#ive been scribbling this for so long ive given up on cleaning it

[undead-cypress]

SPOILERS FOR PERSONA 3 THE ANSWER

Turn around, bright eyes

[jadelynlace]

Ink Drinker / Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader], Chapter 6

catch up here!

synopsis: Ivar was only meant to be a friend with benefits, but he caught feelings for his older brother’s best friend, and co-worker: you.

pairing: Ivar x F!Reader

***content warning [PLEASE READ]: this chapter has the after effect of the trauma call, and too many emotions. surgical mentions and medical terminology are in this chapter as well. anything in italics indicates a flash back.

author’s note: I’m so sorry.

 ~

“Floki, why can I be left alone?” Ivar asked.

“Because the last time you were left alone you ended up with fifty thousand milligrams of pain killers in your stomach. Now, come here—do you know this?” Floki replied with his fingers taping the photo copied image.

“I drew that.” Ivar said back.

“Yes, you did. Where do you want it?”

“What do you mean?” 

“You hate your body so much why don’t you cover it in something you like?” 

*

It is sixteen hours that Ivar is in surgery. His world is dark, nothing but, with pierces of noises that he can recall. But trying to decipher them only makes the surroundings dull, caked in black and muffled with a buzz of an unruly bee hive. There are pokes of pain, he remembers the green light, and he remembers the pot hole he swerved to miss. He doesn’t remember how fast he was driving and the second he was over the yellow line made no difference for the sudden beast of a truck to find him. 

Everything below Ivar’s powdered knee caps are reattached. Grueling hours on the table while he’s sewed back together like a monster. Enough time for Hvitserk to get clothes, to get you clothes, to pack a bag for his brother per your request. Even in the presence of clean laundry you can’t take your blues off yet—they’re holding you proper because you just saw Ivar that morning. You two made love in the low morning light, filled with ecstasy, his seed and then he made you eggs with extra hot sauce and hugged you tightly you were sure you stopped breathing. He told you to be safe, baby, like he did at the dawn of each shift and that he would call you when his last appointment was finished, and on his way back from shopping for supplies for the parlor and that you two would make lunch plans. In his speed, his haste to make sure he didn’t miss you before the two tone song of death would sing in the radios, he instead, became the reason it did.  

Your chief shows up when you tell him the nature of the emergency. Pulling additional personnel on for overtime and they take the rig out of service and from your hands. Words don’t spare any differences and although he offers you a hug, when you take it he slips you a piece of paper. 

“Remember the job you’re doing. And the change you’re making.” He whispers in your ear and you look at the folded sheet. It’s a photocopy of a poorly drawn fire truck with an even worse sketched stick figure, and you had scribbled it when you were five. Back when you met chief for the first time because now you hold the same badge number your father once did. 

“If I give you your Dad’s old badge number, are you going to act like a jack ass like him?”

“I can’t make any promises chief.”

“I have a partner in mind for you, you’ll like him. He’s a good kid. A good medic.”

“This good kid got a name?”

“Yeah, Hvitserk. I’ll introduce the two of you.”

This is the call that shapes you as a medic, as a provider, and changes how you see things. This is the call that sends a new person out into the street, whether Ivar lives or not. This is the call that forever holds terror in your heart because he was laying in the back of your ambulance, and that was the one spot you never wanted him to occupy. 

Aslaug walks through the doors and she’s already two tissues deep into a soggy mess. Hugging Hvitserk and hugging you and you wish you were meeting this woman for the first time under any other circumstance. Floki thanks you and you don’t quite know why, even though the words fall heavily and un-calming, he still thanks you. And when the surgeon returns before the four of you, you’re the only one that doesn’t stand. But he calls your name because you know him, he was lab staff that tested you for your certifications and he told you that you’ll make a damn good medic one day. 

“Remember what I said on the day of your exam?” He asks and you nod, puzzled and impatient looks on the other faces. “You are a damn good medic—you both are.” He adds, eyes jumping from yours to your partners. “And it shows on this call, of all of them.” Hvitserk’s shoulder nudges you and you only nudge him back, perhaps little too hard in your delirious state. “Essentially what we did, was replant the lower portion of each leg. Now, given the extent of his injuries and how his body handles such, I don’t have a clear cut answer for you on his overall mobility. He may need to have screws implanted, he may need prosthetics. He’s going to be in the ICU for the next 48 hours for constant monitoring. We’ll have him sedated so his body can focus on what’s at stake. He’ll need physical therapy for a long time, and he’ll likely be disabled for the rest of his life, given again, how his body handles this. It’ll be a long road. But, like I said—you two are damn good medics and that is the one reason his legs were able to be saved. I will let you know when he’s moved to the ICU.”

You look back at your partner and his face is as blank as yours; influx of emotions just ready to dive from the void but your minds are still churning, still processing all of what boomed from the doctor’s mouth. Ivar’s chance at returning to a normal life was resting in your hands and you two gave the best damn efforts and they worked. The countless hours of dissection, wondering if you’re cut out for this career, these responsibilities, hours of trauma and blood and vomit all fizzle away because you now know that you are. And it just took Ivar to prove it.

When your eyes open again there’s a sharp pierce in your temple, scrunching eyes together and slowly moving, your head rises from Floki’s shoulder and the lights in the ICU have dimmed in the late hour. Impressions stood between his nostrils, falling like petals over his cheekbones, bleeding through split brows and pink flowers through the depths of his neck. His chest sinking and fainting with time, there was a moment of deafening silence when you are looking at his body; seemingly so small under the contraptions. The depths of earth, and the worst hell was seeing him lay on this cot. He’s only sedated now, even though Ivar looked of death, he was still alive under the harvest of wires. The words of how “we’re doing all that we can” do not bring any more comfort, they just take Ivar like a wave rapidly back out to sea. And now you understand how your patients, and their families feel when you speak the same phrases to them. The clinical assessments do not stop a rigorous schedule, motoring for the possible failure. The room is kept warm, and every so often when you will yourself to peek in, you can see the sheen of sweat that’s over Ivar’s forehead, dancing across his chest under the stickers, the monitors. The capillary refill on his toes show promise, and when the nurse says that to her doctor, you find yourself attempting the same motions on your thumb nail. Pressing the pink away and making room for the white, and then in a quick release, the pink swarms back. The ultra sound machines reminds you of the new equipment in your rig as it assess arterial blood flow every hour.

IV bags drip, slow and agonize and the change of wrappings, dressings and cleaning of both the limbs and Ivar himself collect. You spend hours watching the fluid levels sink, his eyes flutter, his fingers in his hand dance and you grow cold because you just want to hold him. To lock him in a steel tower and to constantly remind him how strong he is, because you know the longest road will not come from learning to walk. It will come from Ivar trying to find that he is worthy to live on.

Blackness had retired across your cheeks, wrapping a veil of makeup that melted into battle scars and you could not move if your body depended on it. Aslaug sits next to you; she takes her time wiping the makeup off from under your eyes, the soiled mascara and she’s humming to you. She had been telling you how when Ivar was young, she would sing to him and it would calm him down. How she sang to him in the hospital after he tried to overdose, tubes pumping his stomach as she blamed herself for such wrong doing. How Hvitserk blamed himself because he gave no one a warning cry. And how she’s singing to Ivar now, even though he can’t hear it, because it comforts the three of you as a whole. 

When your eyes follow the nurse into the room, you can hear her say something to Ivar and you watch his head turn in confusion. Grogginess and a fog on his brain as she talks to him like it’s a normal conversation; wishing him a good morning, how the weather looks promising for a beautiful day and you wish you had that level of bed side manner. You never get the promising parts of the journey; you get the patients that are coding and in a rush to the life saving team in the hospital. You love the ones who tell you their entire live’s story in the back of the rig on the way to the emergency room, sharing details and calming your mind with how simple, and yet how different every walk of life is. The nurse says something about you, about Hvitserk and Aslaug and Floki, out and waiting and ready to see him when he’s fit. You wave through the glass and there’s the tease of a smirk on Ivar’s face, even in his slightly sedated state. A dastardly, bastard smirk and his hand lifts off the bed slightly, wiggling his fingers back to you. The tears start up again, pounding a sledge hammer through your skull after all of the unruly pressure and messes of crying as your body tries to go numb.

“Where’s my mom?” You hear Ivar say in a voice that muted slightly as the nurse stands in the door way to exit. “Can I see my mom?” And the nurse nods. Aslaug stands and kisses your hair line as she walks into the vicinity, Ivar watching her and you need to back up, you need to walk away from the room, this hall way and this battle. A faint wheeze goes through your chest and Floki catches it first before Hvitserk has a chance to lift his head and open his eyes.

“Let’s walk, dear,” Floki says and his voice is not authoritative but it still demands you to comply as he loops an arm around your shoulder. “Walking can help to clear the mind.” It’s your first time outside in almost three days, and the sunlight burns you like you had been its victim on a sand covered shoreline for one too many hours. The hospital grounds are manicured, they’re neat and arranged with an abundance of flowers and colors in the open air but everything to you still feels so dull and lifeless, pointless and hopeless and walking only churns your thoughts to double, triple in size like a snow ball rolling down a hill. 

You’re finally allowed in to see Ivar and you approach slowly, like touching him will seer you suddenly, stain you with a unremovable pattern and you’ll forever be reminded. His blue eyes are dull and groggy when they open, the nasal cannula wrapping his face and your eyes dance over the scurf collecting on his jaw, and the faint bruising, cuts and scrapes on his skin.

“Hey baby,” His voice rasps and you kneel by the bed, tears already on their journeys to streak your tried skin and Ivar’s needle poked, IV covered arm comes to wipe what he can reach. “You were there, weren’t you?” And you can only nod, eyes still damp and you relish in the touch he gives you only if it’s for a second. “You saved my life, baby,” Ivar finally adds and that makes the whimper start again, the choke of a sob in your throat and he tries to quiet you, slithering a quick noise from his lips and you rest your head against the bed, his hand still on your hair. 

“I drove the ambulance over a hundred miles an hour,” You finally say and they’re the first words you can use to process the trauma you two had lived through together.

“That’s my girl,” Ivar smiles, speaking with a voice that sounds like sandpaper.

“I love you Ivar—no matter what happens, I love you so much,”

“I love you too, Y/N,” Ivar says and his voice is weaker now and he needs rest. “Kiss me before you go?” He says with eyes scanning your face, and you can’t deny that now. Pressing your lips softly against his, your hands cupping his cheek and you hope it’s not the last kiss you’ll ever get from him. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” Ivar tells you. “I’m afraid. But I’m not going anywhere,” You nod as he speaks, a forehead against his for a second and his hand is still trying to reach on you where he can. This is the man that would pull the tubes and the wires from his chest if he could, if that would make him get closer to you. “You’re stuck with me,” And there’s a faint snicker after his words, weak and drowned out from the normal tone but you’ll take it after not hearing his voice for three days.

“I’m stuck with you,” You say back with a small smile. But it still doesn’t bring enough hope.

Ink Drinker Tags:

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*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

[hangovercurse]

The Things We Can’t Tell Pete About v

Pete and you make amends, but after a series of break ins you end up staying at his apartment when an unexpected visitor shows up.

Colson Baker x Reader

Warnings: Drug use, cursing, heated make-out session

Word Count: 3161

| i | ii | iii | iv |

You spent the next week moping around your apartment, your phone turned off. All inspiration you’d had for writing seemed to have drained out of you, causing you to cancel writing sessions.

After not answering your phone for a few days, Pete came by your apartment, finding you deep in your depression. “I’m sorry for blowing up at you.” He said, taking a seat on the couch next to you. You shrugged, eyes not leaving the TV screen in front of you.

Your brother scoffed, grabbing the remote and turning it off, leaving you with no other option but to pay attention to him. “It’s fine Pete.” You muttered, reaching over to try and grab the plastic from him.

He frowned at you, “obviously it’s not. I shouldn’t have called you selfish and I shouldn’t have made it sound like I wanted you to get your heartbroken.” He explained calmly. He’d been through enough of these episodes himself, so he knew how to navigate the sadness that ran in your blood.

You sighed but didn’t say anything. You felt guilty that he was blaming himself for your mood. In reality, your fight with him was the last thing on your mind.

Pete continued explaining himself, “I’m just trying to protect you, you know?”

You nodded, trying to find the words to respond. “I know.” You whisper, “You’re right, though. Getting involved with your friends would be a bad idea.”

His eyebrows furrowed, “did something happen that I need to know about?”

You took a deep breath, preparing the lie in your head, “no, I just have been thinking about it. You’re right, it would just end up messy and someone would get hurt.”

You could tell he was trying to hide an “I-told-you-so” smirk. “So, there’s nothing going on between you and Colson?” he asked.

You tried to cover the fact that your breath caught in your throat. You guys were pretty obviously flirting the first night, but you didn’t expect Pete to jump to that assumption. “Colson?” You prayed your lie was convincing. “Why’d you assume I was thinking about going out with him?”

Pete raised an eyebrow at you and you let out a fake laugh, “bro, no. I was talking about Douglas.” You lied through your teeth. If music didn’t work out, maybe you could be an actress.

Your brother actually laughed at you for that, “wait, seriously? Doug?” His eyes closed and he leaned back into the couch.

“Yeah, I mean Colson’s hot and everything but that British accent really does things, you know?” You giggled, trying to ignore the sinking feeling from Colson’s name rolling off your tongue.

Pete rolled his eyes, “whatever, weirdo. Trust me, you dodged a bullet. I love Doug, but he could not handle you.” He got up from the couch. “I’m out, just wanted to come check on you. Maybe answer your phone some time?”

You smiled; happy you were on better terms with one of the men in your life. “I’ll try my best.” You called to him as he moved to the door. “Oh and, uh, Pete?”

He turned towards you, the sight reminding you all too much of Saturday night. “I’m sorry for being a bitch and calling you unstable and shit. I mean, you’re an asshole, but that was uncalled for.”

Pete shrugged, “I mean, I am unstable, but thanks.” He waved, leaving your house.

 A few weeks past and things were getting back to normal. You were back writing and editing tracks, Pete and you were talking again, and you felt like yourself. Part of you was glad that things ended earlier rather than later with Colson, so you hadn’t had time to get too attached. Still, the thought of what could have been made you upset from time to time.

You were on your way to the studio one morning when you got a text from your floor group chat.

Wanted to let you guys know, there’s been a series of break-ins in the area. Keep your doors locked. So far no one has been in the apartments, so if you can try to stay somewhere else until they catch him. Be careful floor 5 fam!

Your floor was almost exclusively younger millennials, so you all got along decently. Andy, the one who had sent the text, was actually a pretty good friend of yours, despite you rarely leaving your apartment.

You had an irrational fear of people breaking into your house. You couldn’t explain it, but the thought of being attacked in your own home was one of the worst things that could ever happen to you. Because of this, you decided to text Pete.

Hey, can I stay at your place for a little while. There have been break ins near my apt and I really don’t wanna be there if it happens to me.

You knew Pete was probably rolling his eyes, but you didn’t care. There was no way you were gonna stay in your apartment until you felt safe.

Sure

You have to buy groceries though

Deal

And thus began your week-long sleepover at Pete’s house.

 On day four, Pete walked into the guest room where you had set up camp, finding you scrolling through your phone on the bed. “Hey, Colson’s gonna come over tonight and we’re gonna get high on mushrooms and watch SpongeBob. Wanna join?”

The thought of seeing the blond again made your heart race, but you hid behind a fake smile, “no thanks, I’ll probably stay in here all night and get some work done. Have fun though, don’t bother me.”

“Yeah, you look like you got a lot of work to do.” He said sarcastically but left you to your own devices. “I’m ordering Pizza, I’ll get you one.”

You thanked him, trusting he knew your pizza order by heart by now. Once he left you let out a worried sigh, trying to figure out how you were going to hide the awkwardness between you and Colson from your brother. Hopefully, he would be too high to figure out anything was up.

You were also upset that you had to turn down a night of shrooms and SpongeBob, something you would’ve loved. But you figured you could skip out on one night of fun if it meant avoiding the guy that you probably could’ve fallen in love with if he hadn’t given up on your relationship before it even started.

Okay, so maybe you weren’t as over everything as you told yourself you were, but he had put you in a shitty situation. Of course, you weren’t going to be happy about it.

Three hours later you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, laptop in lap, and headphones in. You’d been listening to one of Lea’s tracks for the past hour, scribbling some general edit notes in your notebook and cleaning up some of the notes with your virtual tuner.

You vaguely heard a knock on the front door but ignored it, focused on adjusting her vocals for the bridge. Truthfully, it wasn’t the best song you’d written with her, but she liked it and she was your boss at the moment, so you did what she asked.

But when there was a knock at your door, you paused, removing one earbud, and calling, “yeah?”

You weren’t expecting to be met with those all-too-familiar blue eyes. “Hey.” Colson said, his confidence fading as you made eye contact.

“Hey.” You replied softly, feeling like his hand was wrapped around your heart and squeezing it.

He cleared his throat, stepping further into your room with a pizza box in hand. “Here’s your pizza.” He handed you the box awkwardly. You had expected him to leave the room after you thanked him, but he lingered for a moment. “You’re not skipping out on tonight because of me, right?”

You raised your eyebrow at him, confusion on your face. “No, I have a lot of work to do tonight so…” You trailed off, lowering your gaze down to the box in your hand.

He nodded, “okay, I just- you told me how much you liked doing shit like this with Pete and I wanted to make sure I wasn’t…” He paused, letting out a breath, “if you want to join, you should. Like I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have fun just because I’m here.”

You let out a dry chuckle, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not not hanging out with you guys tonight because of you. I’m just doing work.”

The man nodded again, scratching the back of his neck. “O-okay. I’ll just, uh.” He turned towards the door, moving to leave before turning back to you. “If you get done and feel like it, you should come watch SpongeBob with us.”

You nodded, sucking your lips into a straight line, feeling the awkward tension in the air that you desperately wanted to avoid. “I’ll think about it.” You said and with that, the blond left your room, pulling the door behind him.

You hated to admit it, but even when he was being nervous and awkward, he still managed to be fucking attractive as hell. You let out an annoyed huff, falling back against your pillows and covering your face with your hands.

You then spent the next 45 minutes trying to finish your edits, but your mind kept wandering to the boy with the sky in his eyes and an art museum on his body. Realizing you wouldn’t be getting any work done for the rest of the night, you thought about his offer.

Shrooms did sound good right now, and as much as you hated it, so did spending time with Colson, even if it was just friendly. And now that you had gotten Pete off your back about the events that had gone down weeks ago, he wouldn’t be suspecting anything anyways, especially not if he was tripping out.

Fuck it, you figured, climbing out of your bed and grabbing the box of pizza. You shuffled out of your room and into the living room where the bright colors of the TV lit up the dark house.

“Y/N! You decided to join us!” Pete cheered as you took a seat on the edge of the couch, curling your legs under you.

You giggled at your brothers very faded state. “I got bored of working so, shrooms.” You shrugged, reaching over and grabbing the bag off the coffee table. You could feel Colson’s eyes following you but you tried to play it off.

The mushroom was chewy in your mouth and tasted like dirt, so you ate it as fast as you could, focusing your attention on the tv. You leaned back into the arm of the couch, your legs falling to your side. From the corner of your eye, you could see Colson take a long swig of the bottle in his hands. It was too dark for you to read the label, but you could tell it was some form of alcohol.

Biting your lip, you considered the idea of toying with him, remembering how awkward he was earlier. Deciding he probably would be too high to care; you leaned over and grabbed the bottle from his hand. You brought the drink up to your lips, eyes locked on his and a smirk on your face. He watched as you swallowed the burning liquid, and it was then that you processed just how glazed his eyes were.

Handing him the bottle back, you giggled. Something about Colson being completely faded yet still watching your every move made you feel giddy inside. He smiled at your actions, accepting the bottle, and taking another sip of it. This time you watched him, his Adam’s apple moving with the liquid.

So, you were definitely not over him. Not even in the slightest.

You took in a breath, turning to the screen and waiting for the drugs to kick in. They were playing the episode where SpongeBob had to get a new spatula after his broke, a classic. Every so often you reached over and drank from the bottle of what you figured out was some form of whiskey, probably Jameson knowing your brother. Colson didn’t seem to mind, moving closer to you as subtly as possible so you didn’t have to reach as far. If Pete picked up on anything he didn’t say.

Around the 20-minute mark, the shrooms definitely hit. The lights from the TV got brighter, the pictures seeming to blend together in a different way. You loved this feeling, everything seemed so much funnier and every bone in your body felt 20 pounds lighter.

Your movements felt slower, your limbs turning to jelly. Colson happened to glance over to you, seeing the smile on your lips and knowing, even in his faded state, that you were high. The image reminded him of that first night, you on the same couch passing the blunt to him. Your eyes were glossy and your smile was beautiful then and now.

As the episode ended and rolled into the next, you shifted slightly, your legs starting to fall asleep. You moved to dangle them off the couch when you felt a soft hand on your ankle. You looked over to see Colson staring at the screen, but his fingers wrapped around your right foot, pulling it onto his lap. He then reached for the other one and pulled you so both of your feet were propped in his lap, your back against the arm of the couch.

You sent him a smirk, but if he saw it, he ignored it, continuing to watch the cartoon. His hand ran up and down your leg, sending shivers through your body. You tried to pay attention to what was going on on the screen, but you felt like your entire body was on fire.

You let out a little giggle at the sensations, causing him to glance at you, bringing a finger up to his lips in a shushing motion. You pouted jokingly towards him before turning back to the TV. He continued to look at you, the drugs making every feature of yours pop.

After another episode ended you heard quiet snores coming from the other side of Colson. You looked over to find Pete passed out, head hanging off the side of the couch. You laughed quietly, grabbing Colson’s attention. You motioned towards the sight, making Colson laugh silently as well. His whole face lit up as he took in his friend’s sleeping state.

You moved your feet off his lap, scooting closer to him. Your cross-faded state made you much more confident than you normally would be, and much more reckless. “Looks like it’s just you and me now.” You whispered, looking up at the man.

He smirked down at you, blinking slowly. His eyelashes were so long and pretty, you wanted to steal them. “I guess it is.” He said, voice matching yours.

God his voice was sexy.

In a moment of brilliance, or as anyone else would call it, stupidity, you climbed onto his lap, straddling his waist. He raised an eyebrow but made no effort to move you. Your hands rested on his shoulders, a drunken grin on your lips. “I was really sad when you left.” You murmured, searching his eyes.

He took his lower lip between his teeth, taking a deep breath. “I hated leaving.” He responded, leaning his head closer to you. “Took every ounce of strength I had not to go back.”

You frowned, leaning so that your noses were touching. “I wish you had.” You whispered before closing the gap between your mouths. His lips collided with yours so familiarly, so naturally. Your hands moved to the back of his neck, fingers toying with the hair there. His found your waist, pulling your body further into his.

Every inch of your body was tingling in the best way. You felt like you were flying, adrenaline coursing in your veins. When you pulled away for air you smiled up at him. “You’re really cute.” You giggled.

He grinned, “you’re cuter.” He pecked your lips as you shook your head in disagreement, “yup.”

You both knew better. You had ended things for a reason, a reason that was passed out next to you. But in his arms, you just didn’t care. You kissed him again, deeper this time. You felt like you needed to make up for the lost time.

And Colson kissed you back, missing your intoxicating lips. Your hips started moving against his, the friction in his pants making him moan quietly against your lips.

It felt good, but he knew something wasn’t right. So, he pulled away. “Y/N.” He mumbled, earning a small whine from you. “Shhh.” He shushed you, “we can’t do this, remember?”

You pouted, moving back from him. His thumb rubbed circles into your hip, a frown on his face. “We said we weren’t gonna do this because of Pete.” He whispered.

You sighed angrily, “why does Pete get to tell us what to do?” You asked.

Colson smiled softly, “he doesn’t. But we decided that it was best if we stopped seeing each other.”

“We did!” You whisper-shouted. “Obviously, that doesn’t work.” Colson chuckled at your small outburst, knowing you were right. “Doesn’t this feel right to you?” You asked, pressing your forehead to his.

He wanted to kiss you so bad, but instead he just said, “we can’t do this.”

You pushed yourself off of his lap, a frustrated expression covering your face as you stood up. “You’re both assholes.” You said, making Colson’s eyes go wide at your volume.

He stood up, hand going to cover your mouth so you wouldn’t wake up Pete. “Y/N please.” You glared at him but made no attempt to continue. “You’re right, even if we avoid each other it doesn’t work, so let’s scratch that idea.” He paused and you nodded, agreeing with him. You didn’t care what happened, you just wanted him back in your life. “Let’s be friends. Just friends. We can hang out together and have fun, but we don’t get involved with each other. That way, we won’t be tempted to do this every time we see each other.”

You hated the idea, but you knew it was better than the alternative. So, you let out a small “okay” against his palm. He smiled, removing his hand from your mouth. “I’m gonna go to bed, friend.” You said, backing away from him.

He nodded, a small smile on his face. “Wait.” He whispered, pulling you in for a short, sweet kiss. “Okay, now we’re just friends.”

You let out a small giggle and rolled your eyes, pushing him back onto the couch. “Goodnight.” You whispered, walking towards your room, and trying not to stumble. Your lips held a stupid smile that refused to go away.

[pythagoreanwhump]

Eyes Closed, By My Side

AO3 link

After helping Anastasia vivisect a rebel spy, Kai has to make sure they survive the resulting infection long enough to confess. They didn't want to think about any other reason they were being so gentle, not when their head was still cloudy with emotions they weren't ready to face yet.

Thank you to @sopwithwhump for helping me with the idea and making it happen!

CW: Aftermath of torture (vivisection, but not explicitly mentioned), intimate whumper, dissociation (again not explicitly mentioned), very very brief (like half a sentence) mention of compulsive handwashing and what could be read as denial of that

Kai wasn’t one to startle easily, something to be expected given the nature of their job, unless there was something on their mind that bothered them deeply. Today wasn’t the type of day where they would admit to themself what they were thinking about when the phone rang, though.

They were rarely phoned for anything important, most of their superiors opting to use a pager in case Anastasia had them out of the office, but it would be undisciplined for them to not answer the phone immediately. The voice on the other end was one that they have heard before, but not familiar enough to recognize over a call.

“Lieutenant Waykes?” They heard the voice ask. They must’ve mumbled something in affirmation, though they couldn’t quite realize what they said. The voice continued. “The prisoner needs surgery. We just need a confirmation that you want them alive.”

This time, they distinctly heard themself say yes, but they didn’t think they knew what it was supposed to be about. They found themself pacing to the door of their office, an open file still clutched in their hand, before they stopped themself from rushing out without even knowing where they wanted to go. They set the file down, pressing with their thumb and smoothing out the corner where their grip had left a crease, and anxiously adjusted the position of everything on their desk, and then their uniform, before heading toward the med wing.

The place was empty, a large room set aside for prisoners with a couple of cots along the back wall next to windows covered with grey curtains. A small desk sat in the corner with a locked shelf next to it, and inside sat a few bottles with their labels obscured with the thick plastic screens of the doors. Certainly, it would be better for a prisoner to be brought here for help than to be in the cells being tortured everyday, but the place was no less gloomy. Swallowing thickly, they tried the door that they knew connected this room to the main medical office. It didn’t budge, and it was clear from the uniformly dull copper knob that it hadn’t been touched in a long while, but there was a tint of dark red hidden behind it, and a splotch on the old yellow paint of the door that looked faintly orange, brown even.

They left through the front door again, pulling it shut behind them, and somehow it felt like the hallway had brightened up as they did. The outside of it was painted a shade of green only slightly lighter than the walls, and with a few more steps down the hall, it was easy to forget the room even existed. The next room had double doors, propped open with two battered pieces of triangular wood, and the sunlight spilled through the tall windows, but the lights were still on overhead, buzzing with their harsh white glow.

“Can I help you?” The nurse sitting by the door barely looked up only to glance at the small silver bar on their shoulder. Kai stared back, scanning over the table and the pile of papers, more organized than their own desk ever had been even on their first day, and the nurse’s neat uniform, an ironed crease down the middle of the red cross printed on a clean white armband sitting right below the sewn-on double chevrons of his rank.

“Hm?” Kai responded, hoping they hadn’t zoned out long enough for it to be weird. “Right. I’m looking for a prisoner I sent over there yesterday.” They gestured toward the other room, and there was a shelf where they remembered the door being. “There’s no one there.”

“They’re in surgery,” The nurse replied. “It’s all hands on deck over there. There’s not much staff assigned to prisoners in the first place. It’ll take a few hours.”

Kai thanked him with a nod, asking him to tell the others to give them a call when it was done, and walked out, making the trip back to their office. They hoped no one would stop them and assign them some other task, walking close to the walls with their eyes down, their finger skimming against the rough chalky paint as they moved, feeling the friction that soon turned from grounding into numbness.

They sat in front of their desk and picked up the same file as before, laying it in the center of their desk so the spine aligned with the knob on the drawer right in the middle. The crease from their grip before was still there, sharper on the left than the right, and they smoothed it out with the side of their left wrist while they picked up their pen with their right hand.

The same grey walls that they had usually felt secure within suddenly felt too close, too tight, and they knew they needed a change of scenery. They would never admit how often they felt like this in their officer after they came back from the cells, how the walls were painted the same color and how they could very well end up in the other type of room with a single misstep. They found themself thinking that they would prefer even the gloom of a storage room that had been converted to heal only to prolong suffering.

They tucked a stack of files under their arm and once again walked to the med wing, opening the door to find the room as empty as before. They found a chair by the window, setting their stuff down on it and reaching to draw open the curtains. They expected to find dust floating in the rays of light that spilled in, but there was nothing. They didn’t know if they should be glad that the place was at least clean or hate it for how dead it seemed.  They spread their things out on the windowsill, trying to ignore now the peeling paint making crinkling noises as they wrote. Leaning against the side of the window and pushing their work into the sunlight to see better, they almost felt like a young student posing for an aesthetic photo of themself studying.

The thought occurred to them that they still had no idea where the operating rooms were when they heard a bed being wheeled down the hallway toward them. It can’t be far, but they never bothered to look for them. They had little time to wonder, anyway, the doctor seeing them in the room and directing the others to push the bed right to them, rolling the rebel, still unconscious, onto the closest cot.

“Here,” She tossed them a pair of cuffs, grabbing the rebel’s hand on her side and attaching it to the railing of the bed. “Get them cuffed up. They’ll be waking soon. And close the curtains. They always try to look out and plan to escape if they can see through the windows. Every one of them.”

“This one definitely would,” Kai looked down at the rebel who looked defiant even while unconscious. “I’m sorry for the trouble, ma’am. Captain Kolettis didn’t tell me it would be this bad.”

The doctor sighed, stepping aside to let a nurse put in a new IV. “You know, we don’t usually expend so many resources for prisoners. We had to pull staff from the normal care team today. I’m a doctor, and I will save their lives when I need to, but they don’t deserve to take up medicine and manpower that are meant for our own soldiers. This one lost their right to it when they decided to betray us. Next time you want someone alive, make some effort yourself instead of dumping all the work on us.”

“Captain Kolettis doesn’t care about what Captain Ridley would do if she killed the rebel, but I would prefer not to cross her after she made me promise I would get a confession from her prisoner.” Kai moved away from the bed, following the doctor to her desk. “I’ll get them out of your hair as soon as they’re good to go back to a cell.”

The doctor looked at them in silence, wariness showing on her face. “They’ll have to be here for a while. If you want a confession from them, you’re gonna have to wait. They’ll be too delirious to say anything for a day or two.”

Kai hummed, rushing back to the prisoner’s bedside when they heard the cuffs clanging against the railings of the bed as they started waking up. “Do you want me around or would I just get in your way?” It seemed like in the movies, people always tried to rip their IV out as they were half-aware, waking up in a hospital, but the rebel just struggled, the edge of the cuffs digging into their wrists.

“Sure,” She scribbled something at the bottom of a document that looked too messy to be a signature, even for a doctor’s handwriting. She pushed it under a clip and snapped it closed, looking around as if looking for something. “I’ll leave one nurse here, then, so it doesn’t get too crowded. Do whatever you want. I don’t care, as long as you don’t damage them up too much and then need me to fix it again.”

“Yes ma’am,” Kai muttered, not looking up at her as she left the room. They cupped the struggling rebel’s face, pressing them down into the bed and whispered against their forehead. “Hey. I know you can’t really understand me right now, but you know I don’t like so much struggling.” They weren’t able to tell before from the fleeting touches on their wrist, but now that they were close, they could feel how hot their skin burned. “I’ll have to punish you later if you keep struggling like this, okay?”

Kai didn’t know if it were the threat or the cool touch of their hand on the rebel’s forehead, although they doubted either would be really effective. They stilled, arms falling limp, but they jerked their head to the side, trying to escape Kai’s touch. They mumbled something, but Kai shushed them, thumb brushing over their lips as they leaned in to whisper another threat in their ear. “It’s okay, you’re alright,” Kai said when they’ve quieted again. “They just had to do surgery to clean you up so you wouldn’t die on me. Anastasia should’ve been more careful with you, you’re too beautiful to be killed like that.”

“No Kai please-” The word “surgery” seemed to have sent them into a frenzy. They arched off the bed, then collapsed down and tried to turn onto their side and curl up. Kai grabbed their shoulders and shoved the point of an elbow into their chest to force them down. Their eyes were open, but they were more feral than clear. “You can’t, please, don’t let them cut me open again, Kai.”

That seemed to take all the strength they had in them in their current state. Their eyes slipped closed and their shoulders trembled with quiet almost-sobs, but there was nothing left in them to struggle anymore. Kai ran their hand through their sweat-soaked hair, picking away the tangles. A whimper escaped their tightly pressed-together lips when Kai placed the back of their hand on their forehead, but soon their both hands were warm and the rebel was still burning hot.

“Private,” Kai waved at the nurse where he sat, probably just catching up on paperwork like everyone else. “Is there something I could use to cool them down a bit? I might as well while I’m here.”

“Yes sir. You probably should if you want them to recover fast so you can ask them questions.” They pointed to the sink. “Would you be alright grabbing it yourself? There’s rags in the top cabinet, and get one wet with cold water.”

“Thank you, private,” They nodded, and they didn’t remember themself getting up and walking over, just that the next moment they had the rough fabric in their hands, held under the running water. They stayed there for much longer than they had to, feeling their fingertips go numb under the cold water. They knew people maladapted to this job for whom washing their hands all the time was the only way to chase away the feeling of invisible blood forever sticking to their hands, but for them it was simply easier to let go of their thoughts while they felt the flowing water take it away from them. They glanced at the nurse again, but he paid them no mind, hopefully not nothing how long they stood by the sink.

They wrung out the cloth and used it to wipe their hands, folding it into a neat rectangle and laying it on the rebel’s forehead. They mumbled something incoherent and Kai hummed as if agreeing, taking hold of the rebel’s hand with their own, rubbing their cold fingers into their palm. “Does that feel better? Just relax and sleep now, you won’t be hurting so much when you wake up.”

“Promise?” Their eyelids cracked open a bit, but Kai doubted they could see the reassuring smile they flashed them. “I don’t… wanna hurt anymore…”

“Mhmm,” Kai nodded, squeezing their hand and feeling them squeeze back gently. They couldn’t promise them no more pain, but at least nothing would be as bad as what Anastasia had done. What they had helped to do. Flipping over the wet cloth, they muttered a quiet apology, but the rebel was already unconscious again. They bore witness to their suffering, and now they will stay by their side in their vulnerability. It wasn’t much, but at least they could convince themself they did what they could.

[vexedtonightmares]

last dance (elu ballet au) chapter treize

Lucas is in his final year at the Paris Opera Ballet School and he’ll be damned if he lets his former friend-turned-rival Eliott steal the lead role in their production of Swan Lake.

aka- lucas and eliott are rivals who are forced to room together for their final year of ballet school before they try to enter the company. we can all see where this is going.  

i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. ix. x. xi. xii. xiii.

ao3

tw: eating disorder, brief discussion of past manic episode, depressive episode, very brief mentions of depression/self harm, internalized/self imposed ableist thought patterns, discussion of bipolar disorder 

Mardi 6:45

Eliott still wasn’t there. Lucas had stayed up practically all night waiting, seeing if Eliott would come home, come back to him, but he hadn’t, and Lucas didn’t know what to do about that. There was still time though, and before they’d gotten together Eliott had been chronically on time to class every day, which meant he was late by ballet standards. Lucas was able to kid himself into thinking that would be the case that day as well.

He ran his spoon through his bowl of cereal, debating between taking another bite and throwing it out. Maybe Eliott had left him for this reason, that he couldn’t just get it together and force himself to function like a normal human being. 

The door was unlocked, so Lucas barely looked up when Manon walked in, knowing from the way she did so that it wasn’t Eliott. She sat down next to him at the counter and looked at what he was eating. 

“Cereal, fun,” she said conversationally. 

He shrugged, bringing another bite to his mouth, forcing it down. It tasted fine, if not a little bland. “What’s up?” he asked after a moment of awkward silence. 

“I should be asking you that,” she said pointedly. 

He forced out a laugh. “What makes you say that?”

“Lucas, you’ve been in a daze since last week. No one can get through to you. I know that Imane came and hung out with you on Sunday, but even she won’t tell me why you’re acting so strangely, and I know you told her.” Manon sounded a bit hurt and Lucas felt guilty. He didn’t want to be hiding things from Manon, really, it was just hard especially when things were so up in the air at the moment. 

He’d been trying to convince himself so much that nothing bad had happened to Eliott and talking about it would only convince him otherwise. The hard thing was that Manon would probably have great advice, but he wasn’t sure he wanted it. Sometimes toiling in his own misery was better than searching for a way out. He knew it probably wasn’t the healthiest way to cope, but he was quickly realizing none of his coping strategies were very healthy. 

“I love you Manon, and I’m really sorry, but I just… I can’t.” She said nothing, eyeing him carefully, so he continued, “I only told Imane because I was having a full on breakdown, I would have talked to anyone who showed up at my door, even Chloé, but now I need time to process things on my own before I discuss them. Is that ok?”

She sighed, biting her bottom lip. “Does it have to do with Eliott?”

“Why would you say that?” he asked nervously. 

“Well… he’s disappeared once again and you look ten minutes away from passing out again either from stress, lack of sleep, or both, so I just figured… Did you guys fight again?” she asked seriously, and oh, right. She was asking because she thought they hated each other. 

“Something like that.” It was the best he could give her, and thankfully she was willing to accept it for the time being. She folded him into a hug that he reciprocated readily. He tried to communicate with her through the hug more than he could through words, to tell her that maybe he wasn’t ok, but he was trying to get better. The only problem was that he wouldn’t be better completely until he knew what the hell was going on with Eliott. 

She released him, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Off to class we go?”

“Off to class we go,” he agreed, throwing his bowl into the sink and grabbing his bag before following her out the door. They prepped for class in silence, running through various parts of the pas de deux between Odette and the Prince just in case Lucas had to stand in for Eliott again. He felt bad for ditching Imane another day, but at least she didn’t seem to ruffled by it all, able to practice on her own when Lucas was Eliott for the day. 

He’d also noticed her and Sofiane spending a lot of time together during practices when Lucas stood in for Eliott, not that they didn’t hang out usually but the air seemed charged between the two of them and Lucas found it in himself to smile at the fact that his instincts had been pretty spot on regarding the two of them.

When eight o’clock hit and Eliott wasn’t there, Lucas felt his heart sink even further into the pit of his stomach than it had since he woke up Sunday morning and Eliott wasn’t in bed beside him. 

Madame Rigaux obviously noticed he wasn’t there, as they all did, because his spot at the front of the barre remained empty and, for the first time since Lucas had started attending the school, she walked out of class. 

Imane turned to Lucas, intuitive as always, and Lucas couldn’t keep his concern from showing on his face. “He’s not back?” she asked in a hushed tone as everyone else whispered around them.

He shook his head, and Imane swore under her breath. “This really isn’t good Lucas, you have to tell someone about what happened. He could be a danger to himself or others.”

“He’s not some fucking psychopath, Imane, and he’s not on drugs. I don’t know what’s going on but there’s a logical explanation, I know it.” He could hear in his voice that he was pleading, and that she was probably right, but he didn’t want her to be. 

Madame Rigaux entered the room once again just as Imane was about to speak again, director trailing behind her. 

“M. Lallemant, can you come with me?” he asked, back straight, voice emotionless as always. Fuck. Why him? He figured it was common knowledge the two of them were rivals of sorts, even to the instructors. They didn’t think he’d done something to Eliott, did they?

He nodded, swallowing his unease and following the director out the door and down not to his office, but to Lucas’ suite. “Um, Sir? Have I done something wrong?” he asked nervously. 

The director looked down at him as if he were a nuisance. “No, but M. Demaury is your roommate, you should be more responsible for him.”

“In what way?”

“You’re aware this is the seventh class he has failed to attend this semester? We should have pulled him at three, but he was physically ill that week, and had a doctor’s note, so we let it slide because he is so pivotal to the performance and to this school as a whole,” the director explained boredly. Lucas might have been offended if his worry hadn’t outweighed his desire for the director to see him as more than second best to Eliott. 

“But now,” he continued, “Two more unexcused absences, we’ll have no choice but to put him on probation.”

“But Sir—” Lucas started.

“What? Aren’t you glad to take his place? Pitying M. Demaury only shows me that I’ve been right about you all along. You don’t have the drive, the passion. It’s why you’ll always be an understudy, that and your unfortunate physique.” Lucas staggered on his feet, feeling the heat rise to his face and having that sensation in the back of his throat that told him tears were imminent. If he cried he’d only prove the director right, so he swallowed them and put on as brave a face as necessary.

He cleared his throat. “What I was going to say, Sir, is that while I am grateful for the opportunity, I think Eliott might be physically ill again, so he might come back with a doctor’s note.”

The director’s gaze snapped to his. “Come back?”

“Yeah?” Lucas shrugged, brows furrowing. 

“You mean to tell me he’s left school grounds?”

“Um…” 

“Open the door to your suite, M. Lallemant,” the director said sternly. 

Lucas pushed it open. “It’s… not locked, Sir, just in case he came back. He left his keys here.”

The director stepped into the room, surveying it. Thank god Lucas had cleaned up all of Eliott’s nonsensical scribbles. “How long has he been gone?”

“Well…”

“How. Long.”

“Since Sunday, possibly Saturday night,” Lucas replied miserably. 

The director shook his head in disbelief. “And you’re only now telling me?”

“I thought he’d be back by now!” Lucas knew it wasn’t a good excuse, but he also hadn’t been expecting to have this conversation with the director. He knew he should say something regarding how he’d left, but he still couldn’t bring himself to. 

“Have you had contact with him since then?” the director asked.

Lucas shook his head. “No. He, uh, left his phone here too. I don’t know where he went or who he’s with, so I don’t know how to contact him.” 

“Did you try his parents?” There was some concern in the director’s voice now and Lucas nearly laughed. Of course he’d be concerned now, because it was Eliott who was missing, not Lucas. He was certain that if he’d been the one to disappear, the director would pack up his things without a second thought and bar him from the school should he ever try to return. 

“I don’t have their contact information,” Lucas said truthfully. There was a time he had, but that time had passed years ago. He missed the Demaurys often, actually, and he sometimes wondered if they missed him. Probably not, given what Eliott had likely told them about him over the years. 

The director sighed. “I have to do everything myself, then?” 

“I’m sorry, Sir—”

“Just go back to class, M. Lallemant, I daresay you need it more than most. I’ve always thought you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Yes, Sir,” Lucas answered, hating how small his voice sounded, hating how he let the words get to him in such a way. The director had never really been nice to him, especially not when he filled in for Eliott, but he could take it when they were corrections about his dancing, not when they were corrections about himself in general.

He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, making a pit stop in the bathroom and locking the door behind him. The tears came out all at once and he leaned over the sink, sobbing with every breath. It was times like these when he wondered why he was even doing any of this in the first place. Why he’d chosen ballet if it was only ever going to hurt him. 

Still crying, he caught his breath enough to stand up straight, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked a mess, and he hated how he looked, even when Eliott had spent so much time telling him how beautiful he was. Beautiful in one person’s eyes didn’t mean good enough to everyone else. 

He flinched away from himself turning towards the stall, toilet beckoning him, reaching inside his head and pulling out his worst thoughts about himself. He’d never done this before, what he was thinking of doing now. His brand of disordered eating included restriction, never purging, but all he wanted to do at that moment was to let it out, empty himself of all the feelings of worthlessness, anger, even love, empty himself until there were no feelings at all. 

But then he thought of Eliott. Of what Eliott might think if he saw Lucas there, kneeling in front of the toilet hating himself and his situation so much he hadn’t felt he had anywhere else to go. Eliott would understand, that was the problem, he wouldn’t judge him but he’d show concern, making Lucas feel like as long as he was there Lucas never had to feel like that again. That was why he stood up, drying his eyes one last time before marching out of the bathroom, determined to be the version of Lucas that Eliott saw, not the one who needed to feel nothing at all to feel something. 

Mercredi 19:12

Eliott hadn’t shown again, but Madame Rigaux hadn’t stormed out of class, instead ignoring Eliott’s empty space, so Lucas wondered if there had been some sort of communication between Eliott and the school. If so, why hadn’t Eliott found a way to contact him yet? 

Arthur was coming over to study with him, against Lucas’ wishes, but Imane had agreed to it for him, telling him that he needed a distraction to take his mind off things. Honestly, Lucas was surprised that Arthur was studying at all. 

The door remained unlocked, just in case, so Arthur barged right in just as Manon had done, but with more of a flourish. “Hello my fellow gay child,” Arthur said, swinging the door open. 

Lucas looked up from his laptop. “Hi?”

Arthur didn’t say anything more, merely smiled before plopping down next to Lucas on the couch and looking at what he was doing, which happened to be that week’s French homework.

“Aren’t you bi? Have there been new developments I’m unaware of?” Lucas joked, setting his laptop down beside him. It looked like Arthur hadn’t brought any homework with him to study, so Lucas assumed they were really just hanging out. 

“I am bi, but I’m gay enough that I can refer to myself as such.” 

“Is that how that works?” Lucas asked

Arthur grinned cheesily. “Do any of us know enough to know how anything works?”

“Fair enough.”

Arthur suddenly frowned, and nodded towards Eliott’s closed door. “He still sick or whatever?”

“I don’t know,” Lucas said. It was the truth.

“You don’t know?” Arthur asked incredulously, “Listen, I understand you don’t like him, but as a roommate, you have to at least have common human decency and make sure he’s all right. I was his roommate for years, I know the deal.”

Lucas was about to interject that the reason he hadn’t spoken to Eliott was because he wasn’t even there, but he paused. “Know the deal?”

“Yeah.” Arthur frowned even deeper. “You know, like, obviously I know he isn’t actually ‘sick’ or whatever, he’s at another low.”

“Anther low?”

Arthur sighed. “Seriously, Lucas? Eliott’s clinically depressed. He has been for years, and sometimes it hits harder than other times. Sofiane and I have been covering for him for years, because we know the director would cut him faster than you can snap your fingers if he caught a whiff of neurodivergence.”

Lucas was gaping up at Arthur in wide eyed shock. It explained some things, explained his behavior that one week where he didn’t even get out of bed, but it didn’t explain his behavior this time, he definitely hadn’t been depressed. “I didn’t know,” was all Lucas could think to say.

Arthur must have felt bad, because his expression grew sheepish. “I mean, it isn’t your job to know, or to do anything about it, I just figured he’d told you about it because it can impact him pretty heavily.” 

Lucas felt like a horrible person. Somehow Eliott had been the only one to see him when he wasn’t ok, when he needed help, and he felt sick to his stomach at the thought he hadn’t seen when Eliott was hurting. Or that he had, and he’d ignored it. 

“But wait… he was only ever depressed? Did he ever seem weirdly happy, or anything?” Lucas asked. 

Arthur thought about it. “No. I mean, Eliott’s a generally happy person, that’s why the depressive cycles were more noticeable. You can ask him, he’d know better than me.”

“He’s not here,” Lucas said at last, which he probably should have said first.

“What? Where is he?”

Lucas put his head in his hands. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t—” Arthur broke off, taking a breath. “Lucas, I get that you hate him, put damn it call him or something! I didn’t know he was missing, Lucas something could be seriously wrong, he’s had a history of self-harm and shit, fuck!”

Lucas thought back to the things he’d ignored, feeling worse and worse with each word Arthur said. He’d never noticed anything of the sort when he and Eliott did things together, but he admittedly wasn’t paying much attention when Eliott’s mouth was anywhere close to his body.

“He left all his stuff here, I didn’t know how to contact him!” Lucas yelled, wanting to prove to Arthur he wasn’t a bad person and prove to himself that he wasn’t a bad boyfriend.

“Did you try his parents?” Arthur asked.

Lucas shook his head. “I don’t have their contact information, Eliott and I haven’t been friends since we were ten.”

“But you told the director, right?” Arthur pressed, and Lucas nodded.

“I also told Imane, because Idriss knows him better than most of us do.” A lie, Lucas knew Eliott better than most at this point, at least he’d thought he did, but Lucas did hope Imane had said something to Idriss about it all. “The director must have gotten contact with him somehow, because Rigaux wasn’t foaming out of the mouth at his absence and the director told me in rehearsal today to not get comfortable substituting for him. Though, that may have just been because he hates me.”

“First of all, the director is a dick and as soon as we graduate I’m keying his car, and second of all, that’s a good sign, I guess. Good as we can expect for the time being,” Arthur shrugged, leaning back against the arm of the couch.

“I guess,” Lucas said, doing the same. It wasn’t his intention to sound so detached, but it was probably a good thing, considering what Arthur thought Lucas thought about Eliott. 

Lucas flexed and pointed his feet aimlessly, glancing up at a silent Arthur every once and awhile. Arthur seemed completely content, but Lucas still wasn’t sure why he’d come over in the first place, since they both knew it wasn’t to study. 

“How’s Von Rothbart treating you?” Lucas asked at last. There were never usually uncomfortable silences between them, so he didn’t know why there should be now. 

Arthur raised his eyebrows over his glasses. “The day I actually get to stand in for Sofiane is the day this school burns to the ground.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Lucas said with a laugh.

“I’m not!” Arthur argued, reaching for a pillow and hitting Lucas with it. 

Lucas blocked the pillow with his forearms, still grinning. “I thought you didn’t really care, anyway.”

“I don’t care because I stopped allowing myself to care years ago. I used to care a lot really, but I know now that if I ever want to make a living in ballet, it’s not going to be here. I don’t even know if I want a living in ballet anymore, and it used to be all I dreamed about.” Arthur looked at his hands in his lap, traces of his small falling to something more serious. “I guess that’s what this place does to you, crushes you and your dreams until you have to find a new one.”

“That’s dark,” Lucas said, and Arthur merely shrugged. 

“That’s life.”

Maybe it was, but Lucas never liked to believe it to be the truth for everyone. If he gave up on his dreams now, even when the world was telling him that might be the best thing to do, was he still himself? Letting himself believe every horrible thing every instructor had said about himself over the years was a pattern he couldn’t allow himself to fall into, he had plenty of other problems without having to face the idea that maybe he didn’t quite have the level of talent he hoped he did. 

“Maybe so,” he said, “But if you love it don’t you find it hard to give it up?”

“Of course. And maybe I won’t give it up, but I’m learning to broaden my goals and narrow my expectations.” Arthur said it so simply, like he was resigned to it all. It made Lucas kind of angry, because Arthur had that same natural talent as Eliott and Manon and Sofiane, but he always acted so flippant about it that it was hard to tell whether he was serious or not. 

“I guess I just still don’t understand. You have so much talent, more than Yann and me for sure. Probably more than Sofiane, maybe even Eliott, but you never give yourself a chance,” Lucas said, because he still wanted to understand. 

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek. “The problem was that I was as good as Eliott, and I did give myself a chance. I… I don’t really want to talk about it, but I did give myself a chance, and I’m still recovering from it.”

Lucas’ heart stuttered and he reached for Arthur’s hand. He didn’t know what had happened, but he had his own fair share of childhood traumas so he could only imagine. “Well, it you ever want to give yourself another chance, know that I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

Arthur looked down at their joined hands, then up at Lucas’ face. He stood abruptly. “Thanks. I should go, though, it’s getting late.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course,” Lucas said, a little taken aback. Had he said something wrong? 

When Arthur left, he cast a glance back over his shoulder, almost like he was hoping Lucas would ask him to stay. But then he was gone and Lucas was confused again. 

Lucas went to bed shortly after, leaving the door unlocked just in case Eliott or Arthur came back and helped clear up the mess going on in his mind. 

Jeudi 13:00

That morning had been the first he’d woken up with the expectation of Eliott not returning, hoping he’d be surprised. He wasn’t, and Eliott was still gone. Imane had shared worried looks with him as class started for the morning that he’d only been able to return with a shrug, past the point of hoping any more.

Yann joined him for lunch that day, but Arthur left to go by himself off school grounds. Lucas wondered if it had anything to do with him, but he decided instead to focus on Yann, it had been way too long since the two of them had hung out one on one. 

“Should I even ask if you know what’s up with Eliott?” Yann asked, taking a bite of his pizza. He’s brought Lucas a slice as well, but Lucas had yet to conquer it. He was determined to, but kept stopping himself before he could. 

Lucas sighed. “No, because I’m as clueless as anyone is.”

“Fuck. I hope he’s ok? Like, I know you’re not his biggest fan, but I really hope nothing bad happened to him,” Yann lamented. 

“Me neither,” Lucas said, then quickly amended, “Can’t have a rivalry if my rival is missing in action.”

Yann quirked his lips into a small smirk, ruffling Lucas’ hair. “Let’s not talk about him then.”

“Good idea.”

Not talking about Eliott was one thing, not thinking about him was quite another, one Lucas was in no way prepared for. Yann wiped his mouth with his napkin and Lucas realized he’d already finished eating, and Lucas hadn’t even started. Fuck. It was so much easier to eat when he wasn’t the only one. 

“Do you know what’s up with Arthur?” Yann asked, just as Lucas worked up the nerve to take a bite. 

He faltered dropping the pizza back on his plate. “What do you mean?”

Yann shrugged. “Maybe nothing, but I just feel like he’s been acting weirdly closed off. You know Arthur, he always talks about everything all the time, even when we don’t want the details. Recently he hasn’t been talking about things as much, hasn’t been sneaking out as much. I mean, that part’s probably good, but I don’t know if he has some secret or something he doesn’t want us to know.”

Lucas had been wondering the same thing, actually. “I don’t know what it could possibly be, but we had a conversation last night that kind of made me wonder the same thing.”

Yann hummed, clearly not finding anything else to say about the matter. Lucas didn’t have anything else to say either, at least not without Arthur there to confirm or deny their suspicions, so he waited until Yann launched into a new topic, something about some new superhero movie the two of them just had to watch together. Lucas found himself laughing, and he found himself eating, the action easier when he was talking mindlessly about something that didn’t cause him worry. 

Lunch ended far too quickly and it was only then that Lucas realized he’d gone almost an hour without thinking about Eliott once. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. 

Vendredi 20:27

He was lying on Eliott’s bed when he got the first text. It hadn’t been purposeful, but he’d somehow wandered there, finding it exactly as he’d left it when he’d cleaned up some of Eliott’s things. It wasn’t like he’d expected anything to have moved, but he was somehow still surprised to see Eliott’s phone laying on his bedside table, dead now that it had been almost a week.

Unknown: Is this Lucas?

Lucas didn’t normally respond to unknown numbers, a lot of times they ended up being spam or his friends taking the piss at him, so he didn’t take the bait, dropping his phone back onto the bed and burying his face in Eliott’s pillow. It still smelled like him. Then his phone buzzed again, twice.

Unknown: Lucas Lallemant? 

Unknown: If it is you, Lucas, this is Caroline Demaury.

Lucas sat up faster than he would have thought possible, hands shaking. Why was Caroline Demaury texting him? Something must have happened to Eliott, something bad. 

Lucas: Mme. Demaury? Yes, this is Lucas. Is everything all right?

Unknown: Hello, Lucas, yes, everything is all right, but Eliott has been talking about you, so I wondered if you might come pay him a visit.

Lucas: Eliott is with you?

Unknown: Yes. You didn’t know that? We informed the school. 

Lucas: All due respect Mme. Demaury, but the last I heard from Eliott was Saturday night, so no, I had no idea he was with you.

Lucas: Is he ok? What happened? I didn’t know how to contact you but he said some things that made me really worried

Lucas: I’m sorry for not saying anything sooner I was just so scared

Unknown: No need to apologize, Lucas, none of this is your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. 

Lucas: What wasn’t anyone’s fault?

Unknown: I think it’s best if Eliott gets to explain himself. I can have Harold pick you up at school whenever you’d like.

Lucas: It’s ok, I can walk. I still remember where you live

Unknown: Lucas, it’s no trouble, I’d prefer to know you’re safe with Harold than out wandering the streets alone. He can pick you up in a half hour?

Lucas: Ok. Thank you Mme. Demaury 

Unknown: It’s ok to call me Caroline now, darling.

Lucas: Thank you, Caroline

Unknown: Let me know when Harold gets there, I’ll tell Eliott you’re coming. He hasn’t been very receptive to guests, but we’re hoping that he might want to see you.

Lucas: I want to see him too

Vendredi 21:21

Lucas didn’t know what to expect. The car ride to the Demaurys house had been slightly awkward, but Harold Demaury still treated him like he’d been best friends with Eliott for years, which was nice. He could only imagine the things they’d heard about him from Eliott over the years, and was thankful they didn’t appear to hold a grudge. 

Seeing Caroline Demaury for the first time in almost eight years was also a shock, and his throat got tight the minute he stepped into their home. This home, that felt more like his home than his actual home to him for so many years. It still looked practically the same. 

She folded him into a hug without a word, and Lucas wondered if maybe Eliott had let slip the nature of their falling out, all the problems Lucas hadn’t known how to face at ten years old. He waited with her in the kitchen for a little bit, because Eliott was sleeping. She didn’t say whether or not he’d been receptive to a visit from Lucas, so he could only hope for the best when he opened Eliott’s bedroom door and saw Eliott lying with his back to Lucas, bundled up under the covers. 

His bedroom was the only part of the house that had changed. It looked so different from what Lucas had known, but it was so distinctly Eliott that it was hard not to feel at home. There were drawings taped up on all the walls, an impressive collection of vinyl records that Lucas was both stunned and repulsed to see included dubstep. Dubstep. On vinyl. Leave it to Eliott to still have the absolute worst taste in music. There were old ballet shoes strewn about the room, just like in Lucas’ room back at his flatshare, and Lucas saw a few notebooks and folders labelled “Polaris” on his desk.

He sank down onto the bed next to Eliott, who didn’t move an inch. Lucas was beginning to wonder if he might still be asleep. 

“They told you, I suppose.” Eliott’s voice came muffled and broken, startling Lucas.

“Told me what?” he asked softly. 

Eliott buried his face further into his pillow, refusing to look at Lucas. “That I’m crazy.”

Lucas sank down next to Eliott, attempting to carefully fold his arms around him, but Eliott flinched away from his touch. “Eli?” he tried. 

“You don’t want this, Lucas, trust me.” He finally looked over at Lucas, eyes dead and empty as his voice. Lucas nearly cried, seeing him like that. He wanted to see Eliott full of life again. 

“I can decide for myself what I do and don’t want,” he said adamantly, waiting for Eliott to explain. 

Eliott sighed, closed his eyes. “I’m bipolar.”

Something clicked into place and Lucas’ head and he sighed in relief, realizing that made sense. He didn’t know much about bipolar disorder, but he knew that people sometimes had depressed and manic episodes, so that explained last weekend. “Ok,” Lucas said.

“Ok? That’s all you have to say?” 

“Sorry, um, I guess I don’t know what else to say? You could have told me sooner, or Arthur and Sofiane. We understand, though I’m sorry if we made you feel like we wouldn’t,” he amended. 

“I didn’t know,” Eliott said.

Lucas shifted to look at him better, and Eliott opened his eyes. “You didn’t know?”

Eliott shook his head. “Not until this week. I’d been diagnosed with depression previously, because I’d never had a manic episode before, but after last week…” He took a deep breath, “The police found me Sunday morning, and they got in contact with my parents somehow. I don’t remember the details, I was still manic during that time, but I guess my parents took me to the hospital and voila. Here I am. They told me that I would crash into a deep depression soon, but I didn’t believe them. I felt so good, I felt like nothing could ever knock me down again. But then I guess I crashed, like they said. It feels awful Lucas, worse than any depressive spiral I’ve ever had.”

“Oh,” Lucas started to understand, though he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to give Eliott pity, because he knew Eliott would hate that, so instead he said, “Thank you for telling me.”

“Why are you acting like this? Shouldn’t you be running by now?”

Lucas squinted his eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m fucking crazy! I could hurt you, or myself, or anyone and I don’t have any control over it and I don’t know what to do because my head is either empty or full and I can’t function like I’m supposed to and—”

“Eliott.” Lucas placed a hand on his cheek, and Eliott didn’t pull away. “You’re not crazy.”

“Tell that to the rest of the world,” Eliott hissed.

“I don’t care about the rest of the world, I care about you,” Lucas said.

Eliott blinked up at him, eyes so flat and gray when they usually brought as much life into the world as humanly possible. “Why?”

Why? Because Eliott was everything good in the world. He was the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening. He was the stars shining through Lucas’ window and making him feel less alone, less afraid of the dark. He was Lucas’ promise of a better life than the one he’d been living, he was the most beautiful person in the world. His mind was so complex and Lucas wanted to get to know every bit of it, even the parts that Eliott felt were shameful. Lucas didn’t think they were shameful at all, not if they made Eliott who he was. Eliott had shown Lucas time and time again that he wasn’t alone, and now it was time for Lucas to do the same. 

“Because you see me, and somehow still love me,” Lucas said, inching closer. Eliott didn’t back away, and he placed his hand on top of Lucas’, still resting on his face. “I’m the broken one, not you. You don’t deserve to be dealt this hand, you deserve only the best the world has to offer.”

“You’re not broken.”

“Neither are you. You’re not alone, either. Not anymore, never again.”

Eliott bit his lip. “How do you know?”

“How do any of us know anything? We don’t, but we have to have trust and patience and believe that the best is yet to come,” Lucas said, surprising himself. He’d never ever been the one to preach positivity in the face of darkness, but he could learn if that’s what Eliott needed from him.

“I’m going to be a burden to you.”

Lucas sighed. “So am I. Remember? Daddy issues, eating disorder, possible abandonment issues I’m only now realizing definitely exist. It’s a lot to deal with, for anyone. Including myself. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you ran for the hills. But you didn’t, and if you think I’m going to you’re dead wrong.”

“Lucas I don’t deserve you—”

“Me neither.”

“Lucas I’m serious—”

“Me too.” 

He was finally close enough that he could see every inch of Eliott’s flawless face, and he pressed their foreheads together gently. 

“I’m going to have to start taking medication, and I don’t want to. I’m going to lie to you about it and you’re going to get mad at me for lying, and then I’ll snap again and I’ll hurt us both,” Eliott said, and Lucas listened. “I’m going to have extreme highs and extreme lows and sometimes I won’t even be aware of it. I’ll yell at you, I’ll insult you, I’ll make you feel like shit and I won’t be able to help it.”

“I’m going to have to start eating again, like a normal person would, and I don’t want to. I’m going to try to lie about it and you’re going to get mad at me for lying and then I’ll snap and I’ll hurt us both,” Lucas said, and Eliott listened. “I’m going to have days where I shrink into a hole inside of myself because I don’t believe I’m worth it and nothing you say will help at all. I’ll yell at you, I’ll insult you, I’ll make you feel like shit, and I won’t be able to help it. You’re not alone in this either, Eli.”

“Lu.” It was a soft, hushed breath. A whisper, a promise. 

“And I don’t care about any of that stuff either, you know why? Because we don’t even know where we’ll be an hour from now, so why worry that far into the future? What’s the point of that? We’ll play a game, Lu and Eli, minute by minute. The only thing either of us has to worry about is the next minute, no time to dwell on the past or the future,” he proposed, meeting Eliott’s gaze again. “You in?”

Eliott took a deep, rattling breath. “I’m scared.”

“I am too, but I was scared of the dark and you brought all this light into my world and now I never have to be afraid again,” Lucas said, putting every ounce of honesty into his words.

“Lu and Eli, minute by minute,” Eliott repeated.

“Minute by minute.”

“Ok. I’m in.”

“Good, because I’d rather have you annoy me than not have you at all,” Lucas whispered with a smile, folding them closer into one another. Eliott laughed at that. It was small, almost indiscernible, but it was there. “You’re beautiful when you laugh,” Lucas said, because Eliott had said so when he was at his most vulnerable and he wanted nothing more than to return the favor. Plus, it was true.

“You’re still it for me, you know,” Eliott said, and Lucas’ heart soared. “If I couldn’t have you I don’t think I would ever have anyone else.” 

Lucas pulled his hand from Eliott’s face and laced their fingers together, pressing them to his heart. “You’re still it for me too. In this universe, in every universe.”

Eliott said nothing more, but he allowed Lucas to place a kiss on his brow bone, resting there a moment as if Eliott would disappear should he move away. Eliott didn’t even give him a chance to move away, tangling their bodies and legs together in that jigsaw way they always did, breathing synching up as they each held the world in their hands and tried not to ever let go.

Maybe they’d both been dealt a poor hand in this life, but was it really a poor hand if they’d found each other through it? Lucas would go through all of it again if they found a way to end up at this exact moment in time, this one where it felt like all peace had been restored in the atmosphere. They may have still had a long way to go before they could find that peace all the time, but Lucas knew that they would get there eventually. They were both fighters, and the thing they’d fight most for was each other. 

They deserved to live a soft, sweet song, not a tempestuous melody, and Lucas was ready to write it for them.

[sharkmobster]

spider verse coffee shop au??

Anon im sorry i wanted to draw the coffeeshop au but ive been so tired lately so imma just overshare about what goes down bc this au is just (thick tombstone voice) : “everybody’s traumatized bitch lets get you a latte”

 • this au is incredibly villain centric bc uhhhhh all i do is think about villains

 • its also very aaron davis centric bc time to project my anxiety onto a grown ass man babey!!

 • anyway this takes place in a normal world where there’s no superheros or avengers or what have you, everyone’s super average 

• like i said this is more or less aaron centric and focuses on him readjusting to society and making connections with other people, and just healing in general. Aaron’s whole deal is that he was wrongfully arrested for defending himself against an off duty cop who was harassing him and ended up with a 10 year sentence  (but was let off a year earlier for good behaviour). He’s got a lot of guilt bc of this if only for the fact that he feels like he let down his brother and Miles (who was a small lad at the time).

 • Fun Fact! Jefferson was the one that picked up Aaron at the jail when he served out his sentence! The ride back to brooklyn was awkward! but also jefferson loves his brother and even tho they’ve had their falling outs he never once stopped believing that his brother was innocent. Jefferson also made sure to pull some strings and ended up getting an apartment set up for Aaron (even though jefferson and rio were 100% down to open their home to him for as long as it took him to get back onto his feet but of course aaron denied them bc he didnt want to be a burden) Aaron’s grateful but he tends to avoid his own family…a lot….

• it’s ridiculously hard to find a job bc nobody wants to hire an ex convict no matter the circumstances and Aaron’s legitimately about to lose hope when he spots an expensive looking shop nestled in between an old arcade and a knick knack shop

 • ‘Vanessa’s Cafe’ is neatly printed above the door in fancy gold lettering. it’s obvious that the owner has serious cash bc the shop looks too damn good and too well maintained to be a regular mom and pop shop. there’s a help wanted sign hastily scribbled on a piece of notebook paper in the middle of the window which is odd since it off sets the professional vibe of the place. But hey it’s worth a shot so Aaron walks in ready to be denied another job only to find the weirdest looking group of people he’s ever seen.

 • The first guy that catches his attention is the very large albino man who looks way too stressed out and manic to be working in a coffeeshop, but the job must pay well because he’s very well dressed.

 • “Liv, for fuck’s sake! Clean your goddamn station!” he’s whisper shouting? Is that even a thing? oh look at that he’s got a full set of razor sharp teeth. huh. that’s a hell of an aesthetic he’s going for.

 • The lady in question isn’t even giving him the time of day, just enthralled by her phone with a smile that looks too peaceful given what’s happening around her. She’s got wild hair tied up messily in a knitted bandana, weird glasses (custom made??) and when she glances up at aaron, her eyes widen in interest like he’s some anomaly to be cracked open. aaron looks anywhere that isnt the wild eyed lady at the counter.

• Theres another big guy that’s hanging around the back, heavily tattooed and lifting stacks of heavy boxes. Aaron takes notice of his prosthetic hand and the tattoo guy takes notice of Aaron. 

• “Lonnie. Customer.” The Tattoo guy seems nonplussed about Aaron and walks into the back. aaron assumes that he’s offended him by staring at his prosthetic for longer than necessary which yeah….yeah he’s probably not happy about the staring. 

 • lonnie’s got a bad case of resting bitch face so he’s glaring at aaron without actually glaring and he’s just rough around ALL the edges so his tones got that nice bite to it as he shouts from across the counter (which is not something you do to a customer but it’s lonnie…..)  "Hey! Ya looking for a job, skinny jeans?!“

 • Aaron blanches at the idea of working with these people but he is absolutely desperate for a job at this point.

 •"Yeah. I just got out of-”

 •"Great, you’re hired! We’re speed running this whole introduction thing, string bean.“

 •and that’s all i got other than like small details like:

 •Peter B Parker owns a ”“’'cafe”“” across from Vanessa’s and its literally just a burger joint that h a p p e n s to sell coffee and Parker will fight you if you call his place a deli ahdhdj

 •Liv and May are dating (big shock) and peter b has to constantly deal with seeing his competition over at his place all the time and it’s yikes

 • Tombstone and Noir will 100% throw hands on contact. They don’t hate each other tho??? Its weird they just like to fight. gives them a chance to work on their banter i guess. Noir works the coffee machine at Peter’s “'cafe”’ so i guess he’s the “”barista”” of the joint but he drinks the coffee more than the customers do

 • Miles and the rest of the spider kids “”“”“"intern”“”“” at the cafe which basically translates to free labor

 •  spider ham works there but he isnt a pig he’s just john mulaney. i know its weird. nobody actually sees him tho so he’s a complete mystery as to what he looks like so he could be john mulaney you never know. the only person who’s seen him is noir and that’s only bc they’re  a thing???

 •oh speaking of everyone being gay:  everyone’s gay

 • Lonnie and Gargan (tombstone and scorpion) are 100% dating but everyone legitimately thinks that the both of them are straight old men despite the fact that they live together, go to work together, hang out afterwards together, and they’re just always together

 • lonnie’s  daughter (janice)  visits every other week (def the product of a divorce he went through years ago) she’s alright with gargan but she’s very distant towards her dad and def has that teen angst phase that she’s going through

 • (lonnie can and will talk to you for hours about how much he loves and supports his daughter despite the fact that their relationship is very estranged)

 • you can find janice hanging out with the cute blond punk girl at that weird burger/coffee place across the street

 • oh gargan’s big and strong despite the fact that he’s missing three limbs, liv works in robotics on the side and constantly tweaks and repairs his prosthetics when they start acting up which leads to them having this weird friendship where they both borrow each other when they need something and dont really expect anything in return (like gargan’s good for getting her supplies and doing heavy lifting when she needs it and liv’s always down to run check ups on gargan)

 • oh yeah liv used to be a scientist but immediately lost her license and phd when she started going above some board members heads to buy less than legal things through super illegal sources

.• that’s another thing, kingpin tends to just hire ex cons and criminals to work in his cafe just bc he believes that a person willing to work hard to better themselves deserves a chance to re enter society again.

 • like they’ve all done bad things but still ended up with a job at the cafe. aaron fought a cop, liv did some shady deals for an illegal experiment, gargan used to run a drug ring years ago due to personal reasons but once he was free from jail he never dealt with the stuff again, and lonnie killed a dude (allegedly. he never went to jail bc they couldn’t prove anything but hey word spread around quick and everyone knew not to go anywhere near this guy)

 • kingpin is in this au btw he’s just……a very depressed man who’s still grieving over his wife and son dying in a car accident

.• he rarely shows up to run the cafe bc its too much for him being in the place that his wife loved and built up from the ground. he used to be the manager after she died but couldn’t handle it and mostly left lonnie to take care of it

• which holy fuck lonnie is trying his best to keep this cafe alive and well and there’s only two other people working there so like its enough to have him scrambling all over the place trying to find more help (thanks aaron)

 •miles doesn’t know aaron’s working at the cafe across the street and aaron def wants it that way bc even tho he’s out of jail he hasn’t actually……visited miles yet….. it’s the shame that’s keeping aaron from reaching out to him which is….sad bc miles doesn’t care what happened he just wants his uncle back.

 • oh oh one more thing RIPeter used to run the deli across the street but had to leave brooklyn to go volunteer at homeless shelters across the states indefinitely so theres no telling when he’ll be back, so he left the cafe under the guidance of pb parker (peter b parker voice: my cafe now)

 •and uhhh thats all i got, like i said this au is just found family trope + the healing we all want + bad people getting redemption which is all the tropes that i love all compacted together in the most cliche au you can imagine!

[thewanderingknight]

Aside the Outlaws, Ch. 4

Life with your newfound family among the Van der Linde Gang is pretty rough and tumble, but your modest skill of riding sidesaddle could benefit the gang while infiltrating a wealthy Lemoyne estate.

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V

The day has come. Time to saddle up Godiva and show everyone that you can do this. Hopefully, the garden party heist goes off without a hitch.

Arthur Morgan & Reader Warnings: Cursing, blood.  Word Count: 4,373 Oops.  Notes at the end!

Where have you been darlin’, what have you done? You were out findin’ trouble again; there’s a fire in your eyes & there’s blood on your hands 🎵

((still mad that tumblr took away the line!)) 

One more night in this cot til the heist, you thought. Your eyes remained shut, hoping that the longer you stayed in bed, time would cease to move forward. You felt the weight of Arthur’s arm sprawled across your torso. He shifted in his sleep, his short scruff scratching your shoulder. You sighed, unable to drift back into a twilight rest. Maneuvering away from Arthur’s weight, you rose from the cot and dressed to face the day.

You rubbed sleep from your eyes as you shuffled towards the campfire and poured yourself a cup of coffee. The cicada song was quiet as a few people were shaking off sleep and beginning to tend to chores. You ambled around camp, finally resting against a large tree, watching Godiva graze next to Brown Jack. Feeling unsure, you quickly drained the hot liquid and rose from your spot, making a bee line for the log on the shoreline. The gentle lapping of water only irked you, so you shot up from the log and walked back to your tent. Arthur had only just gotten up, legs dangling off the side of the cot. He watched you dart from one corner of the tent to the next, opening your chest then closing it, rearranging the keepsakes on the table, organizing the camp’s ammo stock. He stood, silently pulled you close to plant a long kiss on your forehead, then pushed aside the tent flaps to start his day. Deciding to deal with the nervousness that possessed your body, you marched towards Godiva. If you had to look like a society woman, well then, so did she.

Godiva thoroughly enjoyed the attention. You spent the morning on the lake shore with your sleeves rolled up, covered with soap and Absorbine until her brown coat shined. Her ears and bottom lip drooped, hip cocked and relaxed while your scrubbed. You were almost jealous at how much she relished the care, not knowing what would be happening tomorrow. You covered her black hooves with an oily polish and combed out her mane and tail. She looked regal, while you were left looking like you had crawled from the depths of Flat Iron Lake.

It wasn’t fear that kept you moving around camp. Rather, it was anticipation in the wake of what you had assumed was a huge event. Robbing someone like Amos Pilot, right under his nose, isn’t this something huge? For the rest of the gang, it was just another day. You would have almost preferred to have volunteered for this job the day of, just so it would be over and done with, instead of enduring the dreaded slogging of time, filling up your mind with every possibility of what could go wrong.

Arthur strolled up to you as you hitched Godiva. “She’s lookin’ real good. You’ll blend in for sure on ‘er. You, however…” he gestured to you.

“Oh, go on an’ say it. I need a bath.” You rolled your eyes, snapping a dirty towel in his direction.

“Lemme take you into town, getchu cleaned up. Buy you a drink. You sure seem like ya need it.”

You huffed, “Actually, Arthur, that... sounds lovely. Thank you.”

He smiled, extending a hand for you to take. “We’ll take my horse. Don’ wanna mess up all the work you put into yer mare.”

He led you towards Britomartis and climbed into the saddle, holding out a hand to help you mount up behind him, both legs on tucked on the left side. You wrapped your hands around his waist as Arthur ushered Brit into a nice clip towards Rhodes.

*****

The sun burned hot in its descent to the west. You shielded your eyes with your hand as you looked on a dusty Rhodes, glowing with the dying rays.

You followed close to Arthur as he jogged up the steps, waltzed up to the bar, paid for the whiskey, and escorted you up the spiral staircase. You walked passed the Black jack table towards the veranda that overlooked the railroad out of Rhodes. A slight wind shook the ivy leaves that clung to the lattice fencing. Arthur tossed his hat onto a small table in the corner and heavily sunk into the chair.

“Now, Lenny ain’t here, so no gettin’ into trouble,” you teased.

He grumbled under his breath, “It weren’t that bad, really.”

“Oh, the money I’d pay to see something like that,” you shot back, tapping your chin and laughing.

Arthur just raised his eyebrows at you and stretched an arm out behind your back, fingers idly playing with your hair. You fidgeted with the shot glass in front of you, taking in your surroundings. Arthur’s solid warmth, the breeze that blew a few strands of hair into your face, the songbirds chirping in the trees across the rail line. Arthur caught your attention, sliding his glass across the table to meet yours. You smiled, raised your glass to clink with his, and downed the whiskey, feeling it burn on the way down.

“Maybe I don’t gotta make a big deal outta this,” you started, “you boys do this all the time.”

“‘S’your first, normal to feel nervous,” he returned, “He’s got minimal guards, and you’ll be covered on all sides. Nothin’ to worry ‘bout. I wouldn’ send you into the lion’s den if you couldn’t handle it, or if you weren’ prepared.” He tapped your shoulder that his arm was around.

“An’ Dutch would?” you shot back.

He sighed. “Well, no, but-- I don’t think that’s fair.”

“You’re probably right,” you looked back out at the rooftops of the main street. The sky was leaching into a saturated violet. “I don’t mean to sound angry at him. Or that I’m not with the gang. I’ve been a part of it for years, now. An’ he’s the man who raised you.” You glanced back at Arthur; his eyes were already on yours. “It surprised me, is all, when he said I couldn’t arm myself.”

“But you will be.”

“Thanks to you. An’ I know how he is, always preaching about keeping the faith.” You grabbed his hand in yours, and brought it to your chest. You were sure he could feel the nervous pounding of your heart. “But Arthur, I have faith in you, ya hear me?”

You could feel his fingers curl into your top. He said nothing, but moved his hand from your shoulder to the back of your head, gently ushering you forward to meet your lips to his.

“Woman-” he started.

“Just let me be silly and romantic, you fool,” you smiled at him and held his hand in your lap. You looked up to see his blue eyes searching your face. “I’ll be alright,” you sidled up tighter to his side. “Now I do believe you promised me a bath, Mister Morgan.”

Another shot of whiskey found you in the bath and Arthur sitting on a stool nearby, scribbling in his journal. You sunk your head down just enough to submerge your ears beneath the water. You closed your eyes, listening to the muted tones and tinny scrapes of your body in the water.

You opened your eyes and peaked at Arthur, still keeping his eyes locked inside his journal. You moved in the water, leaning over the edge of the tub closest to him. You called his name softly, and he looked up. You reached a hand out, silently asking.

He smirked and sighed, but stood from the stool and placed his journal and hat atop the seat. You bit a finger as you watched him undress, smiling as you felt the water shift when he stepped in behind you. When he settled, you pressed your back to his chest, laying your head on his shoulder. He looked down to steal a single searing kiss from you.

With whisky in your veins and your man behind you, steeped in the steaming bathwater, the edge of anxiety that poked your stomach had rounded, and you were finally able to relax.

*****

The next time I’m in this cot, I’ll be done with this business.

Morning had come, and brought a fierce sunshine upon camp that morning. The girls surrounded you, helping you look like a lady of distinction you were trying to be. You took Karen’s top hat and tipped it forward, the lip of the edge just touching your brow. For good measure, Mary-Beth had attached a cloth of sheer black lace that covered your face and criss-crossed your vision. Tilly had loaned you a pair of white kidskin gloves. Molly had even given you some red rouge to dab on your lips, and Abigail slipped an old brooch into your hand for good luck, which you clasped to the front of your high collar. Miss Grimshaw left a pair of her pearl earrings on your bedside table.

“Oh, it’s so romantic, isn’t it?” Mary-Beth crooned as you hugged them each in turn.

“Sure is, even if you rob’em blind,” Karen rolled her eyes.

“But that just adds to it!” Mary-Beth argued, “a gentlelady thief! That can be dark and romantic, and fun!” She giggled.

You pulled Karen aside as the girls left to carry on with their day.

“Karen? Arthur told me ‘bout a job you did with them a few years back; something ‘bout you dressin’ up as a nun?”

She snorted, “oh, yeah! That was fun. They weren’t expectin’ ‘sweet Sister Karen’ to be packin’ a shotgun ‘neath her habit!”

“I guess, it just sounds an awful lot like what I’m doin’,” you continued. “I guess what I mean is, how’d you do it? You were so sure when you left to rob the Valentine bank. Weren’t you-- don’t you get nervous?”

“I dunno, honey. I guess I just knew they’d have my back. We’d be okay. Arthur was there. That helped a lot. A shot a whiskey before don’t hurt, neither!” You smiled at that.

*****

You rolled your shoulders and straightened your back, waiting for the boys to arrive at the meeting place, just into the treeline a ways before the Pilot Plantation. You could see the top of the stoic house peeking out from above the foliage.

The high collar of your shirt was stifling in the shimmering Lemoyne heat. The faint, whispering breezes seemed like a godsend. Suddenly, velvet seemed revolting to you. Godiva shifted beneath you. You leaned forward and patted her neck. Nervously, you rearranged a part of her mane that had flipped over to the opposite side. She turned her head as she heard a horse approaching. Arthur arrived and slipped off his horse, the sawed-off shotgun hanging from his shoulder.

“You ready?”

“I think so. Can you do it, Arthur?”

“‘Course.” His hands slipped under the drapes of velvet. He gave your calf an encouraging squeeze that made you look down, suppressing a smile. “Okay, all set.”

The shotgun weighed down on your leg, you adjusted yourself in the saddle.“M’okay. There’s a slug in each barrel. Let’s hope you don’t gotta need for ‘em.” He looked up at you as you saw Dutch trotting up on The Count, flanked by Micah on Baylock.

“Is everyone prepared?” Dutch boomed, swinging his leg over the horn and walking towards you.

“Jus’ look at her,” Arthur stated proudly. You sat up straighter as Dutch circled you and Godiva. She curved her neck slightly and into the bit; always the show-off, your horse. Her blood bay coat gleamed in the shadow of the trees. The black points on her legs and hooves shone like the curves of your velvet skirt. Your hair had been put up in a delicate plait on the back of your head, and Godiva’s tack had been oiled and cleaned. You and her were a team of radiance.

“My dear, I do say, you were born for this,” Dutch nodded once. “Now, the boys have already started on the road around the plantation, you should see them from time to time. Arthur n’ Micah will stay here with a scope on you, to make you don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Don’t go drinkin’ too much of that fancy wine, Lady Godiva,” Micah interjected. “We’ll be watchin’ who you end up flirtin’ with.”

You whipped your head to shoot him a glare, but Arthur had moved closer. You reached your hand down, he took it and gently squeezed your fingers,” You’ve got this, sweetheart. And I’ve got you.” “I know you do. Alright, time for me to go. A lady of distinction such as myself can’t be seen runnin’ with a bunch of outlaws,” You squeezed his fingers in return then let go, and gathered Godiva into a trot, leaving the peripheral safety of the tree line.

Your mind blanked as your approached the gate. You glanced down at Godiva, her mane a black sheen of waves, undulating in time with her steady trot.

“Afternoon ma’am,” he said sternly. You noted the sun glint off his repeater. “This here’s private property.”

“I’m very much aware,” you coiled. “I was asked here by an Amos Pilot. He’s expectin’...my company.” A pearl of sweat slid down your back. You watched his eyes follow your hand as you reached into your waistcoat to reveal the invitation Trelawney had recovered for you. He walked forward and snatched it from your gloved hands, then peered at it suspiciously.

He waited for a moment before conceding. “Right this way, ma’am.”

“I should say,” you ruffled his way as he moved to swing the iron gate that yawned a screech. Godiva pushed into a light trot down the pea gravel path that weaved through the property.

The trimmed bushes stood stoic on either side of the white gravel path before the large two-story house. Tables with white cloth fluttered in the wind, and strings of lightbulbs criss crossed through the low hanging trees, whose droopy branches skimmed the red dirt. A small string ensemble sat in a corner of the ivy, bellowing out rolling melodies. Horses and people of all colors and sizes strolled about. You could see some heads bobbing above the straight hedges off towards the property’s edge. The faint sound of a gurgling fountain dipped between the music and conversation and horses. Godiva nodded at the new noises and smells, but quickly calmed down. You stroked her neck, unsure if it was for her nerves, or your own. You looked towards the property line, and noticed Javier and Boaz, looking like they were taking a leisurely stroll; Boaz’s head hanging low and swinging in-time with his strides. Godiva seemed to notice as well, and let out a shrieking whinny at the sight of Boaz. You quickly shushed her, hoping to blend in with the crowd.

“My, what a lovely mare you have.”

You looked up to see an older woman sidle up to you on a large dappled gray Hungarian Halfbred, his mane roached.

“Oh, thank you. She’s my pride,” you replied, continuing to stroke her neck.

“What is her lineage?” Her sharp eyes followed the well-knitted lines of Godiva’s conformation.

“I do know she has a strong Thoroughbred connection,” you started, not wanting to start a lengthy conversation. “Unfortunately, all her papers were lost in a fire. Very tragic.”

The woman frowned a bit. “Shame, she looks so regal. And you’re riding aside. Very traditional of you.”

“I could say the same of you,” you retorted.

She smiled at that. “Can’t seem to shake it! My mother was very insistent on it. Now I can’t get rid of the damned thing. And, Augustus takes to it well, he’s a good chap.” She patted the horse’s shoulder, then looked back at you. “What is your name?”

“Helen. Helen Callahan,” you extended a hand. “My mother insisted on it, as well.”

“Ebba Griffin,” she gave your hand a firm shake. “Care to accompany on a ride around Amos’ gardens?”

“I would be delighted to,” you replied, and followed her on the outer path that snaked around the house.

Ebba turned out to be a fair companion, you thought, as she rambled through stories of her adventures throughout India and China, the men she’s been with (and details that made you blush redder than a shepherds sunset), the sights she’s seen. The rides you took with Arthur were mostly shaped to the comfortable silence that you both enjoyed, but Ebba kept a hold on your attention, and you gasped and nodded at all the right moments, prying more stories out of her. She eventually slowed down after the death of her third and final husband, to where she was currently touring America at her leisure.

“So, my dear, what husband are you on?” she threw you a jesting smile.

“Oh, well actually-”

“Not married yet?” you nodded in response. “Quite unusual, I should say, but I would know, since I myself am quite unusual,” she answered her own question, and you just smiled. “But you’ve got the look of a young woman with something behind those dashing eyes. Must be some kind of love, hm?”

You fought the smile on your face and glanced over at the treeline. ”Yes ma’am,” you answered her, emboldened by the concept of talking about Arthur while he could see you, without hearing what you were saying. “I’ve got quite a man, Miss.”

“You are smitten, aren’t you?”

“Oh, quite. I tell him every day, yet he doesn’t believe me. He’s strong, and silent, and good.”

“What’s his name?”

“Arthur,” your smile widened.

“Good name, strong name!” she raised her hand in the air, and Augustus quickened his stride. “Let’s ride back, I need a drink. Let’s toast to Arthur!”

You laughed, trotting behind her.

Ebba called over attendants holding chittering glasses of champagne on sparkling silver platters. One of those could earn you a new dress, you thought as you delicately plucked a coupe from the platter the waiter had lifted to you and Ebba, still seated on your horses.

She raised her glass to you. “To men like Arthur… and my second husband!”

“To Arthur!” you echoed, and downed the glass in one swig, feeling the bubbles dance down your throat.

An attendant came and helped you dismount Godiva, leading her to a line of posts where other horses were being hitched. Ebba handed you another coupe, and you followed her towards the light and sound emanating from the party that had begun to grow as the night faded into a violet twilight.

Following Ebba became a game of catch, either catching the glasses she idly tossed the more she consumed, or catching her before she fell into bushes or other people. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, finding it great fun to be in the company of someone who seemed so opposite of everything you remembered.

You finally coaxed her to sit in a wrought iron chair, finding an attendant to fetch her some food. Over the sound of her broken giggles, you heard someone urgently whisper the name of Amos, and looked over to see a rotund man with a dark beard leaning towards an attendant who whispered in his ear, then strode towards the house, trying to hide the hurry in his step. You patted Ebba’s shoulder, then quickly followed the man.

You flitted towards the rear entrance of the house, where the road was barely visible through the trees, on the other side of the fence. You slid into the shadowy mudroom, hearing the clunk of footsteps on the second floor. Your body moved, focused, forgetting your earlier anxiety. Creeping up the staircase, you noted a flickering golden light cut into the hallway. Lightly tiptoeing forward, you crept along the walls, closer towards the open door. Peeking your head to just see through the doorway, you spotted a man, hunching over an ornate desk, pressing his knuckles into the wood.

“Amos, darling, please return to your guests! It’s rude to keep them waiting!” A female voice echoed from an adjoining room.

Amos sighed and called out to the voice, then left through the other door. You breathed out, and scurried over the desk that was littered with paper. You sorted through them, some letters, some banking notes, and one heavy handed letter from Cornwall.

“I know your name, Mr. Cornwall,” you muttered as you plucked it from the pile on the desk and began searching for the bonds Dutch had described. You slid the heavy drawers towards you, rummaging through the contents. You found a thin leather envelope that had a money clip in it, and tossed it on the rug. There was some jewelry: a pearl necklace and a few pocket watches that you tossed into the envelope.

The other side of the desk opened as a cabinet, and when you flung it open it revealed a small, burly safe. You let out a breath, and tried to remember what Arthur had taught you about opening these blasted safes.

You got down on your hands and knees, pushing your head into the cabinet and up against the cool metal, listening for the clicks.

“Shit,” you whispered, when you heard the mechanism lock, and twisted the knob a few times to restart. You closed your eyes, listening again for the clicks. On your third attempt, the safe coughed. You gasped when you pushed down on the handle and the little door swung open, revealing sitting stacks of bound bonds.

You picked one up and flipped it through your fingers. It was too much too count. Too many bonds. You smiled, stuffing the bonds into the envelope until it bulged with its contents.

Footsteps were echoing through the hallway outside. You deftly shut the safe door closed, and carefully latched the cabinet closed, tucking the envelope under your waistcoat and scurrying to the door Amos had exited from, hoping it was another way outside.

Once outside, you couldn’t stop the growing smile on your face. Was it really this easy? No wonder they did this all the time! When we return to camp Arthur is gonna get the best--

You stopped mid stride, there was a strong grip on your arm, and a cool pressure on your neck.

“Not good to wander alone in the dark, pretty lady,” you winced away from the scratchy voice in your ear, warm breath on your skin. “Ah! Don’t fight me, if’n you wanna live,” the words slithered around you, as he pushed you towards the crowd.

Ebba, still slumped in the chair, saw you walking back and waved to you. A shot rang out nearby, followed by gasps and screams. Another voice boomed above the commotion.

“Good evenin’!” A man rode through the tables on a stout Appaloosa. “We are the Lemoyne fuckin’ Raiders, an’ we are gonna relieve you of your personal propertah!”

More men on foot began to surround the patrons of the party. The man holding you pushed you forward. You found Ebba, reaching out for each other. You grabbed her arms and held on as the circle around you became tighter. You could feel the shotgun resting against your leg.

A raider holding out a sack began to weave through the crowd. Women were already reaching up to unhook necklaces; men reluctantly tossed money clips into the sack.

One raider roughly grabbed Ebba’s arm, trying to pry a gold ring from her hand. She screamed out. “No, you can’t!” she begged, “it was my late husband’s, please!”

You reached for the raider. “Let go, she don’t wanna be touched!” you yelled, trying to release his grip. Another man came up and struck his hand around your throat. You tried to claw yourself free.

“We take whatever we can get,” he spit in your face. “Let go!” you choked out.

Another shot cracked through the air. The man before you was now crumpled on the ground, blood pooling around his head. You glanced back at the darkened trees before noticing the surprise on the man still gripping Ebba.

“Ebba, get down!” You reached for her head with one hand, and with the other, snaked under your skirt and gripped the handle of the shotgun. You flung it out, aiming it into the raider’s chest and pulling the right trigger. He fell backwards, and chaos consumed you.

Raiders and patrons ran in every direction. You reached for Ebba, but she was grabbed round the shoulders by a man in a disheveled tuxedo, whisking her farther into the commotion. You ran for the rear entrance of the house, hoping someone was there already, ready to cover you. You bumped and clashed with people trying to get away. Someone grabbed your arm, and you screamed with adrenaline, ripping your jacket off to reveal the white sleeves of your shirt and ran faster, still clutching the shotgun. You whistled for Godiva, hoping she didn’t run too far when the shooting started. You scrambled under the fence to see Godiva trot up right after where John and Bill were waiting in the underbrush.

“Where...where are the others?” you huffed between breaths, leaning on your knees.

“Dunno,” Bill replied. “They shoulda been here by now. We came ridin’ when we heard the first gunshot.”

“Damnit,” you huffed.

John dismounted Old Boy and brought Godiva to you. You took her reins and pressed your forehead to her brow, holding her head close.

Micah appeared, charging up on Baylock. He swung his leg over the horn. “That was some fuckin’ mess,” he drawled, and looked at you. “Saw you enter the house. Did’ya get the bonds Dutch asked for?”

You looked around for Brit’s jagged blaze in the darkness, but neither she nor Arthur had yet appeared. You peered around Micah.

“Where’s Arthur?” your heart clenched.

“I thought he was right on my tail, princess,” Micah sneered, glancing around him.

“After he let out that rifle shot, we heard ah group of them movin’, so we started to move.”

“No, no, no, no,” you repeated, marching towards him. You pushed him with the flat of your heels. You grabbed his lapels. Tried to shake him hard.

“Micah, where is he?” you cried. Hot tears outlined your cheeks.

“Micah!” you cried again. “Micah! Where’s Arthur?”

Notes: Anon, this one’s for you!

Sorry (not sorry?) about the cliffhanger. Y’all, I’m excited. Sometimes I feel I have to streamline out all the detail I want to put in. But I’ve got a spicy epilogue brewing! Also, sometimes I’m burning the candle at both ends when I write this, and I don’t realize I’ve changed the tense. If you notice anything, please feel free to leave a comment or message me!

Also, I could have SWORN there was a piece of conversation with Karen where she describes robbing a bank dressed as a nun, but I can’t find it on youtube! Seems like something she’d do, so I kept it in. You’ll just have to take my word for it. 

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Summer of 89′ | 003

Read from the start | Read on AO3

There was an undertone of bleach in the air. Something that didn’t hit Chloe the second she walked through the sliding doors. Instead, it was gradual. Creeping up the back of her throat and clouding her lungs until she couldn’t recognize it at all. It used to bother her, the scent of bleach.

Everything was too clean in the hospital for her liking. She had grown up in a home that wasn’t afraid to get dirty. Mud was tracked against the kitchen floor when a good heaping of rain was dumped on their ranch property. The tub was rimmed with a line of black after every bath as a child- because dirt was natural. Messes were natural, or at least they were when it was anywhere but here.

Chloe closed her umbrella, letting the stray drops of water slide down her hand and past the cuff of her jacket until the cold streak touched her elbow. She dug her boots into the black mat right past the doors, leaving behind the very dirt she was self-conscious enough not to leave tracked against the Hospital lobby.

It was relatively desolate considering the full moon hung in the sky like a golden ornament on a Douglas fir. It wasn’t peak flu season, and Chloe thanked the higher powers for that. But that didn’t’ stop everyone from faking coughing fits and begging her to test for a fever one more time because their temperature was sure to have spiked over the last two minutes.

She punched the code into the worn-down pad next to the second set of doors and was met with another long white corridor lined with shy wooden doors. The sound of machines whirring, and IV’s dripping carried on like white noise. She walked with confidence.

“Doctor-“The voice echoed against the walls as one of her latest interns trotted up next to her. Her magenta scrubs stuck out like a beacon in a white sea. She quickly flipped the metal chart back to reveal a paper. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was wondering if you could take a look at the medications given to 207. Doesn’t seem right to me.”

She was annoyed. She would have been annoyed at anyone at this moment, reminding her of a job she kept for one summer at a sandwich shop. Customers came so frequently that that same disgruntled edge of dissatisfaction pulled at her. Still, she nodded and glanced at the chart.

Sixty-four-year-old Damion Coves. A repeat offender of the Emergency room, once or twice a month if Chloe could remember. A strong reason she had given the patient to her Intern in the first place. Sometimes it was a broken arm, but most of the time it was in relation to a back problem he refused to fix. He had worked as a fisherman for countless years, hauling product and gutting sea life.

“Hydrocodone and acetaminophen?” Chloe mumbled, as she furrowed her brow and looked up at the doe-eyed girl.

“Yes, Ma’am. He’s been complaining about the pain escalating. Demerol hasn’t done the job in quite some time and by the looks of it, he’s refusing the surgery.”

Chloe hummed, “He doesn’t like his odds against the possibility of being paralyzed from the waist down. Switch these to Propoxyphene. Damion Coves is an alcoholic, the second you pump him full of those and send him on his way he’ll stumble off the docks.” She shoved the metal chart back into her hands “Get to know your patient. You can smell the bourbon on his breath from a mile away.”  

She continued her journey until she made it to her office. It was three corridors deep, surrounded by cool cement and filled with old copy boxes that had case files. Ways she would teach her interns with gallbladder removals and that one stomach-churning patient who was almost sawed in half at the old mill.

Chloe breathed in the musty scent and flicked on the light. Her desk was the only clear thing about the office- despite her working here for four years, having the place all to herself. There was one picture of her girls hidden away in the bottom compartment of her filing cabinet. Her computer was covered in yellow sticky notes, and a nametag rested in the center of the surface.

“Ilene” She scoffed before pulling on the white coat slung over the chair and clipping the metal to the collar.

Her rounds started in a few minutes, she left the stuffy office and walked back into the sterilized hallway. She made it the nurse’s desk without another interruption and grabbed the stack of metal charts left by the attending on first shift.

“How are you tonight, Chloe?” her breath caught, she was halfway through the notes on Mrs. Robinson’s chart. She silently cursed herself for not hearing the heels against the linoleum. “Ilene.”

She drew in a deep breath, “Oh, absolutely fantastic, love these overnights.”

“fewer people.”

Chief Mary Saxe leaned against the counter next to Chloe, a smug look on her face. She had pulled her hair from the usual bun and let the curls move over her shoulders in waves. She was graying but in the most flawless way possible. Her jacket was pressed and her shirt was tucked in with professionalism despite the ungodly hour.

She had a point. It was quiet at night, visiting hours had faded away to nothing and the only people Chloe had to deal with were those listed in the charts, and whoever found themselves in the ER with appendicitis or a fever too high to register.

The two of them started walking towards the front of the corridor again, a round of silence plaguing them both before Chloe spoke. “You don’t have to babysit me, I’m fine.”

“I’m going to pretend I believe you.” She stalled before grasping Chloe’s elbow and bringing her to a halt. “I’ve known you for a hell of a long time, practically watched you grow up. You always get weird around today.”

Chloe swallowed roughly “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m here to do my job. Save lives and kick ass. Your motto, remember?”

“No, yes, I remember just. I’m speaking to you as a friend, not a colleague here. If you need to leave, I understand.”

“And I’m telling you as your friend, I’m okay. In fact, I would rather be around other people then shut in my room binge-watching the bachelor with a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream. So, can we please get on with rounds and just drop this?”

Doctor Saxe stared at her for a few moments, trying to figure out if Chloe was being genuine or not. She eventually decided that it didn’t matter if she was. Both of them continued on their way and made it to the first patient behind curtain number one.

It always felt like a game show to her. She never knew what would be behind the thin veil of plastic. Of course, she could always look at the chart before she went in. But that would take the fun and surprise out of it all.

The same intern that had approached her earlier about Damion seemed to have done all the heavy lifting. The little boy that sat on the bed directed his strained attention. His hair was adhered to his head with rainwater and mud. His arm was being placed carefully into a splint, and his mother was pacing a hole into the linoleum.

She stopped mid-stride and turned her hawked expression to the two doctors. “oh thank god, this girl looks too young to be a doctor.”

“Ma’am, I assure you, Stephanie has gone through all four years of medical school.” Chloe said slowly “And she’s doing a fantastic job. Mind telling me how this happened?”

She quickly forgot her anger towards the doctor, switching the string of her own son instead. “I told him not to go outside. Said that there was a storm coming and it was best to stay out of that old treehouse of his. But he never listens. The wood got too slick and he fell, broke his arm.”

She nodded and Doctor Saxe watched the situation unfold. She stayed silent, keeping a lingering eye on Chloe more than anything. Her arms were crossed and Chloe minded herself, directing her next questions towards where the kid sat and kicking his feet.

“Anything else hurt, little man?”

“Nothing does.” The mother answered in a clipped tone instead. Cutting off her son completely.

Doctor Saxe capped her hands together once and boasted a smile. “Okay! Stephanie, ma’am, why don’t’ we go out into the hallway to discuss how to take care of that cast. I know it’ll be hard to keep it dry in this weather- but we’re going to show you how.”

Chloe mouthed a thinly veiled ‘thank you’ as the woman and her intern cleared the room completely so she could do the rest of the exam. She slid on violet gloves and pulled a stool over to the young boy. He seemed comfortable, if not sleepy from today’s events. There was a thin line of blood on his chin and another on his forehead.

“Did you hit your head at all, when you fell?”

He gestured no “I don’t think so, I heard my arm break. Johnny broke his arm at the ice rink two years ago and it sounded the exact same. I didn’t think it would hurt that bad.”

“Oh?” Chloe gave him a smile, gently getting a better look at the lacerations “Yeah, it’s not the greatest feeling in the world but you know what? You’re very brave for getting through it. And look at that amazing cast you have! Is blue your favorite color?”

“Yes! And look, someone already signed it!”

Chloe lifted her eyebrows. Stephanie had just been finishing it up when they walked into the room. His mother must have worked fast, maybe even kept a sharpie in her purse wedged between some hard candies and wet wipes.

“see.”

Dread owned Chloe Beale in that moment. Directed all of her thawed blood to rush past her ears and her vision to fog up. She stared at the words scribbled in silver sharpie against the polymer-coated cast. The lettering was neat and precise, too well thought out to be ignored. Too concrete to be imagined.

Summer of 89, remember?

[amoristt]

Remembering Yesterday

A story of Peter Parker and the mess he reaches for. 

-

Found unconscious and alone, a girl with a mysterious past is held at the Avengers Tower, it’s workers set on discovering who she is. Just as lost as they are, ___ finds herself searching for answers, ones that prove to be just as destructive they are healing when the pieces of her past begin to rebuild themselves. Misunderstood and afraid, she embarks on a journey of self discovery- and for the first time, love. 

A/N: alright guys... i hope you enjoy the first chapter of my multi-part peter x reader! i’ve been planning it since infinity war came out but i never really got time to write it <3 enjoy, and feedback is greatly appreciated!

Chapter One: A Cold Wake

Over a long stretch of land atop a rocky peninsula, the sun catching on the sparkling waters surrounding the base, a helicopter hovers just feet above the grassy ground. Two men in uniform heave a stretcher onto the chopper, signalling to one another, unable to speak over the roaring blades. A man in a white overcoat waits for them inside with a clipboard, and the moment they’re safely tucked, he begins scribbling notes as the chopper begins to shakily take off. 

In moments they’re airbound, the pilot contacting the landing crew.

The two men watch as the man in the coat looks over what they’ve brought him.

A body lays motionless over the stretcher, and he starts recording the description immediately. Young, a female, it seems, unconscious and bleeding from the right side. For fear of disrupting her or furthering any injuries, he doesn’t move her limbs and instead observes what he can just from what’s visible. Every so often he nods to himself, crouches, scribbles, and moves on to the next limb.

“Any I.D.?” He asks, looking up from his glasses. The two men glance at one another before shaking their heads. He sighs and nods, then writes some more notes. “And you just… Found her there?”

“Spotted her in the grass,” The shorter of the two starts. “Thought she was just hiding until I got close and realized she was out.”

“I see,” The man in the coat looks at the taller. “You?”

He nods towards his partner. “I was a few yards away. He called me, told me to get into contact with the head. Guess that’s where you come in.”

The man in the coat nods idly before he turns his back on the pair. “No identification on her… Have you run prints?”

“We only just got her.” The shorter speaks. “Main focus was to get her here.”

“Understandable.” More notes written. “I’ll bring it to Mr. Stark’s attention.”

As he turns, the two men look towards the opening of the chopper. Buildings littler the ground beneath them, the tops skating by like lightning. Despite the height, none of them stand out as much as one. The Avengers Tower, with it’s modern edges, formerly known as the Stark Tower. It puts the architecture surrounding it to shame. They can see other choppers and smaller aircrafts buzzing in and out of the landing zones, some carrying cargo boxes for the coming move up-state. 

The scientist looks down at the figure before he too takes a glance at the approaching facility. There’s a strange pause in his writing, fingers hesitating in their place as his eyes narrow from behind his glasses.

He begins to write once again.

“We’ll find out who you are.”

----------

In the emptiness of a white room, voices sing their way under the cracks of the steel door. They reach you like wind through your hair, soft sounds that you can’t escape. They speak to one another in scary correlation, as if they’ve had this conversation dozens of times before.

Dozens of times, and you still can’t understand a single word.

Your hands, bound tight to the armrest of a chair, fist. Your hastily clipped nails claw the metal uncomfortably.

The world around you feels hazy, as if the edges were softened, or burnt away. You have force yourself to blink a few times to focus on the redness of your knuckles. A part of you feels as though you’ve been here before, but another part of you isn’t even sure if you’re coherent.

Suddenly the door in front of you opens, the latches coming undone with a force that would make you jump should you have the energy for it. Fog leaks from the now open space and a figure, shrouded in black, steps towards you. Now you’re sure you’ve been here before. So many times, in fact, that you don’t flinch when fingers come into your vision and roughly catch your chin, forcing you to look up. You aren’t met with a face.

It’s bright light. It’s speaking, a voice lost under waves of rolling oceans. Your chest feels heavy, the water filling your lungs. It speaks louder and you can’t comprehend a single word. Everything begins to hurt. You claw at the arm rest of your chair and thrash, the ache in your lungs sending a fire through your whole body. Ears ringing, you hear everything and nothing at once.

Just as it feels the world is going to cave in on you, leave you drowning under the rubble, you breathe.

You take in such a deep breath that it makes your throat hurt, hands raising to catch at your neck in an attempt to appease the coughing fit assaulting you.

When you find the rhythm of breathing, you swallow thickly and wipe the tears from the corners of your eyes. As you do, you realize that your hands are free, and you jump as you inspect them.

No longer are you bound to a chair with hurtful ropes. There is no beaming figure with fingers like rock holding fast to your chin, there is no voice trying to resonate and reach you from some depper plane of existence. The walls remain white and clean, but there’s a barred window with blowing curtains to your right, and a nightstand to your left with a glass of water. Across from the bed is a door, with a small table beside it. The bed beneath you is soft and plush, the blankets covering your legs thick and warm. If you knew anything about safety, you would almost feel comfortable.

However your internal instincts don’t let you enjoy the cozyness long. The minute you can comprehend, your feet are swinging around the bed, the floor freezing against your toes. As you inspect yourself, you immediately notice the iv sticking into your arm, so you take no time and tugging it out. You had no idea where you were, just that you needed to get out as soon as possible.

By the door, there was a chair with what looked to be a pile of clothes sitting atop it. The (color) t shirt and black pants were so familiar but you had no recollection of where they’d come from, or where you had seen them before. Still, they had more substance than your hospital gown, and they were freshly washed, so you quickly got yourself dressed. On the floor there were socks and a pair of slip ons, so you put those on as well. With this, you felt less exposed.

Whatever doctors dragged you here must not have expected you to be awake, because when you cracked open the thankfully unlocked door, there’s close to no one around. Those who do pass you by aren’t paying much attention as they slip in and out of rooms. It’s early in the morning, you can see the blue tinted sun shining in through small windows at the ends of the halls you make your way down.

Partially exploring, but mostly searching for answers and a way out, you make your way into what looks to be a living room. Despite a few boxes laying around and some decor settled on the floor waiting to be packed, it’s very well put together. It’s incredibly high class, with a lowered pit to fit the couches and chair. Over one of these couches, you notice a black colored mass, and you investigate it with caution.

You step into the pit, glancing behind you to make sure you’re still alone. When you grab the black mass, you're surprised to see it’s a hoodie, and a thick one at that. Without much thought you toss it on and pull the hood over your head, eyes downcast as you enter the center of the pit and glance over the coffee table.

There’s mostly magazines, some empty cups on coasters, and then a ripped open envelope with the words “Tony Stark” written in gold calligraphy sitting atop the sparkling glass. Stark, you know that name. Clearly he was a big head in this building, and clearly he was a bit on the messier side. However, you did have to admit, he had an eye for ridiculously fancy furnitures. The couches told the whole story alone.

The colors were vibrant, a stark white that somehow managed to stick out in the rest of the lightly colored room. The cushions were ridiculously soft against your fingers, and striped trails followed your hand as you glided it across the fabric. It was unlike anything you’d felt before, a certain softness you’d never given yourself a chance to appreciate. In a strange, captivating way, you find yourself not wanting to pull away.

But, you do anyways. You pull back and slowly inspect the skin on your hands as though somehow, the couch left a mark on you just as you had left on it. There’s nothing, but you can still feel it there, the softness. You want to touch it again and you almost do- but something stops you.

Slowly, your eyes move past your hand. You glance up, and feel the air leave your lungs.

The moment you entered the room you’d noticed the windows, massive in size without a speck of grime, but standing before them, it was unreal. You’ve experienced windows like this before, so surrounding and clear that you have to reach out to touch just to make sure they’re actually there. However, it isn’t the window itself that has you maneuvering to stand behind the couch, eyes wide with almost innocent wonder as you pull down your hood.

It’s the view.

The world is hazy but it’s glowing, soft pinks and blues rising above the tops of buildings so closely packed together you couldn’t count them if you tried. Clouds roll slowly over the skies canvas as the sun barely peeks over the horizon, and as it does, a black bird bathes its feathers in the heavenly light. You feel as though you can reach out, catch the pallet on your hands, but when you try you nudge the glass you forgot existed. If not for the tugging at your heart distracting you, you’d have felt like a fool.

For a soft moment, the world pauses before you. You’re a good couple levels up, you’re sure by looking down at the unnaturally empty roads. There’s someone sitting on a bench along the sidewalk, a dog resting on the concrete in front of him. He’s eating something, and a strange feeling forms in your gut when you watch the man tear the food in half and hand feed it to the animal. It’s his companion, his responsibility. 

His friend.

You’re unsure how long you spend peering out that window, the frames almost engulfing your body, but you feel strangely at peace. You feel as though you’re witnessing another life, one you haven't had the luxury to explore. It’s kinder, leaves a better taste in your mouth. You wonder if you’ll ever have companionship, like the man and his dog sitting, unaware of their impact on you.

Unfortunately you don’t have time to mentally thank them. Footsteps bound fast for the living room, the sounds heavy and doubled. Two men are coming.

You snap yourself out of whatever trance the morning blur had you in, and duck behind the couch in hopes that they hadn’t seen you. As the feet draw closer, you can hear their voices as well growing in volume. Your heart thrashes in your chest as they enter the room.

“She hasn’t been awake long enough to get a name,” One voice says. He’s lively, chipper in an annoyingly sarcastic nature. “Ran some prints, and nada.”

A deeper voice answers, “So, she has no identification?”

“Nope. It’s like she doesn’t exist at all.”

It’s a quick quip of a conversation you’re able to hear, and you know they’re talking about you.

“When’s she supposed to be up?”

“Does it matter?”

“We have questions that need answers.”

“Oh yeah, let’s just bombard the kid with questions the moment her eye’s open. She’s in bad shape Cap, I don’t think she’s going to be telling us anything for a while.”

“All we need is a name-”

As quick as they came, they’re gone again, arguing back and forth.

When they’re long gone, you finally peek over over the edge of the couch and scan the room. It remains just as quiet as it was when you first entered. One last time you look behind you, admiring the beautiful view spread out before you. The man and his pet are gone now, the bench empty and waiting. There’s a few more cars and walkers than before. You eye the horizon and slump your shoulders in it’s presence, and you wonder if you’ll ever get a moment like this again before you scamper away.

The hallways are long and narrow, seeming to grow with length at every turn. You need to find some stairs to make your way down.

As you take your exit, you fight the urge to pull the hood over your head. It would raise suspicion, afterall.

A few workers pass by you with their heads buried in their work, too focused on their papers to notice you’ve escaped. It’s almost funny in a way, seeing all these top security details completely ignoring you, unaware that any moment now a red alarm will sound and they had the open chance to stop you had they been paying attention.

You turn a few more corners and keep close to the wall, and finally, you see the stairway.

They’re just as plain and metallic as the rest of the building. Your shoes are loud against every step, and try as you might, you can’t find a way to put an end to it without looking like you're trying to hide. With your face down, you’re lucky you hear the sound of another worker making rounds around the building. You peek up and stare for a moment, confused. He’s young- too young to be among the scientists or experiments. He’s got a glimmer in his eyes and a smile on his face, one that only grows wider when his gaze meets yours. Immediately, your stomach sinks.

He doesn’t seem to know who you are, considering he doesn’t take a moment to study you before giving you a cheery, “Morning!” as he passes you by. You nod curtly but he doesn’t take the hint, apparently insistent on speaking with you. He puffs his cheeks out and sways his hands while he stops beside you, a strange awe’d look in his eyes. He blows the air from his cheeks in a huff and grins.

“Man,” He starts, completely oblivious. “Can’t believe I’m actually here. Are you new too?”

You take in his features while he speaks to you, careful to pick out small defining traits should you ever see him again. You don’t hear his question, but you do see the expectant expression, so you answer anyways.

“Uh- yeah.”

He blinks and smiles again, running a hand through his brown hair. “Glad to know I’m not the only one. You nervous?”

Once again you just just agree with a simple nod, and thankfully this time he does notice. However, it doesn’t work the way you wanted it to. He frowns and tilts his head, trying to get a better look at your face.

“Hey don’t let it get to you, Mr. Stark’s pretty nice- in a weird, cactus kind of way. He’s kind of intimidating, and can be- uh- harsh- but I don’t know. He’s pretty cool. If you aren’t feeling good you should tell him- or one of the doctors. They’re nice too. A bit invasive though, haha.”

Mr. Stark, you think to yourself. Now it’s confirmed he’s running this joint. 

“It’s not a big deal,” you tell him with a tight lipped smile. “No point in bothering him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he kicks at the step, huffing again. You can almost feel the energy radiating off of him. “He can be preeeetty busy sometimes.”

Behind you, footsteps sound once more. Your nerves flare, and you realize you’ve been stalled for a few moments now. Too long. Enough was enough.

“I should be going. I wanna lay down.”

He blinks at you. “Oh, okay! Do you want me to walk you to your room? N-Not that I’m trying to get into your room or anything.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Alrighty then,” he sighs. “I’m Peter, by the way. I’ve never seen you before- which I guess makes since considering I’m new too, but I don’t know, I feel I’d know, like, the only other apprentice my age. It’s pretty cool, right? Being involved in all these high stake missions and stuff.”

You nod along as he speaks, a headache forming at your temples while he rambles on.

“Have you been on any yet? They’re pretty intense. I’ve only been one but it was a pretty big deal-” He crossed his arms, smiling bashfully. “I stole Captain America’s shield. Pretty crazy, y’know? We’re so young and-” He freezes. “Wait, I actually don’t don’t how old you are. If you’re older than me I’m sooo sorry, you just don’t look that old so I just sort of assumed-”

“Peter.” You say sharply, and he pales. “It was nice meeting you, but I have to go.”

He swallows thickly and nods multiple times, looking away from you. “Uh- yeah, yeah of course. Sorry I just-... Yeah. Get some rest. I’ll see you… Next time?”

He leaves the question open ended, waiting for you, and you just nod quickly before taking off, anxious to leave before someone comes down the set of stairs and does recognize you. As you step off the stairs and further the distance between the two of you, you hear him call, “Wait, I don’t know your name!”

You don’t turn around, stop, or answer. Luckily he doesn’t pursue it.

---------

For such a high security building, you find yourself at the front doors rather easily. They’re bigger than you and made entirely of thick glass, and from across the room you feel your pulse quicken. You’re almost out, and as far as you know, you’ve kept undercover. No alerts alerting the guards of your empty room has sounded, and you don’t plan on sticking around to see the chaos ensue when it happens.

One step of a time you make your way to the doors. People outside rush in and out of view, all wrapped up in their own lives and events.

Finally you can reach out, touch the handles, feel the cool metal against your fingers. Your bodies sore and surely someones given you a side eye for wearing such a dark outfit but no one stops you even as you pull the door open. The outside world meets you in a gust of wind and you feel yourself swallowing harshly, not daring to look over your shoulder as you slip outside and try to find the largest crowd to slip into.

Luckily there’s a group of busy bodies all standing at one end of a crosswalk, no one paying attention. You join them- keep your head down and hands shoved into your pockets discreetly. As the green light shines and the bubble of people takes off, you keep at the heart of it, hidden.

Once across, the group begins to disperse, and you take to the darkest alleyways you can find. Though it was an easy escape, you couldn’t stop a prideful smirk, almost, from taking form as you glance back at the tower before disappearing into the world.

[lamentations44]

Optimistic

 My heartbeat’s rhythm is a lonesome sound Just like the rubber turning on the ground Always lost and nowhere bound

~Chris Stapleton

I can’t count how many times I have been in this situation. But, I know it’s been hundreds . Maybe, if I am really digging deep... thousands.

She was a cardiac arrest with a long down time and multiple subsequent cardiac arrests. My optimism for recovery was a zero. She had periorbital edema and her pupils were questionable to respond.  A breathing tube, temperature probe and gastric tube all crowded her mouth and pushed her swollen tongue listlessly to the side. A central line hung out of her groin and allowed the IV pumps to carry lifesaving anti-arrhythmics and blood pressure medications to her blood stream. Her body was swollen with fluids meant to save her life. Her kidneys, that had been tenuous on a good day, were no longer functioning to get rid of all the medicine and fluid we dumped into her.

I wrote report in the same short hand that I used for everyone. Another experienced nurse would understand, but many would not. A few steps from where I blankly absorbed a litany of information, my orientee stood scribbling madly. His eyes were alight with interest and his posture was one of barely contained energy.

The day before we had decided to give up our continuous renal replacement patient (CRRT) and take something more acute. He had said multiple times throughout the day, “I want a code. I need a sick patient.”  

So, as I took report I looked at him and shook my head. The patient had been coded for 35minutes in a sister hospital before transferring to us where she got shocked 12 times during the night. By 7 am she was pseudo-stable and we were supposed to fix whatever mayhem was remaining. I was less than thrilled.  

After 8 years in an ICU, I like to have the same patients for days. And, I may be shunned for saying it, but I like the sedated intubated ones. I like the control I have over them. I like that no matter what is happening with them- I am 100% in charge. Awake patients can muddy the water with meaningless complaints that are benign. A sedated, intubated patient can’t. If their body does something- it is a true blue symptom needs to be addressed. 

Instead of the stable patient we had the day before, we found ourselves knee deep in this cardiac arrest patient. We talked about pressors and doing thorough neuro exams. We talked paralytics and vent dysynchrony. We talked... we talked. As the day went on, though the patient did not cardiac arrest, I was less than optimistic. My orientee surprised me though... As sure as I was that she wouldn’t wake up, he was just as sure she would.

“She turned a corner” he said many times through the day as we turned, cleaned and treated her.  I smirked at his sweet naivete and shook my head. I had seen my share of surprises in this job. But, an elderly individual with multiple co-morbidities and multiple arrests? That was something that was usually a direct recipe for anoxic brain injury.

At 1600, when we went to turn her, we both jumped when she turned her head to our voices. A few moments of talking to her elicited a slight but very present nod of her head. We exchanged a look and walked from the room.  I looked at the young new grad before me and felt a sense of sadness. I missed those days. The days of endless hope and optimism for every patient that came through.  The feeling that you saved people and made a true difference. The feeling that death wasn’t a given.

These days I distance myself from patients.  It is almost like I see them as time-bombs waiting to go off.  They may not die this minute... but they will die. Patient’s like the one we had, in my experience, rarely wake up... let alone leave the ICU alive.

But, there was a time when I believed it could happen.  A time before death after death hammered my soft heart into something unrecognizable. Something hard and yet brittle. Something I keep hidden from my patients now. Something I feel jolt when a new nurse with wide expressive eyes and an earnest heart reminds me of how I used to feel.

I don’t know if the patient will leave the ICU. I don’t know if she will survive this horrific ordeal her body has been subject to.  But, I do know, if she does it isn’t because of me. 

It’s because of the optimism and hope of a new grad. 

[miraculousstorytelling]

An Imperfect Cup of Coffee

Hello, @ifirestone​, I’m your secret Santa for @mlsecretsanta​ this year! I had so much fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it!

Also, thank you @ninoirs​ and @zoenightstars​ for helping me so much with the texting sections (and in some cases rewriting them entirely). The trouble with texting like a grandma.

Another note: the contact names are what the recipient has in their phone (so, ladyblogger is what Nino has as Alya’s contact name and so on).

After racing to reach her 7:00 class on time only to find it cancelled, Alya was ready to go home and sleep through the rest of her morning. In fact, she had rushed out the door so fast, she hadn’t even grabbed her morning coffee, which probably explained her sour mood and pounding headache.

She barrelled into the first coffee shop she could find and scanned the store for anyone who could help her. Of course, no one was there. Given how the rest of her morning had gone, she shouldn’t have been surprised.

Alya groaned and turned around, ready to stomp her way out of the shop, but she was stopped by a light and cheerful voice from the back. “Be right there!”

After a second’s hesitation, Alya returned to the counter.

When the woman in the back walked out, Alya was beyond thrilled that she’d chosen to stay.

“What can I get for you?” she asked, much too bright and happy for the hour in Alya’s opinion, but she was pretty enough for Alya to forgive that.

“I’ll take, um…” Alya made a show of looking over the menu, but really, she was looking at the light color in the woman’s cheeks and the way the light caught in her dark hair. “Whatever you have with the most caffeine.”

“Coming right up.” She chuckled as she tapped a few buttons on the register. “Will you have it here or are you taking it with you?”

“I’ll drink it here,” Alya answered instantly.

“Okay.” She smiled, and Alya was pretty sure she was in love with this woman already. “Would you like anything to eat with it?”

“Eat?” Alya floundered for a moment while her brain caught up to the present. “Oh, yeah, sure. What do you recommend umm…” She looked for a name tag, but the ladybug print apron the woman wore only had the name of the cafe. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Marinette.” She pointed to a small offering of pastries next to the counter. “And all of this is made fresh every morning by a local bakery, so you really can’t go wrong. If you like sweets, though, the pain au chocolat is pretty amazing.”

“Thanks. I’ll take one.” Alya tugged out her wallet to dig out her card.

“Great! What’s your name?” Marinette paused, then nearly stumbled over her words when she added on, “So, um, so I can call you when it’s done, I mean.”

“Alya.” She passed over her card and hoped she wasn’t imagining that Marinette might actually be blushing. “Thanks.”

“Go ahead and take a seat.” Marinette passed her card back after running the payment through. “It should only be a minute.”

“Sure, no problem.” Alya tugged out her phone while she found a seat that offered the best view behind the counter. It was easy enough to sneak glances while she texted Nino about the woman she was already planning to marry.

NiNOT MY BF: seriously?

NiNOT MY BF: how long have you known her

ladyblogger: ...

Alya paused to watch Marinette glide through the kitchen with a clean cup for her coffee before she continued.

ladyblogger: the point is i met my future wife

NiNOT MY BF: congrats

NiNOT MY BF: do u know her name tho

ladyblogger: yes???

NiNOT MY BF: good

NiNOT MY BF: is she single

ladyblogger: she has to be

ladyblogger: after my morning hte universe owes me

The tap of ceramic on wood and the smell of fresh coffee recaptured her attention. Alya set down her phone and sent Marinette a smile. “Thanks!”

Marinette grinned and set down a plate with her freshly warmed pain au chocolat. “Enjoy!”

Alya watched her go, quietly enjoying the view, rather than her food, but once Marinette was out of sight, Alya reached for the cup to try it.

She nearly spat it back out once she tasted it.

NiNOT MY BF: thats not how the universe works al

ladyblogger: NINO

ladyblogger: she works at a cafe

ladyblogger: but

ladyblogger: this is literally THE WORST coffee ive ever had

NiNOT MY BF: is the marriage over already

ladyblogger: no??? i can make coffee

ladyblogger: marriage is abt compromise and MAKING SACRIFICES

NiNOT MY BF: whatever u say

Alya grimaced and stared down the food on her plate, almost afraid to taste it. After the bitter mess still stinging her tongue, she wasn’t sure she could trust anything Marinette brought her.

“How is it?” Marinette called from behind the counter.

Alya sighed and took the plunge, biting down on one edge and hoping for a miracle or a really, really good lie. “Whoa…” she murmured before taking a second, larger bite. “This is amazing!”

“I’m glad you like it!” Marinette scooped up a rag to wipe down a nearby table. “They’re actually from my family’s bakery. I made this batch myself.”

“Really?” Alya sank back in her seat. “It tastes great!”

“Thank you!”

ladyblogger: update

ladyblogger: she can bake

ladyblogger: im in love

NiNOT MY BF: u have my blessing

NiNOT MY BF: only if you get me free food tho

ladyblogger: not a chance

Alya took her time finishing her food, watching Marinette and the occasional customer while she pretended to study. She even considered skipping a class so she could stay longer, but she really couldn’t afford to miss it. “That was the perfect recommendation.” She stood and brought her dishes to the counter. “I’ll have to come back sometime.”

“Oh, sure.” And maybe Alya was projecting, but she could have sworn Marinette almost looked disappointed. “Do you want any coffee to go?”

“That’s okay,” Alya answered too quickly. “I probably need to cut back on the caffeine anyway.”

“Okay! Ummmm…” She ran her thumb over the edge of the cup, avoiding Alya’s eyes as she spoke, “You know, if you’re interested, we have a, uh… A discount club. We text you coupons if you give me, I mean,” She blushed and glanced at Alya, “Give us your number.”

“Yeah, sure.” Mainly because Alya really, really liked the idea of Marinette asking for her number for any reason whatsoever. She scribbled it down on a napkin and handed it to Marinette.

“Thanks.” Marinette hesitated, for a moment looking like she wanted to say something else, but then she shook her head and carried the dishes to the back.

“Sure! Thanks for the great breakfast!” Alya called on her way out the door.

“You, too!” Marinette answered with a wave.

Alya almost didn’t notice that her response didn’t make sense.

The next day, Alya slipped out of class early just so she could go visit the Ladybug Cafe. On the way to class, she’d definitely seen Marinette behind the counter again, and she hadn’t been able to think about anything else since.

“Morning!” Marinette called from the back. She peeked out and brightened when she saw Alya. “Hey! You came back!”

“I told you I would.” Alya leaned against the counter and waved. “Any recommendations for me today?”

“Well…” Marinette scanned the offering of baked goods at the end of the counter. “There’s some lavender macarons that are pretty impressive.”

“Did you make them?”

“No.”

“Not interested.” Alya had no plans to be even remotely subtle today. “What did you make?”

A smile tugged at the corners of Marinette’s lips. “I overslept today, so I just helped with the croissants.”

“I’ll take two.”

“For here?” Marinette asked as she rang it up.

“Please.”

On her third visit, Marinette hovered near her, cleaning tables and rearranging whatever happened to be close to Alya’s seat.

“So, are you a student near here?” Marinette finally asked.

“Yep.” Alya closed the book she’d been pretending to read. “Studying journalism. How about you?”

“Well, I’m saving up some money while I decide what to study.” She polished the end of a table that was already gleaming. “My mom suggested business, since I’ve been so helpful with their bakery, and my partner said I should study design since it’s my childhood dream, but I’m not even sure if I still like it.”

Alya stopped listening the second she heard it. All at once, all the lovely dreams about waking up next to Marinette and bringing her excellent coffee while Marinette baked delicious breakfasts came crashing down. “Partner?”

“Oh!” Marinette waved a hand. “No, not that kind of… I mean, business partner. Adrien and I are friends.”

And just like that the wedding bells were ringing again. “Ohhh!” Alya relaxed and leaned forward. “You know, you can sit if you want.”

“Well, I should…” Marinette glanced at the door, then back to Alya. “It is time for my break.”

Apparently breaks for cafe partners lasted hours, because Alya only realized the time after she missed half her afternoon lecture.

By the fifth visit, Marinette stopped pretending to clean and simply rang Alya up and joined her.

“You have how many sisters?”

Alya shook her head. “Honestly? Too many. It must be nice being an only child.”

“I don’t know.” Marinette smiled. “I think it would have been nice to have a sister.”

“Trust me.” Alya sighed dramatically. “I don’t know what was worse, when they borrowed my stuff without asking or when they decided to embarrass me in front of my first crush.”

Marinette laughed. “Okay, maybe not those parts, but having someone to talk to and ask advice. I mean, I could usually go to my mom, but… you know.”

“Well, I guess that part’s not so bad.” Alya nodded. “Besides, Ella and Etta are such a handful right now, mom doesn’t have time to hound me about grades, so that’s a plus.”

“Now I’m really jealous!” Marinette drooped forward. “My parents are worried and keep asking about my plans. I don’t have plans. I’m just trying to figure something out.”

“Tell me about it.” Alya rolled her eyes. “Alya, when are you going to settle down? Oh, I don’t know, maybe when I meet someone interesting.”

“Is that all you’re looking for?” Marinette teased.

“Well…” Alya let her voice trail off while she looked Marinette over. “Not the only thing. I have high standards.”

Marinette blushed, but she still managed to raise a brow and shoot back, “You’re not the only one.”

“Really? So, you-”

The door opened behind them, startling them out of their conversation. “Sorry,” Marinette murmured as she rushed back to the counter. “How can I help you?”

By the time she came back, the moment had passed, and Alya left an hour later, still internally raining curses down on the unfortunate man that interrupted them.

By the tenth visit, Nino was curious.

“So, you still haven’t asked her out yet?”

Alya scowled. “I’m going to. The timing just wasn’t right.”

“Right, but you’ve gone every day for two weeks?”

“Almost.”

“And you still haven’t asked her out,” Nino repeated.

“Listen, I’m in it for the long haul. I’m willing to wait. Marriage isn’t something you rush into.”

He chuckled. “Okay, but you still don’t even have her number.”

“Shut up,” she shot back. “At least I’m talking to my crush.”

“Rude,” he grumbled.

“You earned it.” She turned the corner and saw the cafe across the street. “I’m here. I’ll call you with an update later.”

“Oh, good. I can’t wait,” he muttered before she had the chance to hang up on him.

“Morning!” Alya called when she walked through the door. She froze when she saw who was behind the counter. “You’re...not Marinette.”

The blond behind the counter paused and looked over at her. “No? She’s off today. I can…” Suddenly, he grinned. “Wait, let me guess. You’re Alya?”

She raised a brow. “You are?”

“Adrien.”

“Oh, the business partner.” Maybe it was a little petty to put unnecessary emphasis on the business part of business partner, but he’d single handedly ruined her day, so she felt a little pettiness was justified.

“Marinette hasn’t stopped talking about you.”

That caught her attention. “She hasn’t?”

“Nope.” He chuckled.

“Well, in that case, maybe you could do me a favor and tell me where to find her.”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. She keeps her phone on her if you want to ask her yourself, though.”

“I...don’t exactly have her number.”

“You don’t? Well,” Adrien pulled out his phone. “It’s…” He paused, then a positively wicked look lit up his eyes. “You know, I just remembered I need to deal with a delivery in the back.” He tapped the screen a few times, then handed her his phone. “Here’s her number.”

Except it wasn’t Marinette’s number. It was her messaging history with Adrien. At least, Alya assumed the contact named “scroll up, Alya” was Marinette.

give the puns agreste: It’s fine. I’ll cover for you.

scroll up, alya: i cant

scroll up, alya: ill miss hre

Alya did exactly what he suggested. Not that she needed the permission, since she would have done it anyway, but the message meant Nino wouldn’t have a reason to try and make her feel about it when she called him later. In fact, she scrolled all the way up to the day she first met Marinette.

scroll up, alya: im in love

scroll up, alya: i know customers are off limits?? But

give the puns agreste: I never said that.

scroll up, alya: good because i met the future mrs dupain-cheng

Alya laughed, half out of relief that Marinette definitely liked her too and half because apparently they were even more perfect for each other than she could have imagined.

scroll up, alya: i made up a rewards program so i could get her number

scroll up, alya: hope thats okay

give the puns agreste: Did it work?

scroll up, alya: sort of

scroll up, alya: i didnt give her mine

“Yeah, no kidding,” Alya grumbled, almost regretting that she didn’t find a reason to ask.

give the puns agreste: Can’t you text her?

scroll up, alya: no!!! then shell know!!

give the puns agreste: Know what?

scroll up, alya: that i made it up!!!

scroll up, alya: plus she said thanks for the food

scroll up, alya: and i might hve said you too

scroll up, alya: so theres that

give the puns agreste: Really? That sounds...

give the puns agreste: pawkward

scroll up, alya: shut up adrien

scroll up, alya: dont mock my pain with puns

She chuckled and scrolled past conversation about things to reorder for the cafe, only pausing when she caught sight of her name.

scroll up, alya: alya came back!!!!!!!!

give the puns agreste: Did you get her number?

scroll up, alya: she just walked in

scroll up, alya: not yet

The next text was a few hours later.

scroll up, alya: id idnt get her number

scroll up, alya: *didnt

give the puns agreste: Why not?

scroll up, alya: got distracted by her face

scroll up, alya: and her hair

scroll up, alya: and her laugh

scroll up, alya: and all of her

give the puns agreste: Wow. You really like her

scroll up, alya: im marrying her

scroll up, alya: of course i do

Alya read through the rest of the conversations, and to say the entire experience was a confidence boost would be a serious understatement. Marinette was easily as enamored as Alya, which meant only one thing.

unknown number: wanna get dinner?

unknown number: this is alya btw

unknown number: adrien gave me your number

Alya only had to wait for a moment before she received an answer

future wife: yes!!!

[sakurasangcl]

Lightning (part one)

Summary: With newly discovered powers, you’re not only a hazard to yourself, but to the public too.

Word Count: 2.6k

Pairing: Reader, Peter, Tony

Warnings: attempted suicide, divorced parents (idk if this is a warning or not, but hey, you never know), verbally abusive father (the reader describes it as “quasi abusive”)

Notes: Some of this is based off of my experience in high school, but is not at all true (obviously). And yes, this is part one of a series. *winks*

Changing from secondary school into high school was no big deal. You were a smart kid and knew how to go about it. You’d keep a low profile, be quiet, learn quickly. You’d fly from class to class, never lingering in the hallways. You seemed impatient and fidgety, and perhaps that was true. In your free time at school, you’re nose was always in a book. You knew it was an extremely antisocial behavior, but reading was an escape. An escape from the hell that was reality. And it worked… for a time.

It was one particular afternoon that really got to you. Since you changed school districts after moving to a new apartment across town into Queens, you didn’t have any friends. You’d sit alone on the bus, or even chance walking home if you felt like it.

It was a Friday that should’ve been like any other Friday. Except, it wasn’t. This was the first weekend that you had to go with your father. Your quasi abusive father. He never laid a finger on you, but you could just tell that he hated you. Your younger brother and older siblings were his pride and joy. One was becoming a doctor, the other an engineer. Your brother was showing promising athletic capabilities. But you, you were nothing special. Sure, you were incredibly smart and could write the equivalent of a novel about the Battle of Gettysburg, but he wasn’t interested in history or reading. No- only changing the world.

Your last class was Geometry, and the teacher had a nasty habit of holding you over the bell. You scribbled triangles and degrees on your notes, but nothing seemed to process in your mind. It was a foreign language to you-but much worse. As the bell shrieked, your teacher shouted your homework.

“The homework starts on page 54, and I want you to do 1 to 50 but only the odds!”

“Twenty five problems? Really?” you mutter under your breath.

You heard someone snigger nearby, “What, the nerd can’t handle it?”

You ignored the nasty comment as you rushed out of the room, hoping to make it quickly to the bus. Instead, Russell Meyers blocked your way.

“You’re doing my math for me, nerd,” He states, dropping his binder and pencil into your arms.

“No I’m not!” You reply, shoving the items back in his arms.

“You are, or that ugly face of yours will get even uglier,” Russell threatens.

“I didn’t know you were talking about yourself!” you scoffed, feigning shock.

“I’m not, you fool! I’m talking about you!” he growls, throwing his books at you.

Maybe it was that you were done with school for the day, really wanted to be gone, or were just really nervous, but you were not expecting what happened next. “I’m not doing your homework, you unintelligent oaf.”

“What’s that?”

“I said no.”

“No, you called me an oaf.”

“An unintelligent oaf, actually,” you correct, as his face reddened to the shade of a tomato.

As a child with extreme anger issues, Russell did what was only logical to him-punching you square in the face.

“What a perfect day to wear white,” you sarcastically comment about the bright red blood as you run to the bathroom.

You take out a ton of paper towels, and hold your nose to stop the bleeding. You bend over to help it clot faster, but to no avail. You must have broken your nose.

You silently cursed at Russell, hoping he’d rue the day he met you. And rue the day he would.

Except today it was you who would be ruing the day. You ran outside, still trying to stop the bleeding but also to make it to the bus. Just as you made your way outside, the buses were pulling out of the parking lot.

“Great. Just what I needed.”

With a very audible sigh, you began your long trek home.

Not once did a stranger offer you help for your nose, ask what happened, or why there was blood on your shirt. Not even any of the police officers that you passed- five, precisely.

Once you got home, you had thirty minutes to get ready to go with your dad and to fix your nose.

“MOM?” you shout, hoping to get her help to fix your nose. “MOM!” Of course, she wasn’t home. Instead, your brother came out of his room and looked at you quizzically.

“What happened to you?” he questions.

“I got punched in the face.”

“Nice! Did you hit ‘em back?”

“No, I fell.”

“Aww man…” he mumbles, retreating back into his room.

Alone with your younger sibling, you go into the room that you shared with your sisters and backed a small bag for the weekend. Once you were done, you went to the bathroom to clean yourself up with only ten minutes to spare.

What you saw was bad. Your face was caked in dried blood, and your nose and lower left eye swelling black. You gently touched the inflamed area and squeaked in pain. Your nose was definitely broken.

With warm, soapy water you washed away the blood, revealing a cut under the bruise. At the same time, your mother came home, now only with five minutes left.

“Oh honey, what happened!” she exclaims, examining your nose.

“I got punched,” You state as though it was the most obvious thing ever.

“I figured that much, but why?” she inquires further, taking out her first aid kid.

“I wouldn’t do this kid’s homework.”

“That’s not right! I’m going to talk to the school, and his mother. What is this delinquent’s name?”

“It doesn’t matter. His mother wouldn’t care, and neither would the school. It would just make it worse for me.” You explaining, wincing as she patched up your nose.

“Oh honey, I am so sorry!” Your mother exclaims, kissing you lightly on your uninjured cheek.

The sound of barking and the ringing of the doorbell got your mother up. “I’ll go explain to your father, you finish getting yourself ready.”

“No, it’s no use. He’d congratulate the guy who punched me.” You admit, grabbing your mother’s hand to stop her.

You rushed yourself to get the rest of your cloths, and quickly went down with your father, keeping your head low.

“You should’ve just done the kid’s homework. Your sisters would have done that.” You father says, the disgust clear in his voice.

You say nothing, as his reply would be worse than anything.

“Or you could have fought him back. Your brother would have done that. You ran away like the coward you truly are.” He adds as an afterthought.

You don’t know if it was being punched, your dad, or a mixture of everything, but you found yourself on the top of his seven story apartment building, looking down. You were holding a piece of paper that you scribbled three words on- I’m not sorry.

Clenching the paper tightly in your fist, and you step onto the edge of the roof. You look around the city-your city- and sigh.

“This is it. The end.” you assure yourself.

After a deep breath, you hear the door to the roof open, and know it’s now or never. You glance over your shoulder to see your brother and say, “I love you. This is not your fault. Just let me go.” Then leap forward onto nothing. You heard screams and sirens. All you could see was blurred, and all you could smell was tacos.

You only partially remember being transferred into the ambulance, and the ride to the hospital.

You kind of remember blurred faces leaning over you, checking your pulse and heart rate. They put one of those masks to help you breath over you face. You wanted to take it off.  

You remember being stuck with an iv at the hospital, so you wouldn’t die and could be given medicine since you couldn’t (but also wouldn’t) take it orally.

You also remember the doctor explaining a new type of experimental drug that could help speed up your healing time.

You remember seeing the arrangement of your bones from your x ray on the wall next to you, and how almost every bone in your body was broken.

You remember the days and hours ticking by.

You remember your two sisters coming to visit you, both of them wondering why you’d ever do such a terrible thing.

You remember them whispering how much they love you to your motionless and numb body.

You remember being carted down to get your second x ray a week and a half later, and seeing the results through drugged eyes. The smaller bones had healed, and you were almost done mending.

You got sent home that day with your mother. As a nurse, she was trusted to take care of you-and the heavy medications you were on. But rather than staying with you, she had to work overtime to get money for all the procedures.

You remember the doctor from before coming home to check on you and helping out. His beard was oddly shaped, but you couldn’t remember how. You swore you’d seen him before somewhere.

You remember your brother watching the doctor with awe, and that he would actually listen to him.

You also remember a red and blue blur looking at you through your window, both at the hospital and at home.

You remember the comfort from the strange blur, though you couldn’t explain why.

You couldn’t remember when you starting having a tutor, but his name was Mr. Brown. He was a chill dude, and you think you must have had him as a substitute teacher before. He was a very smart man, and optimistically assured you that you would be back in school in no time. Of course, you’d rather just be home schooled the entire time and never have to go back to that dreadful place.

Of course, you could only take so much boredom. Even Mr. Brown could tell two weeks in that you were over halfway caught up with over two months worth of missed classes.

“Miss y/n, did you ever find school paced too slowly for you?” he inquires one evening while grading your papers.

You shrug solemnly. “Yeah, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.”

“Well, on the bright side you’ll be caught up soon if you actually try from here on out.”

Of course, try was not something you wanted to do until your anxiety spoke up and pointed out that continually failing everything you missed would bring down your GPA. So you were soon back in school after four months of absence. Your casts were all off, and you were walking by yourself. By all accounts, it was a miracle. You should have taken about six months to heal, not hardly four.

You got to school early your first day back. All of the teachers were extremely attentive to you, and wanted to give you ample time to adjust again. They were being overly nice, and avoiding the fact that the last time they saw you was the day you attempted suicide.

Your first class was history, and it was with your favorite teacher. You made your way through the labyrinth of a school to his class, and was the first one there. “Morning Mr. Smith,” you say, sitting down in your front seat.

“It’s good to have you back, y/n. How are you doing today?” He asks you, being earnest unlike the rest of the people you’d run into.

“I’m nervous, to be honest.”

“You’ll be fine!” he assures you.

That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

History ended up being fine, as Mr. Smith went in full detail of the Battle for Chattanooga, specifically the one on Lookout Mountain. English was stressful, since you were behind on the reading, but your teacher was understanding. When it was time for lunch, you had bitten off almost all of your nails. You were not looking forward to sitting by yourself or worse-being bothered by people wanting to know why.

You gathered your lunch from your locker, and slowly made your way to lunch. By the time you got there, most people were already sitting down, paying you no mind. With your luck, all tables were full. One was mostly empty, except for two boys. One of them, with brown hair and dark brown eyes, smiled at you.

They both gave off the nerdy vibe so you thought you’d give them half of a chance.

“Is it okay if I sit here?” you manage to ask over the fear rising in your stomach.

They both stared at you blankly.

“That’s a yes,” a girl laughs, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table near the wall.

The larger one elbowed the one who had shyly smiled before, and he nods. “Yes, please do! I’m Peter and this is my friend Ned.”

“I’m y/n,” you mumble, quickly eating your food.

“Well it’s nice to meet you!” Peter says, smiling again.

“You wanna eat any faster?” Ned jokes.

You shrug, but begin to eat a bit slower. You wanted to appear more “lady like,” but you roll your eyes at the thought.

Then you pause mid bite of yogurt and your eyes widen as Russell makes his way over. Before you could even leave the cafeteria, he was in front of you, blocking your way out.

“Do you know what we had to endure because of your episode of attempted suicide?” he grumbles, clearly irritated.

You shrug, not wanting to provoke him.

“We had to sit in this shitty assembly while they went on and on about the warning sides of suicide. All because of you. We aren’t even supposed to talk to you, because you’re ‘fragile’ and ‘damaged.’ Well, I just think you are a selfish bastard.”  Russell blurts.

“Sorry,” you say, your voice as monotone as your emotions.

“Is that really all you have to say for yourself, you little bitch?”

You look down at the linoleum floor, not saying anything.

“You pathetic little-” he began, throwing a fist right at your face again.

This time, you were ready for it. In not even a blink of the eye, you were behind him and out the door. You moved literally over twenty feet in not even a second. You look back, only seeing Russell dumbfounded and his friends confused. Deciding that it was best not to wait any longer, you race off to the girl’s bathroom to wait for your next class. You step forward, and the next thing you knew, you were in front of the bathroom door- which was at least 40 feet away.

You open the door, beginning to hyperventilate. Your heart begins to race, your body begins to shake, and your breaths become short gasps for air. You feel bile in your mouth as you try not to throw up, and the salty tears as they made it to your lips.

Then you hear your name being called on the speakers, which does not help. You rummage through your purse and take your inhaler, then splash cold water on your face to help you calm down. You gently pat your face dry with a paper towel and blow your nose. You make sure you look as presentable as possible.

Peaking out of the bathroom, you look to see if the hallways were empty. They were.

You then sped walked to the front office, where the last person you ever expected to see was waiting for you.

Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man.  

tagging: @ruined-by-destiel @teamfreewill-imagine (if either of you don’t want to be tagged just lmk)

want to be tagged? send me an ask and you’re name will be here for part 2!

[xadoheandterra]

Title: Don’t Write Me A Postscript Fandom: Red vs Blue Chapter: VI (I / II / III / IV / V / VII / VIII / IX / X / XI / XII / XIII) Characters: David Church | Agent Washington | Recovery One, Church | Alpha, Micheal Caboose | Agent California | Micheal-210, Aiden Price | Counselor, Epsilon Summary: He was all sorts fucked up and didn’t want to admit it. Being alone for fourteen months didn’t help matters--except, well, Church was tired of being alone. Tired of people leaving and dying--and he thought, no more. I’m done. I’m out.

Won’t Say You’re Sorry (I / II / III)

Do You Even Feel Compassion? (I / II)

It didn’t take long for Church to find Agent Washington. It wasn’t like Washington was hiding anyway. He’d gotten a call from Command—the sound of 479er’s voice a bittersweet memory—informing him of the change in his directives and praise for his work to gather the Blues together. Once the conversation finished Washington got to his feet and headed out to find where Church and Caboose went to. They needed to move, and quickly. There was no telling just where the Meta was, and the chance of a recovery beacon going off in short order was high.

Wash bit his lip beneath his helmet and wandered through the obviously fortified and carefully reconstructed portions of the base. He’d observed the rest of the place as an utter wreck, obviously from both the destruction of the blues and the unfortunate loss of Agent Delaware. Wash stopped at the wall in a small part of the fortified section that remained somewhat a wreck. He saw the scratched marks in neat little rows of five, and the broken, jagged piece of metal casually discarded on the ground.

Washington breathed in, and closed his eyes. The memories flowed over him like water—

—four walls, padded white, and an empty, stark room. The Counselor looked at him with a face masked of pity and sorrow. David wanted to scream at how fake the look was—how could he have never noticed before? A part of his mind, jagged edges that dug into the rest of him, laughed bitterly.

“Why would you notice?” hissed Epsilon. “They were good at hiding it.”

David’s eyes tracked to the small fragment and then snapped back to the Counselor, face a little pale. The walls were white and dangerous and—

—David ran the broken shard of glass through the soft covering of the walls with a laugh. He didn’t mind the blood from his cut hands, didn’t mind anything. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted the Counselor to leave him alone. He knew he messed up—he wasn’t compatible, he wasn’t right, he was never good enough—never good enough; just a bastard, a mistake that shouldn’t exist.

“It’s why he stuck me with you, you know? He wanted to break you.”

David sobbed, git his teeth, and dragged the broken shard of mirror through the wall again. He made marks in neat little rows of five from his tears and blood and jagged shards of his mind. He marked the days that he knew of, the passage of time that he was certain of, and when he finished David collapsed to the ground. He stared and stared and stared—

“Fourteen months,” Epsilon laughed. “Fourteen months in recovery. Ain’t that a fucking bitch?”

—Wash sucked in a sharp breath and blinked. He placed a hand to his helmeted head and frowned. After a moment he shook himself and straightened back up, just in time to see Church enter into the room and freeze, stiff with shock.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Church burst out. He moved quick, quicker than Washington anticipated. Already Washington had his gun out and up the minute Church ended up in his space, breathing sharp. “What the fuck, man? Put that thing away!” The pitch raised higher and higher and pierced into the parts of him that were broken. Washington breathed in heavily, and forced himself to relax.

“Sorry,” Wash said. “You startled me.”

“I startled you?! You pulled a fucking gun on me!”

“I am a Freelancer,” Washington pointed out dryly. “What did you expect?”

Church narrowed his eyes—green, Washington noticed. In fact the pale skin, the dark hair—that shape and the way his face scrunched up left Washington reeling. He’d seen that face before, he was certain he’d seen that face before—Wash shook his head.

“Why are you out of armor?” Washington demanded. “Where is Caboose?”

Church rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Resting. Fucker’s gone and probably given himself food poisoning. He’s too out of it right now, and our armor is getting cleaned and sanitized. Dumbass threw up on it.” Church grit his teeth towards the end.

“What?!” Wash shrieked. “We need to leave now! We have a lead and any time we waste—”

“I’m not leaving until our armor is cleaned! Deal with it,” Church snapped out. “I came to find you, to tell you not to leave the fucking fortified walls unless you wish to risk death and dismemberment, and now that I’ve finished that I’m going to get Caboose some more fucking water and go back to being his fucking pillow.”

Church turned on heel; the vitriolic diatribe left Wash gaping for a moment, before he quickly raced after the sim trooper.

“How the hell do you get anything done like this?” Wash demanded.

“We don’t!” Church snapped back. He threw his hands up into the air. “That’s the charm of it! Now are you going to fucking shut up and relax or what?” Church glared at him over his shoulder, then frowned. “Besides you look like your about to faint.”

“I’m not,” Wash protested.

Church pressed his lips together. “Fuck you aren’t,” he grumbled. “Goddamn Freelancers never take care of themselves. Where’s those fucking MRE’s dammit—need to get that and some water; juice is definitely no good. Probably water for him too can’t be hydrated enough in that suit…” The words got quieter and quieter until Washington couldn’t even hear them; he could just see Church’s lips moving as he stormed through the base with a purpose.

Washington followed after him, completely uncertain of just what happened.

In the kitchenette Church unearthed the MRE’s and a few protein bars. He shoved three of the pouches at Wash who fumbled to hold them in surprise. Then Church hunted around and filled up a pitcher of water and grabbed two plastic cups and stormed out of the kitchenette. Wash followed along behind him, a little at a loss for just what the other man was doing. Church led him to a small room with a bed that looked barely used and a small computer set up in the corner. A corkboard filled with hastily scribbled and near legible notes sat on another wall. Caboose was curled around a pillow and he looked utterly pathetic in the under suit.

Washington watched as Church settled down onto the bed, placed the pitcher onto a makeshift night stand, and poured Caboose a glass.

“Hey big guy, got you some water,” Church mumbled. Caboose looked up and instantly latched onto Church’s middle. Church sighed. “Come on, drink up. You’ll be even sicker if you don’t.”

“Di’n throw u’,” Caboose said, but the words seemed slurred with something Washington couldn’t quite identify. Perhaps Church gave the other man some sort of medicine? Dangerous if he had no medical training—sim troopers often had an array of conditions that the Director sought out in order to have troopers in the first place. They just weren’t the ‘dumbest’ of the lot, but often the least functional.

“Yeah I see that bud,” Church sighed. “Drink up. Please.”

Washington settled down at the wall. It was more obvious here that Church actually cared for the larger soldier. He seemed almost gentle, his words much softer. Perhaps Wash shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t see this side of Church and Caboose—this softer, caring side.

As if he could hear Wash’s thoughts Church pinned him with a sharp glance.

“Eat your MRE’s,” Church snapped out. “I refuse to have to take care of two idiots who refuse to take care of themselves.”

“’m fine,” Caboose whined as he drank his water.

“You drank spoiled juice,” Church said exasperatedly. “That is not fine, Caboose. God dammit.” Caboose just huffed and cuddled closer toward Church’s middle. When Church shot Washington another look the freelancer sighed and started to unpackage the MRE’s Church shoved at him.

Wash’s eyes widened when he saw the specific meals provided. He glanced to Church—how did he know?—and then brushed it aside as coincidence with a shake of his head. With a sigh Washington climbed to his feet and grabbed the pitcher of water. He started the process of heating each MRE up calmly as could be.

“And take off your damn helmet when you eat,” Church snapped out. “You aren’t a fucking heathen, dammit.”

Wash stiffened, and a part of him ached. How long had he wished for someone with a face like Church’s to give him this level of care? He breathed out through his nose, sighed, and nodded along. Church reminded him of a man Washington hoped to never have to deal with again, only softer despite the explosive nature he displayed. It reminded Wash a little of his two younger sisters and how they’d bully him into taking care of himself as a kid, except with far more curses than the twins ever used. Wash would’ve washed their mouths out with soap if they ever spoke in such a crass manner.

After all his mother didn’t care, Wash thought somewhat bitterly. She never seemed to care aside from reminding him so often about how much he looked like his father. Wash worked on the MRE’s and the heating packets in silence, and when it came time to eat he hesitated to remove his helmet for a few seconds. A sharp glare from Church had him undoing the clasps without even thinking about it. As the release hissed Wash pulled the helmet off and breathed nonfiltered air. How long had it been since he removed it?

Washington set the helmet aside and ran his fingers through his hair, and then decided to work his gloves off so that he could eat better instead of fumbling with a spoon through Kevlar and armor. His implants burned as he worked the gloves off, and with a faint hiss he ran bare fingers over the back of his covered neck. He massaged into the inflamed skin around the chips and wires until the warmth receded.

“Nice hair,” Church said suddenly. Wash had forgotten he and Caboose where there for a second and jerked his head up. Pale blue eyes were wide and adrenaline rushed through his system with a jolt. Wash’s heart hammered fast. “Why bleach just part of it?” Church questioned.

“Because I like it,” Washington said slowly.

Because it makes me look less like him, he thought bitterly.

Church shrugged. “Whatever man, just curious.” He paused in thought and then cocked his head. “You know, you kind of look familiar.”

Wash stiffened and narrowed his eyes with a calming breath a second later. That sentence—Washington looked at Church cautiously.

“What do you mean?” Washington questioned.

After a moment Church shook his head. “Can’t recall. Must be nothing.” At that Wash relaxed slowly and began to eat. He did keep an eye on Church the entire time, now very curious to spite himself. He wondered about the other man as he relaxed back and combed his fingers through Caboose’s hair as the other dozed with his face pressed into Church’s abdomen. It was oddly sweet.

They really care for each other, Wash thought, and focused back on his food. He fought down the bitter longing that surged in his chest. The sharp taste of jealousy tainted the taste of the food. He missed that; the camaraderie. He missed it all.

Church kept his eyes closed even though he wanted to drink in Agent Washington’s face like a starving man. A part of Church longed to touch the man, to feel him and see that he was real and fuck if that didn’t sting like a bitch. Church thought it was bad enough seeing Tex after all—having her stand there and stare at him half out of his mind, thoughts a jumbled mess because of—of the fall.

(was that what happened?)

(I don’t—)

It took most of his time at Blood Gulch for things to come back in shattered pieces; Church knew that Tex was labeled dead by Freelancer—he’d been told so; it had to be true. The Director wouldn’t lie to him about something like that. Except she pulled through, she survived—and she returned to Freelancer. She returned to working for the Director and that—that stung. All Tex cared about in the end was what the Director wanted her to care about and not him.

(she was mine)

mineminemineminemineminemineminemine

(how dare you)

And that was why they didn’t work out, Church thought bitterly. Tex was far too focused on ending the war—and not focused enough on their relationship. Church for a moment tightened his grip on Caboose’s hair and only lessened it when the man shifted and made a noise. Church grit his teeth and just breathed—

(he couldn’t breathe)

(simulation)

(are we forgetting?)

—Church couldn’t think straight. He bowed his head and curled himself around Caboose who was curled around his middle and just tried to stop. To stop thinking and stop feeling because seeing Agent Washington’s face just hurt.

(david)

(oh god david you’re—)

sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry

(you’re—)

That, Church knew, was definitely Agent Washington. Church wondered what happened to the man—he looked and acted like he’d been through hell. A small part of Church ached and screamed—

—myfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfault—

—but the rest of him just felt bone tired. Of course Agent Washingtone would’ve have come back. He probably crawled through shit and hell to return to Project Freelancer. Whatever happened to the young man was far worse than whatever Tex went through. She came out relatively unscathed, but Wash…Wash was different. Church couldn’t reconcile the bitter, cold man with the young idealistic recruit.

Not that he could recall much. Merely hazy glimpses and flashes of memory that didn’t quite mesh together right. It felt as if a whole part of him was missing, a part of him with all the important bits that he needed. In the end Church didn’t care all that much. The past wasn’t worth it. He had things in the present to focus on—even if the past wanted to continually shove itself into his face and remind him of how much he’s forgotten.

“Sh’ld s’eep,” Caboose grumbled tiredly, and Church practically melted after the comment.

“Good idea, buddy,” Church mumbled, and his mind filled with static. For the first time in fourteen months Church stopped thinking, stopped doing, and fell into a static-filled slumber with Caboose clutched tight to himself. Just a few hours was all he needed; the armor should be done by then.

[igotthoughtsbutimtired]

The office

Trigger warning: Things associated with Crohn’s Disease, blood, needles, etc...

We arrived at the building and I can tell you that it looked nicer than the first one that we went to. The first one looked like it could suck the soul out of you; so obviously they decided to name it "The Jefferson" to make it seem nicer than it was. We only found a good parking spot at that one because the parking lot was almost entirely empty but when we got up to the door, all the lights were off and there was a sticky note with only the new address on it.

This new build looked a lot more friendly, at least. The sign for it was green and the parking lot was, fortunately, much bigger. Outside, there was a man failing to smoke with his heavy, sickly cough, but at least there was more people heading in then there was going out.

Immediately inside the building was a long and narrow hallway and a little waiting room, but that was about it. The waiting room was past the first set of heavy doors on the left. It was small, with about 8 seats in total, and it could fit maybe 20 of the thinnest models. But even they might have trouble moving around. The receptionist’s desk sat across from the only window in the room and the only other door that lead out. It was just as clanky as the entrance but there was a note scribbled on it, one I couldn't yet read. On the desk was a boring looking clip board with boring looking name tags and a sign-in sheet underneath them. Next to that was a little jar full of rocks and a lonely pen without a cap.

On the other side of the room was a big television with the news on, rambling to itself. Once I signed in, they gave me my paper work and so I sat down by the television as my father left. From then on I would be by myself until I was done. The appointments always seemed to be like that.

There were 4 people sitting in the chairs, including myself, and there was an empty seat between each one of us. Sitting on the side facing the television was an older woman who was caught between sleeping and watching the screen but it looked like sleep was winning. The guy next to her had his computer out and a nervous look about him. I'm assuming me sitting so close to him made him feel uncomfortable, but his feet somehow got tangled up in mine so I guessed we were even. The person to my left was an older lady, reading a book quietly. Not too long after, another older lady entered the waiting room and signed in, but instead of sitting down she just decided to stand there by that large, obnoxious door, and to her reward, she was let in.

I knew that despite our detour, we were entirely on time, but in my world it was more like we were late, and there's very little I hate more than being late. Eventually the door was opened by a petite little white woman who called my name. I gathered my things rather clumsily, since I left my bag open and I didn't want to worry about zipping it back up. But considering the gaping hole over the open pocket it didn't really matter. As I walked through, I didn't get to look around the new room because we headed out the same way we came in, making the another sharp turn, only to leave behind yet another big door.

This next room was about as big as the waiting room, but for some reason it had more space. The window showing off the outside world seemed bigger, but it was somehow the same size. Under it was a long table, spanning across the entire wall, with a bunch of pamphlets about all kinds of diseases. A little ways away were two recliners, with a table between them as well, while on the other side was just a table and nothing else. The lady that led me in turned out to be the head nurse, with just over shoulder length blonde hair and a pretty face that most Texas mothers would have, along with the accent to follow it. She was wearing a turquoise dress and long boots that went all the way up to her knees and a typical white lab coat. If you didn't know that I lived in Texas, she would be proof enough.

Since it was my first time at the new location, she asked me all kinds of questions, one of them being how long have I've been taking my medication. The problem is, I can barely tell my left from my right so I didn't really know how to answer but we agreed it was about 6 years and that I had Crohn's for 10 total. When she weighed me she took me to a scale that looked like it was made of glass, so I was uneasy when it came to actually standing on it, considering I'm a big guy. Nothing happened of course, except the numbers flashing.

After all of the information was given, she took me out the big door and once again we turned left, but instead of another small room, you could see the real size of the building in this one as it had plenty of space to spare. To me, it didn't make much sense to have such a big space unless you were planning to fill it up, but I just assumed doctors didn't see it that way. She gave me a tour that included all the sitting places, all with the same brown recliners, all with tables in between them. Two of the sitting places had televisions just as big as in the first room, but they remained off. The last sitting area just had people who were sleeping, seeming so at ease, covered by grey blankets. I chose to sit in the first area, because it had the least amount of people already in it, and I chose the chair that faced the exit closet to the hallways, since it was closest to me.

On the other side of the hallway, near the sleeping people, was the snack bar. Directly in front of the second area was the bathroom, which was in use at the time. Across the hallways from me was yet another nurse behind a desk, although she was the only nurse not sporting either black scrubs or a white coat.

The nurses kept walking by to either check on patients or start the infusion anyone that they hadn't started but the poor head nurse was taking people back and forth into the second room, chatting away the whole time. That's how you know that you're a hospital, because everyone is all over the place and even though there's lot of people, it still seems understaffed. The window I saw from the waiting room desk was just down the hall from me now. I could see it consisted of two nurses sitting in a little nook area, with one phone and a bunch of manila folders divided by little black dividers. It wasn't much later, though, that a nurse came to me as well, ready to start my infusion and even asking where would I like the needle. But I told her it didn't really matter. When you've been getting infusions for as long as I have, where some one pokes you isn't important. As a matter of fact, the needle itself doesn't matter anymore because you get so used to it, with all of the blood work and infusions that you end up doing in your life. But being sick has its pros, right?

She looked up and down my left arm for a really good vein and that was when I realized that I forgot to help out, my veins being more visible after drinking water. She found one regardless and started to clean the area on my arm and just like that, the needle was in. I’ve always thought having a needle put in really just feel like a pinch and that anyone who told me different was just lying to me. She put a capsule on the other end of the needle, one with a little head so she could screw it on, and started to take my blood. If there's anything about being sick that I liked, it was being able to watch my own blood fill up a little vile and the way to the top. All I could think about was how warm it must be because when you shit your own blood, it burns pretty bad. But you never really feel the blood when it’s spilled onto you from an open wound, unless it’s happened to you that way. And it was after the vile was filled that she took it off that dribbles of blood spilled onto my arm. It was okay because one I'm a nice person most of the time and I know taking blood isn't a perfect, neat science. She put tape over the needle and head area so it wouldn't move while she switched things out and the tape had two little bears, one on each side of the head, raising one of their hands. Somehow I found it stranger that these small brown bears were wearing blue and red scrubs. She put another tube on the head of the cap but it was full of saline, which is really just salt water that they use to clean you out before they start to put the real stuff in you. The saline was cold as she pushed it in, which makes sense because blood itself is so warm.

Eventually she finished, the saline gone, and she took it off to put the last thing on the head which was the tube for the IV that I was getting, taping the tube over the little red bear. The tube was probably about 2 feet long, maybe a little longer, and it went all the way to a little square which collected fluids. From there it was put into a machine to control how much was being put into me, up to a small cylinder that collected all of the liquid. Above that was a banana bag full of the drugs that was going to get.

Once the nurse had left, I was alone again to watch the room or do whatever I felt like. It was going to take a couple of hours for my body to drain the bag, and at this time I usually watched a movie but I decided to read a book instead. Settling in, I noticed that the lady that didn't sit down in first room was sitting in the same area as I was, and as nurses kept going back and forth, I realized that most of the people that were walking around were older. There was the computer guy from the first room who kept heading over to check on a loved one, who I assumed was the sleeping girl in room three because of that chat he and a nurse had. Three of the people walking either had a cane, walker, or wheel chair and one man in a wheelchair went in the second room twice, pushed by a tall lady with brunette, green threaded dreadlocks.

The nurse I had would come by and check my blood pressure occasionally to make sure that I was doing relatively okay. Once my time was up, they took the needle out of me and put a small white cloth over it. My nurse put tape over the cloth that held it in place so the bleeding would stop and I wouldn't have to worry about it. I walked back into the first room eventually to find that every single seat had been filled, and in one of them was my father to whom I motioned to. We left the building and I was feeling just a little better than I had before going in.

[exscurus]

     A note propelled Credence down a path he hadn’t expected. A simple piece of parchment with scribbled words meant especially for him, an address, crinkled from continuously being worried between is fingers. It had led him to a tiny woman so full of affection that he’d felt his soul stitching itself back together after an eternity blown apart, even if she hadn’t been his mother. She’d been soft, explaining everything in a comforting, silken voice that was so understanding. She didn’t bring judgement down on him for crying. Not like Mary Lou had for those many years.

     Misfortune fell on him, though, as it always inevitably did. He wasn’t allowed peace, never for more than a moment. Every piece his scant moments with her had repaired shattered once again - tenfold. He was millions of pieces, he was infinite, he was rage incarnate and the man responsible stood no chance against him. Perhaps the man who’d killed Irma hadn’t cast his shield charm fast enough, or maybe the shield merely couldn’t hold up against his explosive onslaught, but there were two corpses in the rubble when he left that place behind.

     Broken. But hopeful because she’d given him answers. He had a sister, and she lived in England. And while Irma’s comfort was blown away from him like ash on a breeze, he might fit his puzzle piece somewhere yet. No more wandering like a lost phantom, disconnected, not belonging. He had a name. Lestrange.

                                                        ✸ ❇  ✸

     The streets of London were like a sharp slap to the face. Everywhere he turned, he saw the many faces of New York. People sharply dressed bustling down the streets on their way to work contrasted starkly with the men and women on street corners and in alleyways, their clothes tattered and hands outstretched for coins. The needy were ignored here just the same as they had been there. The air stank of smog, factories pumping the stuff out of high smoke stacks - just like New York. In some places that hadn’t been cleaned as recently, coal ash lingered, streaked over walls and the faces of those who had no way to bathe.

     Luckily, Credence didn’t have to wander the streets for long, nor feel trapped in his memories of less fortunate times. Enough digging had given him the location of his sister’s place of work, and finding the little phone booth for the visitor’s entrance wasn’t too difficult. Getting this information was hardly difficult - after all, this was one of the first times in his life that he’d been staunchly determined to reach his destination. When he stepped inside, wiping sweaty palms on his thighs, however, he paused.

     This was it. This was where all his answers were. The answers Irma couldn’t give because she was long gone, and the answers he needed because she was his sister. Family. The very idea had him jabbing his finger at the twist dial, jolting when a woman’s voice filled the box. “Welcome to the Ministry of Magic! Please state the purpose for your visit.”

     Inhaling sharply, his lips quirked upward in a hopeful smile. “I’m here to see Leta Lestrange.” Another startled jump was pulled from deep in his bones as a little silver badge popped out, and he was transported inside. Hundreds of people bustled inside, reading newspapers, chattering in the open and in dark corners, traveling in flashes of green through... fireplaces? Papers delicately folded to look like all manner of flying creatures whizzed around corners. He could hardly believe what he was seeing, though he’d seen more incredible things with the circus.

     The same woman’s voice from before startled him yet again, except this time she was standing at his shoulder, her delicate lips curved into a falsely kind smile. “I’ve let her know that you’re here. She will be with you shortly.”

sc. ❇ @letaunloved

[rofics]

Hidden omega (Part 25)

Fandom: Bts (Got7 + Big Bang + B.A.P + Monsta X + Seventeen + Block B+Vixx+TVXQ+Exo) Who doesn’t love a good ensemb Pairing:  Namjoon x Everybody Genre: Smut/Fluff/Angst Au: Canon / Omegaverse au Length: 3.3k 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27

Summary:

Namjoon is finally released from the hospital and a gift is waiting at home, and a very important phone call 

Namjoon smiled as he reached to press Doctor Choi’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough for what you have done to help me.”

“You don’t need to thank me for doing my job Namjoon.” The mention of his name made him smile, it had taken forever for him to convince her to actually use it instead of Mr. Kim.

His smile was soft and while it still had an undertone of sadness and he was still too thin for comfort. He still looked a lot more healthy than when he arrived. “You know you didn’t have to do as much for me as you did, thank you for what you have done not only for me, but also for Hoseok you are sure this shrink is good for him?”

“He is my son, and if I may say one of the best in the business, plus he helps run group therapy for people like Hoseok whose identity should be kept underwraps away from the public.” She smiled a soft motherly smile at Namjoon “Remember what I said, there will be days where it’s bad. You have an eating disorder, there will be days where you don’t want to eat, there will be days when you feel terrible, those days it’s important you aren’t alone. And from what I have seen you are very loved, so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

Namjoon sighed a little rubbing the point where the IV had been in his arm earlier. While there wasn’t any pain anymore other than phantom pain it was still a reminder. “I know, I want to get better, for everybody just not myself.”

“That’s good.” She felt a little hesitant, she wasn’t ready to let him go yet. She was worried what being back in the real world would do to him. He hadn’t been allowed on social media while there, and she knew that while BTS had many fans they also had an almost army of anti’s who would give him shit. “You have my number, if anything feels wrong both mentally or physically please call me. Your health is important and we don’t know how your body will react to presenting 4 years late. And remember what I told you about your heat?”

“That you don’t know when I would go into it, I need to gain more weight for it to be able to support it with my body, but when I do it could be very bad since I am so much late on it.” Namjoon recited bouncing a little on ball of his foot, eager to get out of there.

“I know you are acting like it’s nothing, but this is important. Also your omega traits are running insane in your body, you can’t ignore them anymore! You need to be near people, this is important, if you ignore them once more your depression could get much much worse.” She lectured, but she was sure that Namjoon more or less was ignoring her having been told this so many times before.

“I know, can I leave now? I promise I will come to the appointments you have set up for me, and that I will look out for myself. I promise! But a driver is waiting for me, and I feel like I need to shower 30 times to wash of the smell and feel of hospital. I can feel it crawling under my skin.”

Doctor Choi could have told him that he was probably more clean than he had ever been in his life, but she was pretty sure that Namjoon already knew this. And she also knew the feeling of hospital was a very real thing, so she just waved him goodbye smiling after him as she hoped that she wouldn’t be seeming him again for a very long time. So okay maybe she had set herself as his doctor and she hoped that the next time she would see him would be in a good amount of years with a stomach rounded with his own kids… he deserved happiness for the hand the world had dealt him.

As Namjoon sat in the car, going through his pack of his stuff to find his phone he was a little hesitant. Bang PD-nim had showed him pictures of his new home and explained that it was important and he understood, but it also felt weird. As he stared at his phone he also knew that he would have to make a decision. It was time for him to live his life, and that meant that he needed to start spending time with the different packs that were courting him.

Namjoon wasn’t sure how he would organize it, he had his own schedule and he assumed that most idols ran on the same ‘We don’t sleep enough’ schedule, so he could probably make it work. Plus his schedule was light since he was still recovering, so he could make this work! That brought another issue as he looked at his phone. He had promised to call Daesung which he now didn’t feel very comfortable about.

He couldn’t just call the older omega could he? Daesung probably just meant to to be nice, not because he actually cared or meant it, Daesung didn’t actually know him that well! And while yes he had slept with the dolls that the Big Bang members had given him, they were just trying to be nice.

When he finally got to his new place, he couldn’t help but smile a little. All his stuff was there, and yeah it was small, but it was warm and actually felt homely instead of empty. He could smell the traces of Jackson’s herbal scent and Seokjin’s rose traces around the place. The two idols had clearly worked together to make sure that the room felt as homely to him as possible.

He could even spot a hoodie in the corner that smelled strongly of Jiho and Kyung’s combined scents of Fig’s and vanilla bourbon and when he lifted it up he could recognize it as one of the old ones from their time in the underground. Actually now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure that over 5 years ago this was actually his hoodie, of course Jiho still had it, sentimental hoodie thief! It didn’t stop him from smiling and burying his head in the soft material. It reminded him of the old days before his own presentation, even if Jiho had presented as an beta there and he hadn’t known the rest of Block B yet. Jiho was right, he was really the person who knew Namjoon the best, the one with the most history, and especially the one with the most history that wasn’t tainted.

As he went to the kitchen he saw his fridge was full of what looked to be home cooked meals with a little sticky note from Seokjin. ‘Remember to eat Joonie-ah <3 Gotta stay healthy, we miss you - Seokjin’

God Jin was such a fucking softy, he had only gotten to see Seokjin very shortly when he went to visit him alone. Actually he hadn’t seen any of BTS together since forever. He had tried to ask Seojin, but he had just avoided it. Instead lecturing him in eating right and that food was his friend. As he went to explore more following his nose he found something he didn’t expect.

It was a little puzzle box, it was meant so that you could only open it if you solved the puzzle. The little box didn’t have a strong scent but the weak smell of white cherries on it made it very clear that it were from Yongguk meant to help him if he got bored. Speaking of B.A.P members there was a strong scent of Sakura flowers leading to his bathroom. As he followed it he couldn’t stop himself from laughing, there was a set of Sakura flower shampoo conditioner and bodywash. But the scent around them wasn’t artificial which made him think that Zelo had spent more time than just placing the things in here. More sticky notes was placed on the mirror in a form of a smiley, each containing one word ending up with. ‘Don’t miss me too much <3 actually please do!’

Namjoon had smelled the scent of herbal tea when he got in, but he hadn’t found it where it was from so he decided to track it down until he found the little doggy basket… Omg Rap Mon!? A little sticky note was on it ‘I have kidnapped your dog, he is mine now - Jackson’ it made Namjoon sigh a little more comfortable. Actually wasn’t Rap Mon with his parents? Of course Jackson knew that having Rap Mon around him would make him feel better, that or the alpha had actually kidnapped his dog, that wasn’t out of the question. As he turned the note around he saw almost unreadable scribbles from BamBam ‘Jackson might be kidding, but he is so cute! How did you hide him from me?! This is betrayal!’

He couldn’t stop himself from giggling, that also meant he knew where he had to go first. Actually that might have been the JYP idols plan all along, they were evil geniuses, or they really loved dogs… or both. There were two last scents in his little place that he needed to track down the first was the scent of lemons which lead him until a little note on top of what looked to be a new lyrics book’s. He knew from the scent it were from Wonho the last of Monsta X’s omegas.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you at the hospital, but we didn’t want to overwhelm you and I’m not amazing with my spoken words, so I decided to write this to you instead.

I know that being an omega is confusing as first, I was confused as well as you probably know. I just saw what the world seemed to tell me an omega are, and it didn’t fit me. I know I’m not a rapper like you and that is a whole other form of pressure on you, but I understood not feeling you fit in. I didn’t. I was worried I would have to give up my body that I worked so hard to get. I were worried that I would have to give everything up. You don’t have to give up, I learned that being an omega doesn’t change who you are, I turned out to be a hard omega, who acts more like an alpha than an omega, but I also learned to love being an omega. This is what I wanted to tell you, there is nothing wrong with being an omega, even if you don’t act like one it is important that we learn to love our subgenders. That’s all I wanted to tell you. Oh and the lyrics book! I thought maybe a new start would be nice for you, start a clean project. While you don’t have to forget the past, see this as an opportunity to be the best version of you, you can be. So yeah, that’s what I wanted you to know, and even if you don’t end up joining us, even if you decided after only spending 10 minutes with us that we aren’t for you. I hope you know that you can talk to me, out of everybody I probably understand what you are going through the most… shit I’m rambling in fucking writing… Sorry… eat well!

Wonho’

Namjoon sat still for a second just looking over the paper, reading it and then rereading it so much. This… he needed this, he had never thought about the fact that Wonho probably understood the best of anybody what he were going through. So yeah the male wasn’t a rapper like Namjoon, but still. That made Namjoon realize how important it was for you to find somebody that you felt you could understand.

He needed to be that for their fans, knew that most of their fans wouldn’t understand. But if there was at least one of their fans that needed help understanding that you were okay whatever sub gender you were he needed to help. He grabbed for his phone. Taking a deep breath before opening twitter, he had talked with Bang PD-nim that he kept underwraps why Namjoon was really in the hospital. While they couldn’t keep it under wraps that Namjoon was an omega they kept the eating disorder out of it.

While Namjoon wasn’t ready to read what their fans were saying he wanted to do something. He checked how he looked a in mirror, not half bad and snapped a quick selfie, slapped a filter on it and uploaded it to twitter with the caption. “Real first day as an omega, missed all of you!” Then he closed the app before he could see the response.

It was a start, he didn’t manage to set down his phone before it rang when he saw the number he were surprised. ‘Daesung-sunbaenim’ was calling him, he almost dropped his phone in his hurry to pick it up.

“Daesung-sunbaenim?!”

“Hey Namjoon-ah, I thought you promised me to call when you got home.” Namjoon blushed heavily, feeling shy.

“I thought you didn’t actually mean it, actually how did you know that I got home?”

Daesung’s laughter was nice and short. “RiRi is stalking your guys social media, and of course I meant it. I wouldn’t lie to you. I actually want you to see me as a friend.”

A weird rustling came from Daesung’s side as the older omega made a weird sound and then a complete other voice were speaking into the phone. “Did you see what I left at your place?!”

“Seungri-sunbaenim?!”

“Oh god, you are still making him call you sunbaenim? You are so weird Dae, yup it’s me! Now did you see what I left at your place? Also call me hyung!” Seungri sounded way too eager, and again a rustle came from the Big Bang members side as another fighting over phone started which Daesung seemed to win as Namjoon could hear Seungri very quietly protest. ‘Don’t hit on me! This is unfair’ ‘shut it brat’ ‘your face is a brat’

“I’m sorry Namjoon-ah, Seungri is a little… brat.” “HEY I’M NOT!”

Namjoon couldn’t stop himself from giggling at the silly fighting between the two older idols. “It’s okay, I’m just a little surprised, I thought you were just trying to be nice, not that you actually meant it.”

“You aren’t used to people wanting to do stuff for you are you?” Daesung said softly and Namjoon could almost feel the olders smile through the phone.

“No, this is very new for me.” Namjoon felt a little awkward as he sat on the couch pulling his long legs up to his chest wrapping his free arms around his knees.

“I want to be your friend Namjoon, we all do, but me especially. I understand what you are going through, and I’m not connected to this like so many of your friends are. I can be more objective about it, and since I don’t know your group mates I can be more helpful towards you and only you. Now for the point I called, how are you feeling?”

Namjoon thought about if for a second “Better… “ he decided that if Daesung really wanted to help him he shouldn’t lie. “I still have strong moments where I hate myself or hate being an omega, but I feel better. I’m a little overwhelmed, I didn’t think anybody would want to court me, but five different pack’s want to and I just don’t know where to start. I still feel like I owe BTS my own group to stay with them, and they are blaming Yoongi for things that wasn’t his fault which I don’t know what to do about.”

On the other side of the line Seungri and Daesung exchanged a glance, since Daesung and Seunghyun had returned from the hospital and told the rest about what had happened they had started digging around in the BTS members past and present. Turned out, it is a lot easier to get information when you are very famous idol, what they had found out… About all of the members made them a little worried, especially since the west alpha pack that Yoongi was from were very well known for manipulation, and the fact that Namjoon blamed himself… made them worry. Seungri signalled to get the phone from him he had an idea how to avoid Namjoon going straight back to BTS without giving everybody else a chance, the omega hesitantly gave Seungri the phone.

“Namjoon-ah I have the perfect idea! While I was there I saw the little things, and there is clearly only one thing to do! Whoever has your dog is clearly the group you should go to first, while you are there bring the hoody and the puzzle box when you manage to open the puzzle box see what’s inside it and then go and see that group! When everything feels to much and you need comfort go to the hoody group. Then the group with the lyrics sheet, I decided not read the letter even I felt that might be a little too much.” Seungri of course knew who all of the groups were, and he didn’t want to lie to Namjoon and he technically wasn’t, but he really wanted to give the other groups a chance and this were the only way of doing it. “And if you feel pressured and need a break from everybody courting you, come and see us! Ji wants to meet you, something about omega rapper and liking your technic, which is sadly not as dirty as I thought it was.”

“G Dragon-sunbaenim wants to meet me!?” That was most of what Namjoon got from Seungri’s long rant. “Are you sure?” His idol wanted to meet him.

“Yeah well technically we all want to meet you, you seem a lot more interesting than most people and you seem to need a hand. Plus Daesung has taken a liking to you, but did you get what I said?” Seungri prodded again.

Namjoon slowly nodded before realizing that Seungri couldn’t see him, what the alpha said made sense. “Yeah… Thank you, it makes it a lot easier, it’s a lot of decisions and I’m scared of making the wrong one.”

Daesung had gotten the phone back now. “Luckily you have of time, and we are all here to help you! Now get going, you aren’t supposed to be alone for a long time!”

“Thank you… Both of you, this means so much to me.”

Daesung smiled as the younger hang up then patting Seungri on the head from where he was still under Daesung. “Good job RiRi also you were suppose to deliver it not snoop around in his house!”

“Sorry.” Seungri weren’t sorry, “I know this means a lot to you, I know you feel this is making up for previous mistakes that you think you made, and we will all help you do the right thing, also he is cute.”

“He is isn’t he?” Daesung just laughed, kissing Seungri.

Authors note: See the story is actually starting, also each one of those things represent what the different packs mean to Namjoon.

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