#if the boys are any indication it sounds like patients are kind of frustrating to deal with

[ciaossu-imagines]

Since you said you ship me with Yata, I would like to ask you about how you think Yata would deal with his s/o having dystonia. Again, everywhere in the body, like I clarified in our DMs (though I forgot some body parts so just imagine every muscle that can do move, moving against the person’s will. An example of one I forgot was my eyes, so eyes can just stare at a certain spot and I’m not zoning out, I just have to look in that direction because cramps say so) and it can happen at any time of the day. I’ll also add that bit about his s/o not having much energy because man likes moving around and doing things and I can imagine that being difficult for him so how do you think he’d deal with that aspect as well?

C

I'm always happy to write your requests, though I am sorry this took so very, very long to get out to you! Thanks for sending this in and I hope you'll enjoy!

Okay, but a cute little thing I've had in my mind for a little bit now, but as you pointed out Yata does have a lot of energy. And while he tries generally to be accepting of the limitations your disease has on your body, sometimes he does get aggravated or annoyed by it. Never by you and his little frustrations and outbursts will never be directed at you. Any indication that you took them as being such or were hurt by them would probably make Yata feel like absolute shit, to be honest, and while he has troubles making actual apologies, he would go out of his way to make it up to you.

But those times when he is aggravated or frustrated that you can't go on these grand adventures with him? Oh, he will find ways to solve that. I could totally see this boy just legit stealing a wheelchair from a store and running it back to you, just picking you up and setting you in it because there, problem solved. He'll run you around or skateboard while pushing the wheelchair so that the two of you can go on these grand 'adventures' without there being any worry about it causing too much pain or wear and tear on your body.

I will say that your illness really bothered him at first and it is something that he has to grow to accept and get used to. It wasn't even the limitations it places on you or that it might make dates harder or that it might affect him and his plans and ideas for the two of you. It's that he genuinely doesn't know anything about your medical condition. He's not really that book smart, he finds studying really hard so research into it isn't really going to get him anywhere. It's something entirely foreign to him, he doesn't know what it is fully, how it affects you, and to him, he just figures it causes you pain and hardship and that kind of pisses him off. Add to that the worry he'd have that something as serious sounding as your illness might actually affect your lifespan and might shorten it and he's just going to be generally really angry at your illness and really pissed off in general and he won't know how to deal with it right off.

You'll need to be good about explaining your condition to him in short bursts, in easy to understand language. Don't information dump him because it will only make him feel overwhelmed and more worried and when he gets those kinds of hard to deal with emotions, Yata does convert them into just anger and doesn't deal with them well. Explain, be patient with him, give him time to process the information and to ask questions, and he will eventually come around to being able to accept your dystonia as just a part of you and not as something scary or something he can fight with anger and denial.

I will say, the eye thing is something that really did throw him at first and it will for the first several times he experiences it. It's a little uncanny to see and he definitely will assume you're purposefully staring at something and will need the reminder that nope, this is just something your body does every now and again. He will get used to it and it will just become a quirk of yours to him with enough time but for the first four or five times it happens around him, Yata is going to be a little freaked by it or unsure about it.

Lastly, I will say that despite his frustrations or worry or unsureness around your medical condition, if anyone else were to in any way even just maybe imply that it made you less than in any way or any kind of burden, save for maybe HOMRA's upper echelon, even if that implication was only in Yata reading their words wrong, this boy will be ready to throw down for you. Yeah, he can complain and yeah he can question and yeah, he can be frustrated at times but that's because you know how he feels and you know he has your back so it's okay for him. Anyone else will get a skateboard to the head quite happily (or happily for Yata at least).

[villainousshakespeare]

Bobby’s Play Date Part 1

The pandemic is keeping Tom idling in London by himself. One positive is that wearing the mask helps him avoid recognition, allowing him to wander in the park with his dog, Bobby. On one of their walks, Bobby becomes smitten with a dog named Lulu and Tom is equally enchanted by her human. Can the Hiddleston men manage to find a way to see the lovely ladies again?

Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Rated M - Pandemic, Fluff, Quarantine, Masks, Adorable Puppies, Meet Cute, Second Part May (will) Contain Smut

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @gorgeous1974 @maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere, from-hel-i-with-love, @sweetsigyn, @fictiondoesitbetter, @ms-cellanies @evieplease @viviennes-tears @turniptitaness @cynic-spirit​

It was months into the pandemic that had ground the world to a halt. Tom desperately hoped things would go back to normal soon, and that a vaccine would be found to help more people from getting sick and dying. There were, of course, many changes to the world at the moment that Tom was not pleased with. Being unable to work, for instance, or travel to visit his sisters was both frustrating and depressing. One change, however, he had to admit he was not completely adverse to.

Tom loved his fans. They were usually polite, often intelligent, and had donated millions in his name to charities. He often said that he couldn’t consider himself an actor without an audience, and he meant it. It was just that there were times when he wanted to enjoy a little anonymity. Particularly when health advisories suggested a six foot distance between people, Tom was relieved to be able to slip on a plain black mask along with his baseball cap and sunglasses and blend in with the other people wandering about on errands.

He was enjoying just such a stroll now despite the warmth, grateful for the ability to hide in plain sight. Bobby frisked happily on his lead, chasing after imaginary prey as they ambled aimlessly down the winding path. It was a lovely, sunny day, but fear was keeping many people at home and they had the park largely to themselves.

When they reached a bend, Bobby began barking excitedly and pulled Tom along, his human chuckling as he was dragged by his furry companion. The reason for Bobber’s excitement soon became apparent. Sitting on a bench placed beside a scenic little river was a woman in a flowered mask, holding the lead of a small, gold and white shih tzu dog in a ridiculous pink and white checked dress.

Tom had to take a firm hold as Bobby frantically tried to go over and meet the smaller dog, who had begun barking herself as they rounded the bend. Her fluffy head, complete with bow to keep the hair from her eyes, perked up, and she began jumping up and down in a little dance. Bobby calmed down a bit as he felt Tom’s pressure on his lead, but his tongue still lolled out of his mouth in a dopey smile.

“Steady,” Tom commanded, feeling embarrassed as Bobby continued to hover as close as allowed to the silly looking strange dog. “I’m sorry, I promise he is completely friendly.”

“It’s okay, so is she,” the woman replied, smiling with her eyes even though he could not see her mouth behind her mask. “You know, she’s usually quite shy, but she seems to like him! May I pet him?”

“Please, and thanks for asking.”

Letting the lead out a bit, Tom watched as the woman reached down to give Bobby a good pet, complimenting him on being a handsome boy. Her fluff of a pup had advanced timidly, and she and Bobby commenced sniffing and circling each other with obvious enjoyment.

“Wow, I have never seen her respond like that to a strange dog!” the woman laughed.

As she spoke, Bobby rolled onto his back and waved his paws in the air with a complete lack of dignity.

“Safe to say he is rather taken as well,” Tom chuckled. “Absolutely shameless! Mind if I have a seat? It seems a shame to deprive them.”

He gestured to the bench next to hers, wanting to keep a safe distance and indicate he respected her space, and the woman nodded. She was dressed much more simply than her dog, he noticed. Black leggings and long rose colored tee shirt, a pair of keds. Apparently, she got all of her whimsy out on her pup.

“What’s his name?” she asked, watching as the dogs frolicked with each other.

“Bobby,” he supplied. “I’m Tom.”

“I’m Leia, and that ridiculous creature is Lulu.”

“Like the princess?” he couldn’t help but ask with a chuckle.

“General,” she answered without missing a beat. “It’s what happens when you are born during the release of a cultural phenomenon. Pity all of the little girls out there now being named Daenerys or Gamora.”

Tom held his breath for a moment. If she was a Marvel fan, then did he have to worry about her recognizing him? Fortunately, she seemed more interested in the game of tag their companions were playing, and he let himself relax.

“There’s a dog run about half a mile from here,” he suggested after a few minutes of companionable silence. “It’s actually where we were headed.”

“I know, but Lulu is so skittish,” Leia sighed. “She just huddles in a little ball when the bigger dogs come near her.”

“She seems fine with Bobbers.”

“I know! Your adorable boy is some sort of sorcerer! It makes me so happy to see her playing with another dog!”

“I have to ask…”

“The dress?” she guessed; voice wry.

“Yeah.”

“She’s a rescue. When I got her, she was a pathetic, bedraggled little thing that had been there for ages. It was winter, and the first times I took her out I had to put a coat on her. After that, she started equating dressing with going out, and would get so excited every time I took a coat or sweater out for her. When the weather warmed up, I realized that I missed the way she would jump up and literally throw herself into whatever I had picked out for her to wear. It’s completely silly, I know, but it makes her happy, and she just looks so cute!”

Tom’s heart melted a little as he listened to her explain. Yes, the dog looked silly, but it was such a sweet reason that suddenly the little dress transformed into a symbol of kindness rather than an eccentricity.

“She does look adorable,” he said.

A beeping noise had him drawing his phone from his pocked, and he was surprised at the time. He had to get back home soon for a virtual session with his trainer. Oddly, he found himself reluctant to go. It had been so long since he had just spent time with another person, it had felt good just to sit in her presence and relax.

“I’m afraid I have to get going. But Bobby and I usually walk this way around lunch time,” he blurted out, lying through his teeth. “Hopefully we will run into you lovely ladies again. So that the dogs can play.”

He was more grateful for the mask than ever, as it hopefully hid the blush he could feel coloring his face. Once more her vivid eyes sparkled and she stood up too, twisting around with him as they attempted to untangle the leashes.

“I’m sure Lulu would love that!” she told him, picking up the golden dog as she whined and tried to follow after her new friend. “We’ll see you around, Tom. Bobby.”

With a jaunty step he let his long legs take him away, looking forward to tomorrow already.

It rained the next two days. Not just a soft drizzle but am early summer storm that made the idea of a pleasant walk a fantasy. Tom and Bobby both resented the weather, and it was a toss up which of them was more disagreeable as they were forced to stay indoors.

When the sun shone on the third day, Tom immediately cancelled all of his afternoon plans. He had waited patiently, he told himself, he was not going to let this day go to waste. It was for Bobby’s sake, after all. The pup deserved a nice day out after being shut up inside.

They left home mid-morning, Tom unable to sit still any longer. He couldn’t say why exactly he was so keen on meeting Leia and her silly dog again, but he had been able to think of nothing else during his enforced isolation. Perhaps it was simply the novelty of meeting someone new who didn’t instantly faun over him or act nervous and shy. She treated him as though he were just an ordinary guy walking his dog in the park; which of course was what he was!

He arrived at the benches where they had met earlier that week, but they were empty. It was still early, so they made a circuit of the nearby trails. His eyes always alert for their new friends. They passed a few other people walking their pets, but both Tom and Bobby were uninterested beyond a nod hello and brief sniff. The Hiddleston men were both to focused on finding particular companions.

It was, as it had been before, Bobby who first discovered their presence. As they were walking through a more secluded, twisting section of the park, the dog’s ears pricked up and he began barking in excitement. Tail wagging frantically, Bobby yanked on the lead and pulled Tom along behind him as he took off around a curve. A high pitched yip sounded from the direction he headed.

“Well hello there!” Leia greeted him, leaning down to scratch Bobby’s head as he and Lulu danced around each other. “We were hoping to run into you boys again!”

“Eh heh heh,” Tom laughed, dancing around to keep his leash from entangling too badly with hers. “Obviously Bobby here was looking forward to that as well! As was I.”

“Well then, I am so happy you found us.”

He felt absurdly pleased as they fell into step beside each other. The two dogs were happy to walk along, darting back and forth in play as they went.

“Were you going anywhere in particular?” Leia asked casually.

“Oh, just wandering about,” Tom answered, not wanting to admit that they had been on a mission to hunt down the ladies.

“Well then, we can wander together.”

As the dogs played, Tom and Leia chatted happily. He learned that she was an aspiring writer working on edits to her first novel, and a tour guide, specializing in guiding small groups around literary sights in London as a way to earn money.

“Of course, it’s hard to be a tour guide with no tourists,” she sighed. “You would think it would give me more time to write, but its hard to focus. Anyway, I talk too much. What about you?”

“Oh, I’m on furlough,” he shrugged, staying vague. “Just loafing about the house, annoying Bobby. So what is your novel about?”

He managed to direct the conversation back to her, even though she avoided the subject of her book. Instead, she brought up some of the more interesting places she had brought tourists. Tom, a proud Londoner, had been to many of them, and they happily discussed the more interesting locations. She seemed impressed that he had read books by most of the authors they discussed and was quite ready with a line or two from memory. In turn, Tom loved how expressive she became when describing the joy people experienced finding themselves walking in the footsteps of their favorite fictional characters.

By the time Leia announced that she and Lulu needed to head home, (Tom thought he detected regret in her voice) he was surprised to realize that they had been talking for almost two hours. It was the most pleasant afternoon he had passed in some time.

After that, Tom and Bobby spent every afternoon in the park. At first, they managed to “stumble” upon their companions most days. The days they did not were frustrating for both of them and usually ended with them barking at each other. After a few run-ins with Leia and Lulu however, Tom took the plunge and asked if they would like to make their daily meetups official. Leia seemed pleased, but with the caveat that some days she did need to stay home and write when she was struck by the rare inspiration. Tom deflated momentarily, thinking she was looking for an out, until she offered to text him an let him know if they would be absent. He happily gave her his cell phone number and took hers in return, letting her know that she should feel free to text anytime and then feeling like an idiot the minute the words left his mouth.

Over the next two weeks they met all but three days – two because of her writing and one when the skies once more conspired to thwart him. Their conversations ranged from literature to films to favorite places to travel. Leia sometimes teased him about his obvious upper class life style, jetting about to Viet Nam, Hawaii, Australia… but that was the closest his celebrity status ever came to being brought up. He would occasionally feel a stab of guilt over keeping that part of himself from her, it felt dishonest to lie by omission, but he was enjoying being just Tom, and didn’t want to spoil it.

Tom started taking more care in his appearance as the days went on. Gone were the torn running shorts and frayed t-shirts, and in their place were his slim fitting dark jeans and more presentable tops. If those tops also stretched a bit tight across his chest to better show off his muscles, well, he had worked hard enough to achieve them! He made some attempt to style his untamable locks as well, experimenting with different products until he found something that made the curls less crunchy. If he was remembering Leia’s off hand comment about how she liked his natural curls no one else needed to know that.

On the one month anniversary of meeting them in the park, Tom paced nervously back and forth near their favorite bench as he waited for them to arrive. He had a proposition for Leia and hoped desperately that she would say yes. When Bobby started frisking about he knew that he would see her walking Lulu, and spun around to see her come towards them.

“Sorry I’m late!” she smiled with her eyes. “This one managed to hide my house keys, and it took half an hour to track them down to her stash under the sofa.”

Lulu looked unrepentant as she pranced around Bobby, and Tom chuckled good naturedly. He gestured to the bench and sat after Leia, leaning back and stretching out his legs.

“No worries, honestly,” he assured her. “I am just delighted you are here now.”

“You are the perfect gentleman.”

“All lies, I assure you,” he waited for a moment, wanting to sound casual, and then launched into it unable to delay any longer. “I was wondering… The park is lovely, of course, but I thought it might be nice – for Lulu and Bobby – if they had a bit more freedom to run about. Lulu being afraid of the dog run, she has no opportunity to be off leash, and that can’t be too fun for our furry companions.”

“They seem to be having a good time to me,” Leia laughed, looking at where the dogs were investigating a small pile of leaves by the side of the trail. “But what did you have in mind?”

“Well, you see, our house has an enclosed back yard. Not huge, mind you, but large enough they would be able to chase to their hearts content without fearing larger beasts. I thought that perhaps you and Lulu might want to come over this Friday evening for dinner. There’s a testing sight not far from here. We could each get swabbed to make sure we are uncontagious. My bubble is only my Mum and Bobbers, and from what you’ve told me yours isn’t much bigger. It should be reasonably safe for you to come. I could make us dinner, and we could eat outside. If you would be comfortable with it, that is.”

He tried to look calm, but inside Tom was a riot of nerves as he waited for her answer. Leia’s brow crinkled in thought, and she glanced again to where the dogs were once more hopping back  and forth across the path.

“I can’t do Friday,” she told him, and his heart fell.

“Oh, alright then. It was just an idea.”

“Friday is my virtual book club,” she went on, talking over him. “Would Saturday work?”

“Saturday would be perfect!” he beamed.

“Great! I’ll go to the clinic for a test tomorrow then. Would you like me to bring anything?”

“Just Lulu and a healthy appetite.”

“Excellent! Now what do you say we walk over to the little waterfall?”

Tom practically floated through the rest of their walk. He had enjoyed getting to know her so much, but he wanted to spend more than an hour or two at a time with her. Dinner would give them a chance to really relax. Plus, he was dying to see her mouth. After a month of imagining her smile he wanted to know if what he had in his mind was anywhere close to reality. She would see his full face too, but if she hadn’t recognized him by now it was doubtful she would from the lower half of his face.

His confidence dipped a bit when they returned home. Looking around, Tom began to panic. Between photos of him in his full Loki regalia to a group picture with the cast of Skull island, there were far too many give aways of his fame. She might not recognize him, but you would have to like on another planet not to know who Sam Jackson was!

Tom spent the next few days rearranging his home. His awards, normally discreetly placed in a cabinet in his living room on the insistence of his mother, were moved to a back shelf in his office closet. The set photos from a decade plus of filming were shoved under his bed and various pieces of memorabilia were secreted away in the spare bedroom. By the time he was done his guilt had increased but he was fairly confident that all trace of his career had been tucked away safely.

“Well, Bobbers, let’s hope we don’t blow this,” he sighed, adjusting the bandana he had bought to go around the dog’s neck. Bobby whined slightly and Tom grinned. “None of that, you want to look good for your date. She has a fondness for clothing, after all.”

Bobby gave him a look that said he clearly knew Lulu was not the one Tom was trying to impress with his new fashion statement, but Tom cheerfully ignored it. Tonight was going to be a wonderful night.

[allegra-writes]

“Heartfelt”

Bar musician! Harry styles x Bartender!Reader

General audiences

Warnings: None

Just some Valentine's day fluff with our favorite green eyed boy. Dedicated to @gaycinnamonrollgirl for giving me the idea, and @tomsrebeleyebrow for patiently listening to me endlessly gush about Harry Styles and still being my friend. Happy belated Valentine's day 💖

"You don't have to say you love me

I just wanna tell you somethin'

Lately you've been on my mind..."

Adore you - Harry Styles

...Oh, she looks so good, oh, she looks so fine

And I got this crazy feeling that I'm gonna ah-ah…

"Bartender, my good friend! I'll have my usual and a plate of your finest chips, if you would be so kind"

It was closing time when Harry, the local musician, sat in front of you, elbows on the bar you were wiping down while humming to Patti Smith's "Gloria".

You raised an eyebrow at him, but the willowy man could see the slight tremble at the corner of your lips, a tell that you were suppressing a smile.

"I'm afraid the kitchen is closed, mister Styles. Sam left an hour ago."

"Yes yes, but I have it from a very good source he left you a big pile of leftover chips before he did," He accused, "you know, as he does every night..."

You frowned in confusion,

"I thought you hated cold fries. That you found them to be, and I quote, soggy and disgusting" 

"I guess you can say I acquired a taste for them" He shrugged, mischievous green eyes sparkling, "Just like you did for this lowlife songwriter in front of you and the heartfelt conversations you share with him" 

"Did you now?" There was an edge of scepticism in your voice, but you were already disappearing inside the kitchen. 

Harry's heart did a little jump as you didn't immediately deny liking him.

"Hey, Joe" he called out, "why don't you go home? I'll help Y/N close when we're done…" 

There was a deaf noise as a young waiter, the only person left in the bar beside the two of you, set the last chair on top of a table. 

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I got this" he reassured him, "did it dozens of times. Go home to your girl"

"Thanks, mate!" The second brit practically skipped on his way to the backroom, but turned around just before reaching the door. "Listen, you know I like you, but if you hurt y/n in any way…"

Harry smiled, genuinely. He could never get mad at anyone that protective of you.

"You know where I live. Pick my sister on the way, though. I think she would like to join you."

Joe rolled his baby blues,

"I know you're not a creep. I meant her heart"

"Yeah, me too…"

Whatever your friend saw inside Harry's eyes was enough to convince him. He nodded and left, as the musician got up to lock the front door and turn the "open" sign off. 

If you noticed Joe's absence at your return, you didn't comment on it, simply setting the giant pile of chips and two cans of cherry cola you were carrying, down in front of Harry, who had returned to his seat. 

"Ah, you always have the good stuff!" the sigh that left his lips as he took the first sip of the soda was not unlike the one any of your regulars made after the first taste of something strong after a hard day. 

"Rough night?" 

"Kind of. Good show though, so at least I have that going on for me…" 

"It really was, I'm actually impressed" You had to confess, "And surprised too, it was a bold choice going acoustic on a night like this, with such a big audience," So many people had gathered to see the show that the bouncer had to start rejecting people so you wouldn't have trouble with the fire department "but it definitely worked" 

There was a slight blush on the singer's cheeks when he replied, far more humble than you were used to,

"Well, you know, Valentine's day and all that. The band, all have boyfriends and girls they wanted to spend the evening with…"

You tilted your head,

"And you didn't?" It was hard to believe, when almost every night he played there you would see him leave with a different, always sculptural, painfully perfect girl. Or man. 

Harry didn't reply, choosing instead to stuff his face with stale fries.

"Alright then" You raised your shoulder in surrender, "keep your secrets…"

He squinted in disbelief,

"Did you just quoted The Lord of the Rings at me?"

"Did you just recognize my Lord of the rings quote?" You countered.

"You are such a nerd!"

"Look who's talking, chicken little!" You gestured at his powder blue sweater with a yellow baby chick at the front and herringbone pants. 

"Oi!" His manchester accent popped out, like it always did whenever he lost his cool "I'll have you know, this is Gucci"

You scoffed,

"That doesn't make it any better, it just means that you spent a shit load of money to look like my third grade teacher, mister Harrington!" 

"Ok, first of all," he countered, "your teacher sounds awesome and second-"

An inelegant snort escaped your mouth. Harry's emerald eyes pinned you down. 

"Second of all, you're no one to talk either, kitten hoodie" 

You could feel the heat creeping up your cheeks. Praying he couldn't see your blush in the dim light, you took a mouthful of soda to cool you down. 

For a moment, none of you said anything, the sweet notes of Fleetwood Mac's "Dreams" the only thing filling the silence.

… Players only love you when they're playing

Women, they will come and they will go...

"Listen, y/n-"

"If I'm being honest-" 

He chuckled,

"I'm sorry, ladies first" 

"Now I'm not sure if I wanna tell you…"

"Come on" A grown ass man pouting should not be that cute, "I want to know"

You feigned a long suffering sigh,

"Fine, if you must know- If you must know, I actually like your new style. It's way better than that... rock and roll cliche... thing you had going on when we first met" You gestured vaguely in the direction of his body, "You know, the long hair, black clothes, doc boots…" 

He flinched, 

"Ugh, Don't remind me. I was trying too hard back then. And not only with my clothes, with my music too"

"Oh, yeah, I remember. All you used to sing about was" You chose your words carefully, "frisky girls and being horny…" 

"Well, to be fair, I still sing about being horny"

"Yeah, but now you're…"

You trailed off, unsure of how you could explain the difference, the change in your feelings towards his music, without explaining the change in your feelings towards the man that made it.

However, Harry would not let it go that easy. He was used to you being sharp, opinionated, guarded. Now there was a crack on that armour, and he wanted to see what was underneath it. 

You hadn't even realized how close you had leaned into each other until his hot breath fanned over your face.

"Now I'm what, y/n?"

More real. More mature. More emotional, as if he had finally found the link, made the connection between sex and love. 

"More open"

Harry smiled,

"Open. Yeah, I like that…"

So close. He was so close now, his malaquite eyes were out of focus. So close you could feel his magnetic field, the gravity of his atoms pulling in yours.

"Harry…" 

Never in his twenty seven years of life and over ten as a musician, had he heard a more beautiful sound than his name, breathlessly falling from your lips.

"Yes?" He murmured, lips ghosting over your soft, perfect ones.

"No"

"No?"

"No" You repeated, more firmly, taking a step back, putting as much space between the two of you as possible, "I know what this is"

"And what is this, y/n" To your surprise, he didn't sound mad, or demanding. He sounded confused and sad. Dissapointed but unsurprised, as if he had expected it to go south or… never had dared expect it would actually happen at all. 

"A bad idea" You explained, "with guys like you, is always the same: You have beautiful women throwing themselves at you every night. And you take them home with you cause why wouldn't you? You are young, and free and hot. There is nothing wrong with taking what's being offered" 

"Y/n-"

"I'm not saying it's your fault" You went on, ignoring him, "And I'm not saying you don't fall in love, sometimes. But that's the exception, not the rule, and I… I'm the kind of girl that's the rule. Not the exception"

Harry had always thought the worst that could happen to him was losing your friendship. Finally making a move, a real move, and getting rejected by you. He thought that was the definitive pain, the one that would obliterate him, if things were not to work out. And he was almost certain they would not work out. 

But sitting there, in front of you, separated by a wooden bar that might as well have been the great wall of china as you stood there, arms around yourself, small and defenseless as you explained to him all the reasons why you wouldn't allow yourself to love him… that was way worse. 

"What if you already were my exception?" He blurted out, before he could stop himself, "What if I was in love with you?"

You laughed, bitterly.

"Harry, I'm not even your type. I've seen you leave night after night with models and socialites and actors, each one more surreally stunning than the last one…" You didn't have a bad self esteem, you didn't. You considered yourself attractive, but the people Harry usually went for were on a whole different level.

"Yes, but that's only because the most absolutely perfect woman in the world for me, keeps me at arm's length!" He rubbed his face in frustration, "And it's so maddening, so fucked up, the way I can't even get away from her long enough to get over her, because even the pain of seeing her every night knowing I can't touch what I see, that I will never have her, is better than the pain of being away from her. 

So I keep on taking home the hottest people I can find hoping they will keep me distracted long enough to fill the hours until I can see her again… until I can-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Never, in all the time you had known each other, had Harry given you a single signal indicating he had any kind of feelings for you. Your relationship had always consisted of friendly banter and quip battles. Sure, you could get flirty sometimes, but you were a bartender, flirting was pretty much your customer service voice, and he was a musician, he would flirt with his own shadow if he could.

Harry opened his mouth to explain, but a familiar melody started coming from the still working speakers.

Walk in your rainbow paradise

Strawberry lipstick state of mind…

"Hey, this is my song!" You didn't quite understand why he seemed so marveled, "You never added any of my songs to your playlist before!"

Oh. Oh.

"Yeah, well" Harry could now clearly see your darkened cheeks as you stumbled over your words, "I guessed I never liked one of your songs so much before" 

This time, he was the one blushing and avoiding your eyes.

"What would you say if I told you-... If I told you I wrote this one for you?"

"I'd say you're full of shit" You scoffed, "Didn't you tell me you only ever wrote about girls you had dated?"

"No," he corrected, "I said I only ever wrote about women that had broken my heart…"

"How did I break your heart?"

Harry sighed. Your walls were back up, higher than ever, and he didn't know how to break through them. It wasn't your fault -and had it been your fault, truth was he could never blame you either, there was something about you that made it physically impossible for him to get mad at you- you spoke from experience, he didn't need to unlock the secrets of your past, didn't need the details. It was obvious you had been burned before, and though he hated it, hated them for whatever they had done to you, he couldn't fault you for trying to protect yourself.

Not when he wanted to protect you too. 

"You didn't like me, back when we first met"

"Harry-"

"No, it's ok. You didn't like me, and you were right not to like me. I know you probably didn't realize it but, that first time you rejected me, when I flirted with you that very first night and you rolled your eyes at me… you changed my life"

"What? How??"

"You weren't wrong, I was a cliche. And I was trying way too hard, to be cool, act like a rockstar… but you took a look at that guy, at that though, playboy, sex, drugs and rock 'n roll guy… and you hated him" Harry snickered. You didn't understand what about all that was so funny, "I had created that guy so that everyone would like him, and you hated him. And the funny thing is-" He finally met your eye. No, he caught your eye and imprisoned them, "The funny thing is, you hating me for what I wasn't, somehow allowed me to start being myself a little bit more, because if you already disliked me… then I had nothing to lose" 

You didn't quite know what to say to that.

His bright green eyes were unable to face yours, choosing instead to focus on the palms he was picking at,

"Is that why you… uhm…" You pointed at his sweater.

"Yup" He admitted, "I showed up here one day, on laundry day, in one of my old nerdy sweater vests and you smiled, when you saw it"

"I remember that!" You chuckled, "It was the brown striped one, it almost looked like a crop top, cause it obviously didn't fit anymore"

Harry nodded,

"I may have had a couple grow spurts since I got that in high school" 

"Ok, but, you made it work somehow…" 

"Thank you. The point is…" he turned serious again, his deep, rich voice even more hypnotic than usual. Or maybe it was just you, for the first time allowing yourself to enjoy it without reservations. "The point is, you didn't like cool Harry, but you liked the real me. Even if just a little bit, and that meant the world to me. I… I adored you because of it. So I wrote a song for you, cause even if I couldn't say it to your face, I had to get it out. Just like I had to get this out tonight"

He opened his arms wide, in his typical ta-da gesture, sad, resigned smile on his face, before getting up from his stool, grabbing his jacket and guitar case.

"You don't have to say anything, I don't expect you to love me back" He declared, "I just- I thought I'd let you know. Valentine's day and all that."

He turned to leave, his own voice still signing in the background,

I'd walk through fire for you, just let me adore you

 Oh, honey…

"Harry, wait!" You almost fell on your face, trying to jump over the bar, but managing to stop him right before he reached the door. His poorly concealed smirk told you he might have seen your little show, but you didn't care.

"Did you mean it? That you'd do anything for me?" 

"I did" He confirmed, earnestly, "I still do. Anything you want, just say the word"

"Well then," you took a step towards him, that he mirrored without even noticing, "what about a date? A daytime date. At a public place." You clarified. Harry did smirk at that.

"What's the matter, afraid you won't be able to keep your hands off me?" He teased, leaning closer. 

"Don't ruin this, Styles" You warned, raising to your tiptoes to meet him eye to eye.

His smile faltered, replaced by the most sincere intensity you had ever seen on his handsome face,

"Wouldn't dream of it, bartender" He whispered, before capturing your lips with his.

[bentforkent]

to the moon and to saturn - chapter two

spencer reid x fem!reader

navigation and summary

there is a version of this story featuring my oc sara on my wattpad and ao3!

word count: 3,559

content warnings: alcohol mentions

previous chapter | next chapter 

betty 

spencer has a recurring dream about her. in this dream, it’s y/n’s 18th birthday. his brain doesn’t know what she looks like past age seven, so dream-y/n has her youthful face on an adult body. her eyes crinkle at the edges when she smiles. she’s holding a birthday cake that’s covered in lit candles. there’s no indication that spencer baked the pink, sloppily-frosted cake, but in his dream, he knows he did. 

she holds the cake out towards him. “make a wish, spencer,” she says, her voice sounding far away and warbled. “it’s not my birthday, love,” he insists, swiping some of the frosting and brushing it across her cheek.

she grins and sets the cake down on the round table in front of her. “sure, but i want to share mine with you.” she pulls out a box, gift wrapped in bright yellow paper with a large blue bow on top. he always wakes up before he can ever open it. 

 he gets this dream once a month without fail. it’s pathetic, he thinks. he hasn’t even seen y/n in twenty years. he’s doesn’t even know her, to be frank. and yet he thinks about her constantly. he---and his therapist, of course---chalk this up to the abandonment he felt when she never came back. she didn’t even say goodbye. spencer thinks about this often, wondering if it was his fault. he wonders if any or all of the horrible things he’s been through have been his fault. his sick brain tells him yes, yes they are. 

 often, when spencer thinks of y/n, he imagines her in some incredible life. a spy, maybe. he knows it’s unlikely that she’s a princess or bank robber now, but he doesn’t put it past her. he doesn’t have enough memories of her, so every play-pretend game they played as children supplements what he knows about her, creating at least some whole adult person for him to fantasize about. she’s become almost a fictional character in the movie of his life. he wishes that they weren’t estranged, wishes that he could know the real y/n instead of whatever caricature of her he’s created. even if she actually was a bank robber. he just wants to know.

wait. he just wants to know. 

spencer is lounged on his couch, cardigan long tossed aside, tie long undone. he’s been home from work for a few hours now, an easy paperwork day cutting his day short. he takes half of a second to make his decision, then pulls out his phone.

 ------

“i need you to look someone up for me,” y/n says nonchalantly, flicking through a cheesy magazine. they’re laying on penelope’s bed, tv in the other room playing a rerun episode of “the office” just loud enough for them to hear. penelope has one hand in a bowl of popcorn, and one on her laptop scrolling mindlessly through some geeky website y/n can’t comprehend.

 y/n had seen spencer that evening on her way to penelope’s house. at least she thought she did. y/n was stopped at a red light, staring straight ahead at the crosswalk before her. living in a decently populated city, there were always fun characters crossing the street, and while y/n had once been in awe of the medley of people living in dc, she’d become used to it, and stopped paying attention. at red lights, she usually takes time to relax, letting her eyes glaze over before the switch to green and the restart of traffic. but before she could check out for her 15 seconds of a mental break, she saw a long haired figure hunched over a book, crossing the street directly in front of her car. 

granted, y/n hasn’t seen spencer in twenty years. she has no clue what he looks like nowadays, but everything from his ray bradbury book to his lanky frame to his beat up converse was familiar. her eyes clung to him, desperate to catch a glimpse of his face, but it never came. and y/n felt like she was going crazy. of all the places in the world, there’s no way that spencer reid’s life path had taken him all the way from nevada to the exact same city she lived in. 

but she didn’t have to wonder, or anxiously await the next time she saw the man by chance, because her best friend was a techy genius and no one could hide from her. y/n decided then, at that red light, that she’d ask penelope to find spencer, something she couldn’t even picture herself wanting just thirty seconds earlier.

y/n’s attempt at casually bringing the topic up is futile, because a.) penelope garcia is a very nosy woman, and b.)....penelope garcia is a very nosy woman. in all of the best ways. “who?” she inquires excitedly, halting all motion that could distract her from this very important conversation. 

“it’s kind of a long story,” y/n says, closing her magazine and sitting up. she crosses her legs, a seating pose that indicates that she’s devoting everything to explaining this to penelope. “so, when i was really little, there was this boy…” 

and the suspense is killing penelope. y/n’s launched into this whole story about blanket forts, and being young, and blah blah blah whatever, but she’s not giving up her male protagonist’s name. penelope has her hands poised at her keyboard, ready to give y/n a location, occupation, and criminal record in less than 30 seconds, but she just needs to know his name. y/n talks, and talks, and talks, and penelope, as the good friend and listener she is, doesn’t interrupt once except to ask a question. 

(“so your mom was sleeping with his dad?”

 “yes! my own mother! i know, right?”)

y/n’s oblivious to the fact that penelope is on the edge of her seat, hanging on her every single word, just waiting, waiting, agonizingly waiting for a name. 

“once, i even put jell-o down a girl’s shirt for this kid,” y/n laughs. “it was cherry flavored, i’ll never forget. my first badass moment.” she stops her story with a shared chuckle, and a silence settles over the two women for a moment. 

“so, did you want me to find this prince charming, or…” penelope waggles her fingers over her keyboard as to emphasize her point.

“oh! yeah! his name is-----” 

penelope’s phone rings, and they let out a frustrated groan in unison. y/n flops back into her laying down position, knowing that when penelope’s phone rings, it almost never bodes well for wine nights.

 ----------

“garcia!” spencer greets as soon as she answers.

“as much as i’m excited to hear from my favorite doctor-profiler-boy-genius, i wonder to what do i owe this pleasure?” penelope glances over at y/n, who has already found her way back into her cosmopolitan magazine. 

 “hey, i was wondering if you could look someone up for me. i know technically it’s not ethical but---”

 “do you have a name for me, wonder boy?” penelope asks. she’s not waiting a second longer for him to spill, lest she gets trapped in yet another long-winded backstory. 

 “uh, yeah. y/n y/l/n. she---,” spencer speaks, and is immediately transferred to hold, with a short and excited “wait!” from garcia. sure, she feels bad for cutting him off twice now during the short span of their phone call, but this? this is major. 

 “y/n, tell me his name is spencer reid,” penelope says, voice coming out rushed and full of eagerness. 

 y/n’s eyes go wide. penelope was really good at her job. she got his name just from her little jell-o story? “yeah, it is, pen!” y/n laughs. “what’s he up to these days?”

 penelope covers the receiver of her phone even though spencer was on hold and couldn’t hear her anyways. “he’s on the phone with me! we work together! we’re like, super close! y/n!” penelope is emphasizing her words with crazy hand gestures, the clinking of her bracelets serving as enthusiastic punctuation.

y/n doesn’t really know how to respond to this information. “he’s FBI?” she asks, stupidly. 

“that is so far beyond the point!” penelope exclaims. “he’s the guy i was texting you about earlier today, the one i wanted to set you up with!”

y/n, with a big goofy grin on her face, tosses a piece of popcorn at her head, watching as it gets stuck in one of her ponytails. “take him off of hold, penny!” excitement courses through her veins. she had seen him earlier. what are the odds?

spencer paces anxiously in his apartment. she’d dead. y/n is dead, and garcia’s trying to find the best way to tell him. that’s why she put him on hold, he knows. there’s a crackle in the phone, and garcia’s voice rings through the speaker. “spencer?” she asks, making sure he’s still on the line. there’s giggling on her end, pulling him to the conclusion that whatever garcia was about to say, at least y/n’s not dead.

 “yeah, garcia?” spencer says, too on edge to say more than a few words at a time. 

 “i’ve got probably a million and one things to tell you about a certain y/n y/l/n,” garcia says, voice mischievous. on her end, there’s a squawk of protest followed by some shuffling. 

spencer waits patiently, and then garcia’s voice is back. “i’ve got her right here with me, actually.” 

 spencer, overwhelmed with nerves, hangs up immediately. 

 “he hung up!” penelope screams, and the two women burst into laughter. penelope’s hunched over at her laptop, cackling.

“i can’t believe he hung up,” y/n says through her fit of giggles.

“you have to come to our work get-together this weekend and see him, y/n. spencer’s hosting!” penelope says.

“he clearly doesn’t want to talk to me,” y/n says jokingly, and they laugh again. not at the boy, but at the scenario. “also, no! no ‘get-togethers.’ you know i don’t do parties.”

 ------

 y/n’s on her way to the party. it took all of 15 seconds for penelope to convince her to be her plus-one. all she had to do is say the words “casual” and “wine” and y/n was in. she tried to ignore the fact that it would just be penelope’s coworkers, one of them being her estranged best friend, and her. at spencer’s apartment, nonetheless. it was bound to be awkward, but y/n tried to focus less on that and more on how excited penelope was to introduce her to spencer. re-introduce her, rather. 

 penelope offered to drive y/n to alleviate some of her nerves, and y/n accepted graciously. neither one of them had talked about spencer since the phone call, except for penelope casually mentioning that spencer hadn’t brought up y/n to her at work at all. they’d all spent the week in limbo, then. the drive to spencer’s apartment is generally silent, penelope jumping in with words of affirmation every so often, if not to calm y/n then just to make her laugh. y/n’s leg bounces as she looks out of the window of penelope’s car. 

when they arrive, after penelope’s parked, she turns to y/n. “y/n. you are colorful, beautiful, perfect, and every other nice word i can think of. everything will be fine. but if, by some odd, unpredictable chance, everything is not fine, say the word and we will be out of there faster than you can say ‘penny.’” y/n pulls her into a tight hug, and penelope can feel her heart beating.

“what if he just tells me to, like, fuck off?” y/n murmurs.

“reid would never. he could never,” penelope says. with that reassurance, they get out of her car and head up to the party.

 -------

y/n stares at spencer’s front door as penelope knocks. the paint on it is chipping, she notes. spencer swings open the door and hoots erupt through the apartment. 

“garcia’s here!”

“hey, garcia!”

“babygirl!”

everyone’s calling for her, so she snakes past spencer and into his home with a pat on his chest. he’s stuck in the doorway and y/n’s stuck in the hall. neither of them know what to say to each other, so they’re sticking to intense eye contact and nervous foot shuffling. y/n’s here, at his apartment. he’s shocked. she’s real, she’s here, and here is his apartment.

 “you look the same,” they say at the same time, and then, at the absurdity of the situation, they laugh together. y/n, feeling empowered by the diffusion of the tension, wraps her arms around him in a hug. he’s broad, she notes. he hugs her tightly, holding on a second too long as compensation for the fact that he’d never know when their last hug had been their last. 

 “come in, come in,” spencer says. as he’s ushering her inside, hand against her lower back, he speaks again. y/n’s acutely aware of his coworkers eyes on her, but she’s distracted by his voice. “did you know that we begin to forget childhood memories while we’re in childhood still? younger children remember 60 percent of early life events, and that goes down by 20 percent in just a year or two.” 

 “hmm, so it’s weird that you remember me, then?” y/n teases as he hands her a glass of white wine.

“well, i don’t, really,” he admits, and y/n hums in agreement against the rim of her drink. 

penelope calls y/n over to where she’s sitting and introduces her to the team. y/n takes notes. penelope never really combines her work and her play, telling y/n it’s to keep her safe, so y/n revels in this insight into her best friend’s life.

 jj, the pretty blonde, seems to be the glue of the group, y/n judges. emily’s guarded, but fun, and y/n sees a lot of herself in her. derek is penelope’s favorite, y/n knows, and it’s not hard to figure out why. he’s attractive, but more than that, he’s charismatic and intelligent. y/n can’t get a good read on hotch, but she likes him well enough. rossi’s her favorite, though, his laidback, cool demeanor just mysterious enough to pique her curiosity. y/n greets everyone with a warm hello and a short introduction, and finds her place at penelope’s side.

she’s out of place for sure, but the team tries their hardest to include her. they’ve got great chemistry as a group, and y/n wins their favor when she cracks a dry joke that gets everyone laughing. she can feel spencer’s eyes on her the whole night, but she doesn’t indulge him by looking back. she’s too nervous. he keeps her glass filled all night, a gracious host, and when she thanks him each time he gives her a shaky smile. he’s nervous too, she realizes.

 when people start filtering out, y/n realizes she’d hardly spoken to spencer all night, save for some light small talk with others. she’d really like to get him alone, but she doesn’t want to overstep. spencer looks at her intently when she stands to leave with garcia. he wants to get her alone, but he doesn’t want to overstep. be bold, spencer, he thinks. it’s just y/n. but it’s not just y/n anymore. they aren’t kids anymore, blindly bonded to one another out of convenience. there’s nothing tying them together anymore except for some flimsy memories, and this scares spencer. y/n’s also insanely beautiful. this adds to his nerves. it’s not too often he has a pretty girl in his apartment alone.

 “you can stay longer if you want, y/n. i’ll drive you home,” spencer says, his words surprising even himself. his eyebrows furrow and y/n wants to smooth the crease in his forehead with her thumb. 

“okay,” she says softly, turning to penelope. “i’ll see you tomorrow, pen?” they embrace, and penelope says her bright goodbyes. when she leaves, y/n leans against the closed front door, staring at spencer expectantly. 

“do you want another drink?” he asks her, unsure of what to do with his hands. 

“no, i think i’m sufficiently tipsy-adjacent,” y/n jokes, placing her hands decidedly on spencer’s shoulders. “i think you and i should talk.” 

“yeah,” spencer replies, his amber eyes searching hers. “we can sit outside.” he leads her to his balcony, and takes a seat on his outdoor couch. 

“it looks like it might rain,” y/n says lamely, sitting next to him, close enough for their thighs to touch.

“did you know women are more likely to give a man their phone number on a sunny day rather than a cloudy one? there’s only a 14% success rate when it’s rainy, as opposed to a 22% success rate when the sun’s out.”

“that’s interesting, spencer. were you planning on asking for my number?” y/n asks jokingly. spencer flushes at the question, stammering a defense. “just kidding. you sure do know a lot of stuff, don’t you?”

“sure,” he says with a bite of his lip. “i have three phds. what i don’t know, though, is where you went when you left vegas. or why you left vegas. or…”

“or why i didn’t tell you i was leaving?” y/n finishes for him. he gives a small nod, embarrassed to admit how much it affected him, and y/n frowns. she lays the palm of her hand against his face, rubbing her thumb against his cheekbone. spencer’s taken aback by the affectionate action, but leans into her touch anyways. y/n holds that position for a minute, surveying his features. she’s not ready to tell him the story, honestly. it’s humiliating. save from the fact that her mom essentially ruined his parents’ marriage; she didn’t know the nature of spencer’s relationship with his father now. for all she knows, it’d done a complete 180 in the past 20 years, and she’d ruin everything with her anecdote. no, she couldn’t risk this. spencer looked too pretty under the moonlight, was too nice to her tonight.

“would you be mad if i didn’t want to talk about that yet?” she asks, tracing her finger down the bridge of his nose. spencer feels a little relieved by this. he’s prepared for that conversation to be a heavy one, prepared for her to say she left because of him. because he wasn’t good enough for her. he doesn’t think he can handle that confirmation tonight, so he welcomes the change in subject. 

“can we just...start over?” spencer says.

 y/n nods. “hi, i’m y/n,” she holds her hand out to shake, finally removing it from against his face. spencer takes it with a small smile. 

“i’m spencer,” he replies. they sit in silence for a while, watching the stars. the moment is long, but it feels like they’re suspended in time. like the cars and people underneath them have come to a standstill. spencer reckons y/n’s always had that effect on him, but the hustle of the city disappearing around him makes it much more pronounced.  spencer steals a quick glance at her. she looks so serene. he wonders if she’s thinking as much as he is, or if she’s simply appreciating the city sounds and night air. 

“are you thinking as much as i am?” y/n pipes up, breaking the silence. 

spencer shakes his head incredulously with a chuckle. “you took the words right out of my mouth.” 

y/n turns to face him, pulling her knees to her chest. “tell me a story. like you used to.” when spencer’s gaze meets hers, y/n’s hand moves to tuck a piece of his hair behind his ear, the movement nearly involuntary. there’s a low rumble of thunder, but it sounds far away. 

“okay,” spencer says, neither one of them breaking eye contact. he remembers her eyes being much more vibrant, but he likes the true hue better. and whenever she thought of him, y/n had always imagined glasses, like when he was a child, but being able to see his face clearly is so much better. 

“actually,” y/n starts. she finishes her statement by pressing her lips against spencer’s firmly. he threads his hands through her hair and pulls her closer to him, letting out a soft moan. the kiss is passionate, but not lustful. it’s gentle and full of energy. y/n nips at spencer’s bottom lip. he tastes like sangria. his hand travels to the side of her face, thumb rubbing against her cheek slowly. he kisses her like she's oxygen and he’s never had a breath of fresh air in his life. 

after a minute, y/n pulls away slowly, resting her forehead on his. “okay, now you can tell me a story.” 

spencer presses another chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. “how do you expect me to remember anything right now?” 

y/n grins, pulling away from their intimate position and turning to face the stars. “i can wait. i’ve got all night.” 

[thenamesseven]

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: None in this chapter!

A/N: Here is the first chapter! Hope you all enjoy it ^^

Masterlist     Next Chapter ->

If it wasn't for your laptop's screen, your whole room would be consumed by darkness, the ticking of the clock sounded deafening in the silence of your apartment  Sitting by your desk, you read the article you had found twenty minutes ago for the umpteenth time before checking the comments once again. 

Each observation the users had made were anonymous, all of them were positive and assured that the spell above worked but of course, the comments could have been made by the same person that wrote the blog entry so people that read it could think about giving it a try. 

You weren't one to believe in spells but desperate situations calls for desperate measures, didn't they? You were already tired of dating apps and socializing in clubs and pubs every weekend wasn't your favorite hobby. Besides, it was not as if you had a better plan for a Sunday night so what could you lose? Just a minutes, nothing more and nothing less. 

You just had to try. 

Letting out a soft sigh, you pushed your chair back and away from your desk positioning yourself right in the middle of your room. With a small smile, mostly amused at the situation you were in, you closed your eyes and leaned back against your seat, getting comfortable and ready for the supposed life changing moment that was about to happen. You leaned your head back against the chair and your smile only got bigger as you thought about the words you were about to say. 

                               "Whoever you are, wherever you are

                                          I belong to your side. 

                                 I'll love you till the end of our days. 

                               I am yours as much as you are mine"

The blog entry you read had instructions. They said that apart from being alone and completely relaxed, you also had to imagine the type of boyfriend you would like to have. The physical aspect wasn't something you really cared about, you just needed someone sweet and loyal, that would love you as much as you would love him, if it wasn't too much to ask for you would also like him to be funny, someone you wouldn't get bored with. Anyways, going back to the instructions, the last step you needed to go through was to repeat the spell three times but you said it four just in case. 

You knew the spell wouldn't work, it was obvious for you since you didn't believe in this kind of things but deep down you didn't know what to expect. The words 'what if' kept wondering around your mind, echoing in the silence as you waited a few more seconds before opening your eyes once again. 

Even though you had been rational about the whole thing, disappointment overwhelmed you when your eyes opened and nothing had changed. 

Letting out a sigh, you blinked a couple of times waiting for your eyes to get used to the lack of light in your room. Still quiet and hoping something would have changed, you spinned around on your chair, scanning the empty bedroom. A frustrated scoff escaped your lips when the realization that you truly had been expecting something to happen made you feel even worse. Had you really expected it to work? Were you that stupid and childish? It had been really silly to think that saying some random words four times would make a boy appear in your room. You were too old to believe that those words would make somebody fall in love with you out of nowhere.

Hope was a dangerous feeling, it was always there not allowing you to give up, it never stopped you from trying new methods, new ways but unfortunately the result always ended up being the same. Maybe you just were destined to stay single forever. That truly sucks.

People always told you to be patient, that love was something that should never be rushed or forced. It was supposed to happen sporadically and out of nowhere, it would find you in the moment you least expect it. They kept saying it would happen out of nowhere, that you should wait for a little longer but you honestly got tired of waiting a long time ago.. 

Loneliness was a feeling that was pretty hard to deal with, specially when your entire friend circle had already found their other half. You were tired of being the single one out if your big group, of not having someone to hold your hand or lend you his jacket, of having your huge bed for yourself or-

"I better get some ice cream!" You interrupted your own train of thoughts in order to not get more depressed, the silence and emptiness in your apartment was enough to remind you of all the failed attempts at dating, you really didn't need to torture yourself in that way.

Without looking at the screen, you closed your laptop and walked out of your bedroom, staring down at your phone, answering some texts that your friends kept sending, complaining about the project one of your teachers had ordered you to do weeks ago but as always, your friends had decided to wait till last minute to do it.

You were too focused on the letters your thumb tap, you could say it was one of the main reasons why you didn't see him standing in the middle of the corridor. 

In fact, it wasn't until you walked into his broad and wide chest that you realized you weren't alone in your apartment anymore. Your neighbors probably realized the same though, because as soon as your eyes landed on the other pair of feet positioned in front of you, a loud scream left your throat. 

"Well, this definitely wasn't the welcome I expected" 

It took you some time to process his words since your mind was too busy deciding whether you should try to fight him or run away and lock yourself into your room. Your screaming slowly died down until no sounds got out of your lips and you only stood there looking at the stranger that was so calmly standing there as if it was his own house.

He was dressed in some worn out jeans that hugged his thighs and curves too tight, leaving little to nothing for your imagination. A plain white and oversized t-shirt covered his torso yet it left the tattoos on his arms on plain sight for you to observe closely. He seemed to noticed this because you realized how he slightly tensed his arms in order to make his muscles more visible and even though you were conscious that he could be in your house to robe or even rape you, a small smile lifted the corners of your lips at the gesture. 

Was he really flexing on you right now? 

Your eyes trailed up on his body, slowing down at the curve of his neck where veins and more muscles could be seen. Your heart started beating slightly faster when you saw the smirk on his face, white teeth adorning it and pink lips that would hide them as soon as he closed his mouth. His eyes were black, so dark that if you got close to him you were almost entirely sure that you would see your reflection on them. His hair matched his eyes, black and brushed back in a way that reminded you of a groom, your fingers twitched wanting to touch it and mess it a bit more, make him look more casual. 

"Let me guess" His voice made you snap out of whatever trance you got in, body tensing up again and eyes travelling around the corridor, searching for something that would help you defend yourself. "You weren't expecting this"

"Do you know me?" That was probably the dumbest question you could have asked at that moment but your lips acted on their own before rationality took control of the situation. 

"No but you called me" The male's smirk only got bigger when your frown deepened. He couldn't help but think that you were one of the cutest humans he had ever seen. "Right?"

"What?" You instantly replied, not really knowing where the conversation was going. You hadn't called anybody besides, how would you call him if you didn't know who he was? How did he know where you lived? "I-I-I really don't know what's going-"

Your doorbell rang multiple times in a few seconds, indicating that whoever was standing at the door was in a rush to either be let inside or to get your attention. This time, it was mysterious guy's turn to frown, clearly bothered by the interruption. He looked down at you and when he saw you had no intentions of moving he simply turned around and headed towards the door as if he had lived there with you since you bought the place. 

You stood there frozen, staring at his back, not knowing if you should follow him or scream for help. 

On the other end of the hall, Jaebum stood in front of the door, taking deep breaths in order to calm himself down. He had a lot of things to explain to you but thanks to whoever kept ringing the doorbell explanations and meeting each other had to be delayed. 

"(Y/N)!" 

You heard Youngjae's worried voice and opened your eyes as wide as plates. He had probably heard your screaming before and he, being the angel he was, had ran downstairs in order to check if you were okay. 

"O-oh" He stuttered when his eyes landed on the mysterious guy, he had never seen any males in your apartment and his mind was probably jumping from one conclusion to the other. 

"Who are you?" Jaebum's body get tense when another male appeared on your door. He didn’t know who he was or why he had come to your apartment, all he knew was that he didn’t like him one bit. He was there after all, you didn’t need more guys.

"I'm Youngjae, (Y/N)'s neighbor" He extended his hand smiling brightly, willing for Jaebum to shake it but he only looked down at it as if it was the most disgusting thing you had ever seen. "Is she okay? I heard her before and-"

"She's fine" He replied seriously, smile gone and eyes threatening "Right, baby?"

The pet name caught everybody off guard,  Youngjae's polite smile twitched surprised and you felt how your heart stopped beating in that exact second, Jaebum didn't know which reaction had been more amusing. Clearing his throat, he looked back at you, smirk returning and one of his eyebrows arched as he awaited for you to join the conversation. 

"What?" You asked again, watching as he leaned back against the wall, covering his mouth as he attempted not to laugh. What kind of psycho was he? 

"Your neighbor here came to check up on you, he probably heard you screaming before" He explained slowly, motioning with his head for you to approach them. 

"Oh, I'm sorry about that Youngjae" You apologized with a small smile, standing besides the mysterious guy "I was just with my headphones on, he just appeared out of nowhere and I didn't expect it" By the corner of your eyes you saw him smile satisfied by your lie, clearly happy about it. 

"It's totally fine! I just heard you screaming and I got worried, I thought you were alone and that something might have happened to you so I came to check up on you" Youngjae was obviously embarrassed, it was given away by how his cheeks had turned red and by the way he kept scratching the back part of his neck "So you are…."

"My name is Im Jaebum" He said with a small smile, one that was obviously fake, and placed one of his arms on your shoulder, gently pulling your body closer to his. The gesture caught you off guard, blushing at the sudden feeling of his warmth against you and the scent of his manly perfume surrounding you. "I'm (Y/N)'s boyfriend"

Your head shot up at him, eyes opened as wide as plates again as soon as you heard those words. What was going on? Why did he present himself as your boyfriend? 

"Nice to meet-" Youngjae started saying but Jaebum was already on the process of closing the door, ready to end the conversation. 

"Same! See you around buddy" 

He closed the door on Youngjae’s face, not even letting you say goodbye to him. After that, he turned around to face you and as soon as his confident eyes met your confused ones, Jaebum’s smirk returned. 

“Finally” He whispered, raising his hand to push you back against the wall in a gentle way “He was so annoying” You opened your mouth to say something but Jaebum moved his body closer to yours, confusing your poor brain with his warmth and his hypnotizing perfume “He’s not going to be a problem, is he?”

“What are you talking about Jaebum?” You asked frustrated, almost angry at him for not explaining whatever was going on at the moment.

He groaned, lowering his lips closer to yours “Say my name again babygirl, love it how it sounds coming from your lips” He whispered, brushing his lips against your neck. 

You placed your hands on his chest, trying to push him away but he got you feeling weak enough to lose against him “Jaebum no…”

“Jaebum yes” He whispered smiling, trailing one of his hands down your cheek and to your chin, tilting it upwards so you would look into each other’s eyes. “Now that we’re alone, let me kiss my girlfriend in peace”

Just like that, before you could do something about it, Jaebum -the mysterious guy that had showed up in your house a few minutes ago- leaned closer to you and closed the distance between your lips, giving you the most passionate yet sweet kiss you’ve ever received.

Not like he had too much to compete against with.

Jaebum had just stolen your first kiss.

[bakubaewritings]

Lost (4)

Warning Cursing 

(1)     (2)    (3)     5(coming soon)

If you’d like to be tagged in the next part feel free to comment or private message me <3

The air was thick with tension; it loomed over the two of you like a dark fog,  in complete silence. No one dared speak a word. Outside there was no sound of traffic or bird song, just silence.

"Y/n." Emotions consumed Todoroki all at once. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold you in his arms. He missed you; he missed everything about you, how you smelled, how your skin felt against his, the sound of your voice, the taste of your lips. Those long sorrow-filled weeks without you, without speaking a word to you after having you run out of his life, due to his fault.

"Get out," your voice was low and harsh. The coldness in your tone bitterly nipped at Todoroki's hopeful aura. His eyes began to swell with tears at her words.

"Y/n?" He beckoned again, walking over to the hospital bed. He craved your touch, the warmth that radiated off your skin was so much more than superficial. It warmed his heart; in your time together you had become his safe place. He found comfort in your voice and calmness in your eyes.

However, the look painted all on your face was not one of joy; it was rage and disgust.

"Get out, Todoroki." Your voice grew louder, down an octave as it fell to a low growl. He wanted to convince himself that you didn't mean him. However, he understood. You deserved to feel angry at him for his actions; he would be fooling himself to think you'd ever be able to forget and forgive.

"I know you want me to go, but hear me out Y/n, please." His hands balled to fists at his sides. Heat radiated off him in waves as his emotions began to fule into his quirk. The way his heart pounded against his ribcage rang in his ears. Shoto had never been one to show so much emotion, he was always calm and cool, however when it came to you, maybe he wouldn't demonstrate it, but you were what connected him to his genuine emotions. You had introduced him to emotions he'd never felt in his life. You had become his gravity, the center of his whole world. You kept him human, while still pushing him to follow his dreams, something he'd never really had as a child.

You stayed silent, biting down on the inside of your cheek in an attempt to distract yourself from the urge to begin sobbing. You refused to look him in the eye; to you his eyes only held betrayal. You'd already spent the entire summer attempting to scrub away the image of Shoto and Momo. You didn't need a reminder.

"I betrayed your trust, and I know that . I was an awful partner ,and you have every right to be upset and angry at me. I know me simply saying sorry will not erase the situation; what I did was unforgivable, but for what it is worth Y/n L/n I am so sorry, I never met to hurt you at all." There was a brief pause, Todoroki swallowed the lump in his throat. It took every bit of strength to hold back his tears. He made his way towards you; his gaze never left your face as your eyes desperately tried to keep starting at objects around the room.

"Y/n you know me, you know me better than anyone. You know how much I love you, and I'd never do anything to hurt you purposefully." He was next to you, knees firmly on the ground.  You could feel his quirk radiating off him in polar temperatures. His face burned in the white hospital sheets that clung to your lap.

"You didn't kiss her." The words fell from your lips as clarity began to paint your thoughts. Shoto hadn't properly hugged a girl that wasn't in his immediate family before you, he was always reserved and respectful, never one to demonstarte so much emotion, especially kissing a fellow classmate in a dormitory gym. It was completely and utterly out of character for the bi-hair colored boy.

"I'd never, disrespect you like that Y/n." His words muffled against the sheets, you could feel his burning skin through the thin fabric as the heat began to dance on your thigh. "I love you."

There they were, for the first time in what had now been months you'd finally heard him utter those three words. You'd remember how patently you waited for him to feel comfortable enough to understand the feeling of love between two people that were more than just friends.

"Forgive me for assuming it was mutual but you can't blame me Todoroki, You became so distant from me. All it became was Momo this and Momo that. How was I supposed to feel?"

His head shifted from your lap. He looked up at you with small tears wetting his long lashes. "I have no explanation, to be quite honest, I was oblivious. I should have taken your feelings into account, you were always so patient and understanding, and I took advantage of that. I assumed you didn't need me as much to help you, and when Yaoyorozu asked for my help, I just wanted to be kind, just like you. You're always putting others before you, helping people with everything you can. It's the quality of a true hero, an amazing hero. I wanted to be like you." You'd be lying to yourself if you said his words did not affect you. No, every sentence was another tug at your heartstrings.

" I did notice we weren't spending as much time together, and I didn't like it either. I let another girl occupy the time I should have been giving to you. The one girl who's been by my side through it all. I have no excuse for what I did, I know it was incredibly wrong, but please Y/n, I love you. Give me another chance." Your hands, so petite compared to his much larger frame, came to cup the sides of his head lovingly. However, that was also when you noticed it, the diamond that shone brightly on your finger, placed on there by his own brother.

Dabi, Todoroki Touya. The man who had comforted you in the last days, a man who you'd grown incredibly close to, a man who you were to marry.

Unfortunately, the cold band did not go unnoticed by the youngest Todoroki either. He flinched away from it in confusion. He was peering down at it in a clear face of disdane.

"Y/n?" It sounded more of a warning than a question. Like a desert, your words had dried out in your troat. Your mind only drew blanks. How were you going to explain that you were to marry his brother?

The sound of the door creeking open tore your attention from one another.

"Hey, little brother, finally decided to make a comeback." An apparent scowl was on full display on Dabi's face as he walked into the room, a white paper bag in hand, letters decortating the bag displaying the name of your favorite restaurant.

"Touya? What are you doing here?"

"Bringing food for my Fiance." He said nonchalantly. Oh, how you wanted to smack him square in the face. The atmosphere changed into a hostile one. Shoto's eyes looked as if they were to pop out of his head at the moment.

"Fiance?" He asked blankly. His face was fully corrupted with anger and confusion.

"Yep, you can ask the old man about more details, but after you graduate this little cutie is gonna be the next Mrs. Touya Todoroki."  Your mouth hung open, every word of of Dabi's mouth was laced with venom. He wanted nothing more than to crawl under his perfect little brother's skin.

"What the hell is going on? Y/n?" He looked at you for any sort of answer, he hoped you'd just laugh it off as a joke. A hilarious way to make him feel awful for what had happened, but when you gave no such indication of a joke he knew. This was real.

"I.." You couldn't speak. No string of words that formed in your brain were coherent. There was nothing you could say that would fix the situation. Of course, you had to tell him all this eventually, but this was way too soon.

"Someone explain what the hell is going on?" A deep growl came from Shoto as he glared daggers at Dabi.

"Why don't you leave Shoto, Y/n needs to rest. She doesn't need you here with your petty apologizes."

'Dabi." You let out a gasp at his words.

"You leave Touya. You have no part in this. Y/n is mine."  The two men advanced at each other, getting into a fighting stance.

"Shoto, Dabi stop!" You pleaded with the two boys. The gap between them getting smaller, ready to use their quirks against each other at any minute. Shoto's right side had begun to cover in a thin sheet of frost, while the left began to heat up. Dabi, on the other hand, his aura turned dark as a blue glow emitted from his hands.

"Enough!" You shouted out, now using your quirk to gather any water from the room and using a technique to shape it as tentacles and pull both boys apart from each other.

"Dabi, Shoto and I are going to have to talk about this. This is sooner than I'd would have wanted, but It's going to happen." You huffed, at the dark hair colored boy, turning to Shoto, "we may have a lot of talk about, and you will get an explanation, but both of you need to control yourselves and not try to kill each other! Now can I please get discharged then we can go to Endavour and, he will explain everything because I'm, not wasting my breath talking about this whole bullshit anymore!" Wide eyes stared at you, as your voice rose in anger. You were annoyed, you couldn't seem to catch a break. You just wanted to disappear.

Pent up anger and frustration towards everything had been coming undone just by seeing  Shoto.

"I'm so over this bullshit!" Never one to curse, never one to raise your voice, always the perfect little lady. The facade was coming undone.

"I can't catch a god damn break; when everything seems to be going okay another damn brick is thrown my fucking way. I'm just trying to get better, does no one care how I feel?" Your voice was getting louder by the second. A crowd of people, doctors, nurses, and even your fellow classmates were at your door.

"Does no one care I had no time to grieve? Does That asshole of a god damn man take pleasure in fucking with my future? Does my own family really care more about our god damn imagine than to let me actually live and be myself?" To be honest, eveyone had faded from your eyes. All you see was an empty red color as you continued to rage.

"Grieve?" The word played in Shoto Todoroki's head like a broken record. Grieving what? He asked himself.

You hadn't realized, but you were standing now, your water tentacles wrapped around the men's torsos tightening with your quirk.

"Doll, calm down now, please. It's getting a little too tight." Dabi struggled to attempt to wiggle out of the grip.

"Too tight!?" You know what's tight?" You yelped, hot tears falling from your cheeks. "This god damn burden, I have pushed my god damn chest inward. I'm going insane!"You cried, falling to the ground. You lost your control on your quirk, and the water splashed into the ground.

Shoto's mind was moving 50 miles a second in attempting to understand what was going on. Had you felt a burden for being engaged to his brother? Surely he knew his father was responsible, but why you had agreed to, he still coudn't understand. Nevertheless, he was first to rush to your side. Falling against his chest, you laid silent, letting your tears finish falling.

Crying, felt like the only thing you could do for these last months.

"Let's get you home. Okay, let's get you out of this place." Shoto whispered softly in your ear, brushing yout hair back so you can bury your face deeper in his chest. He couldn't lie, having you this close again, this made his heart sore.

Now Dabi could only stand and watch holding back his own emotions as the girl he'd come to love fell right back into the arms of the man you truly belonged with.

[skyward-children]

About the prompt post: how about Link learning How To Invent A Kingdom And A Royal Family or creating things for future Heroes to use? (like the Ocarina of Time or Spinner)

Hey! I’m back! With a really awful oneshot featuring the creation of...a certain object.

(thanks for the ask, btw!)

Notes for AFTER you read: I’m only using a theory someone had once, the entire oneshot is really choppy and I could’ve put more time into it but...meh..., the song Zelda plays isn’t a specific song, and EYYY to that lil bit of Zelink! (just a little though. wouldn't want to make this whole thing Zelink...actually no, I totally would). 

Enjoy! 

~~~

“Knock, knock?” Zelda tapped her knuckles on the door to Link’s room, shifting the tray of hot chocolate and pumpkin cookies she held in her other hand. She waited patiently for a reply. Link had been holed up in his room all morning, and Zelda figured he could use some treats and a friendly face. 

After a moment there came a muffled grunt. “Come in.” 

Zelda pushed the door open and entered to discover Link seated at his desk, still dressed in his sleepwear. His hair was tousled, and as he swiveled in his chair to look at her, she saw he looked frustrated with himself. Instant concern swept through her. “Are you okay?” she asked, setting the tray of food down. 

Link nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just can’t figure out what to do with this.” He lifted his hands, which held a large, dark purple crystal that Zelda recognized as a Timeshift stone. 

Her eyes widened. “How’d you get that?” 

Link sighed. “I was in the desert one day, looking for sand cicadas, and I stumbled across this, just buried in the sand. Unlike the other stones I’d come across, it wasn’t embedded in any kind of rock or device. It was just there. I took it. I thought maybe it could be useful. But it turns out that the stones don’t function unless they’re fastened to a device or stuck in a rock. I don’t know why. But see?” He stabbed at the crystal with a quill pen. The tip of the pen collided with the stone, which remained unchanged. “Nothing happens when you hit it.” He sighed again, more loudly. “I don’t know what to do with it. It’s too big to be any kind of decoration.” 

Zelda stared at the stone thoughtfully, touching a finger to her chin. Her gaze drifted from the stone to the walls of Link’s room, trailing slowly around it until her eyes fell upon the little wooden figurines on Link’s shelves. Zelda gasped as an idea struck her. Excitedly she looked at Link. “Link! I know!”

Link looked up at her in surprise. “Know what?” 

“What you can do with the stone!” Zelda reached forward and picked up the heavy crystal, eyes shining. “You’ve carved wood before, right? Well, why don’t you try carving this? You could make it into something for decoration, or something useful! Like a--a--” She spotted the Goddess Harp, resting against a wall, and almost dropped the crystal in her excitement. “Like a musical instrument! Come on, Link! Think of the possibilities!” 

Link gaped at her, scratching the back of his head. “Well...I dunno...I guess if I can carve wood, I can carve stone. Maybe.” Dubiously he took the crystal from Zelda, looking at his distorted reflection in its surface and grinning a little. “Yeah, now that I think about it...that sounds really fun, actually!” He set the crystal on his desk and stood, beaming at Zelda. “Thanks, Zel! You always have the best ideas.” 

Zelda laughed nervously. “Heh, yeah, no problem!” She watched as Link walked over to the tray of food she’d brought and began hungrily inspecting its contents. “Wow, did you make these, Zel?” he mumbled after taking a bite of cookie.

 “They’re so good!”

“Only the best for my hero,” Zelda replied teasingly. 

Link rolled his eyes but smiled. “I can’t wait to get started working on that,” he said, nodding and indicating the timeshift stone. 

Zelda smiled. “Maybe work on getting a decent meal first, huh?” 

“Cookies make a decent meal,” protested Link. 

But Zelda was already dragging him out the door.

~~~

A few weeks passed since that incident, and in that time, Link spent a lot of time in his room at Knight Academy. Tapping sounds could be heard coming from within, along with the occasional grunt or yell of frustration. Zelda knew Link was very busy working on the Timeshift stone, but still, she missed him. So she was glad when one morning he emerged from his room, pushing hair from his eyes and looking tired, but smiling and announcing he had finished working on the stone. 

“Can I see?” Zelda asked, smiling up at him.

Link nodded, returning the gesture and reaching to take her hand. Oh goddess, the butterflies in her stomach--Zelda pushed the feeling away, following Link into his room. She gasped a little. The timeshift stone, which before had been a shapeless mass of crystal, had been sculpted into a bizarre, yet beautiful, object. A number of holes had been created on its surface, and a sort of stem led up to another hole, a band wrapping around the stem. The object had been chipped away at until its surface was perfectly smooth, the light glistening off of it. It was indeed fascinating. But Zelda had one question. 

“What is it?” 

Link hesitated, seeming unsure. “I don’t actually know. I sort of...dreamed it...and I guess I thought it would be fun to make. It seemed like it would serve some type of purpose, maybe? I guess we can see how it sounds.” “It makes noise? So you did make an instrument!” Ecstatic, Zelda went over and picked the instrument up, touching its glassy surface. “Can--can I try to play it?” “Sure, go ahead!” 

Zelda, feeling a little silly, placed her lips to the mouthhole of the instrument and blew. A loud squeak issued from it, startling her. 

“Try putting your fingers on some of the holes,” Link suggested. 

Zelda did as he told her, moving her fingers around on the various holes, and the squeaks and squawks from the instrument somehow morphed into a kind of discordant melody. A strange feeling came over Zelda, and her fingers began to fly over the instrument, creating a tune that neither she nor Link had heard before. Zelda suddenly felt like the floor was falling from below her feet, and she stopped playing, opening her eyes to discover it was night. 

She stared at Link. “Wasn’t it just morning…?” 

Link’s eyes widened. “Maybe the stone still does affect time!” he gasped. “Just not in the way I thought!” He took the instrument and stared at it, his brow furrowed. “I...maybe the dream I had about this...was a message?” 

Zelda shook her head. “It seems likely,” she said. 

Link continued to stare at the stone, puzzled. “Well, whatever this is, I guess we’ll have to keep messing with it. See what we can discover.” He set the instrument down on his desk, then flipped through the pages of a worn leather journal resting nearby, coming to a stop on a blank page. He scribbled a few notes in it, then slammed the journal shut and looked at Zelda. 

“I really think we’ve discovered something here, Zel. Something...world-changing, maybe.” 

A shiver ran through Zelda, and not just from Link’s gaze. She looked at the dark blue instrument resting on Link’s desk. What secrets could you hold? she wondered. What will you cause to happen? 

~~~

Now, tens of thousands of years later, a young boy stared at the ocarina in his hands, and he wondered the exact same thing. 

[deathonyourtongue]

Welcome Home

Summary: Everything would be perfect, if he could just get home. Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader Word Count: 2K Warnings: Miscarriage, HEAVY angst. Please don’t read if these things trigger you in any way. A/N: This is what happens when personal boy issues, wine, and crying Henry gifs collide. I apologize in advance. The song for this one is Lovely - Billie Eilish, Khalid

“And then literally Desmond says, ‘just give him the bloody axe, he’ll do it himself!’”

You laugh at the culmination of Henry’s story, an anecdote involving a very large tree, a very nervous crew member, and a director who put more stock in his lead actor than any of the men hired to actually remove the tree from the shooting location. 

“How’s our little one?” Henry asks after a moment, his voice tender and sweet, already a doting father even though you’re only six months along. 

“She’s having a little dance party, but I think that’s due to the chocolate chip cookie I ate an hour ago,” you laugh, rubbing the belly that sprang up overnight; It seemed like only last week you still had a flat tummy.

“Well, you tell her daddy can’t wait to come home and give her and mummy so many kisses she’ll lose count.” You can hear the smile in his voice and it warms your heart, cementing Henry as the man you want to grow old with and have many more babies with. 

“Mummy misses daddy a lot. When are you coming home, babe?” You ask softly, knowing production had been plagued with delays ranging from weather to a stomach bug that had laid out half the crew and nearly all of the cast. Henry sighs thoughtfully, the sound making it clear that he too is frustrated by the schedule. 

“If all goes according to plan from here on out, I should be home next month.” It’s not ideal, especially as your pregnancy draws to a close, but it’s better than nothing. 

“I’ll be at Heathrow with bells on, and maybe your mother in tow,” you chuckle, trying to bring levity to a situation you knew was hard on both of you. An affectionate person by nature, you know it’s hard for Henry to be away from those he loves. You miss him more than words can describe and you know that him coming home will be the balm for all the aches, nausea, and trouble sleeping you’ve had since first getting the news. 

“I can’t wait to see you, love. Miss you so much. Sleep now, and I’ll text you in the morning. Love you to the moon and back, darling.” Henry’s words bring tears to your eyes, as they always do when you’re apart for an extended duration, but you manage to keep your voice even as you respond in kind, saying your own ‘I love you’s in the nick of time, hearing Henry’s name being called by production just as you finish. 

It’ll be a long month, but you know that soon enough, the man who keeps your heart will be back and you’ll be nestled in his arms, where you belong. 

            ______________________________________

You wake from a decent sleep when, after rolling over, you feel wetness coat your outer thigh. Thinking you must have been dreaming of the ocean a little too much, you feel around for the bedside light switch and turn it on, rubbing your eyes to ease the switch from the darkness. You’re really not in the mood to deal with having to change the sheets, but what meets your eyes is beyond changing. Bright crimson instantly sets off alarms, and you look down to find that the source is exactly what you were hoping it wouldn’t be. 

There’s little time to react as a bolt of pain ricochets through your entire torso, emanating from your womb and immediately making you want to vomit. You manage to reach for the phone and call for an ambulance, but make it clear they may have to break down the door to get to you. For once, you’re grateful that Henry takes Kal with him whenever he goes to shoot, as the dog would hinder more than help as you pull together all your strength to try and stand. 

The room spins violently and you manage to grab onto the doorframe before your knees turn to jello. Taking several deep breaths, you wait for the wave of nausea to pass before dragging yourself to the staircase. Crumpling at the top of the stairs, you breathe slowly before moving down like a child pretending to be on a slide. You’re out of breath from pain by the time you get to the bottom and it takes the last of your energy to reach up and unlock the front door. Cell phone gripped tightly in hand, you do your best to stay awake, hearing the sirens in the distance. 

Though you have no memory of arriving at the hospital, one directive repeats in your head like a marching order, and you make sure to tell every doctor or nurse that comes into your triage room that under no circumstances do you want anyone to be contacted, especially the father of your baby or his family. The staff at the Royal find the request odd, but because you’re awake and alert, they have no choice but to heed your wishes. With your own family an ocean away, your request leaves you no choice but to go through the ordeal alone. All the better, you think, guilt already forming as the doctor breaks the bad news.

Your world is overturned in a matter of hours. They put you on Oxytocin, and pain the likes of which you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy is your sole companion for the next several hours as you’re induced for a birth you’ll never be able to celebrate. When all is said and done, the nurses ask if you want to hold your baby, and against your better judgment, you say yes.

Seeing her perfect, peaceful face breaks you. 

          ______________________________________

A month and a half to the date of the phone call, Henry arrives at Heathrow to find, much to his confusion, only his mother waiting for him. He greets her warmly, but his eyes scan the arrival area, hoping that you’d maybe just run off to use the restroom. When he finds no indication of your presence, his attention turns back to his mother. 

“Where is she, mum?” He asks, unable to piece together why you aren’t there, in his arms, where you promised you would be. Henry’s mother looks anywhere but at her son, unable to find a way to explain that everything he knew and was expecting had irrevocably changed. 

“She couldn’t make it on account of the...I’ll take you to her, son.” 

Henry tries not to let his imagination run wild as his mother drives north, past the home he shares with you. When the car crosses into Mayfair, Henry begins to panic. “Mum…” His tone is low, distrusting, frightened. His mother’s hand is clammy as it finds his, squeezing in a way that’s meant to be supportive, but only fuels his anxiety. 

He begins to visibly tremble when the engine cuts off in front of Nightingale Hospital. “Please tell me what’s going on. Why are we here? What happened? Mum, please.” His whispered appeal breaks his mother’s heart and she cups his face, willing herself not to shed tears yet again, for her son’s sake. 

“I’m sorry, Henry, love. I’m so sorry, my darling.” The explanation sticks in her throat, allowing only platitudes to escape and leaving Henry with no choice but to fly from the car and into the private hospital. 

The receptionist looks shocked when she recognizes him and forgets her job for a moment when he asks for your room number. “The last name is Cavill. Please, hurry. I need to see her.” When it’s explained that patients aren’t generally allowed visitors, Henry nearly begins foaming at the mouth, feeling as though he’s losing his own mind. He asks to speak to the doctor in charge, and before long is ushered into an office and poured a cup of tea, the banal formality only serving to anger him more. 

“Why is my wife in this godforsaken place?” He barks at the doctor the moment the door is closed, wanting answers and wanting them immediately. The doctor takes a seat, his expression sympathetic. 

“Mr. Cavill, I apologize that we weren’t able to reach you, but your wife, before taking a turn for the worse, made it explicitly clear that we were not to contact you. At this time, given that she can no longer make those sorts of decisions, her instructions fall back to you as her power of attorney.” The doctor takes a deep breath, knowing that what he’s about to say will break the man in front of him. 

“Your wife had a late-term miscarriage about a month and a half ago. It was exceedingly traumatic for her, especially as the common procedure for dealing with these sorts of things is to induce and force labor. Your wife went through all of that trauma alone, by her own choice, as she was repeatedly asked if you were to be contacted. It took several hours for her to deliver your child, and holding the baby afterward put her in a severe downward spiral in terms of her mental health. She’s been residing with us since her delivery and I’m sorry to say, but as of late, she’s been in a catatonic state, giving us minimal responses. At this stage, we’re simply providing palliative care to your wife. Unfortunately, many in her condition never recover, so we do our best to keep her comfortable, healthy, and calm.” 

Henry keeps his mouth pressed firmly closed in order not to scream. Blowing air through his nose, he forces himself to bite his tongue until it bleeds, chest heaving as he fights for control. If he can’t keep it together, he can’t see you and that’s all that matters to him at this point. 

“May I see my wife? I’ve been overseas for the last six months, shooting a film. I w-was expecting her at the airport.” His voice sounds wrong to him, pinched and tinny. He knows he has tears in his eyes as the doctor is blurry, but he refuses to let them fall, his need to be strong for you taking over any allowance for grieving. 

“I’ve been told she’s not having a good day today, so if she refuses to look at you, to let you touch her, to make any form of response, please do not think it your doing. It’s the nature of her condition,” the doctor warns as he approaches your room. 

It’s all Henry can do not to break down right there and then, the heels of his palms pressing hard into his eyes, teeth clenched as he tries to remember how to breathe. The woman in the bed, staring passively through him isn’t the woman he loves, the one he would die for. That woman is gone, replaced with a cheap, emotionless facsimile that breaks him even more. Resting his hands on his knees, he tries to catch his breath, wishing he’d come home sooner.

            ______________________________________

By the time he’s back in his mother’s car, Henry’s numb to everything but the pain searing through his chest, “Take me home, mum. Please,” he murmurs, Henry’s head lolling onto the window for the duration of the drive back to your former home. He refuses to allow his mother in the house, pleading with her to go home and wait for his call.  She takes Kal with her, knowing her son well enough to understand that he needs to grieve in his own way. 

Henry’s not ready for the blood, having assumed that someone would have cleaned it up by now, but the Hansel and Gretel trail is hard to miss and with leaden steps, he moves upstairs.

Left in the exact condition it was last used in, the room you two shared leaves no question of what happened and what you went through, alone. His knees give out as he takes in the sheer quantity of blood on the bed, Henry guilt-ridden that he wasn’t there for you when you needed him most. 

Finally freed of any need to save face or be strong for others, Henry screams from the depths of his shattered soul, the sound unbroken until anguish consumes his voice and tears flood his face. Finding his feet, Henry staggers to the bed and curls up around the remnants of his previous life, wailing over the permanent reminder of what almost was.

[wangxiangiftexchange]

Winter Solstice Gift for withbroombefore

A very happy solstice to you, @withbroombefore! I really enjoyed your prompts!! <33 

Read On AO3

*****

if you desire healing (let yourself fall ill)

It was cold when Wei Wuxian woke up.

Or well, not cold, precisely, but the pleasant cool of a late spring evening, before the weather warmed enough for the evenings to be hot and sticky.  But the last that Wei Wuxian could remember, everything around him had been scorching hot.  The blazing sun of Qishan’s banners originally had been adopted in recognition not of the Wen’s ego but of the truest enemy to Wen prosperity, the burning celestial light that threatened to turn their farmlands into deserts with its near-constant presence.  Wei Wuxian had never understood the choice better than in the months of the Sunshot Campaign, stuck in the constant sweltering heat and resultant dust clogging the air without the possibility of any of the relief found in Lotus Pier’s rivers and lakes.  Qishan had never gotten cooler than not-hot-enough-to-be-actively-uncomfortable, so when Wei Wuxian woke up to a pleasant chill, he knew that he could not be in the wilds of Qishan.

Eyes still closed, he took a deep breath, inhaling a smooth mixture of cedarwood, juniper, and lavender.  Healing incense was burning somewhere in the room with him.  Healing, so not a particularly deep dungeon.  A pleasant surprise.  Had Wen Ruohan been defeated?  He thought so.

The soft sound of the guqin reached him then.  It sounded familiar.  Wei Wuxian struggled to open his eyes, turning his head.  He groaned quietly in frustration when his eyelids refused to lift.  The guqin stopped.

“Wei Ying?”

There was the gentle sound of cloth slipping against cloth, and a faint hint of sandalwood on the air as a hand wrapped lightly around his wrist, another hand displacing a cloth from his forehead to feel his brow.  Wei Wuxian struggled once more.  He forced his eyes to open, dragging all his energy to gain the smallest view, and was rewarded with the sight of familiar golden eyes looking down at him.

“Wei Ying, rest.”  Lan Zhan said.  “Heal.”

Well.  It wasn’t like Wei Wuxian had the energy to argue with him.

~

Weeks ago, as Wen Ruohan lay dead at their feet, Meng Yao atop the stairs with a malicious smile on his face, Wei Ying had fallen back into Lan Wangji’s arms, and for one terrifying moment, Lan Wangji was convinced that Wei Ying was dead as well.  He did not respond to Lan Wangji’s cries, but a quick grasp of his wrist confirmed that his heart continued to beat.  His spiritual meridians had felt like glutinous rice, so thick and sticky was the resentful energy in them.  

Someone ran up, nearly falling on the stairs beside them.

“Wei Wuxian!” had said Jiang Wanyin.  “Is he - ?”

“Alive,” Lan Wangji had replied, with a relief that seemed to echo in the easing of Jiang Wanyin’s breath.  “He needs healing.  I will take him.”

He had shifted Wei Ying sideways in his arms and had an arm under his knees.  Lan Wangji was on his sword and already flying off as Jiang Wanyin found his voice to shout after him, “Lan-er-gongzi!”

Lan Wangji did not turn around.  Their healers had kept pace, moving camp each day based on the safest position amongst the troops, with the most severely wounded ready to be escorted back to Qinghe at the earliest opportunity.  He had scarcely left the palace grounds when he came upon them, passing Wei Ying to them and forcing himself not to resist as a team of them pushed him aside.

Wei Ying would recover.  Lan Wangji would not accept any other option.  This was the thought that had run through his head constantly, for the week and a half in Nightless City as the defeat of the Wens was finalized and Wei Ying remained unaware of the world changing around him until it came time for them all to head home.  

Xiongzhang had made the offer, almost certainly because he knew Lan Wangji would have insisted on going back to Lotus Pier with Wei Ying if the offer had not been made.

“Your brother is still recovering from the efforts needed to defeat Wen Ruohan,” he had said to Jiang Wanyin during a calmer moment at the banquet to which he had dragged Lan Wangji, having sought a private word while the guests were circulating and sharing small toasts with one another.  “If you will forgive my blunt speech, Lotus Pier suffered tremendously during the Sunshot Campaign and is itself still in need of recovery and repair.  While Cloud Recesses were damaged, we lost fewer and have had more time to repair, such that our healing halls have been restored to good order.  If you would permit us, we of the GusuLan would bring your brother back to Gusu with us, to assist in his recovery.”  

Jiang Wanyin had hesitated.  “Your offer is generous, Zewu-jun, and YungmengJiang thanks you for it.  It is true that our brother remains in need of healing, and we appreciate Hanguang-jun’s kindness in playing healing music for him these past days.  You must understand our hesitance to be separated from Wei Wuxian while he is in this condition.”

“Entirely understandable,” Xiongzhang had responded, nodding his head.  “We are happy to extend the invitation to Jiang-guniang as well.  As a Sect Leader, I am certain that you wish to return home immediately to deal with the necessary repairs, though we would, of course, welcome you as well.”

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli had interrupted, grabbing the crook of her brother’s elbow just as he began to open his mouth.  Jiang Wanyin had met his sister’s eyes, and Lan Wangji wondered, in that moment, whether she intended to turn his mind to permit them to take Wei Ying or to force him to keep Wei Ying with them as they returned to Lotus Pier.  Jiang Wanyin stood still for a long moment, then sighed.

“On behalf of both of my siblings, we gratefully accept your offer,” Jiang Wanyin had replied, bowing.  Xiongzhang had returned the bow, and that had been that.  The following morning, Jiang Yanli and Wei Ying had been settled into a carriage bound for Gusu even as Jiang Wanyin led his sect home.  On foot, as many of their soldiers had been, and given Qishan’s distance from Gusu, the trip had taken well over a week.  Xiongzhang had not asked Lan Wangji’s preferences for returning to Gusu, a wry smile playing on his face as he had instructed Lan Wangji to lead their soldiers and the injured back carefully.

Arriving in GusuLan brought some of the sect’s most experienced healers into play - those too old or too injured to be risked on the fields of war.  Lan Jinhua had been old before Lan Wangji was even born, and had been prevailed upon to stay behind in deference to her ongoing recovery from a leg injury sustained during Wen Xu’s attack on Cloud Recesses.  Wei Wuxian, still unconscious, had been carried in on a stretcher and brought directly to her.  

“If you’re going to stay, play Clarity,” she instructed Lan Wangji before ignoring him to examine her patient.  Lan Wangji had not discerned anything odd in her examination until she gave a quiet gasp, saying, “Oh, you poor boy!”

Lan Wangji’s hands frozen above the strings, losing the tune.

“Healer?” prompted Jiang Yanli from where she had folded to her knees near Lan Wangji, waiting patiently as her brother was examined.

Lan Jinhua tilted her head back, as if just recalling that they were there.

“What do you know of what happened to this boy?” she asked, releasing her hands from Wei Ying’s form.  “Where did his seal come from?”

“Apologies, but my brother has not spoken of the seal’s origins,” Jiang Yanli replied.  “I do not know if word reached here, but he was missing for three months not long after the Wens attacked Lotus Pier.  He did not speak of where he had been when he returned, able to use resentful energy to direct corpses on the battlefield.  Aside from using different cultivation, my brother has otherwise been engaged in the same business as the rest of the Sunshot Campaign.”

Lan Wangji shifted minutely when Jiang Yanli indicated that Wei Ying had not spoken of his disappearance.  With another healer, one less acquainted with himself, the change might have been unnoticed.  Lan Jinhua turned to him in an instant, head tilted to await an answer.

“Burial Mounds,” Lan Wangji replied.  Beside him, Jiang Yanli gasped.  Lan Jinhua looked grim.

“That would explain it,” the healer said.  “I will ask you both to remain calm.  His meridians are intact, but his core has been overwhelmed - his golden core is gone.  That is not the most immediate problem.”

“What could be more immediate than his golden core?”  Jiang Yanli asked.  Her voice shook, and when glanced at her, Lan Wangji saw that her whole body trembled with it.

“He is possessed.”

Lan Wangji’s head snapped back to Lan Jinhua.

“That can’t be,” Jiang Yanli was saying, shaking her head.  “He returned to us over a year ago.  Surely we would have noticed, would have seen some sign of the possession in all that time.”

Lan Jinhua held up her hand, waiting for Jiang-guniang to stop.  “Under ordinary circumstances, most likely, you would have, and that you did not speaks both highly of his will and greatly in favor of his chances of recovery.  It is not just one spirit that possesses him, but dozens, if not more.  We must first cleanse him of the possession and the resentful energy before we can restore his golden core.”

“Can it even be done?” the younger woman asked.  “When A-Cheng was struck by the Core Melting Hand, Wen-guniang told us that there was no way to recover his golden core.”

At this, Lan Wangji turned once more to Jiang Yanli, eyes wide.  He had seen Jiang Wanyin wielding sword and spiritual whip alike not three weeks before, as he had for the entire length of the war.  Jiang Yanli, sensing his confusion, turned to him and shook her head.

“I don’t know how A-Cheng’s was restored.  He and A-Xian asked Song Lan to bring me to Jinlintai for my safety.  They were separated shortly thereafter, and that is when A-Xian went missing.”

“You say that your brother’s golden core was restored after being destroyed by the Core Melting Hand?”  Lan Jinhua stepped forward, then visibly stopped herself.  “I would be grateful for anything more that you could say on that theme at a later date, as it would help many of our cultivators who suffered at his hand.  But for the moment, let us return to your brother here with us now.”

A tiny smile flashed across Jiang Yanli’s face to hear Wei Ying acknowledged as her brother.  Lan Wangji idly wished Wei Ying had been awake to hear it.

The plans were fairly simple, though their execution had ultimately taken several weeks more before the first day that Wei Ying cracked open his eyes.  Incense was mixed to strengthen the mind, release foreign influences, and promote healing.  A mixture of musical cultivation and talisman were used to pull the spirits possessing Wei Ying away from him.  And during this time, Lan Jinhua began the preparation of the necessary elixir that would allow Wei Ying to pick up his sword once more.

With consent from his uncle, who after years of railing against Lan Wangi’s association with Wei Ying had been surprisingly sympathetic when the situation had been explained to him, Lan Wangji spent that time by Wei Ying’s bedside, playing for him among the healers.  Jiang Yanli was a fixture of the room, there at all times when the healers had not insisted she leave.

Jiang Yanli made surprisingly pleasant company.  She did not insist on speech, and had either brought with her or acquired from the sect garments in need of repair, so that she could sew while he played.  At regular intervals, she would brew tea, a process at which she was excellent, and on some mornings she would bring small treats with her that she must have made herself, for Lan Wangji knew that such things were not part of the regular cuisine of Cloud Recesses.

Other than that, there was nothing to do but wait.

~

“ - you eat pork at all?” said a familiar female voice the next time Wei Wuxian swam back to consciousness.  “I have made A-Xian’s favorite soup for him to eat once he wakes up, and I am sure that he would be pleased to share the meal with you.”

“Mn,” an equally familiar, warm voice hummed in response, and the room was quiet other than the soft clacking of tea cups on wood.

“-an Zhan?” Wei Wuxian mumbled, eyes still closed.  He heard a shifting of cloth, and then each of his hands was grabbed, one by a large calloused hand, the other by a softer and more delicate touch.  

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan replied.  “Open your eyes.”

And really, who was Wei Wuxian to refuse?

Shijie and Lan Zhan held his hands, both smiling at him.  Or, well, the corner’s of Lan Zhan’s mouth were turned up just the tiniest bit and his eyes were crinkling in a way that seemed like pleasure, and Shijie was wiping away tears but she was truly smiling, warm and genuine.

“How do you feel, A-Xian?” Shijie asked.  Then, slightly louder than she perhaps should have in Cloud Recesses, Shijie called, “Lan-yisheng, A-Xian is awake!”

Nothing hurt.  The absence of pain shouldn’t be something that one could forget, but he very clearly had, because Wei Wuxian couldn’t remember the last time that there hadn’t been at least a dull ache in his chest, if not throughout his body.

“Wei Ying?” asked a concerned voice.

“Ah, I’m fine, Lan Zhan, Shijie,” he replied, struggling to sit up.  “Thank you for worrying.  We are in…?”

“Gusu,” Lan Zhan said, reaching behind him and supporting him into a sitting position.

“Gusu?" Wei Wuxian asked as Lan Zhan tucked pillows behind his back.  "But the war - ?  Wen Ruohan - ?”

Without shifting focus in the slightest, Lan Zhan replied, “We won.  He’s dead.”

“Really?” Wei Wuxian asked as a healer strode into the room.

“Mn.”

“Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian asked, turning to his sister.

“A-Cheng is back in Lotus Pier, doing well, rebuilding,” Shijie responded, clasping her hands together, “but before we give you all the news, you should hear about what has happened with your own health.”

"Yes," interjected an unfamiliar voice.  Wei Wuxian looked over to see a tiny grandmother standing in the doorway.  She limped as she shuffled forward, reaching out to grab his arm and feel for his pulse-point.  "Jiang-guniang is entirely correct about the order of priorities.  Wei-gongzi, how do you feel?"

Wei Wuxian instinctively went to pull his hand away, but for a grandmother, she had surprising grip strength.  

"Wei-gongzi, you have been under my care for some time," she said, "I can assure you, you have no secrets from me."

Wei Wuxian tried to smile.  Tried to relax.  Tried, for a truly wishful moment, to be anywhere else.

"Don't worry, Xianxian," said Jiang Yanli, grabbing his unoccupied hand.  "Lan Jinhua-yisheng has said that she can heal you fully."

Wei Wuxian very politely refrained from saying that Lan-yisheng was incompetent or giving in to the strong impulse to scream from frustration.

Introductions were made, and explanations given.

“It's true, Wei-gongzi.  You truly are quite lucky, in that your meridians remain intact, and your body has suffered no long-lasting physical hurts while you lacked a core, ” Lan Jinhua said, releasing his arm with a neutral expression.  “GusuLan have developed methods of external alchemy that create an elixir which can be used to restart the circulation of your spiritual energy, which will enable you to re-cultivate your golden core.  It will be a long process to restore it to its prior strength, but your body-memory will make it faster than the first time you cultivated your golden core.”

Wei Wuxian’s hand broke from Shijie’s and rose involuntarily to clutch at his lower dantian.

“You’re saying - “  He swallowed.  “You’re saying that I can build a new golden core?”

“Yes,” the healer replied, with the faintest smile.  “Though I must warn you that doing so is likely incompatible with continuing to practice your new style of cultivation.”

“That’s fine!” Wei Wuxian yelped out, and it was only when Lan Zhan squeezed Wei Wuxian’s shoulder that he realized that Lan Zhan had kept his hand on it throughout the conversation.  He glanced down at it, then looked up to warm golden eyes and the most approving near smile he had ever seen on Lan Zhan’s face.

“You should eat and rest until the elixir is ready,” Lan Jinhua said, rising to her feet and withdrawing from the room.

“Yes,” said Shijie, getting to her feet as well.  “Let me bring you some soup, A-Xian.  I made your favourite.”

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian replied without turning his head.  His hand lifted to join the place where Lan Zhan’s hand was wrapped around his, covering Lan Zhan’s hand with his own as he kept his eyes on Lan Zhan.

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.”

Was there anything else to say?

Slowly, as if giving him time to move away if he chose to, Lan Zhan brought his free hand to join their grasp.  His hands were pleasantly warm in the cool air of Gusu.  Wei Ying stared into Lan Zhan’s eyes, watched pleased as Lan Zhan met him steadily.

“You will return to the sword path?”  Lan Zhan asked softly.  Wei Ying laughed, softly rolling his eyes.

“If I had had a choice, I never would have left it, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying replied.  “You’ll have to protect me until I recover enough to fight with you again, okay?”

“Mn.”

“And keep me company while I’m stuck waiting for my body to be well again.”

“Mn.”

“And come night-hunting with me once I’m healed again - ”

“Wei Ying.”  Slightly annoyed, with a sigh.

Wei Ying laughed.  “All right, all right, Lan Zhan.  We will save making plans for after I’m better until I’m actually better, and then we can decide where we want to go.”

The tips of Lan Zhan’s ears turned a bit red as he replied, “I will go anywhere, if Wei Ying will also be there.”

“Lan Zhan!”  Wei Ying flushed to the root of his hair, turning away.  “You can’t just say things like that!  Have pity on this poor coreless man.”

Lan Zhan scoffed, and Wei Ying found it in himself to turn back towards his soulmate.

“We can discuss when you are well.”

“Yes, and also when we are not in the infirmary and there’s no chance that your uncle will happen to choose an inopportune moment to drop in and decide that he hates me even more because - “

“Because?”

“You know why!”

Lan Zhan’s eyes were dancing, but he did not respond.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying shouted, but his annoyance was mostly play, and the look on Lan Zhan’s face said that he had, at last, figured that out.  Wei Ying gave up the act with a laugh.

It was all right.  They would have time to figure it out.

[galaxywhump]

Drowning Sorrows

Trope: Drowning Fandom: Original Work

[Masterlist]

[blue for requested, red for completed]

Timeline: set after Stabbed.

Requested by @procrastinatingsab​. This one’s pretty long, ~3,800 words.

cw: modern slavery, swearing, alcohol, referenced alcohol abuse, drowning, torture, creepy/intimate whumper, defiant whumpee (bordering on broken later), self-loating, degradation, restraints, brainwashing, humiliation, noncon/dubcon touching, emeto/vomiting, slight asphyxiation, referenced whipping, burns and starvation, mentions of snakes, astraphobia and Stockholm syndrome.

taglist: @faewhump​ @inky-whump​ @whole-and-apart-and-between​ @garbagewhump​ @slaintetowhump​ @moose-teeth​ @whatwasmyprevioususername​ @insanitywishes​ @special-spicy-chicken​ @redstainedsocks​ @luminouswhump​ @untilthepainstarts​ @lonesome--hunter​

~~~

“It’s nice to finally take a breather”, Berkeley sighs, sitting back and clasping his hands together behind his head. He stretches his legs out until he almost kicks Wren in the knee; he scowls and moves to the side. “Things have been crazy. But damn does it feel good to visit you two.”

“It’s not mutual”, Wren deadpans, already knowing he’s only going to be met with laughter.

“Speak for yourself, sweetheart. And don’t be rude to our dear friend.”

“Honestly?” Berkeley tilts his head to the side with a pout. “I’m still surprised you’re so liberal with him. Letting him talk back like that?”

“It’s entertaining”, Daniel says with a shrug, and Wren glares at him. “His attitude is part of his charm, really. I’d hate to see it gone. No fun in playing with a broken toy.”

I’m not your fucking toy. 

The mantra never makes it past his lips. He’d get laughed at anyway, and he’s a far cry from looking dignified enough for his protests to make any impact; he’s kneeling on the floor at the two men’s feet, his wrists immobilized behind his back - which has long become what feels like the most natural position - with leather restraints, brand new ones that Berkeley had just delivered from Earth and Daniel immediately wanted to try out.

A desperate part of Wren’s mind immediately clang to the relief that at least they weren’t freezing against his skin like regular handcuffs, and he almost cried at how pathetic it was.

At how pathetic he was.

“You have a point. He’s just too cute when he’s angry.”

“I’m right here, asshole”, Wren growls.

“Case in point.”

He keeps his gaze hostile, but he can feel himself deflating, once again unsure how to act, whether to stay quiet like a good obedient plaything - pathetic toy - or keep fighting and entertaining these monsters.

Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless.

“Come closer, Wren”, Daniel says in a soft voice, holding out his hand like he’s inviting a stray cat. Wren swallows, a mass of shame and helplessness forming in his throat, and for a moment he stays put, going over his options in his mind. In the end Daniel doesn’t need to repeat himself as Wren moves closer and leans forward, and Daniel’s hand rests on his head.

“Oh, that’s just too good.” Wren shudders and grits his teeth when Berkeley touches him as well, scratching behind his ear. “Good boy.”

“Fuck off”, he mutters, and Daniel seizes his chin and lifts it up to keep him from staring at the ground.

“Don’t overdo it, Berkeley”, he says, looking into Wren’s eyes, sparking with anger, with a warm smile. “He’s mine, don’t forget that.”

“I’d never!”, Berkeley laughs and simply watches them for a while before looking to the side, at the freshly restocked alcohol cabinet.

“Hey, Daniel”, he says, standing up. “You want a drink?”

“Sure.” Daniel smiles at Wren one more time before letting go and leaning back on the couch. “Got any whiskey in there?”

“I’ve got everything in there.”

Wren fixes his eyes on the floor while Berkeley prepares the drinks, trying to shut out the sounds of pouring and the voice of his weakness, which seems to have decided to rear its ugly head.

He wanted to quit, he really did - he just never imagined he’d be forced to do so after being sold into slavery.

Sometimes all he wants is a drink, a way to distance himself just for a moment, a sliver of his life on Earth, as miserable as it was.

“Hey, Rackham”, Berkeley says, and Wren looks at him reluctantly. “You want anything?”

He frowns and shakes his head despite the way his heart squeezes.

“Huh. Wren Rackham turning down an opportunity to get shit-faced. A miracle.” Berkeley grins at him and Wren averts his gaze again. “Come on, you’re among friends here. I won’t draw a dick on your forehead, I promise.”

As if that was the worst thing they could do to him if he was drunk.

“Thanks, that really made me reconsider”, he huffs. “I’m good.”

“That you are”, Daniel laughs, and Wren’s eyes narrow. “You can drink something if you want, sweetheart, at the very least to keep us company.”

“I’ve got flavored vodka in here”, Berkeley singsongs. “You like that stuff, don’t you?”

“I said I don’t want any fucking booze”, Wren growls, glancing at him with eyes lighting up with fury. “Even less if it’s from you, fucker.”

“Ouch.” Berkeley puts his hands up in a gesture of surrender. ”You cut me deep, babe.”

“Don’t fucking call me that”, Wren snaps. “And stop that fucking oh-so-friendly act already, you two-faced asshole.”

Berkeley snickers, going back to pouring alcohol, and Wren can’t stop a frustrated growl from escaping him. Two eternally unfazed douchebags have proven to be two too many.

“No need to get so worked up, sweetheart”, Daniel says, reaching to brush over Wren’s face with his knuckles, but he backs off to escape the touch, wincing at the static in his knees as he moves.

“Go fuck yourselves. Both of you.” The anger coursing through him feels good, no matter how useless it really is. “You know what, Berkeley? Give me the fucking booze, I don’t fucking care.”

“Is it just me, or has his swearing gotten even worse?” Berkeley shakes his head with a grimace, and Daniel shrugs with an apologetic smile that only fuels Wren’s fury. “But sure, as you wish, princess. Lemon vodka?”

“Sounds great”, Wren says through gritted teeth, and for a moment there’s silence as Berkeley pours two full shot glasses for him - before turning around and splashing the contents of one of them directly in Wren’s face.

He blinks and sputters, hit by a wave of shock and humiliation the size of a tsunami; the vodka trickles down his face, its sweet, harsh smell burning into his nostrils.

“What the fuck?!”, he shouts.

“Could you please not waste that?”, Daniel sighs, and Berkeley crouches down before Wren and firmly grabs him by the chin, forcing his head up.

“I’m wasting it on him anyway”, he says, holding the other glass closer to his face. “Okay, open up.”

“But why the fucking-”

“Why not? The look on your face was freakin’ hilarious.” He grins. “You can consider it punishment for that foul mouth of yours.”

“You fff- bastard”, Wren snarls, and the laughter that follows feels like a boulder pinning him to the ground. He doesn’t resist when Berkeley puts the glass to his lips - if everything else fails, the alcohol might at least wash some of the shame down.

“Tilt your head back on the count of three, Daniel would kill me if you choked”, Berkeley laughs, and Wren glares at him, but lets out a low hum of agreement. “One, two, three.”

He feels as if he was in military school again, trying hard liquor for the first time. The slightly sweet liquid flows down his throat with a sensation as if it was burning through the tissue, and he winces and shivers at how wrong it feels somehow, back to unfamiliar.

“One more?”, Berkeley offers with a patient smile, and he nods, giving him as hard a stare as he can. “You okay with that, Daniel?”

Wren exhales and fixes his eyes on the floor, focusing on the pleasant fire spreading through his body to stifle the emotions, each worse than the last, washing over him at the realization that Berkeley has just asked his owner for permission to give more alcohol to his plaything.

“Sure. He can have... two more, let’s say?”

It’s such a small thing, a simple question, a simple answer, but it’s enough to make it hard to breathe.

“Oh my god, that’s just too beautiful. He’s blushing!”

He blinks furiously and turns his head to the side; Berkeley’s presence has somehow amplified just how much control Daniel has over him. He has gotten used to it, he realizes. He has gotten used to the restraints, the muzzle, the very simple restriction of staying inside the house at all times unless Daniel takes him outside - but this new limit, this control over something as trivial as the amount of alcohol he’s apparently allowed to drink, weighs heavily on his stomach. At this point humiliation brings him almost physical pain with the way he’s talked about, the way he’s controlled, the way the vodka has dried on his face, leaving behind sticky residue from the sugar in the flavoring.

“Wren?” There’s a hint of what sounds like genuine concern in Daniel’s voice, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from whimpering. “You okay?”

“Like a pendulum, isn’t he? From pissed off to crybaby in seconds.” Berkeley works his fingers into Wren’s hair, still short, but grown out enough to get some kind of a grip, and forces his head up straight again. “Already close to tears. Such a nervous wreck.” He grins and his eyes light up. “Oh my god, Wren Wreckham. Perfect.”

“Fucking terrible”, Daniel groans, and Wren sniffles and looks away.

He just wants to disappear.

Be alone with Daniel again. He squeezes his eyes shut at the thought, but he can’t shake it off.

He’s been with Daniel for… a couple of months now, he thinks, the last indicator of the passage of time being a mention of two months, which seems like ages ago. And even though he’s constantly on edge, he has almost fallen into the rhythm. Berkeley, on the other hand, is an imponderable, unpredictable, and even with Daniel’s current sickening fondness and constant sweetheart-ing he still seems…

Safer.

It takes all his strength to fight down a sob.

He’s being brainwashed. Only a few months in and he’s already losing it - and what’s a few months compared to a lifetime? How long before he’s gone for good?

His head is spinning and he could start wailing right there and then like the shattered soon-to-be textbook example of Stockholm syndrome he is - but instead he manages to clear his throat and straighten his back.

“Just give me the booze”, he mutters. Anything to push those thoughts away, to run away from them like the coward he is-

Two more shots are enough to submerge his mind in pleasant fog. Daniel pulls him closer so that he’s kneeling at his feet again, and strokes his hair in steady, soothing motions. Wren doesn’t resist, doesn’t even say anything - instead he leans into the touch and lets his eyelids drop, half-listening to Daniel and Berkeley’s conversation, the subject thankfully not revolving around him anymore. Berkeley rambles on about anything and everything, casually juggling stories from his daily life, jokes, struggles at work and the most recent transactions in his side gig.

The alcohol swirling around in Wren’s brain makes it easier to ignore their voices, and he resorts to playing his favorite game - pretending he’s anywhere but here; in his current state he imagines himself in a shabby bar back on Earth, sitting somewhere in the corner, fiddling with an empty glass, just enjoying the peace, the quiet music, the pleasant buzz of conversations-

The sound of his name explodes in his drifting mind and his eyes blink open; the two men aren’t looking at him, discussing something, Daniel still stroking his head absentmindedly.

“Yeah, we’ve tried out a lot”, Daniel says, and Wren frowns, his up until now steady heartbeat picking up the pace. “Whipping, but that one you saw. Hot coals, now that was fun.”

Blood drains from his face as his eyes dart between Daniel and Berkeley, the latter’s lips arching in a smile that makes him tremble.

“And I was starving him at first, but that almost blew up in my face.” Daniel chuckles, almost embarrassed. “And…” He looks at Wren and grins seeing him back with them. “What else have we done together, sweetheart? I thought there was more.”

“You’ve really gone soft, Daniel”, Berkeley sighs, shaking his head.

“I already said I don’t want him broken.” Daniel shrugs and moves his hand down Wren’s face only to wince at the sticky vodka residue and let go. “Why do you ask, though?”

Wren’s gaze flickers to Berkeley, to his relaxed pose and dangerous smirk.

“Well… What haven’t you done, then? Because I was thinking we could try something new and exciting with your dear toy.”

“No”, Wren mumbles, and Daniel shushes him gently before turning to Berkeley with a thoughtful hum.

“Got something in mind?”

“No!”

“Shut it, Rackham, no one asked you”, Berkeley says with a condescending smile and a dismissive wave of a hand. “Cover his ears, let’s make it a surprise.”

All sound is cut off as Daniel cups his hands over Wren’s ears; he tries to shake his head, to protest, but Daniel just presses harder to keep him still. His heartbeat thuds in his head when he fixes his gaze on Berkeley, trying - and failing - to read from his lips what he can only imagine are chilling methods of torture.

After a while Berkeley gets up from the couch and leaves, and Daniel lets go of Wren’s head, making his ears ring.

“What the fuck is he-”

“It’s a surprise, sweetheart, but don’t worry”, Daniel murmurs, his voice calming, as if he was reassuring a child scared of going to the doctor, “it’ll be fun.”

Wren flinches; his instincts are urging him to get up from the ground, try to get away, but his hopeless reason keeps him put. What could he do? Run? Hide? Be dragged right back and punished on top of whatever Berkeley is preparing?

He can only watch, trembling all over, as Daniel gets up as well and goes up to one of the bookshelves.

“What are you doing?”, Wren asks, his voice shaking.

“As I said, it’ll be fun.” Daniel grins at him briefly and turns to rummage through the shelves. “Oh, this will be perfect”, he mutters and quickly pockets something small.

“What is that?...”

“Hey, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I just told you, would it?” Daniel approaches Wren again and smiles when he sees his eyes, a chaos of panic and intoxication. “You look so sad like this, sweetheart. Good thing we’ve come up with something to sober you up a bit.”

“No”, Wren chokes out, and Daniel just laughs, grabs his arms and pulls him up. He whimpers, his knee joints cracking after kneeling for so long, and his legs immediately buckle under him; Daniel’s grip gets tighter to keep him upright, and he starts dragging him towards the bathroom. “No, please!”

“Oh my god, is he begging you?” Berkeley sticks his head out of the bathroom with a smile bright like a thousand suns. “He’s so good!”

He steps aside to let them in; Wren struggles the whole time, but it’s futile, it’s always futile.

“Too bad you don’t have a bathtub, but this should be enough.”

He’s pushed to his knees in front of the shower - and in the shower there is a crate, one of the sturdy ones the supplies have been delivered in. It’s filled to the brim with water.

Berkeley grabs the collar of his shirt and twists the fabric in his hand to constrict Wren’s throat and keep him still.

They’re going to drown him. They’re going to drown him, and they’re going to enjoy every second of it.

“So, sweetheart”, Daniel says, leaning against the glass panel of the shower, “we’re going to play a fun little game.”

Wren shakes his head, fear clawing at his heart as he stares into the water.

“I have some simple trivia questions here”, Daniel continues, retrieving a deck of colorful cards from his pocket and holding it up in front of Wren’s face. “You’ll have five seconds to answer each of them. If time runs out or you answer wrong, you’re going underwater.”

“You’re sick”, Wren growls, but the last spark of anger flickers and goes out, replaced by panic and helplessness. He gasps when Berkeley yanks the fabric back, causing it to dig into his throat. Daniel sighs dramatically.

“I’ll let this one slide, but just so you know, any word that isn’t the correct answer is a wrong answer. So - first question!”

Wren exhales when the pressure on his throat lessens; he clenches his fists behind his back and tries to steady his breathing.

Maybe he can answer it. Maybe he can answer all of those. Maybe they will simply get bored.

“In meteorology, what name is given to a line of equal pressure on a map?”

What the fuck?

“A, isotherm, b, isobar, c, isochor, d, isoquant?”

His mind descends into chaos.

“Five”, Daniel starts, his voice laced with delight.

Berkeley presses down on Wren’s neck and he swallows.

“Four.”

Iso… wait, pressure? Pressure. What’s the- the thing-”

“Three.”

Barometer?

“Isobar!”, he says and his body tenses up as he waits to be pushed into the water.

“Correct!”, Daniel says in an overly cheerful of a gameshow host. “Next question… Oh, I’ve got some alcohol ones in here! How fitting. Okay: what flavor is framboise liqueur? This one isn’t multiple choice, so I hope you know this one.”

“And I hope you don’t”, Berkeley laughs, and Wren grits his teeth.

He doesn’t know.

“Five.”

So he’ll have to guess.

“Four.”

“Orange?”

“Wrong, it’s raspberry.”

It happens so fast he doesn’t even have time to take a breath before he’s pushed forward and his head is forced underwater. The shock from the freezing water forces the air out of his lungs, and he thrashes, but Berkeley presses down hard, too hard, and the rim of the crate digs into his ribs.

He’s pulled out just as his lungs start to burn, and he gulps air desperately, the sound of laughter hitting him with the force of a wrecking ball.

“You sure look more sober now”, Berkeley jeers. “Ready for another one?”

He’s not, but he doesn’t say anything, focused on quieting his breathing down enough to even hear the question.

“Bronze is mainly an alloy of tin and what other metal? A, brass, b, lead, c, iron, d, copper. Five.”

He knows the answer, or he thinks so, at least, but he decides to wait just a bit, make use of those few seconds to steady his breathing.

“Four. Three.”

“Come on, Rackham, you can’t be that stupid!”, Berkeley teases, and Wren scoffs.

“Copper”, he says and inhales sharply when Berkeley yanks his head back.

“Correct!” Daniel hums, drawing the next card. “Next: Anemophobia is the fear of what? A, spiders, b, the dark, c, fire, d, wind.”

He closes his eyes and swallows - he doesn’t know.

“Five, four, three…”

“The dark?”, he all but whispers and takes a deep breath.

“Wrong, wind.”

This time he manages to stay calm - until his lungs are burning and he’s still being held under the surface. He squirms and mmphs in pain, but it takes a solid while of panicking before Berkeley pulls him up.

“Hey, Wren”, Daniel says casually as he doubles over, sputtering and shuddering. “Do you know what your phobia’s called?”

“Wait, he has a phobia?” Berkeley ruffles Wren’s damp hair, and he grits his teeth.

“He does. So, let’s make it the next question. What’s your phobia called? Five-”

“Astraphobia”, Wren mutters, his face burning with shame.

Daniel knowing about his phobia is bad enough. Berkeley thrown into the mix makes him wish the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

“Good answer.”

“What’s that?”, Berkeley asks.

“Fear of storms”, Wren says before Daniel can answer for him. “You’re very-fucking-welcome.”

“We all have our fears, Rackham”, Berkeley snorts and sighs. “You know what I fear? Snakes. I can’t stand them.”

“I can’t stand you either”, Wren snaps, and the two men roar with laughter.

“That’s just mean, Rackham”, Berkeley chokes out, and Wren flinches when he receives a hefty slap upside the head.

“But a good one”, Daniel admits, drawing the next card. “Okay, but we’ve gotten off-track here.”

Wren fixes his gaze on the crate again, Berkeley nods and clears his throat, and the game continues.

“This one’s perfect for you, sweetheart: What does Vodka literally mean? Five.”

Wozniak told me once.

“Four.”

He sniffles. Wozniak. Parker. The League. Earth.

“Three.”

And he’s here, in Daniel’s bathroom, being tortured for his and Berkeley’s entertainment.

“Two.”

“Little water”, he mumbles.

“Correct! I knew you’d know this one.”

It goes on.

“What does the Q in IQ stand for? ...wrong, it’s quotient.”

His knees hurt. His ribs hurt. His lungs are on fire.

“What English word has the most definitions?”

“Set?”

“What, are you asking me?”

“S-set.”

“Correct.”

He sobs from relief and helplessness alike, and Berkeley snickers into his ear.

“What is ecchymosis? ...wrong, it’s a bruise.”

Squeezing his eyes shut until they hurt, his lungs rebelling against him, he starts to wonder if the sharp rim of the crate is going to cut through his skin at some point.

“What is defined as a straight line that touches a curve but continues on without crossing it in geometry?”

“What the hell?”, he chokes out, the word refusing to form a coherent whole in his mind, tears and water mixing together on his face.

“That’s nowhere near the correct answer, sweetheart. It’s a tangent.”

Black spots start to swirl before his eyes by the time Berkeley pulls him out of the water.

“You really are an idiot, Rackham”, he says, and Wren sobs harder, helpless, hopeless, too close to broken. “An idiot and a crybaby. Kinda pathetic if you ask me.”

I know.

He doesn’t even hear the next question, doesn’t even take a gulp of air to prepare.

He takes a deep breath when he’s underwater, though.

“Whoops”, Berkeley says when Wren stops moving; he pulls him out and clicks his tongue. “Yep, knocked out cold.”

Daniel curses under his breath and sets the cards aside.

“Oh, well”, he sighs, crouching down and brushing Wren’s wet hair away from his face, letting his hand linger on his cheek for a moment. “He’ll recover.”

They both grimace when Wren chokes and throws up water and vodka. Daniel gestures for Berkeley to let go and wraps his arms around Wren.

“I’ll stay with him here until he wakes up”, he says, laying him down on his side on the bath rug. “Poor thing. You know, it was funny, but you probably shouldn’t have called him an idiot, he doesn’t react well to that.”

“So? It was fun.” Berkeley grins at him, leaning against the wall, watching Wren with an amused expression.

Daniel rolls his eyes.

“Sure, but he had a goddamn breakdown and the game was cut short. That could have been more fun.”

“We should do that again sometime.”

Daniel looks down at Wren with a fond smile and strokes his cheek, his touch feather-light. He chuckles softly at the quiet whimper that follows, and lifts his gaze to look back at Berkeley.

“We absolutely should.”

Next

[rocksandrobots]

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 26 - Temper

Varian grumbled under his breath as he fiddled with a bunch of wires. He was sitting in his lab at school, trying to get the portal to turn on. The machine had decided not to work at all since his misadventure in the desert.

"Grrr...ow!"

His irritated growl turned to a yelp of pain as he shocked himself. This only drew more curses and angry groans.

He wasn't having a good day.

Heck he wasn't even having a good week. Everything had seemed to go wrong for him ever since he and Hiro had their run in with Momasake on Saturday.

First off, he had just gotten back from his second therapy session this morning and, while it went smoother than the first one had, it still had put him out of sorts for the rest of the day.

Dr. Brown's more reserved and quiet manner suited Varian much better than Dr. Mcguire's cherry earnesty, and he made sure not to delve too much into his past like he had last time. However it still made him feel self conscious to sit on a couch and talk to some stranger about what's bothering him.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being analyzed. Much like the way he would dissect a compound to figure out its chemical makeup, so too did the older gentleman study him; peering over his reading glasses, jotting notes down on his yellow notepad, and every so often, stroking his salt and pepper beard in thought.

They talked mostly about the nightmares Varian had been having and ways to mitigate them; habits he could try to form, like going to bed at a regular time everyday or meditation exercises similar to the ones Andrew and the rest of the Saporians would partake in. Varian wasn't sure how much he'd be able to keep up such practices and he kind of doubted that they would help anyways.

And then there was the discussion on medication, which Varian really wasn't thrilled about. Dr. Brown wanted to put him on a small dosage of some sort of 'mood-stabilizing' medicine as he had called it; which only sent alarm bells off in Varian's brain. The doctor was patient enough to walk Varian through what the drug was made of, how it worked, and to reassure him that it was only temporary.

"As a scientist yourself, you must know the importance of experimentation. You won't know if the medicine will help or not until you've tried it for awhile. That is why I'm starting you off on such a low dosage to test it out first." Dr. Brown encouraged.

Varian understood. He understood far better than either the doctor or anyone else would ever know. The brain ran on chemicals, and chemical potions could very much alter behavior and mood if ingested. The right or wrong chemicals could make ones whole personality change or compel them to do things they didn't want to…. Like tell the truth for instance. Yes, he knew that better than anyone, and it was precisely why he was so uncomfortable with idea.

But still, Varian had reluctantly agreed to give it a try anyways. If nothing else than to avoid a long drawn out argument or a lecture from someone. Though doing so had only increased his anxiety.

The second thing that had upped his discomfort was that Aunt Cass had discovered his firework display yesterday.

Instead of being impressed like he had hoped, she had rounded on him for daring to build what she referred to as a "fire safety hazard." She then called Officer Cruz to come and confiscate his stash of firecrackers and gunpowder.

Apparently one wasn't legally allowed to build explosives in one's home, even if you didn't intend any harm with them. He then had to endure two separate lectures from both of them on safety regulations.

Oh, how he hated lectures.

He just about had his fill of them these past three weeks.

He also just about had his fill of Hiro and his 'holier than thou' act. The other boy hadn't brought up the incident with Momosake's knife again, but Varian could sense tension between them anyways.

Varian didn't know if Hiro suspected the truth of what happened inside the vent or not, but the other boy had kept his distance from Varian for the past couple of days anyways. Keeping their conversations short and going quiet whenever he spotted Varian walk into the room.

Despite this, Varian didn't regret his actions at all from that night. He was only protecting his friends after all and it's not like he harmed anyone else other than their attacker.

He couldn't wrap his head around Hiro's concern for a person who actively threatened both him and people he cared about. Being noble and compassionate was one thing; going out of your way to help someone who only wants to hurt you was another.

But that's what made the two of them different, Varian guessed. It was easy being a hero when you've never had to defend yourself from seamingly the entire world; to fight just to survive.

Ever since his arrest and subsequently moving in with the Hamadas, Varian had only been reminded just how much he didn't belong there; of how much he didn't really fit in. As nice as his friends and Aunt Cass were, they really had no understanding of what he'd been through and he still felt alien to this world and to their beliefs. The run in with Momosake only served to heighten his feeling of inadequacy, as if he somehow fell short of the imaginary standards that everyone else seemingly already knew but he somehow didn't.

He kicked the device in aggravation. No, he wasn't having a good time at all and the sooner he could get back to his father then the better.

He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair as he tried to calm his runaway thoughts. Then he turned back to the console and readied to turn the portal back on, having finished his tweeks to the wiring.

He saw the giant metal ring spark to life as the turbines hummed with power, slowly the blue energy that indicate that the portal was working made its way towards the center, then it crackled, fizzled, and died out as the portal shut itself down.

Varian growled in anger and went to double check the wires again. Nothing off there. He checked the computer. Also okay there.  He even tripled checked the turbine, before trying again.

Nothing.

Varian had had it.

He gave a wordless scream of frustration before knocking his scientific instruments off his desk with a push. He kicked the portal repeatedly and threw anything he could find towards the devious device; yelling curses and venting his rage in angry grunts.

It was petulant perhaps, but Varian didn't care anymore. He was tired. Tired of failing and tired of not being the golden boy like Hiro was. Hiro never got lectures. Hiro never made stuff explode, or flood the whole school, or get trapped in a desert. Hiro never gave in to his darker side. Heck, Varian wasn't even sure he had a darker side.

If the stories were to be believe than Tadashi had been Mr. Perfect and Hiro had followed in his footsteps of being the selfless brave hero. They all had. They were all just so, good and perfect and wonderful, and he..he was broken and he knew it. And the longer he stayed, the more at risk he was of having everyone find out just how broken he truly was.

His angry yells turned to sobs. He didn't know to do with himself anymore. He turned around looking for more things to throw and was greeted by the sight of Honey Lemon and Fred standing in the doorway.

He stopped what he was doing and stood stock still. His face turned beet red and his breath hitched. They were looking on with both shock and alarm and to Varian's horror he realized that had saw everything.

He couldn't stop from bursting into fresh tears as he knew that his friends had gotten yet another look at the cracks in his happy, innocent facade. He crumpled in on himself, plumping down on the ground and hugging his knees to his chest, and then he buried his face in his arms to hide his shame.

"What should we do? Should we get Baymax?" He heard Fred say in a hushed and hurried whispered.

"No, he's with Hiro at his internship, remember?" Honey Lemon whispered back.

"Oh, should we call Gogo then or Wasabi?" Fred suggested instead.

"Umm..I think they're both in class...we're just going to have to help instead." Came Honey Lemon's nervous reply.

"Okay…......how?"

Honey Lemon didn't seem to have an answer for that question and Varian only hugged himself tighter as he feared what their response might be; another lecture, more prying questions into his past, or would they just leave altogether and refuse to have anything to do with him? This last option really scared him and brought more unbidden sobs.

He heard footsteps come closer and felt a gentle hand tentivently touch his shoulder.

"V..Varian?" He heard Honey Lemon ask. She sounded scared. He'd had scared her! Of course he had. Everyone was afraid of him back in Corona. Why should here be any different? He wasn't a hero like his friends, he was the villain and, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, it was what he'd always be.

"Why are you still here?" He sobbed, still not looking up to face them.

"I..I'm sorry. Do, do want us to leave?"

He heard Honey Lemon stammer out this apology and he finally looked up at her in surprise. He searched her eyes in confusion as she continued to apologetically ramble.

"We can go… if you want.. If you think that's best..or..we can stay too. It's up to you..we just want to help.."

Varian cut her off, "No, no, that's not what I meant. I...I just don't why you'd want to stick around...not after...not after.."

He broken down in tears again and he saw Honey Lemon and Fred exchange worried glances.

"We're just worried about you, dude." Fred explained. Honey Lemon nodded in agreement and offered an encouraging smile.

Varian eyed them both warily. "You don't have to be so nice about it. You just saw me wrecking my own lab. I don't want you to feel like your obligated to still hang around just to try and make me feel better."

"Well..if either of us was upset you'd try and help us right? That's just what friends do." Honey Lemon said.

"Oh but, that... that's different. You don't ever get mad."

Honey Lemon pouted, "I...get mad. I just... don't always know how to show it."

She sighed and slumped down next to him, leaning against the wall. "I guess that's not always healthy though."

"Neither is losing you temper and busting up the place." Varian bitterly added. He surveyed the mess around the room. He'd have a lot to clean up once this was over with.

"Weeelll, throwing things isn't...good," she agreed,"but it's okay to be angry if something is bothering you." She reached out and slipped her arms around the crook of his elbow. She then nuzzled her head upon his shoulder while she hugged his arm. "We just need to help you find a better way to express yourself." She cheerfully added, as if this was the easiest and most obvious thing in the world to do.

"Whenever I get in a bad mood, I just give Mole a prank call and that usually makes me feel better." Fred offered up blithely.

Both Honey Lemon and Varian stared at him disquitedly.

"That's..that's also not the best way to handle things." She said frowning.

"Why would you prank call a mole?" Varian asked in confusion. "I mean how would it even have a phone?"

"Not a mole, the Mole." Fred explained exasperatedly. "Richardson Mole; he's my arch nemesis. My greatest rival! The most sneaky and nefarious foe I've ever faced."

"He's the boy who lives next door. They compete over comic book stuff." Honey Lemon clarified to a now even more confused Varian.

"Try 'compete over everything'!" Fred retorted indignantly. "There's no lows to which he wouldn't sink just to show me up." He huffed and plopped down on the floor on front of them.

"Ooookay…..well that wouldn't really work for me," Varian tried to steer the conversation back to solving the current problem, "So, what do you do Honey Lemon? How do you stay so calm all the time?"

"I..don't know if 'staying calm' is the right words for what I do….buuuut, I do love going to a wrestling match now and then; it helps to release tension."

Varian looked at her in surprise. "You wrestle?" On some level he knew that Honey Lemon was a capable fighter, she was a superhero, a modern knight, after all, but it was hard to reconcile the image of the sweet natured girl throwing herself into a tournament ring to slug it out with someone.

"Oh.. Not me, no." Honey Lemon hastily corrected and gave an awkward laugh. "I mean, I wouldn't mind doing it but I'm not a professional, sooo...I just meant I go to watch. It's great fun. No one actually gets hurt and you can be as loud as you want to be." She tugged at a strand of her hair and keep nervously looking back and forth between him and the ground as if admitting some embarrassing truth. "I just like the atmosphere, and it fun to just scream your frustrations out sometimes."

Varian softly laughed, "It's hard picturing you yelling, ever, but it sounds fun. Like those brawl tournaments we have back in Corona. There's a lot of shouting and cheering going on during those too."

She perked up at that."Yeah, exactly like that! Would you wanna come to one? We could all get tickets to the next match!"

"Hey now, waaait a minute." Fred interrupted. "I thought we agreed to boycott the mecha-westling after Mole bought out the league! Please don't tell me you've still been going without me!"

Honey Lemon didn't answer, she just nervously bit her lip as Fred placed his hands on his hips and glared at her in disapproval. He then soon relented and sighed…"Fine, I'll buy us some tickets, but I'm getting us seats to a different league. There's no way I'm giving more money to Mole."

Honey Lemon's face broke out into a huge grin. Happy to have avoided an argument with her friend and even happier to attend her favorite sporting event.

"Well, before I can go anywhere, I need to clean up this mess." Varian sighed. "Thanks for trying to cheer me up, I needed it."

He stood up and started to pick up the broken metal and discarded instruments.

"Oh, we'll help you." Honey Lemon chirped.

"No, you don't have to..it's my mess, I need to be the one to clean it up."

"Yeaah, but if we help it'll go faster and then we can all go get lunch." Fred piped in. "That's why we came by in the first place. It's nearly after one and you haven't left your lab all day. Also you still haven't told us what's bugging you. You've not really been yourself lately."

Varian rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "The portal stopped working. I'm not making any headway and it's been two months now. I guess I'm just worried."

"About your dad?" Honey Lemon interjected.

Varian nodded."Yeah, that and other things. So far I've only managed to create a working spacial portal, not a interdimensional one, and even then I can't figure out how to control where it opens up at."

"Then why not focus on that first?" Fred suggested. Varian looked at him in surprise, so he explained further. "Why not master the spacial stuff, get it where you can pinpoint global places, and then work your way up from there? It's like learning martial arts; you start small before learning more complex moves."  

"It's nothing like martial arts." Varian insisted, "but, that may not be a bad idea." He relented as he ran the possibilities through his mind; mastering more local coordinates could help in figuring out how to reach his own world.

Honey Lemon also stood up and wrapped him in another hug. "You'll figure it out it!I know you will!" She encouraged.

Fred also joined in on the hug before adding, "Yeah, but before then let's get this place cleaned up and go grab a noodle burger. I’m starving."

[ymiwritesstuff]

how abouuut a revali x reader where he’s in love with her and he keeps on trying to confess but the other champions keep on interrupting him (maybe even on purpose because it’s funny lol) and you can decide how he ends up finally telling her :-) thank you so much!

AWWW poor Vali he’s such a precious boi. Thanks for the request and I hope you enjoy!!

No More Interruptions

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of The Wild

Revali x Reader

Summary: Despite the appreciation Revali should hold for the other Champions, their devious actions as of late have made him more than irritated.

The Champions were mighty warriors respected by almost everyone. Their skills far exceeded that of a normal Hyrulean’s and it was clear as day why each champion was chosen to pilot their Divine Beast. They paid each other great respect whilst serving under the rule of the Princess. However lately the Rito Champion has lost almost all respect for the other champions, due to a quite simple yet highly irritating reason. While it was hard to believe that Revali held any respect for anyone but himself, he did respect strong individuals with great power. Excluding a certain blond Hylian of course. This respect he held had lately been crumbling thanks to the other champion’s childish actions.

Revali couldn’t understand how in the world had they caught glimpses of his feelings towards you. He could’ve sworn he had never shown any clear signs when around them and yet they still somehow managed to gain knowledge of his emotions. This wouldn’t be a problem otherwise but what irritated Revali the most was the fact that every time he wished to confess, one or even all of the champions “conveniently” happened to stumble upon him and start a conversation about something utterly useless. This forced him to withdraw his attempt to reveal his feelings and always left a bad, bitter taste on his tongue. Revali’s sharp eyes always noticed the glint of mischievousness in Daruk’s eyes or the obvious smirk on Urbosa’s lips, indicating that it was all intentional and done to purely annoy him.

Your stretch your arms after yet another tiring meeting with the Champions at the castle. These meetings weren’t anything too special as they only involved discussions about Calamity Ganon, Divine Beasts and whatnot. Regardless you always attended them as it improved your knowledge and allowed you to be helpful in a way. The soon setting Sun hit your eyes as you exited the castle, beginning your departure much earlier than the rest. The others stayed behind for a moment, most likely talking with the Princess about topics related to their duties or Divine Beasts. You had no need to discuss such topics so you were already leaving.

“Well aren’t you in a hurry” The familiar voice of Revali causes you to turn around and face the much taller Rito. His wings are crossed and his face his neutral, although for some reason his eyes move to look at the surroundings in a sudden matter, as if he’s looking for someone following him. “And what about you then? I was under the impression that you wanted to discuss important matters with her highness” A short chuckle leaves his beak and he rolls his green eyes somewhat mockingly. Perhaps now was the time. “While it is true I have some important matters to discuss, they’re not to be discussed with the Princess” You raise a curious brow at his question, crossing your arms, intrigued to know more. 

“Oh? Who might it be then?” You notice Revali taking a few steps closer to you, eyes locked on your form. This seemed familiar as you realize that he has indeed tried to talk to you about something lately, always being rudely interrupted. You hadn’t thought much of it but now that you are aware of the clear importance of whatever he’s going to say, you have to hear it. He goes to open his beak but is cut off by another voice.

“Revali! I need to talk with you” Behind him you could see Urbosa with Daruk and Mipha. She waved her hand and held a smile across her lips that had small bits of maliciousness almost being mocking in nature. Revali’s face quickly twisted in anger and before the Gerudo woman had time to say anything, the Rito practically blew up. “No, Urbosa you don’t. If you did, you’d be kind enough to wait for me to finish my business with (Name) here, and not barge in and force yourself to our conversation like a total idiot! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to take care of!” Nobody had time to say anything else as Revali quickly took off to the sky, flying towards his village. His sudden rage surprised you as you had never seen him like that and frankly, no one dared to talk back to Urbosa. 

You glance at the Gerudo with narrow eyes as you wondered why on earth was she like that. “Urbosa, care to explain what’s going on?” Urbosa merely chuckled at your question. “Perhaps he can give you the answer” She pointed at Revali whose flying form was getting farther and farther away. You sigh in slight frustration at the thought of walking all the way to Rito Village just to talk with the champion.

~

Revali’s enraged state was enough to drive everyone away from his landing, leaving the Rito by himself. Night had already fallen and most of the residents had gone to sleep anyway, which Revali didn’t mind as he really needed this moment by himself. How could he ever confess his love for you if the people around him didn’t allow it? His feelings were eating him from the inside and he only wished to let them out. 

“Have you finally calmed down?” The sound of your voice drags him out of the deep thoughts of his mind and causes him to turn his head towards you. There you were, standing at the entrance to his landing with no one else at your side. “You had something you wished to tell me, correct?” You notice Revali glancing behind you, seemingly suspicious about you being alone. You let out a deep sigh. “I’m alone. There will be no interruptions. Promise”, you calmly explain and hear him sigh. He walks to you, and prepares himself for the confession.

However it seems to be a lot more difficult than he had thought. Having the chance to finally reveal his feelings was amazing yet in the moment he can’t seem to get a single word out of his beak. “Well.. I must say that this moment is quite special and you should be honored by what I am about to say next” You stay quiet, patiently waiting for him to continue. You notice his eyes averting your gaze, his feathers puffing up a tiny bit. The vulnerability he radiated was certainly odd and yet, you found it delightful. “I enjoy your.. Company. Quite a lot. You’re intelligent, kindhearted and possess a rather great amount of skill in combat” Upon hearing his words of appreciation you feel the heat rush to your cheeks, dusting them with a red shade. Revali confidently takes your hands in his warm wings and keeps his gaze on you. “I have deep feelings for you (Name). And I... I love you” The words leave his beak faster than he can think.

You don’t seem to find the right words to respond to his confession. Your cheeks are flushed, your heart is racing and your mind is filled with similar feelings of affection. Before Revali can question your silence you let out a big laugh and lean to hug him lovingly. “This is what you’ve been trying to tell me? No wonder you got so mad earlier” Your words cause him to puff up even more due to embarrassment, but he hugs you back regardless. The feeling of you being so close to him was something he had been waiting for a long time and now it was finally a reality. No more interruptions. Revali had finally told you about his feelings and was more than happy to find out that you feel the same.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Hurt, pt. 2 (E.D.)

Summary: Ethan’s confused and his guilty conscience is killing him, while Y/N gets some unsettling news.

Warnings: ANGST, talk of abortion, swearing, indicating smut

Word count: ~1700

Hurt - Series Masterlist

Ethan looked down on his clothes as he threw them in the wash. Sighing heavily, he leaned his forehead on the wall in frustration, slamming his fist into it with a guttural grunt.

"Damn it!" He let his mouth run, closing his eyes as he punched the wall once more.

Since the moment he saw Y/N collapse, Ethan had felt his mind had turned on him. The image of her frail body, the blood, the short little breaths she took in her unconscious state - it tortured him - haunted him. If he was being completely honest, she had been haunting him since he told her he wanted an out. That day, he only looked at her for a fleeting moment but it was long enough to grasp his attention and sear itself in his memory.

"Babe?" Then he heard her voice. The woman's voice usually relaxed him but instead, Ethan tensed up. He's been going slow and reluctantly ever since he and Y/N split and even he didn't understand why. He was a single man, but he still feels tied to the woman who he walked out on. He still feels he belongs to her.

"What?" Ethan didn't bother hiding his current animosity, making him regret it instantly as he saw his current girlfriend flinch at his harsh tone.

She had been an almost love Ethan left behind when he moved out to Los Angels. She had been the girl he always dreamed of. 

And then he met Y/N. The perfect girl for him. The one he saw a lifetime with.

But he decided to listen to the devil on his shoulder and looked back at his past instead of the future.

He truly thought he let go of Bianca, the beautiful sass queen he wanted as a boy. But life had set her in his path again...as his assistant, as cliche as it seems. He adored her natural, curly black hair even if it was short and usually a mess on top of her head. He loved her curves and the way they fit in his hands. And he loved her dark, chocolatey skin - every inch of it.

He tried to stay away and keep himself centered. He tried to be professional. But he lusted for her. He desperately wanted to mark every inch of her skin with his lips and he wanted her to arch under his touch. And while Y/N was waiting for him to come home, making his favorite meal even though she too had a long day at work, he was busy staring at the beauty he lost once upon a time.

And he hated himself for it.

Especially now when he wanted to enjoy the moment and be happy, but he couldn't even get himself up when he was in bed with his girlfriend. Not when all he'd see is Y/N and her teary eyes before him. Not when he heard her voice cracking in every accusation thrown his way.

He always knew he didn't deserve Y/N, but when he felt his loyalty shift, he knew he should let her go. She deserved a man who wouldn't let his eyes and mind wander.

But it didn't. Not really. Not when he was by Y/N's side. He still didn't understand that.

"I was going to ask about the blood and you going around punching walls, but forget it." Bianca rolled her eyes, turning around to leave him to his neurotic breakdown. She was beyond annoyed with the baby steps he's been taking because they've kissed so far, but she wanted more and he seemed to have trouble in that department. Even more so by the fact he still had his wedding band, hidden away in his sock drawer.

"I...damn it!" Ethan punched the wall again, aware he's not going to be at peace until he sees Y/N and confirms she's well. She isn't the type to faint. She was always strong, much stronger than he is. But if he's being completely honest, her words got to him. They gutted him. He wished to be able to ignore it and act normally after seeing her, but he was completely lost.

"Reschedule everything I have for today." He ordered Bianca as he left his...well, it wasn't just his house two months ago but since Y/N left it's become his.

While Ethan set himself on a coarse to the hospital Y/N was taken to, she sat in her bed with her eyes glued to her fidgeting hands.

Everything inside her screamed in horror just because she had that tiny piece of Ethan inside her. She hoped, she prayed she doesn't have a viable pregnancy. There wasn't a single cell in her body that accepted the news with open arms. She was going in full denial of her situation.

In the four years she spent with Ethan, two of them as a married couple, they talked about having kids after the two year mark. Since everyone said the first two years are always rocky and most couples get a divorce in that time, they decided to wait.

Who knew they would end up adding onto the statistics? Who knew the pregnancy would happen as planned without it being wanted anymore?

Snorting in disbelief, Y/N felt her eyes welling up as she was placed in front of an impossible choice. She was pro choice, always. But she also believed she'd never have an abortion if she was well off and able to care for her child.

Could she have this baby? His baby? Now when he had ruined all the good they had? Now when she was rediscovering herself - the Y/N without Ethan for he left a big gap in her life, personality even.

The thing about married couples is that they always compromise on everything in order to keep a peaceful life going. They compromise and change and adapt to fit each other's personalities better.

Without Ethan, Y/N felt herself going through an identity crisis. Without him, she couldn't find the parts of her that were there before she met him. Now that she lost him, she had to find herself.

How would she do that when she's carrying his baby?

The thought repulsed her. The thought of having to see him and his stupid face or his mistress as they are happy and she's stuck with a baby, it repulsed her. You see, the thing about men and women, it's a fact that divorced women with children are much less desirable and tend to stay single or have their relationships crumble...but men? They are sexy...DILFS. They find a replacement quickly, despite having a child.

Another thing rattles her...her baby loving his mistress...loving her more than its mother? That terrified her. After all, if the father chose someone else over her, why wouldn't the kid?

Y/N didn't know what to do. She didn't know if she wanted to end the pregnancy or not. Hell, if she kept the baby she didn't know if she'd let him know. After all, Grayson was the one who always wanted loads of kids and a marriage. That was never Ethan's style. Should have trusted him when he said that on their first date.

"Hello. You asked for a consult?" The doctor came in, his smile pleasant and wide, comforting even. His blonde, luscious hair seemed to mock her for he looked more like a movie star than a doctor. He is tall and he is bulk and the white coat didn't help her mind from remaining pure. And his accent? Fuck, she was so weak for accents!

"Y-yeah." She stammered, mentally kicking herself for having an instant crush on this blue-eyed British doctor. The blue eyes she always felt herself attracted to didn't help either. Funny how she ended up falling in love with a guy that was a complete opposite of what she used to dream about.

"Okay, so, I'm doctor Henstridge and I'm here to do an ultrasound and answer any questions you might have." He closed the blinds, pulling up a machine closer to her bed.

"Mrs. Dolan, I'm going to need you to lift your hospital gown up." The doctor chuckled at her awestruck gaze, used to it by now. It wasn't easy being a good looking doctor in a gynecology department.

"Ugh, sure. As long as you never address me as Mrs. Dolan ever again." She quipped, doing as he told. He quirked an eyebrow, nodding to acknowledge her request. She could tell he wanted to ask, but he didn't and she was grateful for it.

Applying some gel, he began his exam shortly after.

"I was wondering if I'm still allowed to...choose on what I want to do here?" She asked with hesitation in her tone, biting her lip as the sound of an ultrasound shook her.

"I have to asses when you conceived first." His response was short as he tried to concentrate, but she didn't bother listening to him. First, she knew exactly when she conceived, unable to forget the date when her whole world came crashing down. Second, the sounds she heard distracted her.

"What's that sound?" She craned her neck to see, her heart jumping with the continuously changing rhythm of a drum roll kind of a sound. It left her with a slight panic, but the doctor laughed it off.

"It's a heartbeat...three from what I hear."

Y/N leaned back as he turned the screen to her, pointing out three blobs on the screen.

"And you can see them too! Was this a natural conception?" Doctor Henstridge asked, finding it strange as well. Natural conceptions rarely end in triplets, but seeing as the patient clearly wasn't happy about her predicament, natural conception seemed to be the only plausible explanation.

She couldn't hear him though, her mind stopping as did her heart. She could hardly breathe, trying to process the whole thing before her panic came out in an outburst.

"You're telling me I'm having triplets?!"

PART 3

Tags: @melodiesforari​ @brittttneyyyy​ @beautorigin​  @dolandolll​ @xalayx​ @godlydolans​ @heyits-claire​ @peacedolantwins​ @dolanstwintuesday​ @accalialionheart​ @ethanhes​

If you want to be tagged, just leave a comment about it :)

[missmalice202]

Designing Your Melody: Chapter 13 - Kisses

Chapter 01 - Chapter 12

“Viperion, are you humming right now?” Carapace asked. “You do realize we’re in the middle of a boss fight, right?”

“Leave the boy alone, Carapace. It’s obvious something good happened to him for him to be in such a good mood.” Rena Rouge scolded. Viperion chuckled at how fiercely she’d defended him, even though it didn’t bother him at all to be called out like that in the clan chat.

“Really? Care to share with the rest of the class?” Ladybug teased. She was a little disappointed that his humming had stopped, though. It made her smile to hear him unconsciously expressing his pleasure. He had an excellent humming voice. Is that even a thing? Or is it just a singing voice? Regardless, she enjoyed listening to him regardless of what kind of sound he was making. The smooth tone of his voice did wonderful things to her nerves and gave flight to the butterflies in her stomach.

“Well,” he said, hesitating. “I found her, guys.” He felt a little weird mentioning Marinette around Ladybug. She hadn’t been online when he had initially discussed his little problem regarding the hard-to-find designer, and now he was wondering if he shouldn’t have just kept it to himself. He and Ladybug had been growing closer over the past few months and it didn’t feel right talking about another girl when she was listening. But he was happy that he had found her and wanted to talk about it to his friends.

“You seriously found her?” Chat Noir asked. “Congrats! I’m glad it worked out for you.”

Carapace began giggling into his microphone, trying hard to hold back his laughter but failing miserably in the end.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chat’s voice sounded confused. What was so funny about Viperion finding the girl he’d been searching for? Chat was happy that his friend would finally be able to talk to her about her design. Plus, it was really sweet that he’d been so affected by her that he kept hearing her song in his head. He wasn’t really sure what that meant exactly, but Viperion obviously couldn’t forget about the girl… A feeling he knew all too well.

“Hold on a second,” Rena said. “Who is ‘her’?” She knew that her friend had a minor fascination with their reptilian clan mate, but if he was off the market, that would make things difficult for her to ship them together. She’d been trying for weeks to get Nino to tell her who he was, but her boyfriend was even harder to crack than his namesake.

“I first mentioned her to the guys about a month ago. You and Ladybug weren’t on that night, so I guess they didn’t tell you about it, huh?”

“No,” She replied through clenched teeth. “Carapace definitely did not mention that you were looking for some random girl.”

Carapace’s nervous chuckle echoed in their headsets. He was sure that his girlfriend would give him hell for not telling her about it later.

“Anyway, I’ve been looking for someone for a while now and I finally found her the other day.”

“That’s awesome, Viperion,” Chat cheered. He was a sucker for happy endings, especially since his own life felt like such a tragedy.

“Oh, Chat, if you only knew…” Carapace’s cryptic response confused everybody, but he quickly changed the subject before they could ask him about it. “So, are you going to see her again?”

“Yeah, we’re going to get together again later this week,” he replied, his anticipation palpable for them to hear.

“Aw, that’s great,” Chat cooed. “Good luck, buddy.”

A loud smack filtered through their headsets. Unbeknownst to the other listeners, Nino had slapped his forehead in exasperation at how completely clueless his friends were. Seriously, it was too much for him to take sometimes.

“That’s…awesome, Viperion. It’s just…awesome. If you’re so interested in her, she must be just…awesome.” Ladybug’s voice was stilted and they all could tell that something had upset their friend.

“Girl, you okay?” Rena had hoped that she wouldn’t be upset by this development, but it looked like it was inevitable. She sighed, knowing that she’d be doing damage control soon.

“Yeah, Rena, I’m awesome. I just remembered that I had this…thing I had to do so I’m gonna log off. I’ll talk to you later.”

With that, her avatar disappeared, indicating that she was now offline.

Viperion was concerned. Ladybug usually wasn’t the type of player to quit in the middle of battle, especially a boss battle. It was apparent that something had bothered her about the direction their conversation had taken. Maybe she was disappointed that he had been talking about stuff that had happened in the real world, something she was adamant about keeping separate from gaming. He felt guilty for driving her away. “Was it something I said?” he asked his friends.

“Dude,” Carapace said seriously, “you have no idea…”

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

It’s been almost a week since the fashion show and Luka’s patience was finally paying off.

Finally, after months of being stuck in the middle of the tug-of-war game between Mr. Roth and Jagged Stone, he’s been set free.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t mind being forced to come to the studio day after day to play for his idol, but the futility of the exercise and the fact that he had something else he would much rather be doing was enough to make the normally patient man quite irritable. His sister had even commented that he seemed to be on edge lately and wondered what the cause for it was.

But now, thank god, Vivica was back from her maternity leave and ready to take his place as Jagged’s guitarist. Luka didn’t mind being a temporary replacement. After all, he had no grand ambitions of being a rock star or anything. He just loved to play, even if it was playing someone else’s music.

Though, considering everything he and Jagged had worked on had been scrapped, it wasn’t as if he’d be given any sort of credit for the time he put in at the studio.

He didn’t let that bother him. He knew that if Jagged needed him again, he’d be there to play for him, no matter how frustrating the circumstances were.

The silver lining to the whole situation was that now he was free to pursue his current interest: a Miss Marinette DuPain-Cheng.

Resting his bike against the side of the bakery, he looked up at the storefront with a barely suppressed smile gracing his face. He’d been looking forward to seeing her again. He’d refrained from texting her until he would be able to see her for his fitting, even though every fiber of his being wanted to reach out to her.

Adjusting the acoustic guitar strapped to his back, he entered the shop where he was immediately comforted by the warm ambiance of the bakery. Sabine was behind the counter, as always. When she looked up at the bell ringing and saw him, she greeted him with a smile as sweet at the macaroons she was boxing up for a customer.

“Luka! Welcome back, sweetie. We haven’t seen you in a couple of days and I was starting to worry about you.”

He grinned down at the tiny Asian woman. Despite his true motive for frequenting the bakery in the past, he honestly had missed the gentle woman. However, he’d never admit to her that he’d actually been coming to the bakery so often in an attempt to track down her daughter. He didn’t think that admission would go over so well. Especially since he’d heard about how fiercely protective Tom DuPain was of his only daughter.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been by lately. Work has been keeping me busy, unfortunately.” He walked up to the counter. “But now I’ve got some time to spare, so I came to visit.”

She laughed. “Don’t bother trying to suck up to me. I know you’re here to see Marinette. She told me you’d found one of her designs and wanted her to make it for you.”

His eyebrows raised. Guess he was busted. “She told you about that, huh?”

She nodded. “Yes, she did, dear. I’m just surprised that you were able to find her based only on one of her drawings.”

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I actually have you to thank. I made the connection when I delivered that fabric to her room. I saw her designs on the wall and I recognized her signature.”

“Ah,” she said knowingly. “So that’s why you became such a regular customer.” Her usually cheerful face fell into a disappointed frown. “And here I thought you were coming for my pastries.”

Luka raised his hands in surrender. “I did come for your pastries. Honestly. They’re the best in the city! I would have come even if Marinette wasn’t here.” He spoke quickly, hoping to avoid offending the petite woman.

Taking pity on the poor boy, she started to laugh. “Relax, sweetie. I know.” She nodded her head toward the stairs that led to their apartment. “Head on up. She’s expecting you.”

Relieved that Mrs. Cheng didn’t hold his true motive for all his visits to the bakery against him, he climbed up the multiple staircases to Marinette’s space.

Upon opening her trap door, he could see that she was definitely not expecting his arrival.

Hunched over her desk, she looked almost possessed by whatever it was she was working on in her notebook. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun and there’s a spare pencil tucked behind her ear. There’s another pencil between her clenched teeth as her almost crazed eyes scanned the page. With a growl, she grabbed a white eraser and began to furiously attack the paper with it. With a frustrated growl, she tossed the eraser aside, she used the pencil between her teeth to continue working.

It was obvious to Luka that she hadn’t heard the thump of the trap door opening, so rather than interrupt her work, he simply walked over to her pink chaise lounge and made himself comfortable. She was so interesting to watch when she was focused on a task. He could see her energy barely contained in her movements. Her hand jerked and swept across the paper.

Inspired by the movements her pencil made as she created her own form of beauty, he brought his guitar around and began to quietly play. Tempo fast, notes discordant, he created a melody to accompany the frantic dance of her hand.

Minutes pass before Marinette registered the music playing at the edge of her senses. Glancing toward the source, she was shocked to see Luka sitting with his legs folded under him to support the guitar he was playing.

With a squeak, she began to apologize. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

He didn’t even look at her as he continued to play, transitioning from her frantic song, to a slower melody, its gentle chords slowing her heartbeat and easing her tension. “It’s okay. I understand what it is to be taken over by inspiration. To have the world around you fall away and nothing else exists but what you’re creating.”

Her shoulders relaxed. Of course, he would get it. Feeling much more relaxed and less embarrassed at being caught in the midst of a designing storm, she released the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “Thanks for your understanding. Just give me a minute to get this cleaned up and we can get started getting your measurements.”

She quickly gathered the papers scattered around her desk and stuffed them haphazardly in a folder.

“There’s no rush.” He looked up at her then, eyes piercing through his hair. “I like watching you work. The way your hand flies over the page as your drawing, it’s almost like a dance.” He smiled softly at her blank expression. “I was just providing some music for you to dance to.”

Marinette’s mind went blank as she stared dumbly at the musician.

“Yes., well, yeah…” She didn’t know what to say to that. What do you say to something like that? How do you respond to something so beautiful? “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Kissing any chance of this not being an embarrassing experience for both of them goodbye, she gestured to the stool in the middle of the room for him to climb on so she could take his measurements.

‘Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?’ she asked herself once more.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

Chapter 14

*Sorry for the delay. I wasn't certain on where I wanted the story to go from here, but I finally figured it out. My original plan was to have 29 chapters to this story, to go along with the 29 days of Lukanette February prompts. Now, I'm not sure if I want to drag it out for that long. But I DO know that there will be at least a few more chapters to this. There's a lot of things I need to resolve before I can say "and they lived happily ever after" or whatever.

Special thanks to @novicevoice, @skatsh18, @macaknight, and @unabashedbookworm for your comments. I’m glad you all like this story I’ve come up with. Your kind words are very much appreciated <3

Until next time, my lovelies XOXO*

@write-for-your-life2

[kessielrg]

[KH+DA] A Life Forgotten

Summary: Inspired by @chibi-mushroom‘s Dragon Age AU for the Kingdom Hearts series, focused solely on Anora. [can be read standalone without knowledge of Dragon Age or Kingdom Hearts][oneshot]

Rating: K

Word Count: 2,215

If you like the story, please reblog!

---

“Jump, Razzie!”

The little girl, no more than 5 or 6 years old, hesitated for a moment. Her short, raspberry red hair was gently tussled by the wind that passed by the top of the cliff. Her cousin, Kieran, waited for her at the base of the cliff with his arms outstretched. The smile on his face illustrated that this was nothing more than a game- like they were playing in a parlor with the girl about to jump off the table. But the distance was far greater than that. Quite a ways down, actually.

This was where most of her memories started. This cliff, her cousin patiently waiting for her, and her tiny heart beating in her chest like it wanted to come out. The memory was so old that it usually felt like a dream instead. She tried hard to hold on to it; it was all she had left of a life she never knew.

She took a few steps back, then started to run at full force before jumping off the cliff. She couldn't keep her eyes open as she fell. The wind stung if she tried. But there was a peace as she fell; it felt like the world was slowing just for her as she made her free fall. No one but her cousin could see that she was actually slowing her descent through an unconscious act of magic. To the outside observer, Anora Guinevere Ravishta was flying.

Even when her arms started to wrap around Kieran, it felt like she was trying to hug him, not holding on to him for dear life after making a fate-defying fall. Her sense of weightlessness immediately left when she had wrapped her entire little body around her cousin. She allowed her eyes to flutter open and was instantly greeted with her cousin's beaming smile.

“You did it Razzie!” Kieran happily cheered, doing a little jig as he held her. Anora was sent into a flurry of giggles from the movement. Her cousin's laughter mixed with her own as he slowly ceased dancing to press their foreheads together. What stopped this memorable moment between the cousins was the sound of someone clearing their throat not far from them. The duo turned their attention to a Templar.

This Templar wore an armor that would very soon be very familiar to Anora. The top portion of the Templar regalia as much like that of a regular knight, the symbol of their organization taking a prominent stance on the breastplate. The lower half was more like a blood red robe that stopped a bit ways from the ground. On the Templar's head was a square-like helmet that did not give any indication of what this person looked like under. Anora shrunk a little. She had yet to know the wrath of the Templar Order, but even now she felt intimidated by their armor.

“The young girl's father is here to see her.” the Templar told the two in a gravely voice.

For a small, subtle, moment, Kieran held Anora bit tighter.

“Tell him we'll be there soon.” he affirmed, regardless. The Templar nodded and went back to the main camp to pass the word along.

Kieran waited for the Templar to be out of eye range before setting Anora down. Hand in hand, the two walked back to the main encampment. Anora had decided quite early on that the Avvar were a weird set of people. They were a nomadic bunch, never quite staying in the same place for very long, and their houses were more teepees and tents than brick and mortar. Anora was more fascinated with the augur. The augur was a special mage that frequently talked to the spirits from the Fade- or, as the Avvar called it, the Land of Dreams. The augur talked to the spirits from the Fade, to whom the Avvar refeered as gods, and in trade the spirits watched over the Avvar people.

The Templars were not easily a welcomed (or even a familiar) party among the Avvar. Many of the Templars from this side of the mountain came from Ferelden. A feud between the Avvar and Fereldens was a long and bloodied one- the reminder of which came from one passing look at the glorified soldiers. Kieran and Anora were Ferelden as well, but there was a small exception to them that caused either indifference or quiet scorn. Kieran was a student from the University of Orlais, sent to train into becoming an ambassador of sorts for the Avvar people. The Orlesians were more welcome than the Fereldens, due to the former providing trade and goods that the Avvar could not make otherwise. Had Kieran not be the kind, easy going young man he was, the Avvar would have denied him the moment the empress requested him.

Anora had never quite been sure when the Templars arrived at the Avvar encampment. Despite all the talk then, there were only four of them. She would not understand until later how much danger a single Templar could carry, or what the Avvar did to train their kind's mages. She would not know that Kieran had tried to delay the Templars from finding her by having her with him. She never even realized that the Templar in charge had been her own father. Perhaps, in another time, Kieran would have been successful in keeping her with the Avvar. Maybe she would have become the augur's apprentice. But in this one, she was made prisoner.

Her father, like the other Templars, was dressed in the standard regalia. She would never know his face, but his voice was a lot like Kieran's.

“It is time to stop running,” he said, more to Kieran than the both of them, “Anora is being sent to the Circle.”

“I won't let you do that.” Kieran opposed. “She'll be safe here with the Avvar. You have no right to take care of her anymore.”

“She will go where I say.” Anora's father demanded in return. His stance was neutral, almost unnervingly so, as his voice rose to thunderous levels. “She is a mage, she is Ferelden, she must go to the Circle as per the Chantry's laws!”

Kieran was visibly shaking.

“Anora, go to our tent.” her told the little girl, his tone riddled with a harshness not intended for her. “Unco and I need to talk in private.”

If Anora had known then that this would be the last time she'd see her cousin for almost two decades, she would have put up more of a resistance. But, in this very moment, she looked from Kieran to the Templar before giving a small nod and doing as she was told. They both listened for the sounds of her tiny footfalls to fade before giving each other deadly glares.

“You're not taking her.” Kieran said first. “The Avvar have one of the better methods of letting mages begin their talents, and it doesn't involve keeping her held captive.”

“No child of mine will become an abomination to 'begin her talents.' It's a bloody miracle that we have no control over stamping out all of these undocumented mages. Anora is Ferelden, ergo we must-”

“It doesn't matter whether Anora is Ferelden or not!” Kieran thundered, stamping a foot to the ground and clenching his hand into a tight fist. “She's family! You can't abandon family to rot in some fancy named prison cell!”

Anora's father was silent for a long time. The air electrifying around the two men as both were too stubborn to agree on the other's solution.

“What would a boy like you know about family?” Anora's father then slowly asked. Hatred dripping from his voice with every chilling syllable.

“Apparently more than you! How could you even think about abandoning your own dau-”

Kieran never got to finish because his uncle had been so enraged that he slapped him. The young man immediately staggered backward, nursing his cheek as the wound throbbed. The Templar stepped closer, taking the young man by the scruff of his collar to demand eye contact.

“You understand little of the sacrifices it takes to be in my position.”

“But you always have a choice.” Kieran spat. “Don't you?”

Once more, a silence came between the two before the Templar set Kieran down. No other words were exchanged between the two as the Templar left. Neither of them even needed to say where he was going. It took Kieran a moment to process this, and when he did he let out an anguished yell as he started to charge after the Templar. He didn't get far because the augur had appeared directly in his path.

“Let her go.” the augur said to him in a soft, comforting, tone.

A spell had not being cast, but in that moment everything in Kieran paused. He looked at the augur with bitterness and equal exhaustion. With the traditional mask the augur wore that covered all but their mouth, it was hard to gauge just what expression the augur was giving the young man.

“Excuse me?” was all he could say. He didn't mean for it to come out so harsh, thankfully the augur gave a nod of silent apology.

“The old gods that protect our hold have spoken, young one. Her destiny lies at the Circle.”

For a moment, Kieran was too stunned to respond. When he did talk, his voice wavered; “You… you talked to your spirits about her, when we're not even…?”

“The gods protect our hold because we give them gifts and offering, not because they have a fated loyalty to us.” the augur explained. “We give them what they ask, and in return they show us their wisdom. It has been this way for millennia and it will be that way for the next millennia.”

Hearing this, Kieran was even more at conflict. “Ser, in all respects, I think you fail to understand how differently magic is treated outside of the Avvar. If Anora goes to the Circle, then she may never get out. She may even forget that I'm...”

But the augur silenced him with only a gentle hand on Kieran's shoulder.

“The gods gave me a message for you- one of assurance. They said, 'kin has betrayed her, but love will protect her.' Trust the gods, young one, they know more than we could ever fathom.”

Kieran didn't know when he started crying. He knew his legs gave out before trying to hold onto the augur for dear life. The augur was patient, allowing the young man to let out his frustrations, fears, and sadness out. Only fate could guide Anora now.

. . .

They never even got to say goodbye.

The Templars left the Avvar clan within the hour. When Anora had come to realize that she would never return to her cousin, she cried a lot too. The Templars were not as understanding as the augur had been- telling her that she had to shut up. One Templar even slapped her, which only made things worse. By the time the company arrived at Kinloch Hold, Anora's face had become stained with tears. No Templar pretended to be kind as they moved her inside.

If she had noticed things a bit more clearly then, she would have realized that one of the four Templars never entered the hold. He had remained behind, contemplating the wisdom of his young nephew, while also wondering how he was request a change of station.

As Anora was brought into the hold, forced into several corridors she would come to recognize like the back of her hand, the company went past two new Templars and a girl just a year older than Anora herself. The other girl, sporting blue hair with matching eyes, suddenly stopped in her tracks to gap in awe at the new girl. One of the Templars noticed the blue haired girl's surprise, then took a look at the Templars. In seeing Anora, the Templar seemed to understand why the blue haired girl could not stop staring.

“It seems you may be meeting a new friend, Aqua.” the Templar said to the girl with a grin.

“I doubt it, Campbell.” the other Templar huffed. “She was among the Avvar when she was reported. May already be an abomination. I heard that after they collect her phylactery, she'll be sent to First Enchanter Mickey right away.”

“If her being an abomination is such a concern, shouldn't she see the First Enchanter now instead of later?” Campbell questioned with a raise of his eyebrow. Aqua looked up at the Templar with a curious tilt of her head.

“Why would she be an abomination?” the young girl asked- her voice sounding even more curious than what her expression was.

Both Campbell and the other Templar looked down on her in such a way, Aqua shrunk a little in her spot. It was Campbell who bent down to give her head a little pat.

“Keep to your studies, Aqua,” he assured her, “You'll find out on your own eventually.”

The seven year old still curiously looked at him before a wide smile stretched across her face. “Right.” she agreed with a confident nod.

But, still… just who was that girl?

[deanofwhumpuniversity]

Chambers Authority: Becoming

This is the first of this verse I’ve posted here, and it’s pretty gross. A real Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. Nearly 4k words of...whatever the hell this is.

CW: Self-mutilation, amputation, cannibalism, medical whump, intubation, choking, acid, guns, blood, gore, human sacrifice, murder, death, immortal whumpee of a sort. 

It started last October, on a night so quiet and comfortably cool I should have known it wouldn’t last. I was sitting in the passenger seat, finishing a granola bar when the radio chirped to life with a no-nonsense message from dispatch. “Ambulance requested at 1002 Pike St.”

We didn’t have to speak; my partner was already putting the truck in gear while I picked up the CB. “Team Sierra Hotel responding, we’re on the north side. Details?”

There was an uncharacteristic pause before the dispatcher came back. “It was...a strange call. We’ve also reached out to PD.”

A spike of anxiety shot through me. It’s never pleasant, rushing to some horrible scene, mentally preparing while physically you just can’t do anything until you get there. All that adrenaline with nowhere to go might just be the worst part of the job. Aside from, y’know, everything else. But this was a new kind of harrowing: situation in progress, bracing for nothing and everything. My brain dredged up every sort of first response procedure I knew, like I was cramming for EMT exams all over again. It was overwhelming and useless, and I shook my head to clear my thoughts, when the radio clicked back to life one final time. “They just said that someone’s going to die.”

Our siren was blaring outside and the road was flying past, and I hoped I had misunderstood; but Roman shot a concerned look at the radio and then at me, and I knew he’d heard it too.

“Come back, dispatch? I did not copy.” The radio only played a low whine, almost more the whirr of magnetic tape than any of the familiar fuzzy sounds the CB usually made. After a few more moments I gave up, switching the machine to police frequency. “This is SH 176 emergency medical, who’s responding to the call on Pike?” My only answer was that same low mechanical rasp. No voices came back over the radio, to me or anyone else. The constant chatter characteristic of the police band was simply...gone.

The silence stretched as I stared at the dashboard radio, microphone sitting useless in my hand. 

WHAM! I startled back to awareness as Roman thumped the side of his fist into the radio, trying to jostle it to life. I shot him a look as I hung up the mic and took a deep breath to settle my nerves; he kept his eyes on the road and we began to slow. I realized we were on Pike Street, our destination coming up on the left. The area was all nondescript commercial buildings, small warehouses with vague signs that gave no indication what sort of business they did.

We came to a stop on the wrong side of the street, lights and sirens granting us permission to ignore the rules of the road. It seemed we’d gotten here first. There were no other emergency vehicles, no police, no one coordinating the scene. “What do we even take in?” It was part genuine question, part musing aloud. With no hint of what we’d find inside, I had no idea what our potential patient -- or patients -- might need.

Roman didn’t answer, staring out into the night with a look of consternation furrowing his brow. He leaned forward and flicked a switch, killing our siren but leaving the lights flashing. The silence was so sudden I could feel a ghostly echo of the blare bouncing off my eardrums. I popped my ears and craned in my seat, but I didn’t see any lights but ours bouncing off the glass storefronts; there were no distant wails of sirens coming to join us.

My partner opened his door and hopped out. “I guess it’s on us.” Of course it was fine for us to respond first; that was the job and we didn’t need the police here to get to work. But something in the stillness, thrown into ghoulish contrast by the flashing red and blue, seemed...different from our usual calls.

“What if this isn’t the place?” What if I had heard the dispatcher wrong? If we somehow both had? I knew it wasn’t likely, but the look Roman gave me showed he had doubts too. He leaned back into the cab and switched through the frequencies on the radio. Dispatch, police, back again. Then to a random band. All silent. There wasn’t even a momentary shock of static as the frequencies changed. He shrugged, grabbed a trauma kit, and started off toward the building, leaving his door hanging open. 

I pulled my own first responder kit from behind my seat and followed after him, telling myself it was purely professionalism that hastened my step -- the ability to do my job without need for direction -- and not an expanding discomfort at the thought of being alone in that garishly lighted stillness.

I surveyed the building for side doors and open windows as we approached, inwardly cringing at the idea of breaking the glass front door only to discover we were, in fact, in the wrong place. But Roman gripped the handle and the door swung open soundlessly, as though it were perfectly natural and the place was open for business at whatever ungodly hour of the morning. This seemed to give him pause, and he stood holding the door open for just a moment before continuing on into an unlit lobby.

We looked around for a moment, at the magazine-laden tables and a desk with its darkened computer; a hallway led further into the building, with lights on toward the end, our only obvious choice to proceed. Heading that way I began to hear a voice, muffled by distance but clear enough, and I realized it was the first speech I’d heard for many minutes. I was almost comforted by the normalcy of hearing other people before I began to process what the voice was saying.

“No! No. You’re crazy! This is crazy, why are you doing this?”

Roman and I picked up our pace, hustling toward the sound. We rounded a corner and came to a set of propped-open double doors. The room beyond was large and cluttered with equipment, but my trained eye was drawn immediately to the carnage at its center.

A young man -- maybe a teen, but it was hard to tell -- sat strapped to something like a modified dentist’s chair. His face and shirt were spattered with blood; I couldn’t immediately tell if it was his, or if it was all coming from the slab of gore being held to his mouth. A darker, silver-haired man stood before him, offering up a piece of bleeding meat with his right hand. The man’s left arm was...gone. His dress shirt had been tied off above the elbow, a rubber tourniquet knotted over the bloody sleeve. A table beside them was strewn with irregular chunks of flesh, unrecognizable except for a hand.

The man’s voice was quiet, almost pleading, despite his clear control over the scene. “There isn’t time for squeamishness, Mads.” His head was cocked and brows were knit with worry, as though he was pressing some much-needed medication on the boy and not some raw remnant of his own mutilated body. “We have to hurry! Just do as you’re meant to and everything will be alright.”

The boy in the chair let out a muffled grunt, struggling in his restraints but unwilling to open his mouth to cry out. He tossed back and forth against a leather strap across his chest, cycling his knees up and down in the mere inch of give that the ankle cuffs afforded him. As we watched, frozen, one of the straps gave way and he kicked out, barely glancing the man but knocking the table and its grotesque bounty to the floor.

The man let out a frustrated growl and stepped back. A black-robed figure I hadn’t noticed before rushed forward and grabbed the boy’s leg, wrestling it back into place.

Suddenly I was shoved hard to the side, barely catching myself against the wall of the hallway before I struck my head. I turned to see Roman, ducking to the other side of the hall and taking a position in the sliver of protected space behind the mostly-open door. As I regained my senses I took in more of the room, seeing now that some dozen black clad people ringed the space, standing nearly unmoving in the shadows. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my partner signalling at me; I turned to look as he pointed his thumb back the way we’d come, then held his hand up to his mouth like a phone. I nodded, yes, the radio, then turned back to the grisly scene playing out in the room. What could I do for this kid? We needed the police. 

The older man, though, clearly required medical attention; his sleeve was soaking through over the stump of his arm, the cloth saturated enough now to begin dripping freely. A morbidly hilarious image ran through my mind -- of me simply walking in and offering the aggressor first aid. Would he leave the kid be and let me staunch the wound? Somehow I doubted it.

The figure at the boy’s feet gave up on the broken restraint, sitting back on their heels and simply holding the kid’s leg in place. The man had righted the table and was gathering up the wet meat that had fallen to the floor. He sighed heavily, and his voice took on a disappointed tone. “Alright, Maddox, have it your way. Just...remember, it didn’t have to be like this.”

He strode away, to the poorly-lit edge of the room, and the boy -- Maddox, it seemed -- took the opportunity to shout in earnest, alternating “Help!” and “Stop, please!” and “Let me go!” as he rocked forward and back against a leather strap buckled across his chest. The shadowed figures held their silent vigil, unmoved by his outbursts.

When the man stepped back into the light, he held a jumble of supplies bundled in the crook of his remaining arm.  He dumped them onto the table, letting them slop into the bloody mess, and I heard a metal clank among the soft, wet noises. 

Maddox stopped mid-shout, leaning back and raising his hands as far as the restraints would let him, in a half-warding, half-placating gesture. “Let’s just talk about this, ok? Just...just don’t--” 

The silver-haired man selected an implement from the pile, and stepped well into the boy’s space, looming over him. He pushed what I could see was a speculum toward Maddox’s mouth, and the stump of his left arm moved -- as though he was trying to hold his victim steady and he’d forgotten his new amputee status. He fixed his gaze on one of the robed figures and nodded, and they rushed forward, grabbing the boy’s head and pulling it sharply back. They grasped his chin, and Maddox’s eyes screwed shut with effort as he clenched his jaw. With two people scrabbling at his mouth, he couldn’t resist long.

He gave one last sobbing cry -- “Don’t, please don’t do this! Dad! --” before the speculum wedged into his mouth, holding his tongue down and distorting his cries. My heart leapt into my throat as I watched the man reach for a spool of plastic tubing.

Movement to my right alerted me to Roman’s return, and I hissed as loudly as I dared, “Did you get anyone on the radio? Are the cops here?” When I got no response I dragged my eyes away from the horrifying display. Across the hall, behind the other door, was a man I’d never seen before White shirt and jeans, with an obvious underarm holster. He was braced against the wall, holding a handgun in ready position, his attention firmly on the boy in the chair. Plain-clothes cop. Oh thank God.

The officer didn’t acknowledge me before he ducked into the room, keeping to the wall and quickly disappearing from my view around the corner. A loud, sickeningly wet choking caught my attention, but the man had positioned himself up on the chair, kneeling over the seated boy and blocking his face from view. All I could see were Maddox’s fingers flexing and digging into the armrests, and his legs tossing side to side as far as they could, movements no longer controlled but instinctive, animal struggles to survive.

The man stepped back down onto the floor and grabbed a chunk of flesh from the table, then stuffed it into a funnel I could see had been crudely jammed into the top of the thick tubing. It shouldn’t have fit -- couldn’t possibly have fit -- but I heard a thick sloshing, and saw as a white froth started to stream from the boy’s mouth around the intruding tube. The foam quickly began to turn pink, and thick rivulets of blood ran from the corners of his mouth to meet under his upturned chin.

“Oh holy Jesus!” Roman’s voice came from right beside me and I spun toward him; I grabbed his shoulders to steady myself as my stomach reeled. He took hold of my upper arms, clearly seeing I needed the help. “The cops are here!” He began to pull me away from the doorway and back down the hall. 

“I know!” I whispered back, but he cocked his head in confusion. Before I could tell him about the officer, a shot rang out from the room. We both ducked reflexively, and my partner started pulling me back to the lobby. He’d already brought the gurney -- somehow I hadn’t heard him dragging in the heavy equipment, and I caught myself feeling bad I’d been too distracted to come and help him. When he shot me a concerned look, I realized I had let out a maddened giggle at the ridiculous thought.

Outside on the street, lights and sirens blared. The chaos of uniformed figures bustling to and fro beyond the glass doors lent a morbid sort of normalcy to this horrific night. But none of them rushed in to back up their comrade; more shots rang out from the back and I saw the gathered police ducking behind the vehicles pulled up out front. But my fear and confusion took a backseat to instinct as Roman began to pull the gurney further into the building, and I took position behind it, matching his hurried but careful pace.

A new scene of carnage greeted us in the back room. Several of the robed figures lay in spreading pools of blood, unmoving; but the one-armed man and the plain-clothes officer were nowhere to be seen. Maddox, still strapped to the chair, seemed to be fully seizing, lurching purposelessly in his restraints, the unsupported tube in his mouth hanging down and dragging his head forward. 

We parked the gurney and Roman set about undoing the straps, while I assessed how best to safely remove the tubing from the boy’s throat. I gripped his chin and turned his head up, and I met his eyes -- terrified, suffering...and aware. Despite his body’s violent convulsions, he held my gaze. A gurgling whimper left his lips. I pulled as gently as I could on the tube, and felt none of the sort of rough resistance I expected; instead it felt as though it was dragging through thick mud. Liquid gore began to absolutely pour out of the boy’s mouth, and I was struck by a noxious, almost chemical smell.

“Oh fuck, Roman, I don’t -- ! Acid. I think it’s acid.”

“Just keep moving, Elke. We have to keep trying.” He was in full EMT mode, voice full of urgency but detached. I tried to push my panic down and let training take over. Roman had freed the boy’s limbs and was bundling up his legs. I pushed my arm under his shoulder and supported his head, preparing to move him to the gurney. “One, two, three, lift!”

We lay him down and his whines became a tortured keening; the boy squeezed his eyes shut and tears streamed down the sides of his face. I could feel the tube jerking in my hand as his body shuddered with sobs, but I couldn’t make much sense of the bottom of his face through all the blood. After a few more wracking coughs he seemed to run out of air, and drew in a long, rattling breath that started harsh and quickly became grotesquely wet, as though he was aspirating his own liquified throat. His eyes shot open and he shrieked; he began to claw at his chest and neck, arching up off the gurney in agony.

“Leave the tube, maybe we can get him some oxygen!” Roman was pulling the gurney now, heading back to the ambulance as though there were some miraculous treatment there, as though if we somehow got the kid to the hospital we’d be able to put his ravaged organs back together. 

A wave of dizziness flowed over me from head to toes as I could feel myself giving up; but the boy was still looking at me, eyes bright and clear and desperate. So I just kept moving.

We burst out the front door and beelined for the back of the ambulance. The police outside went from barking at each other, to shouting questions at us -- but the few who came close enough to see the patient backed off quickly. Once the gurney was secure in the cabin, Roman hopped behind the wheel and flipped the siren back on. I pulled one of the rear doors closed; as I grabbed the other a hand shot out of the dark and held it open. I jumped back in surprise, and the plain-clothes cop from inside hoisted himself up into the ambulance. 

“Hey! I’m sorry, but, you can’t --” He pulled the door shut behind him and slid onto the bench opposite me. I didn’t have time to argue. Maddox didn’t have time. “We’re clear!” I called to my partner, and he pulled out onto the thankfully empty nighttime streets.

I went for an oxygen bag and began peeling it from it’s sterile package, when I realized the officer was speaking. “Provoneaux got away, but not all is lost, yeah? There’s still time.” He wasn’t speaking to me; his eyes were fixed on Maddox’s. He stood up, hunched from the low clearance, and reached toward the boy’s face. Before I could register what he was doing, he took hold of the tracheal tube, and yanked.

Thick blood sprayed across the roof of the ambulance, spattering hot and sticky on my face and painting the man’s rumpled white shirt. Muffled whimpers became an agonized howl as what was left of the boy’s mouth was freed. The cop set his large hand against the Maddox’s gore-streaked chin, forcing his mouth shut and covering his nose. I grabbed the man’s wrist and tried to push him away, but he was slick with blood and freakishly strong. “Roman!” I cried out in a panic, unsure if I wanted him to stop and help, or just drive faster.

Instead, he yanked the wheel to the side, tossing us about and jostling the gurney. I felt the man’s grip falter, before he climbed fully over Maddox’s prone body, and pressed his whole weight down over the dying boy’s face. I shoved at him, punched his shoulder to no effect, then my eye lighted on an oxygen tank hooked to the wall. Pulling it down quickly, I put my whole weight into my swing, bashing it into the side of the man’s head. He tumbled to the floor, bringing up his arms to block any further blows.

“You don’t understand!” He was speaking to me for the first time, and I found myself hesitating. I held the oxygen tank ready for another swing, but I didn’t have an easy shot with Maddox between us. The man looked up at me over his raised arms. “If the sacrifice dies, the ritual will complete.”

“If...WHAT?” That was probably the last thing I’d expected to hear, and I simply could not imagine what I was supposed to say to that.

“He has to die some other way.” The man was panting with exertion, but his voice was strangely calm. “Do you really think you can save him? Do you?”

I looked down at the kid, whose eyes flicked back and forth between me and the officer, wide with fear and pain. His chest was hitching with short, failing breaths; what I could see of his face seemed to hold a pleading expression. A treasonous thought ran through my mind, that all I could do for him now was ease his suffering, but I would not give it voice. I would not tell him I was giving up on him. 

I tossed the oxygen tank onto the man, and saw his eyes widen before he covered his head and ducked flat to the floor. I heard it connect, heard his grunt of pain, but I turned my attention to the manual oxygen bag I’d been opening. Tossing the packaging aside, I leaned over the boy and pressed the bag to his face. I tried in vain to force air into his destroyed body, but I could tell now he was making short, sharp exhales, not taking in any breaths. Helplessly clutching the apparatus, I reached my other hand up and brushed the boy’s dark, wavy hair from his forehead. “It’s ok, Maddox,” I lied. “Shh, it’ll be ok.” His shoulders settled back, and his gasps began to gentle. He held my gaze, and I watched as his eyes went still and dark. 

I stood at his side for a moment, an eternity, choking down the sobs that wanted to claw up from my chest. The ambulance bounced over a rough patch of road and I slumped back on the bench, suddenly feeling weak and small as the adrenaline seemed to drain from me. I turned to the man now sitting on the floor opposite me; he looked as spent as I felt.

“Elke?” Roman called from the front. I could see his eyes in the rear-view mirror, probably trying to puzzle out just what on earth was happening back here.

“Roman, stop.” My voice was barely more than a whisper. I almost couldn’t hear it myself over that useless, pointless siren. “Stop it! Turn it off!” The shout hitched in my throat, but we coasted to a stop and I heard my partner open his door and climb out.

“You’re not a cop.” That one shout was all I’d had, my voice quiet again. I kept my gaze on the boy’s body, not wanting to look at the man, the would-be murderer. “Who are you?”

“I’m...Will.” He paused, the way that addicts do when they don’t want to tell the EMTs who they are or what they took. 

“Sure. Will.”

“I’m with the Chambers Authority.” He laughed dryly. “Not that that...means anything. I’m the one who called you, but I was too late. No one is more sorry about that than me, I assure you.”

It was my turn to laugh. There was no humor in it. 

The back doors swung open and Roman surveyed the scene with concern. “What did you do?” he asked, his tone strangely light.

“This psycho, I -- I tried to stop him, but -- !” I couldn’t sustain my anger for more than a few words. “I don’t think there’s anything that would have mattered.”

“No,” Roman replied, “what did you do?” How did you do it?”

I followed his gaze to the body of the young man on the stretcher. His chest was still, and he was deathly silent. But his hands were flexing, and his eyes began to blink. And then he sat up.