lapse in control. Leonard’s response wasn’t forthcoming, so Spock chanced a glance at his roommate, only to find his mouth wide open, eyes closed, and seemingly struggling for breath. Spock’s basic first aid training kicked in, fully aware that humans, much like vulcans, required a constant supply of oxygen, and he began to thump at Leonard’s back, the angle much too awkward for him to apply the force necessary to dislodge whatever may have been blocking the med student’s airways. Except, the med student seemed to have cleared his airways on his own. And was using his perfectly clear airways to yell at Spock.

“The hell’re you doin’? Coulda seriously hurt me with that goddamn “superior vulcan strength” you won’t shut up about! Ain’t a fella allowed t’yawn in his own damn bedroom?”

Spock quickly stood up from the bed, and Leonard watched as the relaxed stance the vulcan had had previously completely vanished. “You appeared to be in respiratory distress. The training I have thus far received in first aid on humans required the first thing to do in such a situation would be-“

“Dammit Spock, I’m a med student, I know what t’do when someone can’t fucking breathe! I, oddly enough, was breathing just fine!”

Spock’s chin lifted fractionally, the last of his near-tender demeanour hardening. “Incorrect. Your chest ceased to rise and fall regularly, you had opened your mouth for maximum oxygen intake and yet you did not inhale, and the distress weakened you insofar as you were forced to close your eyes.”

Leonard looked at him, incredulous. “I yawned.”

“I do not understand. Does this correlate with your -“

“I yawned, you thick-skulled-“ Leonard stopped and took a breath, scrubbing his face with his hand. “Don’t worry, s’just an unfortunate, involuntary response of humans.”

Spock recognised he was being quoted, but unlike previous, malicious quotations made by various humans (including this patprticular one), his roommate did not seem to be trying to get a rise out of him, so he decided to retaliate. “That is the nature of most human responses, voluntary or otherwise.”

The outraged eyebrow that was slowly creeping up Leonard’s forehead was completely undermined by the sleepy grin that was taking over his entire face. “I’m not going to get much more study for this assent done, huh?”

“Assessment?”

“Yeah, the thing we’ve been studying for.” Leonard looked confused, but Spock’s head tilt betrayed his own befuddlement. 

“You referred to it previously as an exam.” His arms crossed his chest, marring his perfect posture slightly. It looked to Leonard that, despite his confusion, his roommate was more relaxed than he had been. 

“Yeah, an exam, an assessment, no difference, is there?”

Spock would later deny the look he gave Leonard was ‘incredulous’, Leonard would exaggerate his expression into one of absolute shock when retelling the tale to Jim the following evening. “There is a considerable difference, Leonard. Considering the brevity of this particular elective, the only grade that might impact your final score will be the final examination. Assessments in such a relatively insignificant elective will not affect your final grade in any serious manner.”

“It’s a matter of pride, Spock.” Leonard smiled, shaking his head. “Gotta keep up appearances.”

Spock glowered down at his roommate, the expression so slight that Leonard didn’t notice it at all. The silence strung out for a moment longer than absolutely necessary before Spock sat down at the foot of Leonard’s bed. “Pride is illogical, McCoy.”

Leonard snorted, shaking his head. “Pride and spite are the only things that keep me going, take ‘em away and I wouldn’t do a thing.” 

He watched as Spock’s eyebrow crept upwards, his head tipping lightly towards him. “Your finger brushed my collarbone earlier, when you touched my robes.”

Leonard went a bright red, and his respiratory distress seemed genuine this time. He leapt off of the bed, putting the distance of the width of the room between them. “Fucking shit, Spock? Why didn’t y’tell me! Fucking touch-telepathy, that was probably stupidly invasive, wasn’t it? Shit, shit, shit! I’m sorry. I’m fucking dense, I thought- I don’t know what I was doing, shouldn’t’ve gone near you-”

“Calm yourself Leonard-”

“And now you’re too polite to call me out on it, goddammit, we had lectures on proper conduct with vulcans, fuck-”

“Leonard.” Spock had stood and walked over to the human. Leonard was shocked when Spock put his hand on his shoulder. “There is no offence taken, do you understand?”. Leonard seemed to have lost his voice, but nodded. “I only brought up the incident because I sensed only concern and concentration from you through the contact. There was no bitterness, no concern for your pride or reputation. You saw your patient and thought of nothing but how best to administer effective and efficient treatment.”

Leonard had not made any indication of wanting to brush off his hand, so Spock decided to return to the personal space he had occupied while Leonard had been scanning him earlier. Leonard blinked several times, eyes crossing slightly to stare at the tip of Spock’s nose, only an inch, maybe less, from his own. His mouth suddenly went dry, and he swallowed hard, once. Spock’s nose had never looked so kissable. He shook his head- not an appropriate thought to be having while Spock was, wait, what was Spock saying? Leonard could hear him speaking, but his brain wasn’t processing the words correctly. Or at all. He thought maybe he was complimenting him, or maybe trying to get Leonard to explain his dry, almost self-critical comment. Hell, Spock could be reciting Shakespeare for all Leonard knew. Or cared. The vulcan’s voice was deeper than it was normally, more like it was when he had been sleepily pouring his tea earlier, less like it had been for their shared life up until today. The vibration of this deeper voice reminded him of the purring, the utter relaxation and warmth that had accompanied those vibrations, and... and Spock was still talking and Leonard still had no idea what he was saying because his mouth was moving very nicely, had his mouth always moved that nicely?

“BONES!” That voice would pull Leonard out of any dazed stupor he could possibly fall into. That voice, with that tone always meant one of two things. Jim needed his help, or Jim had done something he needed to confess to that would probably piss Leonard off. “BONES? YOU HOME?”

Spock had somehow managed to perch himself on the edge of Leonard’s desk, textbook and notes in hand, pointedly not looking at Bones. Rolling his eyes, Leonard walked out into the living area. “What the fuck have you done, Jim?” 

“Bones!” Jim practically bounced over to the med student, which meant he’d absolutely fucked something up that was going to piss him off. Clapping his shoulder playfully, Jim used the momentum of his bounce to swing himself around Bones, heading for his room. “You’re not going to believe what a weird mix-up there’s been, man! So, look, I-why, hello, Mr.Spock!” Jim glanced over his shoulder with an “i-cannot-believe-you-got-the-hot-guy-we’ve-both-been-crushing-on-into-your-room’ look on his face, his mouth slightly open and his eyes comically large in mock disbelief. “What’s a hot guy like you doing in a dingy place like this?” He had turned his impish gaze back on Spock, gesturing vaguely around Leonard’s room as he mentioned the ‘dingy place’.

Spock’s face remained impassive, not betraying the flash of amusement he always felt when the younger human flirted blatantly with him. “Vulcans’ core temperatures are, on average, actually lower than that of humans.”

Where Leonard would’ve snapped back a witty counter attack in order to incite a fascinating debate, Jim simply leaned right into the lewd implications only he could draw from such a droll, basic fact. “Are you saying that you think Bones and I are hot, Mr.Spock?”. The man had far more confidence in his charismatic abilities than any other human Spock had seen knocking their own glasses off of their face when discussing something passionately with a lecturer.

Spock was about to fire back a response -noting in the back of his mind that of the friendships he had deliberately built with a select few humans in the hopes of appeasing his mother, the ones he had formed with Jim and Leonard, though not particularly strong yet, brought him a feeling of completion- when Leonard came into the room, red-faced and rolling his eyes. “Shut up, Jim, you’ll make him uncomfortable. Vulcans don’t flirt, that’d require expression of emotion.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at Leonard, mildly puzzled. Had Leonard not recognised their discussion before Jim had arrived for what it was? Was his respect and admiration of the medical student not clear?

“What is it you’ve done, Jim?” Bones had leaned himself against the door frame, staring fixedly at his ex-roommate, who was glancing between Spock and Bones with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. 

“Well, I was going to apologise for a stupid thing I did, but seeing as it wound up with all three of us in a room with a bed, I’d say no apologies needed.” Jim couldn’t keep a straight face delivering that line, his flirtatious demeanour crumbling into pure giddiness. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll stop. S’just weird seeing the two of you together, it’s like you guys exist separately in my mind, and seeing you getting cosy in Bones’s room is just so wacky-“

“Jim!” Bones’s bark made Jim laugh even harder, and Spock allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch ever so slightly as Jim’s merriment grew and Leonard became more and more flustered. These humans affected Spock more than he’d care to admit, and watching them interact brought a sense of contentedness over him. “It’s fucking crazy o clock in the morning, what in the hell could’y’ve done that y’need to confess so bad?”

“Small scheduling error, Bones, no big deal! In my defence, I didn’t realise how late it is, I was reading this really cool book that Galia’s sister sent her, so far it’s been absolutely gripping, can’t put it down-“

“Jim.”

His blue eyes darted around the room nervously as he giggled anxiously. “You don’t have a test tomorrow, Bones, I do. I fucked up and logged it in the PADD you’d loaned me instead of my own PADD, so I guessed you got a reminder and I know your memory is shit outside of your studies, so I figured you’d be up cramming-“

“Jim-boy, what’d you just say? Because if you said what I think you said, I’m going to-“

“Leonard, I would not recommend engaging in a physical altercation with Jim. He has considerable more experience in such matters.”

Spock felt a shiver down his spine as Leonard’s dangerously icy glare turned on him. “Are you sayin’ y’don’t think I can take ‘im, Spock?”

“That is not what he said Bones! C’mon, how bad was it? You got to bond with your roommate, and now my two best friends are on speaking terms, at least. Sounds like a win-win to me!”

“I’m gonna need the two of y’all to get the fuck outta my room, if I’m going to get any sleep at all before tomorrow.” 

Jim’s smirk got even more mischievous, the glint in his eye almost dangerous. “Maybe we’ve planned for you to get no sleep tonight, Bones.”

“I resent your implicating me in your antics, Jim.” Spock was definitely grinning, goddammit! There’s no way a vulcan could manoeuvre their mouths any further into a vague smiling shape.

“You’re not denying it-”

“Both of y’all need to shut up and go to bed, it’s late.” Leonard groused, having had enough of Jim’s playfulness, which was a bit too much for how late it was. Also, the thoughts and feelings he was invoking in Leonard with his meaningless teasing were enough for him to overthink on for the rest of his life. Jim’s pout made Bones fully aware of just how much he wouldn’t mind kissing his best friend, which reminded him of how close he had been to doing just that to his roommate, which reminded him of how it was just his fucking luck to be attracted to the two people he most defiantly shouldn’t be attracted to. The two most unattainable people on campus. He was probably a sadist. Jim sat next to Spock on his bed, and Spock had turned to mutter something in Jim’s ear. On his bed. He was absolutely a sadist. 

“That’s a good point, Spock. I think it’ll be difficult to strong-arm him into spending more time with the two of us as well.”

Spock had the good grace to look up at Leonard with what could be interpenetrated as an apologetic expression. “Those were not my... exact words.”

“I’m a med student, not a socialite, dammit!” Jim was sitting very close to Spock, they looked so right together it was sickening, and Spock was clearly mooning over Jim, and Bones... Bones needed to sleep. Now. “I’ll come over to your place tomorrow after I get out of the labs at six, Jim. If Spock comes, he comes. I don’t care.” He did care. A lot. 

“Seeing as two of us live in these quarters, it would be more logical for us to reconvene here, would it not?” 

“Nah, Jim’s got a better replicator.”

“I’ve also got better taste in holos, so...”

“You absolutely do not-”

“I don’t think watching documentaries counts as a relaxing night in-”

“I shall be there, eighteen-hundred hours.” Spock interrupted, his expression doing nothing to ease the daydreams determinedly banging at Leonard’s subconscious as he looked between the two humans. That odd eyelid-thing slid open and shut twice, which Leonard probably shouldn’t have found cute when he didn’t know whether or not it was hurting Spock. But he did, nonetheless. 

Jim clapped Spock’s shoulder, which stopped the eyelid blinking, and resulted in a rather cat-like freezing of his entire frame. “Excellent!” Jim jumped up, bouncing out the bedroom door. “It’s a date, gentlemen!” And he was gone before Leonard’s outraged spluttering could hold him up. 

“It’s not a- dammit, we’re not- Spock-”

Spock stopped to place his hand on Leonard’s shoulder, deliberately making eye-contact. “To borrow Jim’s turn of phrase, ‘it’s a date’, Leonard.” 

And that rendered Leonard totally speechless, left staring mutely at Spock’s retreating back. What the fuck kind of emotional fuckery had he gotten himself into?  

[honeymoonjin]

Chapter One

Summary: When you hear that your recently deceased grandmother left you her property in her will, at first you think that a dinky old cottage in the middle of nowhere isn’t going to mean much for you. But after spending a night there, you discover something far more valuable than the house itself: a hidden door that leads to another time, the same place but over 200 years in the past. In the late 18th Century, there is a king who will die before his 21st birthday unless you can save him. Will you help him, even if it means leaving your own life behind?

A/N: It’s here! Please enjoy the first chapter of my new fantasy AU, Sovereign! It’s been a joy to write so far and I hope you love it as much as I do!

“Okay, what time was it again?” You adjust your cellphone, clamping it between your ear and your shoulder as you rohjdojwiggle a worn key into the front door.

“Come on, Y/n, we’ve been through this! It doesn’t matter what time you come over as long as it’s before 2, because that’s when I have to get ready for work. Maybe like ten? That should give us a decent block of time to hang out.”

You smile at your boyfriend’s lilting voice and finally get the door to unlock and swing open. “Okay, can do. I just got to my grandma’s old place, so I’ll be spending the night here, and then I’m all good to go this morning.” It’s musty inside, but not actually that messy or dirty. You tug your overnight bag in behind you and close the door, wandering around the cramped cottage aimlessly as you chat on the phone.

“Oh, yeah, what’s the big idea with that? I don’t get why I couldn’t come with and keep you company.”

“Something in the will,” you mumble half-heartedly, “it makes no sense, but she wanted me to come here when I received the rights and spend a night alone. I don’t know, she was a pretty superstitious and sentimental lady. I’m sure she had a reason.” You come to a stop in the poorly-lit hallway, staring at a strange sight on one of the walls. “Anyway, this house is so far away from uni and it’s not exactly prime living. I’ve already called mum to get her to give me the details for our real estate agent. Maybe whatever cash I make off this dump will help put me through my last year of med school.”

Jimin laughs on the other end. “From what I’ve heard, you’d be lucky to get a couple coffees in exam season for the price that place is worth. You’d be better off keeping it, maybe one day you and I can move in together.”

You squat down as he talks and run your hand along the wall. For some reason, embedded no more than two feet off the floor, is a crystal doorknob. You had assumed it was for a cupboard, but there weren’t even any seams in the wooden panels of the wall where the door could be. You try twisting it experimentally, but it doesn’t give.

“Y/n?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, Jiminie, that would be really nice.” You stand up again and continue down the hallway, dismissing the architectural oddity. “How about you come out here tomorrow night and see what you think of it? It would need some serious renovation, but we could make it work.”

You pause as you hear shuffling on the line. “Fuck. Sorry, baby, one of my classmates just text to say our grades for the midterm have been put up, I’m gonna go check.”

You smile softly. “No worries, I’ll see you when I come over tomorrow. Should be there around ten, like you said. I love you.”

“Love you more. Bye, baby.”

When the line goes dead, you put your phone away and decide to not bother with cleaning the place up at all before retiring. It’s nearly midnight, and you came straight here after a day of classes, so you’re ready to go set up the spare room.

You hadn’t really visited this place often in recent years; truthfully, you hadn’t seen your grandmother much since you grew up. You did have faint childhood memories of listening to her rambling for hours about what flowers fairies liked to grow in their gardens and how to listen to the trees whispering. Your parents quickly realized all her stories of magic and fantasy were making you a very dreamy young girl, and from the age of around eleven or twelve they stopped taking you out to the countryside to visit.

But now here you were, full circle. Lying in the narrow guest bed you had frequented as a child, one year away from graduating from medical school, something you had no doubt she would’ve found cold and absurd. She had liked to tell you you’d become a princess or a witch or something wonderful like that. Doctor didn’t sound nearly as exciting.

The exhaustion from the day as well as your reminiscing pulled you quickly into unconsciousness, and you slept well enough until a loud thud awoke you.

You shot up in bed, heart racing. There were no other houses for miles with the cottage being so far from the city, and it was untamed forest rather than farmland, so if the racket was an animal that had somehow gotten in the house, it was probably wild. After waiting a few moments, three similar thuds resonate through the small building. With one hand clutching your phone, torchlight on, and the other rubbing at your sternum in an effort to calm down, you sneak slowly out of your room and into the hallway. Blinking to adjust to the glare of your phone light, you barely pay attention to your surroundings, fully focused on the racket coming from the kitchen.

Upon arriving, you relax with a great sigh when you’re confronted not with a fox or a rat or a burglar, but an overly fluffy black cat sitting delicately on the kitchen bench, licking a paw. Below him is a misshapen pile of candles, another one of your grandmother’s obsessions, that the cat has apparently pushed off the counter.

You click your tongue and hold out your free hand gently. “Here, kitty kitty. Here, kitty kitty. Oh, you’re so cute! Where did you come from, kitty?”

You recoil when what can only be described as a scoff comes out of the creature’s mouth. But, like it could understand you perfectly, it leaps gracefully onto the floor and leads you back the way you came, tail swishing impatiently. You follow dumbly, until the cat comes to a stop in the hallway, in front of an open door.

You frown and stare at the black shadowy square in shock. The doorknob, which before seemed so absurdly placed, was now attached to a door of the same wood paneling as the wall, swung open to reveal an open space behind it. You swear just earlier today, or perhaps at this point it was yesterday, that doorknob wouldn’t move at all, and now a cat was sitting in front of it moodily, licking a paw and whipping its tail against the carpet.

What was odder still was the height. It wasn’t a full doorway like the rest of the house; really, were it not for the apparent depth of the hole, you would’ve called it a cupboard. Nevertheless, the cat blinks up at you with baleful silver eyes and slips into the blackness, completely disappearing from your view.

You patiently wait for a few moments for it to have a look around and come back out, but there’s no sign of it. “Kitty,” you call out awkwardly, “come out of there. Where did you go?”

But silence is your only response, so you just sigh and hunker down on your hands and knees, gingerly sticking your hand into the cupboard, which, judging by the way your arm disappears down to the shoulder with no back end in sight, is perhaps a room more so than a cupboard. You wave your outstretched hand back and forth, but the only thing you come in contact with is roughhewn brick, scratching your knuckles as you pull your hand back.

Whatever it is, it isn’t a room or a cupboard. It’s a hallway of sorts. Your grandma has a secret hallway in her house. “Okay, you got me, I’m coming in now, kitty.”

After no response, you prop your phone up so that the light splays as far into the darkness as possible and begin the crawl. Your shoulders scrape against the sides and your hair keeps catching on the rough edges on the ceiling, but you crawl on.

It must be no more than five or so meters that you travel before your hand knocks against a solid wall instead of more open air. Fuck. You’re at a dead end, with no space to turn around. But just before you can start to panic at your situation, you remember the cat. It must’ve gone somewhere, so you tentatively push against the solid wall, only to feel it give way beneath your fingertips. It’s another door.

A warm light greets you, but it’s such a change from the pitch black of the tiny crawlspace that you squint, pulling yourself free finally. When you do open your eyes again, you look around in confusion. The walls are lined with bookshelves, some filled with incredibly ancient-looking leatherbound books, and others with glass jars containing unidentifiable powders and herbs. Some of them even have objects floating in some strange clear liquid. In the middle of the room is a table covered in papers and rudimentary laboratory equipment, like thick glass beakers and iron crucibles.

You don’t recognize this part of the house, but even if you did, something’s clearly not right. Because to the far right of you, in the corner of this rather large room, is a hearth with a roaring fire blazing inside it. And directly in front of that is a tall man. Your instinct is to scream, but the stranger seems awfully calm for having broken in and started a fire, so you just clear your throat awkwardly.

He turns around, and you’re taken aback by how young he is. You never expected good-looking young people to stoop to thieving, but there’s a first for everything. “May I help you?” he questions pleasantly.

You frown at his patronizing tone. “Uh, yeah. Maybe start with why the fuck you’re in my house.”

He brushes down his hair, a startling silver that glints in the firelight. “This isn’t your house yet, actually.”

You tilt your head in disbelief, finally standing up off the ground to be a little more on level with him. “Are you serious? Yes, it is. The will was signed two days ago. Who are you?”

His eyes soften as he stares off into the middle distance. “The will? So, she’s passed away then.” His gaze flickers back up to you. “I hate to break it to you, Y/n, but you don’t own this house yet. In fact, you won’t own it for another two hundred and seventy years, give or take.”

You feel your blood run cold. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Welcome to seventeen-forty-three, Y/n.”

TAGLIST Message me or send an ask to be added to the taglist for Sovereign, and never miss a new chapter!