#ive still gotta clean up the edges a lot

[yandereshingeki]

spent all day yesterday making this secret santa gift and i need everyone to bear witness

[fernandopiastri28]

quand c’est - part 5 ~ ln4 x op81

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

Damage? Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit. “Will I be able to drive again?” Lando’s voice raises and wobbles, tears he can’t even feel dribbling down his cheeks. He doesn’t want to imagine a life without racing. He’s only just gotten his first win a few months back, he can’t lose it all now.

warnings: major illness, cancer, sickness, brain damage

Lando’s body feels fuzzy- if that’s possible.

Where is he?

He should be in the car, he knows he hasn’t finished the race yet. He still has a chance- he’s doing so well, he’s guaranteed at least 6 points.

So why can’t he move an inch? Why can’t he feel the familiar rumble of the car underneath him? Why can he just see chipping white paint above him for as far as he can see?

“He just- he doesn’t know when to say when, and-and it scares me,” There’s a stammering and choked voice cutting through the painful silence of the room. It’s one he knows just as well as he knows his own.

But right now, everything feels unfamiliar. His hearing feels like an old recorded tape, his teeth feel like they’ve been awkwardly shoved into his mouth, and his body- just isn’t his.

Bile shoots up his throat, and he feels immobilised. He can’t turn his head to cough or vomit it out- it’s like he’s frozen in place. He’s in a hospital, he can figure out that much. There’s an IV in his hand and a drip attached, slow trickles of water making their way into his system.

“Like- he fucking knows he’s unwell- he’s on the brink of death, but he’s too proud to ever accept it,” Who ever it is is clearly on the phone, passionately ranting about someone who Lando can only assume is himself.

Lando should’ve expected that. He let down a whole lot of people in Singapore. Himself- first off, the whole McLaren team- especially Zac and Andrea, all the McLaren fans who’d paid good money to see him race tonight and he’d just bombed it.

Most of all- he knows he has disappointed Oscar.

Maybe that’s who’s talking. “And I- I worry about him, all the fucking time. He never lets himself fully recover from anything. Las Vegas last year- he insisted on going out clubbing like two days later. In Amsterdam when he got that fucking cut on his nose and didn’t let anyone clean him up so now he’s got a permanent scar on his nose.”

Oscar’s still in the car. It must be Jon.

“He just- he won’t let anyone take care of him- even me. I just, I just wish he knew how willing I would be. I would drop anything to make sure he’s alright. Like-” Whoever it is is struggling to speak clearly, their voice stuffy and thick with tears. Lando feels awful, not just his body, but because he knows that this is his own doing.

The voice goes silent for a while, the noise of someone on the other end of the line quietly speaking sounds nothing more than a mumble to Lando. It almost feels like his ears have been stuffed with cotton.

“I’m just worried about him, Logan,” Logan? Why on earth would Logan be out of the car and on the phone. Better yet, why is Jon calling Logan Sargeant?

“Oscar?” Lando’s voice seems foreign, not attached to himself.

“Holy sh- Logan, he’s awake, I’ve gotta go,” Oscar hangs up the phone, rushing to Lando’s side to cling onto the edge of his hospital bed. “Lans,” He whispers, wiping his hand over the brit’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”

Lando spaces out, Oscar’s face becoming a blurry sight. “Why am I not in the car?”

Oscar looks away, chewing at his bottom lip. He’s being avoidant, trying to think of a way to let Lando down slowly- whatever the reason is.

“You crashed into Fernando.”

“Alonso?”

“No, Gasly.” He replies stone faced, “Of course Alonso,” Oscar’s face softens, a small smile appearing.

Lando grins for a moment, rolling his eyes. It falters when it sinks in what Oscar just said. You crashed into Fernando, not Fernando crashed into you. It was Lando’s fault.

“Why’d I crash? Was it wet out?” Memories of Sochi fill his head, fucking rain ruining his races. “Was there something wrong with the car?” He wants to be logical, and he’s trying to do that the best he can, but it all feels unexplainable. He can’t have crashed, there’s just no way.

“They think that-” Oscar shuts his eyes for a moment, and Lando can properly see his features again. Pale cheeks dusted an angry red, stained with tear drops. Brown eyes, watery and sore. A mess of hair on top of his head, much like how it normally sits after a race. “They think you had a seizure,”

What. The. Fuck.

“A what?” Lando knew what Oscar had said, but it was easier to play dumb, to pretend he didn’t have a clue as to what the younger boy was talking about. It was easier to play pretend.

Lando had never had a seizure before, nor did he have a history of seizures in his family. It just wasn’t possible.

“A seizure,” Fucking thanks Oscar, I did hear you the first time. “They’ve done a few tests on your head so..” Oscar’s tongue prods at the inside of his cheek, like he’s trying to avoid saying something. “They’re just seeing if there was any damage.

Damage? Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit. “Will I be able to drive again?” Lando’s voice raises and wobbles, tears he can’t even feel dribbling down his cheeks. He doesn’t want to imagine a life without racing. He’s only just gotten his first win a few months back, he can’t lose it all now.

Oscar sucks on his bottom lip, his teeth poking out on top of it slightly, “Don’t worry Lando,” He reaches over, hugging Lando to his chest tightly, “The doctors are taking good care of you, I’ll take care of you, I promise you will race again,”

Lando has never known Oscar to lie. If Oscar is promising that Lando will race again, Lando will race again.

A bubble forms in Lando’s throat, choking him, “I’m so sorry, Osc,” Oscar’s eyes immediately go wide with panic, unsure as to why Lando’s apologising. “I sh-should’ve listened to you, I’m such a fucking idiot,”

It’s because it’s clicking now- Oscar was complaining to Logan about how he never listens to him. He’s right, Lando is an awful boyfriend who doesn’t know how to fucking take care of himself. They’re supposed to be a couple, yet it’s more like Oscar’s his caretaker, and Lando hates himself for being Oscar in that position.

“Oh, Lans,” His voice is breathy as he drags his fingers along Lando’s cheek, soft and faint. “It’s okay, you’ll be okay, I’m not mad,” He kisses Lando’s forehead, his eyes studying each twitch Lando’s face makes.

Oscar’s not mad, but he’s definitely disappointed.

You stupid fuck, Lando Norris.

“Okay,” His voice halters, a forced response. They both go silent after that, Oscar holding Lando’s right hand in his own, kissing the back of the Brit's hand every so often.

Lando stares up at the ceiling. It’s better than looking at Oscar who just looks so broken and concerned. Lando will only hate himself more and more if he looks at Oscar, looks at who he let down.

“Mr Piastri, Mr Norris,” A doctor announces her presence in the room with a barely there knock on the door. It’s been a few hours of Lando laying and staring at the ceiling, he can only assume based on how it’s beginning to become bright outside. Lando tilts his head up, only then noticing that the pain in his head is almost fully gone.

Being doped up is a good feeling.

“Yes?” Oscar looks towards her, keeping Lando’s hand in his. He licks his lips, holding his breath in anticipation. He knows he needs to stay calm, he needs to stay strong for Lando no matter what the doctor says.

The doctor sucks in a deep breath. She looks no older than 25, which realistically she must be, but she looks only just older than the two boys. She looks like an experienced kid- just as Lando is, just like what he pretends he isn’t. "Mr. Norris, I have some upsetting news,”

Oscar looks at Lando, and Lando doesn;t meet his eyes. He knows that ‘upsetting’ doesn’t even begin to describe whatever he’s about to hear. He’s heard horror stories from acquaintances, he’s watched movies and shows. He knows they’re sugar coating whatever it is.

“So, we were correct- you suffered a tonic-clonic seizure during the race, just as you made contact with..” She trails off, unsure of the name of the driver Lando crashed into. He feels mortified, fucking crashing into the two time world champion of Fernando Alonso. Having a seizure and crashing into Alonso.

“And with the results of your recent MRI- they have detected a mass in the frontal lobe of your brain,” Lando’s eyebrows tighten and Oscar squeezes his hand, grounds him.” And it appears to be malignant,”

Lando doesn’t consider himself a particularly smart guy, and usually, it’s to his disadvantage. Yet, for once, his lack of knowledge for what malignant is means that he gets to stay in that sheltered bubble of nothing is wrong for just a bit longer.

He can pretend nothing is wrong, just for a few moments.

“We have several treatment options, including surgery and chemotherapy, which we can discuss in further detail if you have any questions about them.” Lando feels a tug in his hand, Oscar lurching forward in a sob. It’s bad, malignant must mean it’s bad.

He’s not going to let himself feel it. “Chemo?” Oscar’s voice cracks.

“We fear it has already developed to stage 1 brain cancer,”

Norris's lead is up to 4.5s now with 11 laps to go. Could his 110th grand prix be the occasion of his first victory?

“We are here to support you through every step of this process.”

Norris has finished second eight times and has 15 podiums to his name without winning. Could this finally be the day his luck turns? They're counting down the laps nervously at McLaren.

The door clicks shut and Oscar buries his face into Lando’s chest, “Oh my god Lando, Lans, I’m so sorry,”

Norris's lead ticks past the six seconds mark. Four laps to go and McLaren are practising their best poker faces on the pit wall. Not an inkling of a smile just yet on the face of Zak Brown.

“I love you Lando, I love you and I’m gonna- we’re gonna do this together, you’re gonna get better,”

Three laps to go for Norris. He's under no pressure from behind.

“You’re gonna race again, I promise you,”

Two to go now before F1 has a new race winner.

“You’re gonna win again, we're gonna be on the podium again together,”

Norris is onto his final lap. He can almost push it home from here.

“You’re gonna be a champion, Lans, a world champion,”

Across the line comes Lando Norris to win the 2024 F1 Miami Grand Prix! It's the first grand prix win of his career, and the first for McLaren since Monza 2021, when Daniel Ricciardo hit the top step.

Oscar’s a fucking liar and an idealist. Lando’s not gonna race again, if the brain cancer doesn’t kill him, it’s gonna leave him a shell of the man he once was.

He’s already not the Lando Norris, he’s hardly even Lando.

He’s just sick.

[system-of-a-feather]

Honestly its one of the largest Must Understand and Respect things about us to be our friend or someone close fo us; our productivity and constant "ability" to constantly work is neither a choice / reflection of our character nor is it actual "ability" or anything that really should be praised or put on a pedastal

Cause I know a lot of people with mental and physical disabilities like to romanticize it (and worse when they explicitly romanticize trauma that directly played into it as something they wish they got instead, things Ive actually had said to me in public servers) and I get it, I think its hard for people with different and often opposite coping mechanisms to understand and fathom

It's just none of this is a choice, none of this is even a lack of a choice of me forcing myself to do it when I can't.

I don’t stop because my brain doesn't feel tired, doesn't experience tired, turns off exhaustion and blindly burns fuel I don't have. My brain is wired so deeply to not feel my limits that even if I KNOW my limits, I can only go "I should stop" before the anxiety of settling in unideal situations pushes my "lack of feeling tired" to keep me going.

I've been awake for 15 hours and only now did I stop for anything other than eating; that is after doing this for 14 hours yesterday. I will likely do it again tomorrow.

I'm not really meaning to complain, I've lived my whole life like this and if I don't have my fiance or someone to remind me how long I've been working, tells me to sit down, or someone to prompt me to check in with my limits logically - I really wouldnt notice it until my body gets ill or my brain has a full crash

And yeah, all things considered, as far as maladaptive coping mechanisms go, at least this one almost always provides something good and productive from it (career advancements, jobs, cleaning, organizing, new skills, etc), it's still an immensely self destructive and unhealthy thing to engage in.

I'm not going to say I detest this, this has gotten me a lot of places and I'm thankful for it, but a lot of my progress in life comes from this double edged sword that most people fail to both respect the trauma and harm it comes from as well as applauding the growth its given

Anyways Im rambling, Im clearly tired even if I don't feel tired cause my language and cognitive skills are shot af and I'm not even sure how cohesive this is but ugh

I live like this partially by just mentally jumping into the future and having my ideas and plans and mentally living there while going "once I make it real, then I can relax" and repeat it mentally like a mantra

But hey

Once everything is where it belongs and I have my autism room, then I can relax.

(until then im gonna have to keep going for anything not food or sleep)

Its also really ironic but I want to put "Im alright though guys cause I just need to get to a point where everything is set up, then I can relax and itll be all good" unironically 😂

Either way, Ill survive at least until then. These sort of things I just kinda gotta ride out, its not worth resisting and Ill try to relax if I can when my fiance tells me to (he banned me from working more, otherwise zi probably still would be)

Man though if anything about moving lately taught me anything about myself, it is that I REALLY can't stop and relax when there are things that need to be done cause man, I have not taken a real break other than eating and sleeping since we got here which is NOT a thing to be celebrated

Like this wouldn't stand out too much if I didnt have my fiance and shit cause I have always been like this but damn.

I'm like "why am I tired / have a headache / hungry so early??" and my fiance - who has PTSD and related disorders that has worked alongside me for 70% of it - shakes me and goes "YOUVE BEEM WORKING ALL DAY" and I'm just like

[meruz]

once again i am answering asks in a big compilation post. included is... gotham, patrick stump, tips about drawing backgrounds, tips about drawing in general, links to my faq, and infinity train

like.... the tv series? No... I’ve drawn dc comics fanart before, though. But it’s been years since I’ve been really into it. I like jumped ship like 10 years ago when the New 52 happened LOL.

AFJHDSLKGH I’m sorry I (probably) won’t do it again??

Actually full disclosure I have a truly cringe amount of p stump drawings/photo studies in my sketchbook right now LOL. He’s just fun to draw... hats, glasses, guitar, a good shape... but I don’t think I’ll rly post those until I can hide them in another big sketchbook pdf.. probably Jan 2022. Stay tuned........ (ominous) 

(ominous preview)

These are all sort of related to backgrounds/painting so I grouped them together even though they’re pretty much entirely separate questions.... ANYWAYS

a) How is it working as a BG artist? Is it hard? What show are you drawing for?

I think you’re the first person to ever ask me about my job! Being a background artist is great. It’s definitely labor intensive but I think that could describe pretty much any art job (If something were rote or easy to automate, you wouldn’t hire an artist to do it) and I hesitate to say whether its harder or easier than any other role in the animation pipeline. Plus, so much of what truly makes a job difficult varies from one production to the next, schedule, working environment, co-workers etc. But I will say that I think while BGs are generally a lot of work on the upfront, I think they’re subject to less scrutiny/revisions than something like character/props/effects design and you don’t have to pitch them to a room like boards. So I guess it’s good if you don’t like to talk to people? LOL

A lot of my previous projects + the show I’ve worked on the longest aren’t public yet so I can’t talk about em (but I assure you if/when the news does break I won’t shut up about it). But I’m currently working on Archer Season 12 LOL. I’m like 90% sure I’m allowed to say that.

b) ~~~THANK YOU!! ~~~

c) What exactly do you like to draw most [in a background]?

@kaitomiury​ Lots of stuff! I really like to draw clutter! Because it’s a great opportunity for environmental storytelling and also you can be kind of messy with it because the sheer mass will supersede any details LOL. 

I like to draw clouds... I like to draw grass but not trees lol,,, I like to draw anything that sells perspective really easily like tiled floors and ceilings, shelves, lamp posts on a street etc.

d) Do you have any tips on how to paint (observational)?

god there’s so much to say. painting is really a whole ass discipline like someone can paint their whole life and still discover new things about it. I guess if you’re really just starting out my best advice is that habit is more important than product. especially with traditional plein air painting, I find that the procedure of going outside and setting up your paints is almost harder than the actual painting. There’s a lot of artists who say “I want to do plein air sometime!!” and then never actually get around to doing it. A lot of people just end up working from google streetview or photos on their computer.

But going outside to paint is a really good challenge because it forces you to make and commit to lighting and composition decisions really quickly. And to work through your mistakes instead of against them via undo button.

My last tip is to check out James Gurney’s youtube channel because hes probably the best and most consistent resource on observational painting out there rn. There’s lots other artists doing the same thing (off the top of my head I know a lot of the Warrior Painters group has people regularly posting plein air stuff and lightbox expo had a Jesse Schmidt lecture abt it last year) but Gurney’s probably the most prolific poster and one of the best at explaining the more technical stuff - his books are great too.

e) Do you have tips for drawing cleanly on heavypaint?

@marigoldfool​ UMM LOL I LIKE ONLY USE THE FILL TOOL so maybe use the fill tool? Fill and rectangle are good for edge control as opposed to the rest of the heavy paint tools which can get sort of muddles. And also I use a stylus so maybe if you’re using your finger, find a stylus that works with your device instead. That’s all I’ve got, frankly I don’t think my drawings are particularly clean lol.

f) Tips on improving backgrounds/scenes making them more dynamic practicing etc?

Ive given some tips about backgrounds/scenes before so I’m not gonna re-tread those but here’s another thing that might be helpful...

I think a good way to approach backgrounds is to think of the specific story or even mood you want to convey with the background first. Thinking “I just need to put something behind this character” is going to lead you to drawing like... a green screen tourist photo backdrop. But if you think “I need this bg to make the characters feel small” or “I need this bg to make the world feel colorful” then it gives you requirements and cues to work off of.

If I know a character needs to feel overwhelmed and small, then I know I need to create environment elements that will cage them in and corner them. If a character needs to feel triumphant/on top of the world then I know I need to let the environment open up around them. etc. If I know my focal point/ where I want to draw attention, I can build the background around that.

Also, backgrounds like figure compositions will have focal points of their own and you can draw attention to it/ the relationship the characters have with the bg element via scale or directionality or color, any number of cues. I think of it almost as a second/third character in a scene.

Not every composition is gonna have something so obvious like this but it helps me to think about these because then the characters feel connected and integrated with the environment.

Some more general art questions

a) Do you have any process/tips to start drawing character/bodies/heads?

I tried to kind of draw something to answer this but honestly this is difficult for me to answer because I don’t think I’m that great at drawing characters LOL. Ok, I think I have two tips.

1) flip your canvas often. A lot about what makes human bodies look correct and believable is symmetry and balance. Even if someone has asymmetrical features, the body will often pull and push in a way to counterbalance it. we often have inherent biases to one side or another like dominant hands dominant eyes etc. you know how right-handed artists will often favor drawing characters facing 45 degrees facing (the artist’s) left? that’s part of it. so viewing your drawing flipped even just to evaluate it helps compensate for that bias and makes you more aware of balance.

2) draw the whole figure often. I feel like a lot of beginner artists (myself included for a long time) defer to just drawing headshots or busts because it’s easier, you dont have to think about posing limbs etc. But drawing a full body allows you to better gauge proportion, perspective, body language, everything that makes a character look believable and grounded.

Like if you (me) have that issue where you draw the head too big and then have to resize it to fit the proportions of the rest of the body, it’s probably because you (I) drew the head first and are treating the body as an afterthought/attachment. Sketching out the whole figure first or even just quick drawing guides for it will help you think of it more holistically. I learned this figure drawing in charcoal at art school LOL.

oh. third mini tip - try to draw people from life often! its the best study. if you can get into a figure drawing/nude drawing class EVEN BETTER and if you have a local college/art space/museum that hosts those for free TREASURE IT AND TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT, that’s a huge boon that a lot of artists (me again) wish they had. though if youre not so lucky and youre sitting in a park trying to creeper draw people and they keep moving.. don’t let that stop you! that’s good practice because it’s forcing you to work fast to get the important stuff down LOL. its a challenge!

b) I’ve been pretty out of energy and have had no inspiration to draw but I have the desire to. Any advice?

Dude, take a walk or something.... Or a nap? Low energy is going to effect everything else so you gotta hit that problem at its source.

If you’re looking for inspiration though, I’d recommend stuff like watching a movie, reading a book, playing video games etc. Fill up your idea bank with content and then give yourself time/space to gestate it into new concepts. Sometimes looking at other art works but sometimes it can work against you because it’s too close. 

Also something that helps me is remembering that art doesn’t always have to be groundbreaking... like it’s okay to make something shitty and stupid that you don’t post online and only show to your friend. That’s all part of the process imo. If you want to hit a home run you gotta warm up first, right? Sports.

I should probably compile everytime i give tips on stuff like this but that’s getting dangerously close to being a social media artist who makes stupid boiled down art tutorials for clout which is the last thing i want to be... the thing I want to stress is that art is a whole visual language and there are widely agreed upon rules and customs but they exist in large part to be broken. Like there's an infinite number of ways to reach an infinite number of solutions and that’s actually what makes it really cool and personal for both the artist and the viewer. So when you make work you like or you find someone else’s work you like, take a step back and ask yourself what about it speaks for you, what about it works for you, what makes it effective, how to recreate that effect and how to break that effect completely, etc. And have a good time with it or else what’s the point.

for the first 2, I direct you to my FAQ

For the last one, I don’t actually believe I’ve ever addressed artwork as insp for stories/rp but I’ll say here and now yeah go ahead! As long as you’re not making profit or taking credit for my work then I’m normally ok with it. Especially anything thats private and purely recreational, that’s generally 100% green light go. I only ask that if you post it anywhere public that you please credit me.

(and I reserve the right to ask you to take it down if I see it and don’t approve of it’s use but I think that case is pretty rare.)

a) @lemuelzero101 Thank you!!! I haven’t played Life is Strange but actually  that series’ vis dev artist Edouard Caplain is one of my bigger art inspirations lately so that’s a really high compliment lol. And yeah I hope we get 5-8 too...!

b) Thank you for sticking around! I’ve been thinking about Digimon and Infinity Train in tandem lately, actually. They’re a little similar? Enter a dangerous alternate world and have wacky adventures with monsters/inanimate objects that have weird powers... there’s like weird engineers and mechanisms behind the scenes... also frontier literally starts with them getting on a train. Anyways if anyone else followed me for digimon... maybe you’d like Infinity Train? LOL

c) @king-wens-king I’M GLAD MY ART JUST HAS PINOY VIBES LOL I hope you are having a good day too :^)

a, b, c, d) yessss my Watch Infinity Train agenda is working....

e) aw thank you!! i think you should watch infinity train :)

[yourdeepestfathoms]

for anyone curious, my newest book is about the Salem Witch Trials! it’s at the point of view of Mary Warren and how she went through trials, ultimately ending in her downward spiral into madness as the trials deteriorate her mental health. it’s called Servant of Evil.

here’s the first segment of the first chapter!

— — —

She was gathering crops the first day she caught wind of the hysteria.

It was late January and sunny, the last warm day in what would soon feel like forever. The sickle in her hand was wickedly sharp and gleaming in pale yellow light, and the stalks of the corn she was cutting away were rough and sharp beneath calloused fingers. Already, the skin on her hands was shredded, oozing ruby droplets of blood and staining bright green stems. Her legs ached from crouching in the dirt, muscles locked up and tense. Somewhere beyond the pillars of corn stretched out before her, she could hear her master’s children talking in high-pitched voices, dogs barking, and horses neighing. Even closer than that, however, she could hear heavy footsteps tramping through the field, and she knew the owner of this land would not enjoy such galumphing through his crops. But she also knew that the one who appeared through the stalks wouldn’t care much for the fiery point of John Proctor’s scorn.

“Something weirdish is going on in Salem.”

Without looking up, Mary Warren answered the unexpected visitor, “Something is always going on in Salem.”

That much was true, at least right now. Salem was a town of rich trade and sea salt, characterized by a sparkling harbor that was bested only by Boston’s and a habit of fighting with itself. For years, Salem had been split between two forces: the nobles up in Salem Town and the farmers down in Salem Village. The two territories were never not fighting with each other; they were always mad about something the other did, and it was easy to lose track of who hated who and for what reason. Salem Village didn’t like the control Salem Town held over it, while Salem Town was annoyed by Salem Village thinking it was its own settlement, but they all detested the British church, which was mutual. Salem Town often pulled men from Salem Village to be a part of the national guard, which made Salem Village nervous because then they would have nobody to protect them, and Indian attacks were a regular fear throughout the civilization. Aside from its harbor, the other thing Salem had to owe to its popularity was its unfortunate position in front of frequent ambushes. And if it didn’t suffer ambushes first-hand, then it suffered ambushes through the survivors of such raids, many of which populated the city and would soon help with the grisly events that turned the community over on its head.

But the only other thing Salem Village and Salem Town could agree on was that the Indians were an issue. Unfortunately, that was where agreements ended and arguments began- Salem Town wanted more men to train, promising protection; Salem Village refusing, saying they knew how Salem Town lied, and if they didn’t, then they only saved them because of their bountiful trade and not because they were their people. It wouldn’t be long until the yelling broke out, testaments from the Bible were quoted, and grown men argued like two children fighting over who was their parents’ favorite kid.

However, Salem as a whole had fallen silent recently. Things were peaceful. It was as though a grace period were opening up before them all--or, perhaps, it was actually ending.

Except for right now, in the Proctor corn field, of course. Because her visitor would only bring silence if she were dead, and she had proved to be too slippery for death’s fingers three times over after surviving several Indian attacks throughout her young life.

“This is different.”

Wiping a sagging green sleeve over her damp brow, Mary looked up and squinted through sweat and sun to look at none other than the Putnam’s maid, Mercy Lewis.

Mercy was a fine example of everything the Puritans didn’t want. Despite her name’s sake, she was stubborn, brash, and spitfire, though she was smart enough to never act in such a way in front of the church. And she was, indeed, smart. She was more clever than a fox, easily outwitting several situations despite the minimal education women had in their lifetime. The only thing she was merciful to was her younger cousin, Ann Putnam Jr. Her parents were better off naming her Big, Loud, and Vulgar.

Mercy was nineteen-years-old, two years older than Mary, and built like a small bear. She was short, compact, and sinewy, her muscles and joints well-honed from rough maid work. Her temper was black and her teeth were sharp. Her curly dark brown hair was tucked up in her blindingly white bonnet, and she was dressed in a nondescript dress of purple. Storm cloud grey eyes bore down on Mary with bright amusement.

The two of them met three years ago in Elizabeth Proctor’s tavern. Mary had been struggling to wipe away a sticky stain on one of the tables; Mercy was looking for fresh meat. They both were in the right place at the right time.

Mary hadn’t heard her come in. It was as though the shadows of the tavern itself had unfolded the sixteen-year-old before her because she was suddenly there, towering over the front of the table, and Mary ended up spilling the bowl of soapy water she was using all over herself upon noticing her.

“My, are you jumpy,” the strange girl had observed, peering over the edge of the table. She didn’t offer Mary her help or even an apology. Mary didn’t ask for one. “Were your parents murdered by savages, too?”

“What?”

“Ooo, no, then. Got it.”

Mary blinked up at her for a moment, then carefully got up out of the sudsy puddle and retrieved a dry rag to clean up the newest mess. The entire time, the strange girl watched her as she dripped droplets and beads of white soap from the bottom of her old lavender dress.

“Can I help you?” Mary asked as she got back down on her hands and knees to clean the floor.

“Oh, no,” the strange girl answered. “I just came to say hello. Introduce myself. You work for the Proctor’s, yeah?”

“Yes,” Mary nodded.

“Interesting, interesting. I work for the Putnam’s. Thomas is my cousin, actually.”

Mary nodded again. She looked back down at the puddle, trying to focus on that. The girl didn’t move.

“Mercy.”

Mary looked back up again. She blinked. The strange girl blinked back. Was this a game?

“Pity.”

The girl stared at her for a moment, then burst into loud laughter that seemed to shake the walls. Mary was startled; she had never heard anyone laugh so hard in her entire life. Especially in a town as strict as Sakem.

“No, that’s my name,” the girl said after calming down. “My name is Mercy. Mercy Lewis.”

“Oh,” Mary’s ears heated up. “Right. Your parents were feeling pretty creative, weren’t they?”

Another bout of laughter. “Yes. Yes, they were.” She squinted at her. “And you are?”

“Mary. Mary Warren.”

“Well, Mary ‘Pity’ Warren, I think we are going to be very good friends.”

And she was right.

Mercy, as menacing as she could be, made life in Salem a lot more bearable, especially when Proctor’s whip frequently began lapping at Mary’s bare back. Together, they formed a cohort of sorts, sneaking away into the woods with other village girls, hiding away from the Lord’s watchful eyes to discuss the most sinful of things.

And today, Mercy wanted to carry on with their long-running traditions.

“Different in what way?” Mary asked.

Mercy rolled her eyes. She kicked a cloud of dust at Mary, and Mary sputtered, nearly falling backwards into the corn.

“Different-different,” Mercy answered. “Something is wrong with Abigail. Betty, too, I hear. We’re gonna go up to the Reverend’s house and see them. They’re ill, you know?”

“No,” Mary shook her head. “Mister Proctor didn’t tell me anything. They’re sick?”

“Yeah. Real sick. Ain’t wakin’ up. The Reverend has been throwin’ a huge fit over them.” Mercy explained, “I’m surprised you never heard him howlin’!” Then, doing a horrible imitation of Reverend Samuel Parris’s voice, she wailed, “Oh Betty, Betty! Wake, my sweet daughter! Wake! Why won’t you wake?!”

She clung to Mary’s arm dramatically. “God! God! Why have you forsaken me?! What have you struck my little girls with?!”

Mary couldn’t help but giggle softly. Still, her mind was made up on the whole ordeal.

“Tell them my pardons and prayers,” she said, grabbing the fallen sickle. “My master said I gotta tend to the crops. Then I can go to town. But I am not spendin’ my free time meddlin’ in someone else’s affairs.”

Mercy groaned loudly and snatched the sickle away from Mary, making her yelp.

“Live a little, will ya? Let’s go see poor Abby and Betty!” Mercy urged. “To Hell with your master right now. You can’t let him lead you around by a leash all the time. Deal with the consequences later. Let’s go!”

Mary stared into the older girl’s eyes and then sighed, giving in. She stood up- Mercy was taller than her, as she always had been. “Lead on, Mercy.”

Mercy brightened.

Together, the two of them snuck out of the Proctor property, careful as to not get caught by one of the many children roaming the plantation.

Technically, the Proctor’s had eighteen children, though four were dead and eleven were brought forth by two different women, both of which had also passed over the seasons. The only living child of John Proctor’s first wife, Martha Giddens, was Benjamin, a tall, lanky man who could never seem to grow a beard, yet had hair down to his shoulders. He was thirty-three and didn’t talk to Mary very often, but when he did, he greatly critiqued her work in the field. That farm was his pride and joy, and it was a challenge to not roll her eyes when he would go on about the importance of their crops and proper plant care.

Elizabeth II was the second oldest at twenty-nine, and helped Elizabeth Proctor run the tavern with her other siblings: Martha IV, twenty-six (the first two Martha’s had died when they were both infants, along with the woman they were named after); Mary II, twenty-five; John II, twenty-four; Mary III, twenty-three; and Thorndike, twenty. Why Proctor decided to have TWO daughters named Mary was beyond Mary herself, but it wasn’t uncommon for things to become confusing when their name was shouted for whatever reason.

Elizabeth Proctor’s children stayed on the farm, helping clean and take care of the livestock: William, eighteen; Sarah fifteen; Samuel, seven; Elisha, five; Abigail, three; and Joseph, one. Mercy often made jokes that Elizabeth had obviously been the one to name the kids, as they were actually creative and not repeating several times over.

But with so many watchmen on the property, Mary was surprised about how easy it was to slip away unseen.

The road was loose and crunched loudly beneath their footfalls. Mercy kept kicking a rock, and Mary watched it bounce across the ground.

“So, what’s wrong with Betty and Abby?” Mary asked.

Mercy smirked widely.

“There be witches about, Mary.”

[darkisrising]

Five Times, by DarkIsRising,pt5

Previous parts here on ao3

Five Times Din and Luke Met (and one time they never parted)

5.

Somehow it’s Boba Fett of all beings that gets Luke in touch with Grogu’s dad again.

Fett doesn’t want to help him, of course. Not after all the bad blood that’s been spilled between them, especially with the sarlacc pit thing from a few years back, and there’s a lot of the holocomm where the blue flicker of Fett’s image is silent with his arms crossed while Luke has to practically crawl on his belly to get him to take the call, let alone listen to Luke, let alone relent enough to give Luke a name.

Just a name.

“Come on, Fett, that’s all I’m asking for.”

“Wow, Skywalker. You really fucked up this time, didn’t you?”

And Luke has to agree that yes, he did indeed fuck up though in his defense he was riding high on the Force at the time, but that’s not something that’s likely to sway Fett one way of the other so he goes the meek route, saying quietly: “I really did. Will you help me?”

Fett’s helmet tilts to the side, like maybe he’s finally considering it, and Luke is a deft enough swordsman these days to press an advantage when he sees one.

“Not even for my sake. For his son’s.”

Fett’s sigh is loud enough to be picked up on his voice modulator on Tatooine, travel through the shared holocomm connection—in one end of the outer rim and out the other—to finally make itself heard in the communications room on Yavin IV’s moon.

“Din Djarin,” comes the terse reply before the connection is abruptly cut off from Fett’s end.

Which isn’t much to go on, considering all he knows is his name and that he’s a Mandalorian, but it is a start.

As it turns out, it’s more than enough because not only is Din Djarin a Mandalorian, he’s the Mandalorian.

“I didn’t realize you came from royalty,” Luke says to Grogu not a little bit stunned as they wait for someone to find the Mand'alor and patch their comm through.

After that it’s a lot of back and forth to strategize a time when he’s able to fly over between all the things he’s gotta do as a king trying to reunify his home sector.

The ship that finally settles down in front of the temple is more of a junker than Luke would expect from a king. The paint is peeling, some of the stabilizer flaps are slow to retract, and there’s a groan when the ramp extends that makes the spacerhead in Luke itch to grab some oil and go to town on those hinges.

Instead Luke stays where he is and when he spots the shine of pure, silver beskar coming down the ramp he falls into a bow which he’s only mastered thanks to extensive holocomming with Leia as she berated him over his pisspoor form while he yelled back that he grew up a farmer for druk’s sake when was he supposed to learn this sithspit king-greeting nonsense?

“You don’t have to do that,” comes a soft voice and Luke looks up in time to see that Grogu has raced ahead with his arms raised to be picked up. In a clean motion that speaks of a body honed for movement he sweeps down and takes Grogu in his arms. “Hey, kid. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

Luke intends to make himself scarce for this reunion which has been a long time coming, but is stopped when the Mand’alor starts asking Luke questions about Grogu’s training, about how he spends his days, what he’s been eating, how he’s been sleeping, if he’s been behaving…

“He’s been a joy to have here, Lord Djarin,” Luke says and it earns him a long, silent look.

“I think you can call me Din, all things considered,” he says before setting Grogu down so that he can dig into his belt’s pouch. “Anyway, I brought presents.”

Grogu’s face turns incandescent when he sees the silver ball that Din plucks from his hip. The sound he makes is nothing short of pure elation and Luke has to laugh alongside the gentle chuckle that comes through Din’s helmet.

“Ah, yes. The famous silver ball,” Luke grins. “I hear Grogu thinking about it all the time, I’m happy he’s finally reunited with it.”

Grogu insists on dragging Din around to show his father his favorite places around the Temple’s grounds, and his enthusiasm is catching. Luke trails along, offering commentary that this is the boulder Grogu had managed to lift through the Force two weeks ago, there was the meadow where he’d been able to deflect his first training droid bolt with Luke’s lightsaber, here is the lake where they’ve been watching the tadpoles gradually grow legs. Settling on a log to watch as Grogu chases a pair frogs along the lake’s muddy shoreline, Luke can feel the weight of Din’s thoughts even if he can’t see their exact shape.

“And you don’t worry about that?” Din asks, voice so withdrawn it could almost be mistaken for shy. “All these attachments he’s got going on? The ball and, well, me? You don’t think it’ll get in the way of his training?”

Luke can only shrug.

“I guess it could, but seeing as I talk to my sister and my brother-in-law nearly every other day it would be awfully hypocritical of me to stop Grogu from forming attachments, himself.”

Din is silent at that, considering, as Luke continues on: “I’ve read some of what the Jedi used to believe, and honestly I have no idea if they had the right idea or not. Their way led to the fall of one of their own who in turn brought down the entire Order. Would things have been different if he’d been allowed to love more freely?” He breaks off to watch Grogu, now bored with the frogs, float the silver ball through the air in a lazy curling pattern.

The last afternoon sun catches at the smooth surface and turns the ball gold along the edges.

“I’d like to think it would. So I’m not planning on holding myself away from that sort of love on the off chance that it might actually be the thing that maintains balance in the Force, and I could hardly hold my student to a different standard. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“I see,” Din says and the simple words lay between them in a complicated tangle. “Well, if that's the way of it, then, here: I brought you something, too,” he says at last and reaches back to his belt.

Years of politeness pressed into him by Aunt Beru at the moisture farm have Luke saying “You didn't have to do that” before Din has so much as taken his hand out of his belt’s pouch, which is just as well since the moment he gets a look at what’s in Din’s hand his heart stutters to a halt in his chest so that it can jump into his throat.

“No,” Luke says, eyes wide, while a cold, dawning understanding creeps across his skin and he can only stare at the bounty puck that glints silver in Din’s gloved palm.

“Oh, no,” Luke whispers sickly “What—”

No, no, no. Oh, sweet Force no.

His voice, Luke realizes. He should have known him from his voice. Even if the beskar is different, his voice is still very much the same.

“I can bring you in warm...” Din is saying and Luke can’t hear the rest because he’s blushing so hard now that the blood is landing in his ears, making a high-pitched, tinny whine that drowns out the words he knows by heart because he’s spent the better part of the last few years thinking about them with his hand on his cock.

“You really didn't recognize me?” Din asks when Luke’s hands come up to cover his face, for all the good it does to hide him from the Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian.

Mando.

Din.

Luke laughs helplessly. Horrified. “I wasn't myself on the cruiser,” he whispers at last.

“Yeah no kidding. I didn't realize who you were until you'd left.” Din has clearly had longer to sit with this revelation because he sounds amused, fond even, while Luke is still reeling. “I don’t think I've ever seen you that serious, not even when you were in carbonite.”

“I wasn’t myself,” is all Luke can say again. Din takes pity on him and lets Luke breathe through the worst of it without saying a word, his helmet turned toward Grogu while Luke sorts through the shattered mess this has broken him into.

“You've changed,” Luke says when he starts to feel whole enough to think in such things as words and sentences.

“I’m still tired,” Din says with a huffing laugh.

“Maybe.” Luke feels braver now. He raises his face to look at Din and in the beskar reflection of Din’s helmet Luke can see his cheeks are now only slightly pink. “But not nearly so lonely.”

“Ah. Yeah.” Din concedes with a nod. “I was different, back then. Grogu changed me, I think”

“Yeah,” Luke nods along with him. “Yeah, I think he did.”

Sensing that they are watching him, Grogu toddles back to Din and lifts his arms to be picked up. This time when he gets close enough, Grogu’s hands come to the sides of Din’s helmet. It isn’t a demand, more of a wide-eyed question, and Din doesn’t need the Force to sense what is being asked of him.

Luke hadn’t known, before, that Grogu had never seen Din’s face until that moment on Gideon’s cruiser. He hadn’t known how much that act of quite literally laying himself bare for Grogu had cost Din. Luke knows it now, from all the times he’s seen the flashes of Din go by in Grogu’s memories and he realizes it now, with a rekindling of his blush, from the memory that Din hadn’t removed his helmet in that hour they two had spent in a water-stained room on Tatooine.

“Let me leave the two of you alone,” Luke offers, clambering to his feet, gaze averted.

“It’s okay,” Din says. “You've seen it already.”

“Oh. I mean,” he stammers, staring at the green foliage, the insects that are curling through the dappled oranges of sunset, the ripples of water that skim the surface of the lake... really at anything but Din. “Yeah, I have, but--”

“Unless you'd rather I keep it on.” Din’s voice is different now. Softer, for having taken his helmet off, and the sound of it does something to Luke. It makes him shiver, this transformation from hard-shelled warrior to someone far more human. “Some people have a thing for it and I know how much you liked it on before.”

His eyes are nearly black in the fading day’s light when Luke snaps his face around to meet them. They harbor a glint that Luke stares at suspiciously. “You're teasing me aren't you?”

Somewhere among the rugged stubble on his cheeks and the dark lines of his mustache a smile quirks at the corner of Din’s mouth. “Yeah. I am.”

Luke’s heart beats triple time as he stares at Din’s mouth before letting his gaze skim along the vulnerable curves of Din’s face. Luke’s fingers yearn to stretch the space between them until he can trace the kindness of Din’s expression. He wants so badly to run his fingertips through the fall of Din’s hair where it sticks to the sweaty skin of his forehead.

“Because if you would want to do—you know—that again.” Luke is very aware that there is a child present that is taking in what they are saying with big, green ears and huge, shining eyes. “With or without the helmet. If you’d like to do that again. I would be...you know, I'd like that.”

“Yeah,” Din smiles, and this time it is a true smile, one that stretches across his face, casting a glow that Luke can’t help but reflect back with a hopeful, happy, probably somewhat idiotic grin of his own. “I'd like that too.”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Not Stupid

Summary: After a hunt goes wrong, the reader and Sam are injured and it only gets worse from there...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Square: Episode Re-write (11x17)

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, life threatening injury, possible death, referenced drug overdose, 11x17 spoilers

A/N: Written for @spngenrebingo​​

____

“Y/N!” said Dean as you felt a bullet rip through your side. You gasped and dropped to your knees besides Sam who was already pressing his palms to his stomach and sporting a gunshot of his own. Dean left the victims from the attempted werewolf feasting and ran over. You waved him off to Sam as you lifted up your shirt and coat.

“Fuck, this was my favorite jacket too,” you said, feeling the hole through the back.

“You’re a through and through, sweetheart,” said Dean. You hummed and took off your jacket and flannel, wadding the shirt up as you watched Dean shakily tear open a few of the padding packs from the first aid kit in the duffel.

“Dean, put it in the wound, baby. It’ll work better,” you said. “Sam, it’s gonna hurt.”

“Already...fuck!” shouted Sam, his whole body tensing up as Dean winced. 

“You’re okay,” said Dean, tossing a pad in your direction.

“Sam needs-”

“Y/N. Take. It,” said Dean. You grumbled and opened the pad, shoving it against your abdomen on the front side. You tied your flannel tight around it, the back hopefully wadded up enough to soak up the blood there.

You turned back to Sam who Dean was helping get to his feet.

“Y/N. You okay?” asked Dean, half carrying Sam towards the door.

“Yeah,” you said. “Flesh wound. Come on you guys.”

You waved over the man and woman sitting on the step, the woman looking a little worse for wear.

“There’s more werewolves out there,” said Corbin.

“We’ll get out of here. Stick close.”

“He’s slowing us down,” mumbled the man about fifteen minutes later.

“Shut up,” you and Dean snapped back at him. He stared at you and kept walking with his wife. You went to Sam’s side and gave him a smile.

“Doing okay big guy?” you asked.

“Awesome,” he hissed. “You?”

“I’m okay. Just a bad graze,” you said. You caught his arm when he stumbled a bit.

“Come on,” said Dean, nodding to a ranger’s station up ahead. “We’ll stop and rest for a minute.”

Corbin grunted as he helped Michelle inside. They settled into a chair in the corner for a moment as you leaned against the counter in the front.

“How’s it going, Sammy?” asked Dean, walking around the cabin and finding a towel, handing it to Sam. Sam grunted but nodded. “We’re gonna get you fixed up just like that. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“You guys gotta go,” said Sam, wincing. “I can’t move fast and if he’s right and there’s more out there-”

“I will carry you out of here if I have to,” said Dean.

“I second that,” you said with a smile.

“How about you?” asked Dean.

“I’ve had periods worse,” you joked, glad that it seemed like you’d stopped bleeding at least. You hoped. “It’s okay.” 

“Guys, she needs a doctor,” said Corbin, Michelle resting in the chair.

“Take a number,” said Dean. “Sammy, stay here and rest a minute. We’ll be right back.”

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“To build him a stretcher,” said Dean, grabbing your bloody hand. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m fine.”

“What the fuck happened?” you said, Dean kneeling down over Sam’s body when you ran back not five minutes later after spotting more werewolves.

“He just fell over,” said Corbin. You closed your eyes, Dean standing up slowly. “We need to go, those things-“

“Let ‘em come. I’ll gut them,” said Dean. “You ready for a fight?”

You leaned back against the counter, Dean tilting his head back.

“No, you’re not,” he said. He kicked the counter and squeezed his eyes shut. “Let’s go.”

“Dean-“

“You need a hospital,” he said as he grabbed his bag. “I will take you three out and then I will come back here and I will fix him, understand?”

“I’m-“

“I am not losing both of you on the same goddamn night,” said Dean. You nodded, wanting nothing more than to wrap him up in a hug and tell him it was okay, to pretend to yourself that it was okay. You looked back at Sam, Dean grabbing your hand. “The quicker we go, the quicker we can get him back.”

“Do not sell your soul or I swear I’ll kick your ass, Winchester,” you mumbled. He grabbed your hand and started to head for the door.

“Let’s move it. Now.”

“Almost out,” said Dean as you saw the bushes start to clear ahead. You hummed and had your head resting on his shoulder as you walked. “You lost more blood than you said.”

“I’m tired. I’ll live. You can’t do something stupid, Dean. There’s got to be a better way,” you said.

“I’m going back for him. I’ll get him to Baby and we’ll deal with it then,” he said. 

“No stupid,” you mumbled, tripping a little.

“Fine. No stupid,” he said as he caught you. You had your eyes shut when Dean all of a sudden left your side. You flew them open, Dean waving down a cop car from the looks of it. You watched him talk to the officer before he was heading back towards the woods, the officer grabbing him. You hummed and shut your eyes again, hearing a taser go off before you hit the ground.

“‘Sup,” said Billie when you flew open your eyes. You groaned as you realized you were in a hospital hallway. 

“Y/N? What…” said Dean. 

“I said no stupid!” you said, storming over and ready to give him a piece of your mind. “You…”

You realized there was no reason he should have been able to see Billie at the same time as you, no reason he should have been able to see you unless…

There was some kind of commotion to your right. Turning your head you saw Dean on the floor, a doctor, a cop and Michelle leaned over him.

“What did you do,” you said, glaring at him, whacking his shoulder as your eyes teared up. “What did you do!”

“You and Sammy,” said Dean, swallowing hard. “You’re dying. You’re dying and Sam’s dead and-”

“Actually, he’s not. Trust me, I’d know,” said Billie. Dean shook his head and Billie shrugged. “You two on the other hand are headed there. One of you is going to the empty. So. Who’s it gonna be?”

“You can go straight to-”

Dean suddenly coughed and sucked in a breath, rolling over on the floor, glancing over to where you were standing.

“Looks like it’s gonna be you,” said Billie, looking you up and down.

“Sam’s not dead?” you asked. 

“I’m not lying, Winchester,” she said. She held out a hand. “It’s time. Come with me or when they’re both done for real, I’ll toss them into nothing too.”

“I have no way of knowing you won’t do that anyways,” you said. You took a step back, Billie narrowing her eyes.

“No. You don’t,” she said. You opened your mouth to speak when you heard a loud noise behind you, Dean rushing past you on his phone. There was a scream a short while later and you took the opportunity to follow Dean. “Fine. Stay stuck here. Don’t bother calling when you get sick of it.”

“Leave us alone, Billie,” you said. You ran down a hallway and saw the dead officer, Dean shooting at a very werewolf looking Corbin. He knocked the gun away though and Dean fell back, Corbin ready to lunge. “Back. Off.”

You flew Corbin back towards the other end of the hall, Dean looking around before he went for his gun.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said as he got his hands on it again. Corbin rushed again but new shots rang out, Sam panting as he appeared. Corbin hit the deck and you sighed, leaning back against the wall. “Sammy?”

“I could use with a doctor right about now.”

“Is she gonna be okay?” asked Dean after they’d helped clean up everything. 

“She lost a lot of blood and I can guarantee moving her right now will kill her,” said the doctor. You sat on the edge of your bed, your body pale looking. “I know you two need to get out of here but she can’t come with you.”

“Jane Doe. List her as a Jane Doe, not related to this crap with the missing hiker’s at all,” said Dean. “Keep her alive a few hours. I’ll be back.”

“I can’t promise anything,” said the doctor.

“I said no stupid, Dean,” you said, looking over at him. Dean nodded and took off with Sam. You shut your eyes. “No stupid, Dean. You promised.”

“What the hell is this?” asked the doctor when Dean held out a syringe a few hours later.

“Give it to her,” said Dean.

“I’m not giving-”

Dean rolled his eyes and stabbed it into your IV line, the doctor throwing up her hands. You watched from the other side of the bed, your vitals still low on the monitor. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” mumbled Dean. 

All of a sudden you were back in your body, shooting up like a bullet and gasping.

“How the-” said the doctor, pushing Dean out of the way. You lifted up your shirt, your wound gone. “What?”

“I’m interested in knowing what happened as well,” you said. Dean nodded but set a duffel on the end of the bed.

“Change first. I’ll explain on the way home.”

“Dean, what exactly was that?” you asked not ten minutes later. Dean rested his head in his hand as he drove. “I swear-”

“You know I love you, right?”

“Of course I know that.”

“You love me too and you were so fucking...when we met on that hunt back in the fall, I hated you. You saved my life and I hated you,” he said.

“Dean?” you asked.

“I always had this weird feeling. I don’t fall in love with someone like that. Love at first sight isn’t real. It’s not, not even a glimmer of it. But you wormed your fucking way in just like that,” he said. You stared at him as he drove, Dean quiet for a few minutes. “The cure I gave you, I had no idea if it would work or not. I had a suspicion but no idea. Now that it did, I know for sure.”

“Know what?”

“The reason I fell so hard and so fast was because you’re my soulmate,” he said. You blinked and he laughed. “I’m sorry you got the short end of it but it’s true. The cure needed blood from your soulmate and well, it worked so there’s your-”

“I didn’t get the short end of anything,” you said, reaching over and taking his hand. “I promise.”

“Yeah you did.”

“Well suck it up, Winchester cause I’m not changing my mind on this one,” you said. He didn’t speak. He held onto your hand in silence though, stroking his thumb over the back of it. “Sam okay?”

“Yeah. Resting at home,” he said. “He doesn’t know about the whole...overdosing thing.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you said. 

“Thanks,” he said. “The story is we just went to get the hikers and you out and I was coming back for him.”

“Alright. One condition though,” you said.

“I know. No more stupid. One day I’ll listen, sweetheart.”

_______

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Trophy chapter three

Finally decided where im going with this been mulling it over for a few days toying with a few ideas. Trying to define Henry's character has been a bit difficult for me as i wasnt sure what angle i wanted to highlight more but from here out i think iv settled on Yandere/Daddy Dom/Care Giver so the relationship has taken a more ddlg turn its not going to dive in to ageplay (im not confident enough yet maybe one day) but the reader is slightly childish. I cant stress enough that as this is a yandere themed story its not going to be for everyone all my chapters will have appropriate warnings. If you have read it and think i have missed one out please let me know so i can apologize and correct it. Not much else to say other than i hope you like it

Warning:Adult themes, Dubcon,Controlling Behaviour, Swearing

Masterlist

You find out who it was who handed you over to Henry

Chapter one ,Chapter two Chapter four Chapter five

Trophy chapter three

Waking up the next morning was slow, absolutely exhausted you laid under the soft covers relaxing with your eyes closed ignorant to the world. Turning over trying to get comfy enough to fall asleep again.Frowning as your ears picked up an irritating tapping that moved back and forth. Groggily you identified it as a dog excitedly pacing on a wooden floor.Something that you hadn't heard since your childhood ,with out a thought -still not fully awake- you poked your hand out of the covers and over the side of the mattress to placate the animal,immediately being nudged into stroking a fluffy face and lathered with dog kisses.

"Amy ,stop, go lie down" Your eyes snapped open as the words left your mouth Amy -your German Shepherd from childhood- has been long gone and you haven't had a dog since. You snatched your hand back sitting up groaning as the pain in your ass forced you to flop face first back onto your side. There was a large snout in front of you, literally inches from your nose as the dog has rested its chin on the mattress in front of you letting out an impatient whine.You slowly inched back apprehensive of the large dog.

"H-hey there erm where did you come from boy? girl?" You spoke quietly the dog snorted in response then in one swoop jumped up onto the bed over you landing on the other side. Rolling on your back ignoring the ache in your ass more concerned with the very large canine beside you. Your not scared of dogs not in the slightest, but you didn't know this one.It laid down on the other side of the bed tail thumping away as it looked at you expectantly. Sitting up slowly you pulled yourself to the head board resting against it.Only now really recollecting yesterdays events and just where you were. The dog huffed again and slumping to lie on its side pawing at you.Pet me. The dog didn't seem aggressive actually the opposite, smiling lightly you began giving a belly rub.Male. You looked up as the bathroom door opened revealing a towel clad Henry fresh from the shower rubbing a smaller hand towel on his hair before letting the damp cloth drape around his neck. He smiled knowingly as your eyes trailed down from the towel at his neck drinking in his toned chest that had a complementarity dusting of dark curls across it.You sucked in a deep breath. It really wasn't fair, he knew very well how attractive he was, under different circemstances you might have flirted with him a little after drinking a few glasses of liquid courage. Not that you'd have thought you would have a chance. 

'To bad he's a nut job' you though wistfully. Just your luck that the only man to look your way was a fucking psychopath. You directed you attention to the fingers that were still absentmindedly scratching through the dogs thick fur. Henry approached the bed nodding his head at the dog.

"See you've met Kal" The dog twitched his ears at his name enjoying his belly rub to much to move.

"Kal. It suites him Akita right?" He grinned nodding as he sat on the edge of the bed patting the dogs barreled chest.

"Yep my boy, yours to now" You paused then pulled your hand off kal (to his disappointment) tucking them in your lap as it clicked who you were speaking to. Henry continued looking at you lovingly for a few seconds then his face fell sighing as he watched you pull back into yourself then looked towards the bathroom.

"Go get cleaned up, I have a visitor to take care of after breakfast shouldnt take long then we can spend the day together" He finished his sentence leaning in with a kiss on your cheek before lifting himself up to get ready for the day. You got up holding the bed momentarily to stabilize yourself before taking slow steps towards the bathroom wincing as you movements aggravated your sore backside.

"Theres some comfry cream on the sink bring that out when your finished" For some reason You could hear his grin swallowing Uneasy you nodded before shutting the Bathroom door behind you unsure why you heard him laugh through the heavy wood. Shuffling forward you relished in the warmth of the steam filled room. His bathroom was stylish and sleek, the type of room you'd expect in a five star hotel not that you'd ever stayed in one .Expensive looking black gold veined marble steps leading to a large sunken tub at the far end of the room, before that matching marble splash back on the 'his and hers' sink with a mirror hung above them. The large shower to your left was glass on one side it was big enough to fit four or five people comfortably and had a built in bench seat. The shelves either side of the mirror were fully stocked one side obviously had been pre-prepared for you with hair and make up products all in your preferred brands and colours.

'That cannot be a coincidence' you summarized as you pulled the foundation down inspecting the seal.Brand new as suspected.So he must have planned for your arrival. You shook the thoughts out of your head not wanting to think of how he knew so much about you. After using the loo and brushing your teeth with the new pink toothbrush that'd graciously been provided for you.The power shower was welcome easing your muscles your tension melted away under the powerful spray and also giving you time to think of where you went from here.

'Don't think he's gonna give me a chance to run anytime soon. Gotta find out why he's taken me .Its lot of trouble to go through for no reason, unless he's done it before. Maybe i could be nice to him, play along until his guard drops then scarper. Question was, what then?' If what they say is true it'd be useless going to the police you'd be back here in no time dread to think what he'd do to you then. If you left you'd have to leave town asap. Wouldn't be able to go home and pack a bag it'd be to obvious-or maybe soo obvious they wouldn't even look.' The door opened pulling you from your musings, it was only open enough for kal to slip in who dutifully sat by the shower door Henry didn't follow calling from behind it.

"Are you ok? you've been in here a while" You hadn't realized but he was right as you looked at your pruned fingers.

"Im fine" you heard a sigh of relief as you answered him 

"Good when you didn't answer my calls i was worried that you'd tried something very stupid" He paused contemplating his next words

"Time to get out now i think" You faltered at that stepping from under the spray towards the shower door. 

"But i haven't washed yet"

"Well who's fault is that little one? Besides the amount of time you've been in there the waters probably taken care of any dirt.Next time don't waste so much time." He scolded half hartedly

"Sorry i wasn't aware you were on a water meter" you snapped back at him in temper.

"Excuse me? would you like to try again?" His tone was so ominous you took a step back curseing silently.

"Sorry. I'll be right out"

"Sorry Who?" you didn't reply immediately

"...Sorry daddy" 

"Good don't let it happen again" Calling kal out of the room he shut the door.Defeated you hang your head deciding to try and pacify him at least until you could come up with a plan of action.Twisting off the water and exiting the shower wrapping a large bath sheet around your body uesing a smaller one to wring out your wet hair. Scurrying out of the bathroom finding him sitting up on the bed laptop in hand Kal was nowhere to be seen. Your captor was dressed in a caramel two piece suit with white shirt. He looked over the screen at you.

"Your clothes are here. Did you grab the cream?"

"I forgot, give me a sec." You quickly grabbed the small pot of cream handing it to him then preceded around the bed unfolding the clothes left out for you.

"Y/n come here" He said closing his laptop stopping sliding it off his lap peeking over at him you blinked holding up the sweater that was left out for you. 

"Cant i get dressed first?" A pleading look not trusting his expression or him in general really.

"Not until this has soaked in"

"What?" Nervously twiddling the soft knit fabric already dreading what ever he had in store for you now.Chuckling he waved the pot in the air.

"This is to ease your cute little bottom now come over here" Opening the pot and paced it within reach on the beside table. Fully expecting you to do as your told you covered your back side with one hand.

"M-my bottom is fine really i don't need it"

"Now you and i both know that if i turned you over my knee right now id find a sore red little bottom. Im going to take care of you now could you please come here."

"Please i can do it myself" Ignoring you he dipped his fingers into the thick balm smoothing it between his palms. You took a deep breath deciding that your best option was to grin and bear it. Dragging your feet until you stood in front of the amused man.

"Theres no need to sulk." Lifting you effortlessly to lie on the bed tugging the towel from around you he whistled low 

" Thats a well punished bottom if iv ever seen one" he anounced before running his lathered hands across it massaging in the pain reliefe thoughrly in smooth circles, you tensed under his hands, they felt cool in comparison to your heated flesh.

"Dosnt look like youll bruise which is good.Allmost done now"

You fhuffed letting him get on with it trying to imagine you were anywhere but here as his palms moved lower to graze over your thighs and back up again leaving behind a trail of tingles then he pulled away.

"Just lie there and let it work its magic ,you've been a very good girl." You hated feeling a twinge of pride at his praise quickly beating it down .He left you there for five mineuts or so then signaled to get dressed. Once down stairs you were greeted with an enthusiastic kal whilst being served a light breakfast of toast and juice. Not long after that you found yourself beside him watching the news on a sofa kal chilling out at your feet with an indestructible looking chew A large man clad in all black strolled in stating

"Got a visitor boss said he called last night?" Henry left instructing you to stay put. You strained your ears as you heard his foot steps stopping a few feet behind the door. Hearing a familiar voice from the other side. Getting up you tip toed across the room pressing your ear against it listening to the conversation.

"-Caught on cctv, thats evidence that could implicate me. What am i supposed to tell them? The others were already asking questions last night i told them it was a rota mistake not sure how long i can keep them quiet its out of character,  You said it would be subtle." It was henry who spoke next his voice was deep authoritative and menacing.

"Calm down I have it all taken care of, not my first rodeo.Trust me no one is going to go looking to deep, the paper trails already sorted out  application ,travel, accommodation the lot. All you have to do is keep your mouth shut and we're squared up.As agreed"

"I dont know how i feel about it now? I think i made a mistake" The other male frantically replied.

" Your mistake was not keeping up your end I told you to keep an eye on him. I told you what would happen if you cocked it up.Now I have to be the bad guy. You think I wanted to do it this way? Besides its already done you cant go back on your word now. If your having second thoughts thats tough fucking luck I dont do refunds. Now get the fuck out of my house and you best keep that mouth shut cos I can make you dissapear just as easy as her. Lads show Mr Fletcher out" You gasped stepping back quickly mind racing as you sat back down where you were originally. You sat in shock as you realized who it was Henry had been talking to and why theyd sounded familiar. Kyle fletcher owner of the small cafe you worked in your boss of four years.Putting two and two together ,that chat was about you. You felt sick it was kyle who'd asked you close later than usual to deep clean the coffee machine and recount the float , causing you to close up in the dark which was where youd been taken. For some reason he knew what was going to happen he'd been in on it a overcome by a wave of anger you decided come hell or high water you were going to find out exactly what your exboss had done.

[turtle-steverogers]

alright babe heres the first 5 I saw: "why are you covered in neon body paint?" "best not to ask" and "I cant breathe, I cant-" and "I cant walk just go on without me" and " ive had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with" and "hey guys im here and im ready to bitch"

hey guys, saph and i were facetiming earlier and she dared me to finally answer this ask she sent in like fall 2018 except i had to use all the prompts and the result is…well, i’m not sure what it is.  but its got criminal race and spot and a cryptic ass albert who makes lava lamps for his niece.  so yah. enjoy!

warnings: its pretty much crack, but there is a brief anxiety attack

ship: platonic race/al/spot

word count: 2490

editing: no

Something a Little Off-Kilter

-

Race was nine years old when his ma grabbed him by the chin, turned his face towards her and told him in all her harsh Italian-mother sternness, “We do not run from people, Antonio.  You have Mancini blood in your veins and Mancini’s do not run!”  And Race, with eyes blurred from tears and nose dripping with blood from the fight he’d just fled, nodded vigorously before trudging miserably to his bathroom to clean up (and cry a little more).

But he’d learned two things that day.  One: what a maiden name was and that his ma’s is Mancini and two: running is for losers who never want to stop running.  And he’d more or less kept up that sentiment, even if it cost him a black eye and some dignity in some circumstances.  Like that one time in eleventh grade when Spencer Reiding called him a fairy and in turn, Race had beat the living shit out of him until his little entourage had shown up and knocked him out cold.  But seriously, ‘fairy’? It’s not 19-fucking-50.

Race supposes, though, that all good sentiments meet their maker at one point or another.  Self-preservation over morals and all that, right? 

“Floor it, Christ, are you flooring it!?”  His grip on the ‘oh shit’ bar is white-knuckled and he can hear himself panting as he twists in his seat for what’s probably the hundredth time.  The blue and red flashing of the cop car that had been following them is nothing but a speck at this point, but Race isn’t really keen on taking any chances right now.  Tonight had been a close fucking call.  

“Yes, I’m flooring it, asshole!” Spot shouts, swerving around a lone subaru that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere on the otherwise empty stretch of desert highway.  Normally, Race would be surprised at the sheer lack of cars that are out, but he supposes 4 am in buttfuck Arizona is not prime time for travels.  

Letting out a little whine, Race turns to face forward again, stealing a quick glance at Spot as he does so.  He can see the faint worry lines on his face, reflected from the miniscule lights of the dash.  They’d opted to leave the headlights off for optimal covertness, but the moonlight over the desert proves to be more than sufficient.  

Spot’s anxious, Race can tell.  He remembers a year ago when the two of them had first met in that dingy bar in Brooklyn.  Spot had been nothing but a stoic mask at that time, only showing faint hints of amusement every now and then.  It had been incredibly disconcerting, especially to Race who wears his heart on his sleeve, to behold such utter passivity, but Race had since learned to read him.  Spending everyday together for twelve months is really the best lesson in a person’s tells, Race has found.  And really, when he spares a second thought to it, their situation and relationship therefore, is a strange one.  Two broke college grads down on their luck and bearing fuck all from their families meeting by chance and somehow finding themselves stuck in a loop of money laundering and identity theft in order to stay above ground.  Maybe not the best solution to their problems, but hey, Race never claimed to be smart with his choices.  And the rush of adrenaline is as much of a drug as the coke they sell on the side.

“God fucking damnit, is he still following us?” Spot says, eyes flitting to the rearview mirror.

“Dude, he caught us balls deep tryna break into a fucking bank.  He ain’t gon’ let us off that easy.” Race says, “Jesus fuck I told you we should stick to the other stuff.  We were making big cash just fine pulling paychecks from easy civvies.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can tell me ‘told you so’ when we get somewhere I can think.” Spot sounds exhausted and on-edge and Race himself is looking forward to this whole ordeal blowing over so they can find a place to ditch this car and grab a new one and maybe crash at some shitty inn no cop would think to look.  Yeah, laying low for a couple of days sounds perfect right now.  They don’t even have to leave the room.  Denny’s orders in, right?

“Oh, I will.” Race says, sighing an internal sigh of relief as the distant lights of a small town come into view.  Thank god.

Spot mumbles something that sounds like, “Fucking finally,” and eases up on the gas, turning abruptly once they enter the city perimeter.  

They’ve gotten good at this: losing tails, but Race still holds his breath as Spot loops around the backroads of the town, looking for a place to dump the car.  It’s a few minutes until Race can see the lights of the cop car reflecting off the drug store they’d passed upon first entrance and he hisses out another curse, jabbing Spot in the arm.

“Stop here,” He says, “If he finds the car, fine, but he sure as hell ain’t finding us in it.”

Spot looks like he wants to fight back, but instead, he surprises Race by pulling to a surprisingly quiet stop by an old auto-shop.  He gestures for Race to get out and swiftly grabs their duffels from the back seat, tossing Race’s to him, both pausing when the cop car cruises in front of the alleyway closest to them.  Inaudibly, they let out synchronous sighs of relief when it continues on. 

They cheat behind the auto-shop and are barely settled into identical crouches when a quiet, “Psst,” captures both of their attention.  Race jumps violently, only barely recovering in time to slap a hand over Spot’s mouth as he begins to shout in surprise.

“Over here,” the voice whispers again.

The two of them turn to look at where the auto-shop’s back door is now open and Race squints as the silhouette of a man comes into view.  He can see the man waving a hand in front of him, beckoning them closer, before exchanging a look with Spot.  A silent conversation passes between them, we’ve made bad choices before, what’s one more? And Spot shrugs a little before hoisting his duffel back onto his shoulder and tiptoeing towards the man.  Race follows behind warily. 

Now that he’s closer, Race can see that the man is about their age- young and a little rugged looking with hair that curls towards his jaw at the nape of his neck.  His face and arms are splattered with- well, Race’s first thought is that it’s blood, but upon further inspection, he sees that it’s paint.  Bright yellow and orange neon paint.

He has a lot of questions.  Like, how the fuck did you notice us lurking behind your building at four am? And, why did you think it was a good idea to interact with two obviously suspicious looking men? But all that comes out is, “why are you covered in neon paint?”

Spot drops his head in a groan and the guy laughs somewhat maniacally, “best not to ask, it’s a long story.  Well, actually it’s not.  You see, it’s my niece’s birthday tomorrow and she really likes lava lamps so I’m hand making a few for her and that includes painting the bases and she’s going through that quirky eight year old phase where everything rainbows and neon is super cool, so I’m making them neon tie-dye,” he says it all in one breath and Race finds himself struggling to keep up, “anyway, the names Albert.  You two look like you need some help.  Wanna come in?”

The whole situation’s fucking weird, but Race and Spot exchange another look, this one holding the quick debate of, what other options do we got? And a moment later, they’re hustling into the dingy auto shop.

The lights are dim on the inside, but it’s a surprisingly cozy set up.  The side dedicated to cars is immaculately organized, with a few hanging from the ceiling and others lined neatly on the ground, propped up on floor jacks where necessary.  On the other side is clearly where Albert lives, with a couple curtains sanctioning off a twin bed and desk, where sure enough, three lava-lamps, varying in color and size, are set on a few sheets of newspaper.  

Spot frowns as Albert locks the door, turning to them with a smile, “I’m assuming the cop car out there’s for you guys?”  When Race and Spot don’t answer, he continues, too lighthearted for the situation, “Yeah, figured.  Feel free to lay low here ‘til the threat’s passed.”

“If the police are clearly after us, aren’t we the threats?” Spot asks, “Wait, no, hold on, aren’t you gonna ask us what we did?  Aren’t you put off at all?”

Albert waves a hand, “Nah, I do this all the time.  Just don’t try to murder me and we’re good.  You look like nice enough people, just a little down on your luck.  I don’t mind you camping out here while ya need.” He sets off towards his desk, seemingly to finish the lava-lamps, “The door across from the supply closet is technically an office, but I stuck a mattress and some blankets there for people like yourselves.  Feel free to crash.  If the bull comes by, I didn’t see anything.”  With that, he’s gone.  Behind the curtain as if he’d never been there.

Race blinks, bemused, and looks at Spot.

“What the fuck did he mean, ‘I do this all the time’?  Who the fuck is this guy?”

Spot shakes his head, looking more lost than Race has ever seen him, “Hell if I know.”

The office-turned-guest-room turns out to be more spacious than Race had anticipated and he and Spot are sitting on the mattress, munching on granola bars that were placed unceremoniously in a bowl by the door, when they hear a knock from outside.  

Race feels a pit of dread form in his gut and he lowers his granola bar, appetite lost.  It’s the cop, it’s gotta be.  Who else would be knocking before dawn?  And oh god, they’d left the car right out front, how much more obvious can they be?

Race glances at Spot, who’s also stopped eating, and hisses, “If he catches us, run.  Go on without me.” 

He means it, but Spot just huffs out a bitter laugh, “As if.  Now shut up.”

They strain their ears, listening as Albert opens the door, feigning sleep they know he hasn’t gotten in his voice, “Officer.  Is there a problem?”

They can’t hear what the cop says, but Albert’s side of the conversation is fairly clear, “Hm? Oh, the paint?  I was working on a project for my niece and must have dozed off before cleaning up.  Anyway, how can I help you?”  There’s a pause, “Two- what? I haven’t heard anything about no bank robbers, that’s terrible! I- oh, that car, that’s…strange, that wasn’t here when I went to sleep.  Sure, you can check around back, but I doubt ya’d find anything.  I’da heard if someone were moving around out there and I didn’t hear nothing last night.  Yes sir, I- oh?  Nah, I’m afraid I can’t letcha search my shop.  Not without a warrant.  Mm, sorry officer.  Yes, I understand the caliber of the situation, but it is my legal right to deny your entrance to my home without substantial reasoning.  Mhm, but see, that’s a hunch.  I don’t see no warrant.  Okay, officer.  Yes. just around back.  Go ahead.  Alright, officer, okay.  Nice chat.  Goodbye.”

The door closes a second later and Race lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.  All at once, the adrenaline of the night hits him.  They’d almost been fucking caught, Christ, what if they’d ended up in jail?  What if they still end up in jail?  He couldn’t survive jail, fuck, he wouldn’t even be able to afford and lawyer and shit-

His body is shaking, vibrating really, and a weight is steadily growing on his chest.  Involuntary tears prick at his eyes and he brings a hand up to the front of his shirt, tugging as if that would release some of the pressure from his lungs.  

“Race?” Spot sounds distant and Race turns to him, knowing he looks panicked, but having no capacity to change that, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Race says, voice high and pitchy, “I can’t really breathe, I can’t-”

“Shit, hey, it’s okay.  I think you’re having an anxiety attack,” Spot says, sounding uncharacteristically gentle, “I know a lot happened tonight, but we’re okay,” He places a comforting hand on Race’s shoulder, “Just breathe, it’s okay.”

Race nods, closing his eyes and focusing on Spot’s touch, allowing it to ground him.  A few moments later, he’s feeling calmer, if still a little shaken.  

“You alright?” Spot asks, not removing his hand.

“Yeah, I dunno, man,” Race says honestly, “It’s been a rough ass night and all I want right now is something to drink and someone to cuddle with,” his eyes fly open as soon as the words are out of his mouth.  He hadn’t meant to say that.  He’s not sure why he said that.  It’s not even like he and Spot have that sort of relationship, nor is he particularly seeking that out.  But now that it’s out there, Race wouldn’t say no to some good old physical comfort.

Spot seems to sense that and laughs a little as he removes his hand from where he’s still gripping Race to sling his arm around his shoulders.  It’s a little more intimate than they usually are, but friendly and comfortable nonetheless.  Race takes a deep, shaky breath and rests his head back against the wall, leaning into Spot’s side.

“Yeah, it’s been a fucked up night and I think I’m still deciding whether or not it’s real or just some weird fever dream,” Spot says, “Like, who even is that guy?  What the fuck is his deal?”

“Lord even knows,” Race says, “But I think I got my fill of crazy for a while.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They lapse into silence and Race is just starting to drift off when the door to the office opens and Albert pokes his head in, somehow covered in even more paint than before and holding up a bottle of tequila, “hey guys, I’m here and I’m ready to bitch.  The cop is gone now, though I wouldn’t recommend skipping town just yet- better safe than sorry.  Also, bank robbers, huh?  Haven’t had your kind in a while.  You’re a fun type, though the arson that I met last week was pretty spicy.  Anyway, drinks?  I know it’s early for alcohol, but I get the feeling y’all need it.”

Spot doesn’t even try to lower his voice as he says, “Yeah, I don’t think our fill of crazy is over yet.”

-

don’t ask me what that was about, i genuinely don’t know

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

TAG LIST: @getchapapes@we-dont-sell-papes@suddenly-im-respecsable 

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[1heartfanfics]

Criminal Minds 4x24

SPOILERS: This is an alternate scene to 4x24 where Reid gets exposed to anthrax. 

“Morgan don’t come in here!” Reid shouted. 

“What? Hey, kid let me in,” Morgan pounded on the glass. What the hell was the kid doing?

“No, Morgan-” 

Derek cut him off, “Open this door right now Reid.”

“Morgan,” Reid said seriously, putting his hand flat up against the glass. Derek took a step back, raising his hands as if to say ‘okay fine’. Then he looked behind Reid and saw the shattered test tube on the ground, white powder spilling out onto the floor. Immediately he looked up to the vent on the ceiling to check for exactly what he was afraid of. Air flowing.

“Shit Reid, what did you do?” he sighed. 

“I screwed up Morgan. I screwed up,” Reid shook his head, gaze moving to the floor. 

“Hey, kid, it’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna call Hotch and then we’ll get an ambulance and get you out of here,” Morgan said, trying to remain calm.

“No. I’m gonna stay right here,” Reid said firmly.

“What? Like hell you are,” Morgan scoffed. 

“Morgan I’m already exposed, and I’ve got a few hours before symptoms start, I might as well stay here and work the case,” he explained. 

Derek sighed, “I don’t like this.”

“I know, but the cure is probably here somewhere. This is my best bet and you know it,”

Morgan leaned forward, placing his fist on the glass near where Reid’s hand was. His heart was pounding and he felt like he was having trouble breathing right. This kid was like his little brother, if anything happened to him...

“You go call Hotch and tell him what happened and I’ll look around in here, see if I can find anything helpful,” Reid said, sounding calm despite the fear in his eyes. 

“Okay right,” Morgan said, taking a deep breath. Pull it together, the kid needs you, he told himself. “I’ll be right back, you hang in there okay?”

Reid nodded and gave him a wry smile. Morgan gave him a nod back then headed down the sidewalk to the SUV and dialed Hotch. 

“Morgan, anything?” Hotch answered.

“Yeah, we’ve got a situation though,” Morgan said. “Reid knocked over a tube in the lab. White powder on the floor, air flowing. But the guy’s in there, dead,”

“So he’s not our guy but someone who knew him was,” Hotch said.

“Hotch, did you not hear what I just said? Reid’s exposed,” Morgan exclaimed. Hotch can be so unfeeling sometimes.

“Yes, I heard you. Get him out of there and to a hospital. Hopefully what we took this morning will protect him enough,” Hotch said.

“He wants to stay, work the case from in there, since he’s already exposed. Said they can’t help him at the hospital,” Morgan explained.

“True, the cure is probably in there with him somewhere,” Hotch agreed.

“Yeah that’s what he said, but Hotch I don’t like this,” Morgan sighed, pressing his other hand to his leg to still it’s shaking. The kid is about the only thing that gets him shaken up anymore.

“I don’t like it either, but Reid’s right. Let him do his thing, he’ll figure this out. I’ll get medics there standing by for whenever Reid can get out of there. Meantime, get back to the station and-”

Morgan cut his boss off, “I’m staying right here Hotch. Not gonna leave the kid in there by himself like this.”

“Okay, keep me updated,” Hotch said before hanging up. Wow, he’d expected that to be a lot more of an argument. He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, then walked back over to join Reid. 

“How we doing Reid?” Morgan called through the door, rapping on it with his knuckles. 

“I found what looks like a dissertation paper that someone was working on, the handwriting is definitely different,” Reid said.

“So he was working with a student?” Morgan asked.

“Most likely. That would make sense, someone he was kind of, mentoring,” Reid broke off to cough.

“Kid, you okay?” Morgan asked, leaning into the glass as much as he could, hand cupped over his eyes to see in. God he wished he was in there with him. Reid was already starting to look sweaty and shaky. He didn’t have as much time as he thought he did. 

“Yeah, fine,” Reid lied, stubborn as always. 

“Okay, is there a name or anything else we can use to identify this guy?” 

“I don’t- I don’t know,” Reid said, stumbling and catching himself on the counter.

“Alright, okay, that’s okay. The rest of the team will figure it out, but you gotta find that cure okay?” Morgan said, fighting to keep his voice steady.

“I, I don’t know. I can’t think straight,” Reid broke off into a coughing fit again, hand gripping the edge of the counter tightly.

“Hey, come on kid, the Reid I know wouldn’t give up, he’d keep looking and figure this out,” Morgan said, bordering on desperation.

Reid sighed, “Okay, okay let’s see.” He pushed away from the counter and walked shakily back over to the lab station. “It’s probably in something conspicuous, that no one would expect right?” 

“Right. It would probably be a common object that no one would think to look at. But you aren’t just anyone, you’ll know it when you see it Reid,” Morgan said, trying to stay positive. 

As he watched Reid fumble around, papers flying onto the ground in his frenzy to find it, he heard the ambulance pulling into the drive. Thank the lord, he thought. Reid was running out of time and they both knew it. 

“Inhaler?” Reid asked, holding it up.

“Maybe, yeah. That would work,” Morgan agreed.

“Let’s hope I’m right,” Reid said, leaning against the door for support. 

“Medics!” Morgan called, waving an arm to get their attention. “Get him outta there!” 

“I don’t feel so good Morgan,” Reid said, his face now ashen gray, hair matted to his forehead with sweat.

“I know kid, we’re gonna get you out of there now, just try to hang on,” Morgan replied. 

“He’s in there?” the sanitation team came up behind him and started setting up a tent for Reid.

“Yes. And get that inhaler in his hand sent to the lab for testing immediately, he thinks it’s the cure,” Morgan ordered. 

“Yes sir,” the leader of the team nodded as everyone set to work. “You’ll have to go stand back at your vehicle until he’s being sanitized,” he added.

“Alright Reid, I’ve gotta go away for a minute but I’ll be back as soon as I can okay?” Morgan turned his attention back to Reid, who nodded, but didn’t really seem super comprehensive anymore. He was fading fast. 

Morgan walked back down the path to the SUV and waited, pacing back and forth anxiously. He sent the team a message saying that Reid might’ve found the cure and was being prepped to be taken to the hospital, as well as everything he’d found out about the partner. Then he just had to wait until he was given the all clear. 

As soon as he was notified that Reid was out and in the containment of the tent he jogged over to where they were hosing the kid down. Reid glanced up at him and gave a sad smile. He actually looked a little better than he had earlier, maybe it had just been nerves getting to him. 

“How you doing kid?” he asked.

“You should go back to the station, help the team,” Reid said.

“Not a chance Reid, I’m staying right here,” he shook his head.

“Morgan. They’re about to take off all my clothes and scrub me down, you really want to be here for that?” Reid told him dryly. 

“I’ll turn around. But I’m not leaving you,” Morgan said firmly. 

Reid sighed, “Thank you.”

As much as Reid didn’t want to admit it, he was terrified. He could feel the chemicals shutting down his body, getting closer and closer to dying every second. It was only a matter of time before the symptoms set it worse than they already had. 

“I”m right here kid,” Morgan said, turning around as he promised, to spare both of them the awkwardness. 

Once Reid was completely cleaned and covered, Morgan followed him into the ambulance, hopping up to sit on the opposite side as the doctor who’d accompanied them. 

“How are you doing Dr. Reid?” the doctor asked as soon as the vehicle started moving.

“I feel fi, fine feel, I fore fine, fe-” Reid choked on his words, unable to get them out. His eyes went wide, panic stricken. His hand flailed towards Morgan, searching for something to grab onto as he was taken with a coughing fit, blood splattering down on the blanket covering him. 

“Reid? Reid hey, stay with me,” Morgan said desperately, grabbing the kid’s hand in his own to help hold him steady as the doctor wiped the blood away and pulled an oxygen mask over his face. 

“Try to stay calm Dr. Reid,” she told him as she began putting an IV to give him something for the pain.

“No. You can’t give him narcotics,” Derek said once he realized what she was doing.

“He’s in an extreme amount of pain,” she protested, looking shocked. 

“I know. He wouldn’t want them,” Derek sighed, hating to see the kid in so much pain but knowing Reid would never forgive him if he let her give him drugs.

Morgan watched in fear as Reid writhed and struggled the whole way to the hospital. He finally faded into unconsciousness as they pulled up to the ambulance bay, and he was actually grateful, as much as it scared him. At least he wasn’t suffering for the time being. 

“Is he gonna be okay?” Morgan asked, hopping down out of the vehicle as they carted Reid into the hospital.

“We should have the results back from the lab soon and hopefully that’ll be the cure. Otherwise I don’t know agent, the cipro you all took this morning obviously isn’t effective,” she told him honestly. 

“You’ll have to stay here agent, sorry, we’ll come get you as soon as he’s stable and in a room,” a doctor informed him, pushing him back from the hallway they were carting Reid down. 

Morgan nodded, feeling tears come to his eyes. He quickly swiped them away before dialing in the team. 

“How’s Reid?” it was JJ who’d answered first, the rest of the team patching in quickly after.

“He got a lot worse on the way to the hospital. They just took him away but if this cure doesn’t work...” he choked out, voice cracking.

“Oh god,” JJ breathed out.

“The cure will work, we have to believe that,” Hotch said, the level headed one as always. 

“It has to,” Prentiss echoed. They were all scared, he could hear it in their voices. Even Hotch.

“Keep us updated Morgan,” 

As soon as he hung up the phone there was a frenzy of people running around him and down the hallway. Oh god, did something happen? Just as he was about to take off down the hall, rules be damned, the doctor from earlier grabbed his arm. 

“We got the lab results, the cure works. Your friend will be fine, come with me,” she said, out of breath from running. The two of them took off down the hallway along with everyone else who was desperately trying to save the few other patients who were left. 

When they got to Reid’s room, she quickly injected the anecdote into Reid’s IV, then gave Morgan a pat on the shoulder, before heading out of the room to tend to the other patients. Morgan sunk down into the chair next to Reid’s bed, having never felt so relieved. He’d really though they were gonna lose him for a minute there. 

He quickly called the team to let them know that Reid was going to be fine, then settled into the chair. He was not going anywhere until the kid woke up, he’d stay right by his side. 

[stanbillyhargrove]

Demons pt 22

Billy Hargrove x Reader (Cat)

T/W: Self Harm (Cat), Abuse, Eating Disorder   Cat has a lot of issues

BIG WARNING: SEXUAL ASSAULT, DRUGS, SUICIDE

This will be a multi chapter series with fluff, smut, angst, all the things

Billy's POV

Steve didn't bring up Neil again, or at least he didn't force the conversation but I noticed him eyeing me whenever we were around each other. Checking for new marks. When I did have new bruises, Steve would give me a knowing look and join me for a smoke. Sometimes we would just sit in silence, sometimes we talked about Cat, sometimes I'd vent about Neil, about wanting to get the fuck out of Hawkins. It was kind of nice, having another person in my corner.

Cat lasted a few more weeks with Steve and I trying our hardest to never leave her alone. She tried as best as she could to put on a happy front and pretend everything was okay. Max hung around her a lot, keeping that little spark of hope alive. We tried splitting up the nights with her so only one of us would be with Cat every night in hope that the other would be able to relax but both Steve and I had been restless on our nights off so we both ended up spending every night at Cat's. The three of us would pass out sprawled against one another on the couch or Steve would take the couch while Cat and I slept in her room. There were a few times where Steve would drift off behind Cat, holding her so gently, and I would have to leave. I'd go outside to smoke and push down the spark of jealousy in my chest that set me on edge. But I found myself thinking of Steve almost like a brother-a brother brought to me by shared trauma but still a brother-and I knew he loved Cat. Differently than I love her but still, I had to let them have that, let her have all the good in her life that she could.

We drove her to and from school and spent every possible second with her. But it had been exhausting, draining and we were starting to feel run down. Steve had been having a hard time staying awake during class, during basketball practice he had no energy and had been benched the past few days. I knew I was hitting that point of exhaustion too, my brain felt foggy and I was having a hard time focusing on anything.

So on a Friday, when she told us she was okay if we went home for a while we didn't think to fight it.

"You need some sleep, you're exhausted. I'll be okay," she assured.

We knew better, knew that she hadn't been getting better but we were so tired. Tired of not being able to sleep cause we were afraid Cat wouldn't make it to morning, tired of the stress and the pain. So we nodded and agreed to come over later.

"Just need a quick nap," I yawned.

Cat smiled at me and patted my cheek, "of course, B."

Cat gave Steve a quick smile, "love you, Stevie," and squeezed his shoulder before getting in the front seat of the Camaro.

I dropped her off at her house and squeezed her hand, "I can stay, if you need. Your mom's not here, you'll be alone."

Cat smiled, squeezed my hand lightly, "get some sleep, I'm just going to study. Love you, B."

Exhausted, I drove home and fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed.

I didn't wake up until Max came and gently shook me, "Billy. Dinner is almost ready, Neil's gunna be home soon."

I jolted up, cursing and followed Max into the kitchen to wait. My leg shook with nervous energy throughout the entire dinner.

I didn't get a chance to call anyone until a while after dinner, when I did finally I called Cat's house first, praying that Steve would answer the phone. He didn't. Nobody did, it just kept ringing and ringing. Panic settled like a hot coal in my gut as I tried calling Steve's house.

"Ello?" He groaned into the phone.

"Harrington! Why are you at home?" I growled.

"Sleeping," Steve mumbled, "why are you home?"

"Fuck, Steve. Has she been alone this whole time? Nobody's answering her phone!"

"Yeah?" Steve finally woke up, and panicked, "oh fuck. I'll leave now."

"Meet you there," I huffed, slamming the phone down.

When I pulled up to the house, Steve was already there and was scrambling to get out of his car. We hurried up to the door and let ourselves into the dark, quiet house.

My heart was threatening to pound out of my chest and Steve was forcing himself to take extra long breaths, like he was fighting off the panic, as we walked in.

"Cat?" I called, my voice ringing through the house.

When there was no answer we went to check in her room, but there was only an empty bed. Steve was panicking, shaking like a fucking leaf and cursing under his breath. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and pushed forward to the bathroom. I nudged the door open slowly with one hand and felt my knees give out when I looked inside. Cause while Steve had dealt with this before, had lived through this before, I wasn't prepared for this. Suddenly I was thrown into a memory of the first time Neil gave me a bloody nose when I was young and I couldn't stop staring at the blood running down my face. While I sunk to the ground, Steve leaped over me, a string of curses spilling from his lips.

"Fuck, fucking call someone! Jesus," Steve ordered, hands shaking as he whipped around to grab towels.

I didn't hear him, couldn't hear him past the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears. I felt like my lungs had filled with cement and I couldn't gulp in enough air to fill them anymore.

Steve looked at me and scrambled over to grab at my arms, "jesus, Hargrove. Fucking, get over here," he pulled me across the floor and wrapped my hands around Cat's arms, "squeeze tight. Don't let go."

"But...you..last time.."

"This is worse, we need help. Don't let go."

My jaw worked with words that wouldn't find their way past my tongue as Steve released me to run out of the room.

Worse? I couldn't imagine how there could be a better or worse to this.

"Hello? I need an ambulance," Steve's panicked voice echoed through the house, "my friend, she slit her wrists..."

I stopped listening, my only focus the metallic tang that hung thick in the air, coating the inside of my nose until I felt nauseous and the damp spot growing in the knees of my jeans.

"Cat?" I croaked, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Baby. Please, please come back, just look at me, okay? Please? Just open your eyes, Baby," I begged, trying to keep an iron grip on her arms but wanting so desperately to shake her until she woke up.

Steve came hurrying back into the bathroom, a red mark smeared across his cheek where he'd wiped at his face, "they'll be here soon."

He crowded beside me and grabbed at Cat's face, leaving a matching smear, "hey, come on. Wake up, we're here. We got you, okay? You gotta stay with us."

She didn't move when Steve shook her, and she was so pale. It crossed my mind that maybe we were too late.

My eyes burned as tears spilled down my cheeks, my arms shook and my knuckles were turning stark white against the towels.

"Steve," I choked, "I.. I don't, what...why..?"

Steve chewed his lip, worried at it so much I thought he'd break skin, "fuck. I don't know, I don't know what to do. We just gotta try to keep her from bleeding out until the ambulance gets here," he tried to shake her again and got no response, "mother fucker! Come on, asshole! Open your fucking eyes!"

My jaw ticked as anger spiked in my chest, "maybe don't swear at her, prick!"

Steve whipped his head around to glare at me through dewy eyes, "really? You think me swearing is going to make this any worse?"

"I don't know, Steve! Is it going to make it any fucking better?" I spat.

Steve opened his mouth to start yelling at me when he heard sirens coming closer and instead stood up with a huff, "stay here."

"The fuck else do you think I'm gunna go?" I growled under my breath as he left.

"Please," I pleaded, barely keeping myself from sobbing, "please, Cat. You can't..you can't fucking leave me like this. You just need to hold on, okay? Just stay with me, please."

I didn't have to wait long before Steve hurried back with a couple paramedics holding a stretcher. They crowded into the bathroom, one man gently moving me out of the way to grab at Cat, fingers moving everywhere to test for a pulse and lift her eyelids.

Steve and I could only hear snippets of what they were saying to each other.

"Unconcious...non responsive....we're gonna need an IV...I've got a heartbeat, barely."

They moved to lift her onto the stretcher and hurried back out to the ambulance with Steve and I following behind.

I went to climb into the ambulance and was stopped by a hand on my arm and a stern but soothing man's voice, "I'm sorry, immediate family only in the ambulance. You guys will have to follow us, call her parents if you can."

I looked at the man's stupid freckled face, his stupid kind eyes and had to stop myself from tackling the man to the ground.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Do you see parents? We're all she has! We have to go with her! I need to know she's okay!" I shouted.

"Sir! You need to calm down," the man replied sternly, "can't let you in. Rules."

Steve grabbed my bicep and pulled gently, "Billy, let them go. They need to go," he urged.

I tensed, my face going stoney and backed away from the ambulance doors as Steve pulled at me with a shaking hand.

Steve was shaking violently as the ambulance drove away, sirens blaring. He never let go of my arm, he held tight like he thought I might bolt or he might collapse if he were to let go.

When the ambulance was out of sight, I turned and pulled my keys out of my pocket, "let's go."

Steve shook his head, "no, I need to, we gotta..we can't leave that mess."

I glared at him, I didn't want to have to face that again, but followed Steve inside anyway. I followed Steve back to the bathroom where he dutifully handed me a couple towels and started filling the tub with hot water. We started wiping up the blood silently, neither of us ready to break the silence as we turned the bath water red from rinsing out the towels. It was eery, seeing the outline of where Cat had been slumped on the floor, clean and empty against the pool of dark red. I stuck my hand in the middle of the clean spot and felt my chin begin to waver. It was too much, seeing the blood pooled on the floor and sprayed up onto the cabinet, the smeared handprint on the edge of the tub next to shining metal.

"Harrington," I choked out.

He looked up at me with big, glassy eyes, there was a steady stream running down his cheeks that he hadn't bothered to wipe away. With a huff I threw down the towel I had been cleaning with and stalked out of the house into the front yard. I fumbled to pull a cigarette out of my jacket and light it, my hands shaking and leaving red prints everywhere. Steve didn't follow me, I was by myself with the weight of the world on my chest.

What am I gunna do if she...?

If she's gone...forever?

I smoked through my last three cigarettes quickly, relishing in the acrid burn of my lungs until I went to grab another and found my pack empty. I screamed out a curse and threw the empty carton across the lawn and collapsed to the ground, holding my head in my hands and sobbing violently.

I should've fucking been here, she shouldn't have been alone. Being tired isn't that bad.

But I wasn't here, nobody was. And Cat was alone.

I sat there, wallowing in my anger and despair until my chest stopped heaving and my breath started to come normally again.

Briefly, I wondered if she left a note, something explaining why I wasn't enough. I set my jaw, wiped at my cheeks and slowly got back to my feet to go back inside. I could hear Steve's heart wrenching sobs as soon as I walked inside and followed them to find him curled up on the floor in Cat's room, his head buried in his bloody knees. I gently knelt down next to him, twisting my fingers together in my lap.

"Don't got any cigarettes to offer you," I muttered, my voice scratchy and rough.

Steve sniffed and took a shuddering breath, "she didn't leave anything, no explanation. I tried so fucking hard."

"I know," I placed a hand on his back gently, "I know you did. We did all we could, Steve."

"We should go.." he whispered.

"Yeah, okay," I agreed, standing back up and extending a hand to him.

He puffed out another long breath before taking my hand to pull himself off the floor. Before I could think, Steve had collapsed into my shoulder, his arms gripping at my back in a crushing embrace as he choked out another sob.

"I should have been here, we shouldn't have left her alone. This is my fucking fault," he cried.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders firmly and grit my teeth before trying to talk past the knot in my throat, "Steve. Come on, it's not your fault."

@elsie2018 @savagesuccubus @breadnbutternips @speedmetalqueen @florenceivy @charmed-asylum

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Kira (13)

CHAPTER 13: I Don't Want To Be Lonely    

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: Will contain fluff, smut, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul.

Chapter content: Yeah...last time wasn’t good. This is...well...

Warnings: Blood. Blood. Blood?

Word count: Should I be really concerned about the fact that my colleagues think I have had enough ‘days off’ when I was trying to help my family make arrangement for the funeral and he wake? Because I feel like I would be needing a day or two off in the future. For an emotional break. And my boss’ attitude is clearly not making it easy. Anyways. I’m still trying to be positive every day. Music helps. My brothers and sister help too. Hopefully this’ll pass soon. *deep breath* *nods*

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

"Can you please change the music. It is burning my ears."

"No."

Loki turns to look at Heimdall with a simmering stare before letting his fingers change the track. The contemporary harps change to classics. While Loki seems satisfied with them, Heimdall rolls his eyes at it.

"Seriously? Could you not be any more of a boring personality?"

"Why? Watching me throughout the day isn't enough for you now?"

"Shut up, Loki."

"Don't even dare turn back that sloppy thing you call musi-"

The harps come back again.

"Is this why Odin sent you out of the country? He couldn't stand you doing whatever you wanted, right?"

Heimdall just sighs. The music is turned back to the classics. The next five minutes of the ride are spent in brooding silence that is diluted by the violin on the speakers.

"I don't even understand why you would consider sticking to me like a fly when you could've been guarding your golden boy," Loki murmurs.

Heimdall swerves through the traffic on the highway, looking at the raven-haired man from the corner of his eyes, wetting his lips, taking his time to answer that question. "Frigga made me promise to look after you."

Loki doesn't say it but the slow blink he does clearly shows all signs of internal shocks he is feeling right now.

"I have my allegiance to the queen way before I came under the wings of Odin. Or Thor. And I've never gone back on my word to her."

Silence.

"I'm sure you haven't. M-the queen knows well to use them wisely. Especially in front of the king."

"Alright. Okay. Stop being so passive-aggressive. Kira is just in being angry at us."

"I'm not-" Loki stops and sighs, letting his arm rest on his window's lower edge while he massages the bridge of his nose. "How did she even know?"

"You recruited her, Loki. She clearly can connect the dots even if it’s slower than you. You should've known it won't be long till she figured it out."

The lights from the small local shops and big hotels next to the highway are a blur to Loki's eyes. He tries to close them, hoping to remember the last time he saw you happy with him.

"I don't think she has it in her to avenge herself."

"She's not weak, Loki."

"She's too pure, Heimdall. She does not deserve that. No kid deserves that. And she does not deserve to be in this perilous world." The eyes aren't even trying to focus at the scenic dusk anymore. "She doesn't belong here," he whispers to himself.

Heimdall's hands grip on the steering a bit too hard. "She's stronger than she looks. I'm sure she can take care of herself. And when she can't...well, she has a lot of people lookin' out for her."

Loki smiles before furrowing his brows. "I think what you call looking out for is practically called being creepy, Heimdall."

Heimdall twists his jaw. "You better watch your mouth before I broadcast your live feed to the world."

"You'd be doing the world a favour."

The groan and chuckle are interrupted by Loki's phone ringing over the SUV's speaker with Robert's name flashing on the screen.

What did she do now, is all Loki can think when he swipes the green icon to take the call. "Robert."

"Loki-"

His name is but a broken sob escaping a set of aching lungs from the other end of the phone, pushing both Loki and Heimdall to the literal edge of their seats. The sobbing doesn't stop. Before Loki can even tell him, Heimdall is taking out the orbs from his pockets, picking up the one that glows vigorously and planting it in a slot right next to the wheel, calling out a screen over the dashboard to pin-point the location for him.

Loki's heart is beating fast, that usual raging ache being replaced by spasms of concern when Heimdall is putting the car in overspeed to reach where that little blimping yellow dot points on the screen.

.

The silence of the hospital is haunting to say the least. Even this early in the night just two people sit in the waiting area under the weak fluorescent lights- one of them flickering at nonperiodic intervals. The receptionist sits laid back with a mobile in their hand, playing a game. A family sits on the upper floor, the kids eating chips while the mother pats the smallest of the children to sleep in her lap. The other mother is preventing herself from nodding off to sleep, time and again removing the crease from the papers in her hands, sitting up whenever she sees a doctor walk by. The floor above that is empty. Most of the lights have been switched off and the janitor is cleaning the floors, making them ready for the crowd that will rush in first thing at the crack of dawn to consult the doctors. The topmost floor is the only one brightly lit. It too is fairly empty- no waiting patients or visiting crowds- but for the doctors and nurses going about. The corridors carry the smell of disinfectants. Two nurses are walking down, laughing and joking about something. The minimal sitting outside the ICU has just one figure sitting there, fingers gripping on to fingers, nails being dragged down the skin on the back of the hands to feel something other than that noise of the heart ripping out of the chest. Feet being unstable- tapped now then due to the restlessness. Eyes being wiped away time and again with the tissues one of the nurses were kind enough to hand out. Now even the little soft paper is crumpled to its last bits, wet and beyond recognition. The cold draft coming in through every open door and exit does not help the already shaken nerves, but it does keep them awake.

The door to the ICU opens and your trembling legs get up from the seat with a wobble, your bloodshot eyes looking behind the doctor before anxiously settling on her. She speaks. The words do not settle in the first time. Nor the second. It takes a couple of repeated loops to understand what she's saying. She's calling out your name really softly, asking you if you're okay. You simply nod. She directs you to the corridor and you watch Robert wheeled out to the same direction she's pointing. He's covered in bandages and respiratory-mask along with more than one IV drip. He's being taken somewhere else. You want to go too. Be with him. But your legs don't move. They can't. You do try taking a step, but it ends up hurting everything inside you.

Don't leave him, your inner voice says, pushing you to walk and stop again. This time your legs stop on seeing Heimdall and Loki standing at the end of the corridor, looking like they've seen a ghost. Or something worse.

One look into Loki's eyes and you can feel yourself wanting to rush towards him for comfort because your frail heart cannot take it anymore. But the mind wants to force every rational thought upon you, instead making you walk towards his figure that is also managing to close the distance between the two of you.

"Are you alright?"

The cracked heart is broken into smithereens at his concern. You just nod because speaking will take a toll on you, gesturing to the room where Robert's been taken.

Loki hasn't missed the red marring your blouse and pants, smearing your neck and hands. His relief in seeing you stand in one piece is diluting the shock he is feeling on speculating what all you have gone through these past two hours. He wants to straighten your hair and pull you in his embrace. He wants to let you know you're safe. But he doesn't know if he any longer has the authority to do so. And he would rather kill himself than cross another line that might end up hurting you.

"The doctor's allowed us to see him," Heimdall breaks the morbid trance between you two, forcing you to walk inside.

.

The beeps and hiss of the machines on the other side of the mirror fill the mute room where you and Loki sit- Heimdall stands, looking out the window, his hands in his pockets, the eyes sharp at any movement outside, his ears listening to the police officials trying to take your statement.

"You were facing the direction of the shooter and Robert was behind you," the officer named Gary breaks off, "but then you say Robert fell over you."

Gary's partner Sasha rolls her eyes.

"As I said," you try to keep your voice smooth, "Robert pushed me away, he tried to cover me and got...he got..."

Gary still isn't satisfied. "Again, was it a push or was it a cover?"

Loki tsks, rolling his eyes and looking at Gary with the will to choke him there and then. Sasha has seen that look way too many times for her partner.

"Gary," she begins, "she's in shock. I think we can give her the benefit of the doubt and carry on our investigation at the shooting point. Come on."

"But-"

"Gary...come on."

"Sasha, be a good officer for once and see this interrogation through. Shock or not, she's gotta recall the events and tell them for what they are. Otherwise, it all looks fabricated."

"Officer Gerald," Heimdall speaks from the window with the authority that the two uniforms are only used to in their office, "why don't we have a word outside?"

Heimdall turns and Sasha can see some wire inside Gary's system trip as his stance changes within seconds.

"Y-yeah. We were leaving anyways. To check out the uh that parking lot."

"Very well then."

Sasha would be lying if she says she isn't feeling something tingle between her legs on watching that man move the entire mood of the room with just his presence.

The officers make their exit and the silence tries to return again.

"I'll talk to Kol to amp up the security. You two should get some rest," Heimdall states before leaving the room.

"Come on," Loki gets up, "I'll drive you home."

"It's my fault."

You look up towards Loki. "He's here because of me." The last word breaks into broken chords.

Loki comes and sits down beside you. "Kira, it's not your fault. You did not know what was going to happen. Robert was there doing was he was supposed to do. And he clearly did his job well. Because you're here. Alive and breathing. If anyone is going to pay it'll be the person who did this to him. Who tried to-" he tries to keep his breath steady- "do this to you."

Loki can see the marks on the back of your fingers, redness painting your skin- a sign he's is quite familiar with.

"Are you okay?"

You bite your lips. pressing your hands against each other. "Russo asked me to come work with him."

Now, this wasn't something Loki was expecting to hear. 

He has to gulp down this information in order to keep his senses.

"Oh. So... you've thought about it?"

You turn your head to look at him, nearly scaring him with that look in your eyes followed by an offended scoff. "I'm not leaving you for him."

He tries to hide it but the positive swell in his chest brings an involuntary smile on his face.

"That man is shady."

"Why? Why do you think so?"

"The file Robert had made had the names of everyone working under Russo in Anvil Corp or for Anvil Corp. Donatella's name was in there."

Just when Loki thought that cliché of a man could not surprise him anymore.

"And him asking me to come away with him then clearly didn't sound like he was just doing it for personal interests."

Now Loki just wanted him dead.

"Miss Kira?" A nurse called out from the door.

"Yes?" You answered, both you and Loki wondering what it was about.

"Are you ready for the examination?"

You blink and sit there frozen for a few moments before nodding a confirmation and getting up, Loki mirroring you.

Both of you meet Heimdall in the waiting area on your way to the floor downstairs.

"Kol's all set up. Four men will be guarding Robert's room."

"Are they trustworthy, Heimdall? I don't want anything compromised for Robert."

Heimdall nods. "They're Robert's men. Believe me, they'll be doing more than we'd ask without us asking. For him."

"Make sure one of them brings him a hot cup of that Manali tea he likes. Along with croissants from The Irish Baker. That's a bakery cum cafe by the turn to Beverly Avenue."

Heimdall has to pause for a moment when he has to retake the moment in and realise the genuine concern in Loki's eyes.

"Yes, I'll make sure of it." He assures. "Come, I'll drive you home."

"No, you go ahead. Kira has her examination right now."

"Loki," you speak up, suddenly realising you've been calling your boss by his name, "I think you should go."

The change does not go unnoticed by the men either. But Heimdall rather not talk about it. Yet.

"No, I'm not leaving you h-"

"Kol can drive me home. Or David."

"She's right," Heimdall acknowledges, only earning Loki's judgmental glare, "for all we know this could be an attack on you. It's not like that hasn't happened before. Four men will be by Kira's side here. And you're coming home with me. Now."

"I'll be fine," you reassure your boss with a weak smile.

"Heimdall will wait here with you then."

"Will you just take him already?" You straightway talk to Heimdall, letting Loki take a very light but hurt gasp.

"Okay fine. I'm going," Loki agrees ultimately, "but you better get home soon."

And in that one soft moment when you're looking into those clouded green eyes, you want to take his face into your palms and assure him that you will. While Loki, at that very moment wants to take your face into his hands and beg you to let him stay and be there for you; for he doesn't want to let anything happen to you. He wants to make sure you're safe.

"I will. I promise."

Your words create an echo inside him. And he has to take that echo with him when he steps away from you to walk away and go home.

.

"So, what do you think?"

"My bet is on Andrews."

Heimdall brings the engine to life. Loki takes out his phone to dial Tez.

"That man never liked me anyway," Loki mutters ever so casually, "but I would not rule out a few other names."

"I'm tightening your security," Heimdall announces, "I hope that's enough for all the people who want you dead."

"Aw," Loki scrunches his nose a bit, "they'll only see me dead when I want to die, Heimdall. You should know that by now."

"Tez," Loki's attention is on the phone now, "I'm sure you've heard of the events by now. This is code sapphire. You know what needs to be taken care of, I presume?"

"Yes, sir," Tez confirms.

"What's code sapphire?" The lines on Heimdall's forehead are somehow working really well for Loki's amusement.

"There are days when I wish you don't know what I am doing by every literal second." Loki fastens his seatbelt. "This is one of those days Heimdall."

.

The plates are cold over your bare skin and the air conditioning is really not helping at all.

"Is this really necessary?" You ask whoever is standing outside the x-ray room. "I just fell on the ground. That's actually pretty usual for me."

No answer.

You sigh and are about to slouch over when a flash works its way throughout the room.

"Anything else?" You- out and dressed up- ask the nurse who's been instructed by the doctor to carry out certain standard check-ups.

"Just a few more minutes," the nurse answers before picking up a pen a board with a checklist.

You groan internally and try to find the energy to go through the interrogation again.

"When was your last meal?"

"Uhh...it was...I don't know the time exactly. It was lunch on another continent so my guess is seventeen hours. Give or take a few." You simply shrug.

The nurse eyes you with a cocked brow and you cannot help but feel a flare of judgment lingering in those eyes.

"How's your eyesight?"

"I use glasses," you point at the ones you're wearing a bit too obviously. The nurse just sighs.

"Are you sexually active?"

"No."

"... I'd suggest you don't lie on your medical report."

The nurse is still moving her pen on the board when she makes that blunt remark that really rubs you the wrong way.

"Excuse me?"

An eye roll later the nurse is watching with a resting bitch face.

"I mean, come on, girl. I saw the man who was with you tonight. You don't need to hide that you're some big hotshot's lady."

"Okay," you raise your finger to address the frustration growing inside you, "it is none of your business who I do or do not sleep with. All you need to worry about is the information you're being provided."

She looks at you before exhaling a 'whatever' and going back to her sheet.

"You don't have to cry just 'cause you're his mistress."

Oh my God!

"Linda, I'd suggest you get out of the room before the patient sues you for harassment."

A sweet voice calls out from the door and you turn to watch another nurse standing there with her arms crossed across her chest, staring down at the other nurse.

"I was jus-"

"You should go," the blonde-haired nurse announces, bringing forward her hand to take charge, "I'll take care of the rest."

The former nurse clearly doesn't look happy but she lets go of the paperwork and walks out saying something snarky under her breath.

"I'm really sorry about that," the new one apologises, "the staff is usually really nice here. I'm Harleen."

"I'm Kira," you respond.

Harleen's presence somewhat lights up the room. And her smile only adds to the radiance she is emanating. She makes the effort to go through your chart and write what all reports are pending.

"We are all done here. Is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

You try to think of something that you might need to know. Your hand goes to your neck and the abnormality in touching it reminds you of something.

"Oh, I had a necklace I was wearing before I went in for the x-ray. I can't seem to find it. I kept it here on the table."

Harleen gestures you to wait and walks around the table to open a drawer and take out a little basket where you can see the pendant Tony had gifted you sitting in a silver loop.

"Thank you."

"No problem, Kira. Here," she takes out something from the drawer and hands it over to you, "take my card and call me if you are in need of any help."

Thanking her, you walk out of the room while closing the silver chain around your neck, nearly scared by Kol's uninformed greeting.

"Kol," you greet the man dressed in a black suit and smelling of a cologne that is surprisingly light to the senses.

"Ma'am," he greets back, so do the two men standing behind him, "this way, please."

You sense the presence of more of Kol's men behind you, curiosity getting the better of you and turning your neck around to watch two more men keeping a considerable distance. All of them are wearing an earpiece, keeping in touch by the second. Kol's auburn hair has been all moved back with a generous amount of gel, which reminds of something that Billy does.

The thought of him sends a shudder down your spine and you force your brain to think of something- anything- other than those dark, endless eyes.

The walk down the lift and towards the entrance is silent but it's made awkward by the foreign eyes looking at the men- and then decisively at you and your bloody clothes- wondering what is going on in the hospital at this time of the night. Your fluttering heartbeat does not help the meandering thoughts either but the chilly air fighting to touch your exposed skin as you step out does help dissipate the unwanted heat rising up inside you.

Before you can cover all the stairs to reach the footsteps of the building, another one of Robert's men is bringing Robert's SUV to a halt.

Kol steps in front to open the door for you before getting in from the other side. The rest of the security gets in another car save for one- who settles down in the passenger seat in your vehicle.

The cars are pulled out of the driveway and manoeuvred through small streets till they hit the road taking them to the highway. The dull yellow lights are the same shade as your heart right now, trying to grasp the reality of one of the closest person to you lying in the hospital. It is my fault, no matter how Loki sees it, you have convinced yourself.

"Robert will be fine, ma'am."

Kol seems to have read the tension on your face. Am I that transparent?

"We'll get the person who did this to him." He is making you a promise. He knows better than anyone- thanks to the years he's served- how it feels for the one who got away.

"Thanks, Kol." Your weak smile is the only gesture you can manage till you are looking back out the window at the lights passing you by. The smooth driving skills of whosoever is at the wheel are putting you to sleep. So, you close your eyes and try to see that which makes you feel safe. The darkness is filled with a lit-up corner where Loki stands smiling at you. "Come home, Kira," he says softly.

I'm coming home.

Eyes closed, the rest of the body is sensing the ups and downs and the turns of the car.

Whenever we are asleep, dreaming of falling- be it from the sky, a bridge, a car, a cliff- we do not feel the effect of that fall till we are reaching the surface, about to hit it with maximum velocity, which then jerks us awake, or sometimes changes the scene to something entirely different. That is what happens to you when the cargo truck hits the SUV from the other side, sending the vehicle to topple on itself and roll over multiple times. The seatbelt keeps you in place throughout as you watch the glass shatter and fly everywhere around you. Your hands are up and everywhere, not being able to find anything to hold on to. All this while Kol has you covered, shielding you from stray glass and gravel- besides anything deadly that could possibly be flying your way at any given moment. Everything registers inside you only when the car- or what is left of it- comes to a stop. Upside down.

First, the breaths go shallow. Next, the body registers the uncomfortable position it is stuck in. The eyes take in the surroundings- a disgruntled Kol freeing himself to fall down on the roof of the car, glass falling down from your hair, a bloodied hand lying hanging from the driver's seat. When that hand comes in view, your eyes do not leave the trail till they see the body hanging upside down with a broken neck.

The already shallow breaths are now turning into hyperventilating streaks. Kol registers the shock you're feeling right now and tries to move towards you. "David," he calls for the man in the passenger seat, "cover us."

The man is already out of the vehicle, up on his legs, disappearing somewhere ahead of the barrels on fire in the middle of the highway.

"Kira," he nearly eats up his groans and pains and when he takes your arms in his, "shh, shh, I'm here. Breathe. Breathe. Breeeathe."

His patient soft voice is readily obeyed by your teary eyes. Just as the third breath is taken in a shot goes off somewhere in the night. This time it is not that easy to be mistaken for a cracker.

"Kol," your cry is barely a squeak.

Two more shots go off.

"Shh, shh, I'm gonna get you out of here. Look at me. Do as I say. Here, fix your hands on the roof. Come on. Yes. You got it. Sure? Okay, I'll undo the belt now. Ready? Three, two-"

You are laying down on the roof, trying to feel your legs while Kol's hands are helping you get up and out from your side of the window.

The shards prick your palms. But the gunshots behind you are a horror that is shutting down every other pain response in your body. The throbbing of your veins is only adding to the understated panic.

Getting up you look behind to watch Kol standing by the wrecked car. You take a faltering step towards him and stop dead as you watch him go down on his knees before his upper body hits the hard road beneath him.

You do not know whether it's the shock of watching your one way to safety go down in one mean swing or the figure clad in black camo behind him, standing with its hands to either side- one of them holding a gun. The dark goggles shield the face beneath. But none of the shades of black can hide the blood dripping from the heel of the palm that holds the gun.

The figure just stands there. Frozen.

You wait for it to make a move. It waits for you to take one wrong step.

It doesn't even look like it's breathing. You are gasping for breaths.

It tilts its head just enough for you to notice. You take a step back into the embrace of foreign arms keeping you in place as a hand tries to cover your screams before netted darkness is thrown over your eyes and your writhing body is dragged away from the remnants of point of intentional disaster.

The goggles come off to let the ignited remnants of tonight’s catastrophe be reflected in dark boundless eyes.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Nothing Good Happens After Midnight: Twenty- Three

“Y/N,” Bruce scolded gently, reaching over to slow down your treadmill, “easy, sweetheart.” You bite your tongue and take a deep breath. Honestly, you’re just thankful Bruce is still letting you do anything at all. You’ve got three weeks left to go and as the days tick down, he’s a bigger mess. “Bruce,” you say, giving him a look. The scientist smiles sheepishly and takes a drink of water.

He watches you discreetly after that. Looking for any sign of distress or discomfort. You’ve been having more back pain and the starts of contractions for the last week. Lea and Medical are both in agreement that you could pop at almost any time. When you’ve finished the little bit of your workout Bruce can handle you doing, he breathes an internal sigh of relief. 

“C ‘ mon, sweetheart,” Bruce says, kissing you softly, “Let's get a shower and get you off your feet.” You smile and press into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Baby,” you soothe, “ I’m fine, I feel fine.” He sighs, “But,” he starts. You kiss him, “It’s all normal, sweetheart. There’s nothing to worry about. Yeah. Harper could come at any time. That’s normal too. Babies set their own schedules.” You take his hand and tug him after you. Even if you’re a little irritated right now your feet and your back to ache terribly and you wouldn’t mind a rub down and some tea. He chuckles and follows after you, thankful that you were healthy and that you felt well enough to be irritated at him for coddling you. He’d read about everything that could go wrong. All the ways you could be hurt or killed. Everything that could go wrong with the baby. You’d banned him from reading anything else after he spent the whole night falling down a hole of incredibly rare diseases and pregnancy-related problems and going over every detail of your chart, quietly fretting while you slept. 

The whole thing had culminated in him hulking out and lifting you out of bed carefully, rushing you to medical and insisting that there was something wrong. He’d scared you to death and you’d burst into confused tears, making things worse for Hulk. He’d not understood why you were crying and hadn’t known how to fix it. It had been a rough night for everyone and after that, Bruce was not allowed to read anything related to your pregnancy or the impending birth. He still worried but he was a lot less anxious, and that was an improvement. 

In your rooms, he starts the shower and he gets a little more insistent about kissing you. It feels good, feeling you warm and eager in his arms. He lets you undress him and returns the favor before helping you into the shower. He can’t refuse you when you stroke his prick and suck a soft mark into his chest. Bruce hadn’t intended for things to get filthy while he helped you clean up, but he’s not disappointed by the turn of events. He loves when things are slick and soapy. The feel of your skin under his hands and how easy it is to make you breathless and needy as he toys with your hormones. “You sure, baby?” he asks softly, palming your cunt as he kisses your throat. “Yes,” you pant, “Please?” Bruce turns you around gently and waits for you to get positioned comfortably. “This won’t hurt you?” he asked, hesitating. “It might help put me in labor properly,” you tell him, “But it won’t hurt me.” Bruce nodded and kissed your shoulder, pushing into you gently and reaching around you to cradled your breasts in his hands. You moan softly and he starts to thrust gently. He could get you both off in moments if he wanted with how sensitive you are, but right now he wants to enjoy this. More importantly, he wants you to enjoy this. A lazy slow afternoon of lovemaking and cuddling. You deserve it. And, Bruce reasons, if you’re blissed out and lazy, you aren’t stressed. 

He focuses all his attention on you, coaxing you into orgasms one after another until he spends inside you. When he wraps his arms around you slowly, petting your stomach and nuzzling your spine, he smiles softly, “Good girl, he praises, “Always so good for me.” You let him help you out of the shower and he dries your skin carefully before leading you to the bedroom and starting to smooth lotion over you while you sit on the edge of the bed. He kisses your stomach and smiles when your fingers slide through his hair and you sigh. “Just relax,” he says softly, “Let me take care of you today?” You smile, “I don’t see how I could say no,” you hum, “you’re really good at that.” Bruce preens a little and arranges your pile of pillows so you can lay back, “I gotta take care of you,” he said simply. He helps you into some panties and an oversized shirt before laying you back gently. You sigh and pull him next to you where you want him and cuddle close. You need him nearby. It makes you anxious when he isn’t there to hold you while you sleep. Bruce smiles tenderly and pets your tummy, “Nap time?” he chuckles. It doesn’t take much to wear you out, but he knows that you’re fine. Just pleasantly tired after having been loved properly. You yawn and close your eyes, “Yeah,” you murmur. “I’m sorry,” you say softly.

He kisses your head and keeps rubbing your belly lovingly, “You can be lazy, baby,” he soothes, “I’ll be just as happy to be at your service when you wake up.” Under his fingers, he can feel Harper moving. He imagines she’s probably a little irritated and cramped as she grows too big to be comfortable. He smiles softly as you fall asleep and follows suit, happy to have his girls warm and safe. It’s a nice day. A perfect Sunday. Slow, lazy lovemaking and Bruce feeding into your need for attention happily. He’s never minded that. You never really gave a fuck about gifts, but you do like attention. All the attention he’ll give you. Bruce adores when you’re feeling a little needy and snuggly. It’s the easiest to keep you safe then because you stick to him like glue. He knows it’s your biggest love language. Touch, attention, time. And he’s happy to give you all of it. 

_________

It’s getting late when Bruce looks up at the clock with a sigh. You’re still in your workshop, desperately trying to finish up some things and tie up loose ends before you go on leave. It’s getting closer to midnight and he’s a little worried. You should be in bed. Or at least on the couch with your feet propped up. So he makes his way to the shop, mentally preparing to coax you into coming with him. He pauses at the door and smiles a little. You’re sitting on top of your desk, cross-legged and munching on an apple as you stare at your chalkboard. He knows what “stuck” looks like when he sees it. 

“Hey, beautiful,” he says, kissing tart apple sticky lips when you look up at him. “Hey,” you say smiling a little. “How’s work?” he asked. “The magical equivalent of algebra and I hate it,” you grouse, “Fuck alchemy.” Bruce chuckles and holds out his hands to help you off the desk, “How about you fuck me instead?” he teases. You let him help you down and stretch, “That does sound,” your voice trails off and you gasp. There’d been mild pains through the day. Just like it had been. You hadn’t thought much of it. It was just some discomfort that Lea and medical had been keeping an eye on. This pain was not that. 

Warm fluid runs down your leg under your skirt and puddles around your feet on the tile. Bruce stands there frozen for a second and you look up at him, “I think it’s time,” you say swallowing hard. “Time?” Bruce stammers, “No. There are still two more weeks.”  You wince and squeeze his hands, “No, babe. There isn’t. Harper’s coming now.” Bruce’s brain takes a few seconds to get traction but when it does, he helps you to medical and calls Lea. Your godmother was going to be doing the actual delivering. You felt more comfortable with it, and honestly, Bruce couldn’t fault you. Lea had been bringing babies into the world for centuries. The compromise was that she do it in medical. Just in case. Bruce wasn’t terribly comfortable with you giving birth in a house. Any house. Even if Lea’s was magically immaculate. 

Once they got you settled, sans an IV to avoid you having to deal with needles, and with Lea there to advocate for you and help Bruce keep you as comfortable as you could be. It was time to wait. There was nothing to do really but monitor things. The only hiccup was a nurse, a new nurse, coming in with the things to give you an epidural and subsequently having a terrified witch threaten to hex her into the middle of next week. Beyond that, once they got you calmed down it was fine. Bruce was thankful Lea was there when it was time to push and you were exhausted and scared. 

“Y/N,” she coaxes, “C ‘ mon. Push.”

“I can’t,” you pant, “I just can’t.” She smacks your calf lightly, “Try,” she coaxes, “your mother said the same thing. And here you are.”

You grip Bruce's hand and he feels his knees buckle. If you haven’t broken a bone in his hand he’ll be shocked. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” he praises, “ You haven’t hexed me. Or told me we’re never having sex again.” That coaxes a laugh out of you and he wipes tears away gently as you rally to push again. 

“One more,” Lea coached, “ One big push, mama.” You do, crying out and sobbing for breath and if you hadn’t broken a bone or two in Bruce’s hand before, you did then. Black spots blossomed in front of his vision and he felt his stomach roll over as pain shot up his arm and he tried not to whimper. Harper was in Lea’s hands, bloody and screaming and suddenly he forgot how badly his hand hurt. 

He helped Lea then, cutting the cord and helping a waiting nurse to get her ready to hand to you. Well. He tried to help. He was crying and not able to do much more than be in the way. But, as the nurse put her in your arms and you said your first hello, he was convinced you’d never be as beautiful to him as you were in that moment. He could taste tears on your lips as he kissed you softly and wrapped his arms around you. “She looks like you,” you say smiling up at him. Bruce tutted, “Silly girl, I told her I wanted her to look like you.” He smudged a kiss against your head and gently fluffed your pillows. “You can’t have everything you want, Bruce,” you snort. 

_______

When you fell asleep, Bruce went to get his hand seen to. You had indeed put stress fractures in his hand in a couple places. Luckily, it wouldn’t need surgery. He’d just need to baby it and wear a brace. That done, he slipped downstairs to update the others properly. 

Thor swept him off his feet in a bone-crushing hug and laughed when Bruce told them all that you were both just fine and you’d probably be up to visitors soon. “What happened to your hand?” Tony asked, looking up from pouring celebratory drinks. “She broke it,” Bruce said calmly, smiling a little. Steve sputtered for a second, “On purpose?” Bruce gave him a look and laughed, “No, of course not.” Natasha snorted and Clint looked a little horrified. “What?” Bruce said, “I wasn’t not going to hold her hand.” 

“So you just let her break it?” Bucky asked. Bruce nodded, “She was pushing out a seven-pound 8-ounce baby. Without pain killers. A couple stress fractures aren’t that bad. She didn’t just do it for fun... She’s just stronger than she looks.”

“So,”‘ Clint said taking the shot he’d been handed, “Is Miss Harper green after all?” He had a shit-eating grin on his face and let Bruce chuck a pillow at him, “No, you cretin... She’s perfect.” There’s a round of teasing Awww-ing as Bruce visibly softens, thinking about his girls upstairs. “I want pictures!” Nat demanded, snatching Bruce’s phone out of his pocket. “You keep that,” he said, heading towards the elevator, “I’m gonna make sure they’re still doing okay.” 

_________

Two years later

The Hulk is at your back, you sling magic and he flings robots, tearing them into pieces. You don’t have time to think about the fact that there’s a second baby on the way and you hadn’t told Bruce yet before everything happened. 

You can’t think about Harper. At home with Lea waiting for someone to tuck her in. Thinking about her big dark eyes and messy curls makes tears sting your eyes. You have this awful feeling in the pit of your stomach. A feeling that you won’t be coming home. A feeling that crawls over your skin and crashes into reality for you as the Hulk inadvertently brings down part of a building on top of you. 

The rubble saves the day but Hulk, in his despair, runs away. He hesitates just long enough to hear someone say you’re still breathing. But As Natasha calls out to him, he doesn’t turn. He hurt you. He could have killed you. Taken you away from Harper because he wasn’t careful enough. 

The time on Sakaar passes in a blur. He isn’t sure how long he’s been gone but it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing but endless fighting. There are no other women. Not even the Valkyrie that reminds him so much of you. Driven. Smart. Ferociously kind. It makes the Hulk miss you terribly at the same time it soothes him. Until Thor arrives.

Thor throws a Monkeywrench in everything. 

“Go away,” Hulk roars. He doesn’t want to hear about you. About your pretty house. Or the kids. Two girls. Bright and beautiful. “She misses you,” he blurts out. It hurts. It’s a blistering sort of pain, the kind the Hulk just can’t take. 

As Bruce came back groaning on the floor he looked around, “Oh god. Where am I?” Thor helped him sit up and hurriedly handed him clothes, “A planet called Sakaar,” he said. “Y/N, Harper... Oh god. How long has it been?” 

“Y/n, Harper, and Lyra,” Thor corrected gently, “It’s been two years.” Bruce covers his face this his hands and swallows hard, processing. “Lyra is yours,” Thor murmured, “Y/N was with child when you left. She had to expend a lot of energy to get them through a building falling on top of her, but. They’re healthy.” It’s all Bruce can do not to fall apart.

He left you.

He proved you right. All those anxieties you’ve ever had. 

_________

When he makes his way to the house, Thor and his Valkyrie friend in tow. He stops the car and just stares. Harper is beautiful. Dark hair and dark eyes. All Curls and dimples and chubby kid adorableness. And Lyra. Lyra looks like you. A tiny, adorably chubby version of you as she totters along in the grass giggling as she chases a red ball. “I can’t do this,” Bruce said taking a shaky breath, “What if she throws me out?” Thor shook his head, “She won’t. When we thought you were dead, she never gave up. She’s been waiting for this since the minute she woke up and you were gone... Don’t disappoint her.” 

The memory of tears welling up in your eyes gets him out of the car. It makes him stop and take a deep breath as Harper tears into the house yelling for you, “Mama, Mama, Mama,” she yells, “Uncle Thor brought friends!” You step out on the to porch, drying your hands and freeze.

“Bruce?” you ask softly. It’s music to his ears. You look almost the same. A few threads of white coming down from your part. Your hair is longer and you look more muscled. Less soft than you’d been even when he met you. You had harder edges now. He starts forward carefully and when you bolt into his arms, he stops and catches you, clutching you to him as your legs wrap around his waist and your lips find his. He tastes tears but he doesn’t stop. You feel like home. Still. 

Neither of you hear Valkyrie whisper to Thor, “How did that idiot get a wife that hot?” Thor snorted, “She’s not his wife.” Valkyrie grinned, “So you’re saying there’s a chance?” Thor barks a laugh and scoops up both kids, carrying them into the house. “Uncle Thor,” Harper asks wide-eyed, “Who’s that?” Thor grinned and kissed her head, “That’s your dad.” Harper gave him the same Skeptical look Bruce had given him dozens of times and he chuckled. These were definitely his kids. “Promise,” he said, “Your mother doesn’t kiss just anyone like that.”

Tags: @lancsnerd​ @stevieang​ @golddaggers​ @blameitonthecauseway​ @qxeen-of-hearts​ @process-pending​ @xmarveled​ @beautybyfire, @etherealwaifgoddess, @mschellehitt

[meruz]

Hey I can't find this in your FAQ so sorry if it's been asked before! Your traditional art is so stunning and vibrant, would you happen to have any brand recommendations for people trying to get into painting? Maybe specific gouche paint, brushes, papers etc. Thank you so much and have a nice day!

no one has ever asked me this before because this is like the first time ive started putting traditional art on my blog! LOL umm to be honest I’m very far from pro on this front, most of my knowledge comes from a handful of classes I didn’t pay a lot of attention to and lots of youtube videos but here’s my recommendations:

Paint

A lot of my paints are winsor newton designer’s gouache because this is what my teachers made me buy when I was a freshman at art school LOL. it’s definitely kind of pricey, I think it’s like $10.99 for a tube which I was NOT a fan of as a college student and is still not my favorite thing now. But they’re overall worth the price if you really want solid, high quality opaque paints. Though I’ve heard their student grade winton paints are decent as well?

I’ve heard less good things about brands like reeves and artist loft... but I think turner is alright? m.graham is supposedly great.

I also bought a set of holbein acryla gouache when it was discounted on amazon a while ago and have found it very solid. One thing you have to know about acryla gouache is that it uses a binder more like acrylic paint (hence the name acryla). Paints are made out of pigment + binder and most gouache is essentially watercolor but with extra pigment/chalk to make it opaque - the binder is water soluble so these paints can be reactivated with water. Acryla gouache is NOT water soluble when dry and it dries pretty fast so it’s overall less flexible. But other than that you can pretty much treat it like any other gouache and I find they keep a little better too, less likely to get gunky or stiff.

All paint brands have a handful of starter packs which are slightly discounted but if you want to build your own starting palette I’d say get a warm and cool tint of all the primaries, get a lot of white (working with gouache somehow involves a lot of mixing with white lol), and get a brown, maybe like burnt sienna or raw umber for underpaintings. No need to get a black, mixing darks builds character, looks better, and having one out of the tube can become a crutch. If you find a white watercolor paint tube that’s cheaper you can buy that instead of a gouache white. Again, they have pretty much the same make-up. And white paints are generally opaque enough that the composition between gouache/watercolor shouldn’t matter too much.

I’ve never used a block tray of gouache. Like those paints that come in little blocks in a tray? I know there's a bunch out there but I’ve never used them and I don’t know anyone else who does so I have no opinion on them.

Brushes

I’ve been kind of exploring this myself. I recently bought a cheap set of flat brushes off amazon LOL and I like them a lot?

Theyre probably not The Best or anything but I found flat brushes suit gouache plein air painting really well because its suits the kind of color blocking shapes I want to make. Also these had the right handle length to fit in my painting bag. That’s like the main reason I chose them tbh.

Honestly a lot of my art supplies philosophy is “give it a whirl with whatever you have lying around and when it feels like you're missing something specific keep an eye out for when that stuff goes on sale”

Paper

GOTTA BE HONEST I’m using cheapo paper. Because I’m making these paintings half for study and half to give my parents something to hang in the living room.

You can actually see some of them curling in on themselves here lol. If you’ve seen the sketchbook I’m holding in any of my pics of paintings it’s one of the canson mixed media books.

and its FINE... I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it lol.. I like that the texture is very fine but it doesn’t hold a lot of water and definitely distorts. Also I keep ripping off the surface with painters tape but that might just be on me. Oh buy artist tape. Just because its so satisfying to have clean edges.

I’m using painters tape instead of artist tape because I found it in the basement but if youre buying supplies buy artist tape because it’ll be kinder to your paper. 

SPEAKING OF PAPER.

I guess anything heavyweight for watercolor/mixed media will be fine? some people like a lot of texture but if you’re painting small you might want to avoid it and pick hot press over cold press. Honestly I feel like a lot of this is going to depend on what your specific needs are.. how big do you want the paper to be.. do you want a sketchbook or would you rather carry around loose paper... etc. Maybe go to an art store and touch all their paper. I feel like its easier to understand sizes and texture when you’re seeing it physically.

When I go on a trip, I normally bring a softcover heavyweight stillman & birn sketchbook because I tend to obliterate metal spiral books in my bag LOL. Also I don’t rip any pages out of my travel sketchbooks so I don’t need perforation or anything. Also they go on sale a lot in the art store I go to haha. I havent used gouache extensively in it but it takes inkwash/maker pretty well.

On the higher end, I personally haven’t used it that much but my friends who do traditional illustration professionally swear by arches watercolor paper. It comes in lots of different sizes.

Whatever you use, if you really want it to lie flat you’re gonna want to soak and stretch it on a board but I don’t bother with that because I am lazy.

Palette

You didn’t ask about palette but I’m taking the opportunity to be a shill because I personally use a sta-wet palette and I LOVE it.

One of the biggest frustrations about gouache for me was how quickly it dries after it leaves the tube. And even if you can reawaken it with water its not quite the same? and consistency is SO important when it comes to applying gouache so I don’t want to be over-watering my paint.. ugh. Anyways, I don’t have to worry about that with the sta-wet palette and really its been a game changer for me. sta-wet is a brand name but there are a bunch of other wet palettes not by masterson that I’m sure are just as good. I mean, it’s just a box with a sponge basically, that can’t be hard to replicate.

The only thing - and I personally have not had this issue but I have friends who have - is that if you leave it wet for too long it could grow mold? or a mouldy smell? Just wash your palette with soap and don’t leave it for weeks on end and it should be fine.

If you’re not feeling a palette that’s always moist, the best palette I used in school was a simple glass palette. you can buy one I guess but it’s so easy to DIY, I think the way we did it in school is getting a piece of glass and mdf from the hardware store cut the same size and then duct taped them together on the sides so it wouldn’t be sharp.

costs like nothing.

what else...get a palette knife if you like to mix paints? and like to save paints... mixing with the brush means you lose paint in your brush in the mixing process so a knife is a good way to maximize that process. I don’t use it much but sometime if I have to mix a lot of one color I’ll pull it out of my bag.

I don’t know anything about easels, I sit on the dirty ground like a gremlin when I paint.

Ok yeah that’s all the supplies tips I have. hope some of it was helpful! always try to save money with art supplies, I think. Especially if you’re just starting out - it’s less stressful to use cheap supplies too lol. Good luck! Happy painting!

[noblehigh]

**slams fists down ** five times kissed !!! ( basically make me feel things )

send  five times kissed  for a drabble about five times our muses have kissed.

i. )  there was always a sort of unity when they were in the fireflies. they were a family, to a certain extent, but nothing like how it is here in jackson. it’s truly a  community, full of people who know everyone else, people who keep up with other’s troubles, and do their best to help  ease  those troubles. no one is given too much of a workload, and it’s fairly easy to get time off if you need it. it’s a sense of normalcy, something that’s one in a million. brian’s convinced that there’s no other place like it in the world. though, their world is very small compared to the endless opportunities that could be waiting somewhere else. they don’t know what could be waiting on another continent, if those places were even  effected.  he believes they were ; he believes everywhere is gone, everywhere is bits and pieces, and wherever there are people they’re trying to make due with what they’ve got.

tonight, the community has gathered out in the streets ; fires blazing, music playing. they’ve somehow convinced joel to play a little guitar, but most are amused by the way his brother strums on his own, taunting and joking with him. it’s not that tommy is bad, he’s just  definitely  got his own taste. laughs are shared, children run freely (  brian’s being one of them  ), and he finds himself snuggled back in a corner next to the stairs of the saloon with the one person who’s made this place truly feel like  home:  paul. 

there’s a hot cup of cocoa in his mitten-clad hands, and a gaze that was previously set on all the fuss around him slowly begins to focus on the man next to him. he just  watches.  watches as paul smiles, watching the music play and the children dance ; dina has managed to pull ellie up, and she’s up to her usual antics of putting on a show, this time with her lover. the flicker of the flames near them puts a special kind of sparkle in paul’s eyes, and brian can’t help but  smile. he leans over, presses a lingering kiss to the man’s temple. it’s sweet, soft ; it’s meant to show appreciation, more than anything. appreciation that paul is here, that he’s  alive, and that he’s  with  him. it’s an impulsive move, but at the same time it feels so  natural, like it’s the right thing to do.

ii. )  it didn’t take much convincing to get himself and paul put on a patrol together. maria and tommy are forgiving. they seem to sometimes  exude  love ; this deep care for everyone in the community, no matter the diversity or the situation. they want everyone to be happy, that much seems obvious to brian, and as long as it doesn’t harm anything and they can still get their work done, why  not  have two people who enjoy each other’s company on the same route?

brian has always had a love for horses, and has since gotten his own after being in the community for awhile. whiskey. his pride and joy. a large, brown horse who stands as tall as the highest building, with the elegance of a fine ensemble. he’s beauty, he’s  grace  --  he might just  be  mister united states. it’s why he rides him with such  pride. today, he managed to talk paul into just taking one horse ; yes, it’s due in part to him wanting to show off the stud, but also because he wanted to be  closer  to his favorite jackson patrol member. he follows along the muddy trail, sat high, hands loosely gripping the reigns as whiskey trots along through the tall grass. brian’s head turns to the side to glance over his shoulder, halfway keeping his gaze on the trail before them as he speaks to the other man,  ❛  -- i’ve always had a soft spot for animals, y’know?  ❜  oh, really?  ❛  yeah.. -- before all of this, we had a rottweiler named jackie -- she was badass. i had a horse for awhile, too-- and a  snake. i think, out of all of ‘em that the snake probably made it out.. maybe he got to live a long life. i don’t know how well they don’t out of captivity once they’ve been in it, though..  ❜  probably not  well. he turns his head back to the front, chuckles before adding,  ❛  -- his name was steve-o... y’know.. like that guy from  jackass? he was still little when everythin’ went to shit, only about two years old. he was a ball python, they’re great for p-- ❜  it’s when he glances back that he cuts himself off because, well.. quite frankly, he can see the way paul is looking at him. he’s looking at him like he’s the biggest  dork  on the planet. but that’s the thing with brian: you get him started on a subject he likes, something he’s  passionate  about, and he could talk for hours.

❛  -- what?  ❜  oh, nothing..  ❛  i’m ramblin’, aren’t i?  ❜  he gets a chuckle in response, no words, but a kiss to the corner of his mouth pairs with it. he’ll take it. smiling wide, he takes one of his hands off the reigns to reach back, giving paul a pat on his thigh. ❛  you’re by far my  favorite  person to run patrol with, you know that?  ❜

iii. )   ❛  ohhhh, c’mere, munchkin--  ❜  he drawls out, bending down to pick up his son from where he sits in the living room in front of paul. he’s got all of his legos out, and it’s no doubt going to be a  task  to clean them all up.  i don’t wanna!  ❛  well, i know you don’t  wanna, but you  gotta  go to bed. you know why?  ❜  the child shakes his head, looking rather bashful, and still rather  skeptical ; bedtime just doesn’t seem like it should be such a necessity... especially when you’re having so much fun!  ❛  ‘cause you gotta get big ‘n strong. and if you get a good sleep, maybe we can get up early and go play in the snow with dina tomorrow, huh?  ❜  that seems enough to persuade him. the boy smiles, nods his head quickly.  ❛  all right, then,  ❜  brian agrees, and he turns to look at paul before heading for the stairs,  ❛  i’ll be right back.  ❜

when he comes back down from putting oliver to bed, he notices the smile on paul’s lips. he’s intrigued, shown by the smirk that’s tugging at the corner of his mouth. ❛  -- and what are you smilin’ about?  ❜ he inquires as he heads over to the fridge to pull out two beers ; he then moseys on back over to where the other man sits, taking a seat next to him.  you’re a good dad, you know.  not even a question, a  statement. the once  uplifted  mood the man had has now turned a bit sour, proven in the way he loses eye contact with paul and looks down. he breaks open one of the beers, sliding it over on the coffee table to the other, then opening one for himself. well, he’s got some kind of vice now, so he’s willing to talk about the dirty past  (  as long as he can drown himself in  something  ).  ❛  wasn’t always like that.. -- don’t really know if it even  is  like that,  ❜  he comments, knocking bag a large swig of the amber liquid.  ❛  i wasn’t there like i should’ve been when he was a baby.. when he was  younger. had a lot of.. bad shit goin’ on in my head.  ❜  a multitude of things, but, mainly, a nasty drug habit. ❛  i’d probably still be just as shitty if the infected hadn’t started eatin’ everyone.  ❜  hey--  paul seems quick to cut off the harsh criticism of himself, and it’s probably best that way. if he lets it go, brian could easily spiral into spilling all the things he finds wrong with himself, and that would just ruin the mood of the night. he’s never been his biggest fan, and that’s one thing the end of the world  couldn’t  change.

a kiss to his shoulder is what finally makes him look back over, and he winds up resting his forehead against the other man’s, eyes slowly falling shut.  you can’t change the past.  he’s right, of course.  ❛  -- is there ever a time that you ain’t up to par on everythin’?  ❜  he swears, there’s never a time that paul  isn’t  right. still, it’s said with good intention, and it’s clear paul has lightened his mood a bit just by the faint smile on brian’s lips. he tips his chin up, lets their lips meet for a short, sweet kiss.  ❛  stay here tonight.. i don’t want you to go.  ❜

iv. )   ❛  hey!  ❜  it’s the first time he’s felt  frustration  towards the man, and he definitely isn’t scared to  show it.  paul begins to head towards the exit of their stationed patrol at the sound of a  shrilling  scream (  one asking for help, no less ), stating he’s going to go check it out.  ❛  -- we can’t just go out there like it’s nothin’, you don’t know what’s out there!  ❜  someone could be hurt, brian, you heard that. it was a call for help.  ❛  it’s outside of our zone--  ❜  brian. he’s right-- fuck, he  knows  he’s right, and it’s not like brian to be wary of going outside of zones or to even be wary of going and helping someone. he’s usually the first to jump to it, but there’s been more raiders around than usual lately, and he fears this one might be a trap. 

why are you fighting me on this?  because he’s  scared. he could give a  shit  about himself, but if something happened to  paul?  that’s something he’d never be able to forgive himself for. leaving the fireflies, all the damage and death that followed, including the death of  joel -- those are things he can find the time to push away, or find the time to get over  (  even if it comes back to haunt him every so often  ).  the more time he and paul spend together, the more he finds himself becoming  attached ; he’d be terrified to even think of it, the word  (  love  ), but he fears he’s edging closer and closer to it becoming his truth.  ❛  i’m sorry--  ❜  it’s a rarity for him to apologize, to admit he’s  wrong, but he  is. it’s out of character for him, and paul has to have noticed that, as well. he lets out a sigh, steps over to reach for his backpack that’s rested on an office chair, and he makes his way to where the other man stands. 

he fights with himself on what to say. he fights admitting that he doesn’t want anything to happen to him, that he doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if something did, that he’s increasingly becoming  scared  whenever they go out because of the countless possibility of  bad shit  that could happen to him. instead, he takes his hand, presses a lingering kiss to his forehead, and gives his hand a tight squeeze. he hopes he knows what it means without having to say it.  (  i want you safe, i want you with me when we get back to jackson. )  ❛  let’s go check it out, but let’s be smart about it.  ❜  always.

v. )  he would fight an army of infected, he would leap  bounds, if it all meant that he could savor in even  one  of these moments. he hangs onto these tightly, close to his heart. they’re both sat on paul’s bed having come back from a long patrol, the weight of his backpack finally falling as dead-weight to the floor. he brings his hand up, rubs at his sore shoulder. he watches paul as he sets his own backpack on the bed, beginning to unpack a few things he needs, and while he does that, brian pulls off his own jacket and his dirty shirt. 

when paul rids himself of his shirt, that’s when brian makes his way over to him. the bruises and scars that pepper the skin of the man he’s grown fond of are reminders of the fight they battle each day, and brian runs his calloused fingers along a few of them. his head dips down, soft kisses being sprinkled along the length of his shoulder to the curvature of his neck. one hand raises, loops a finger in the hair tie that holds the other’s hair, and he tugs until it’s loose and falls, cascading over his shoulders. palms run up and down his arms, squeezing soft at his biceps, and he nuzzles his nose against his jaw.  ❛  you’re so beautiful..  ❜  it’s spoken soft ; no one is around, but he wants to make sure only he can hear it. he wants him to know how  special  he is, because he feels like he doesn’t show it enough, and he definitely doesn’t  say  it enough. index and middle find paul’s jaw, and he turns his head until his entire body follows, and he’s facing brian. a kiss, slow, passionate, and  wanton graces his lips, fingers beginning to thread through the hair at the back of the man’s head.  ❛  you have to know how much you mean to me. i want you to know..  ❜  brian..  ❛  -- just let me love you.. even if it’s just tonight.  ❜

[stomachflu]

hey, remember like a year ago when i was like “maybe i’ll write a second part to the story of how lynn and reed met if i feel like it?” well i’ve been struggling with

and i thought that i’d write something Just For Me to get me back in the swing of things. 

VERY long stomach flu-oriented fic (planning for another few parts! this isn’t the last one!!), very self indulgent. warnings for mentions of scat, but nothing explicit. hope yall enjoy!

---

Lynn groaned as she felt her phone buzz in her back pocket, every muscle in her body aching as she twisted to grab it. It was nearly too much effort to switch the too-bright screen on, let alone read the message with watery eyes. The first one was, apparently, from an hour ago.

>Reed: hey did u make it back home ok

>Reed: lynn

>Reed: are you ok

Lynn closed her eyes, resting her head against the cool metal side of the bathroom stall. She’d traded numbers with Reed after they’d walked her to the clinic before heading to class, where she’d promised to text them that she was okay prior to receiving an official diagnosis of “godawful stomach flu” with the proposed cure of “wait it out, if you can’t keep water down after a few hours then come back for an IV“.

>Lynn: not rly

Her head swam and her hands were shaking, making it hard to compose a message. Reed was already typing a response to her last text.

>Lynn: my roommate’s apparently a germophobe? and she wont let me into the room unless I’m not gonna puke

>Lynn: so ive just been like camping out in the lounge & now I'm like chilling in the bathroom

>Lynn: not great but

She leaned back, exhaling shakily as the stall swam around her. Fuck. She was pretty sure that her fever was increasing as she leaned back over the toilet seat, holding her hair back with both hands as she gagged softly, opaque saliva falling from her lips. She couldn’t bring anything up still, despite the constant sloshing of her stomach being an ever-present reminder of how much there still was in there. When the wave of nausea finally passed, she had two new texts.

>Reed: >:o!

>Reed: youre in the new dorm right

>Lynn: whats up

>Reed: ok I know i’m just some rando you met today but if you wanna crash on my couch or smth its gotta be more comfy than the lounge at 4am

>Reed: i promise i’m not a serial killer tho

Lynn groaned as she stood up, limping out of the bathroom and ignoring the disgusted looks of girls at the sinks -- she’d been gagging in that stall for at least  twenty minutes -- only to find that some other couple had sat down on the couch she’d planned to sleep on. There were a few chairs, all hard wood, and she sat down in one of them as she wrote a response, trying hard to control her tears. She was just overemotional from fever, that was all. She hugged her stomach, rocking back and forth as she typed.

>Lynn: actually that would be great if that's ok w you

>Reed: great! ill be at yr dorm in like 15min, where should I meet you?

Lynn’s stomach lurched, and she ran out of the lounge again, falling to her knees for the fourth time that day. Just like every other time, she retched wetly, gagging and spitting wads of cloudy bile into the toilet, unable to bring up anything significant.

She managed to type out the word bathroom in-between heaves, and it seemed like no time had passed at all before there was a sharp knock on the door, then the creak of hinges opening.

“Lynn? You in there?” 

She could only groan, but managed to unlock the stall door and stumble towards Reed, who grabbed her arm immediately, supporting her. “Woah, you’re not lookin’ so hot.”

The two of them were getting some very dirty looks from the other occupants of the bathroom, so Lynn tried to stumble towards the door, unable to get very far without leaning on Reed. “Not... Not feeling so hot either,” she said, pressing her free hand to her stomach.

“No shit, you’re burning up.” Reed pressed a hand to Lynn’s forehead, pulling it back in mock shock. “My car’s just in the parking lot, do you think you can walk there?”

Lynn hummed, trying not to open her mouth. Reed let her lean against them as she stumbled down the hall. She braced herself for the chill of the cold November air as they walked outside, but with Reed’s arm around her, she barely felt the cold.

“I’m just down the street,” Reed said, guiding her to what was apparently their car, “but I figured you wouldn’t wanna walk.”

Lynn swallowed back bile. “At this point, I don’t even... I don’t even care if you’re a serial killer, I just wanna lie down.”

“I think we can make that work.” 

Holy shit, Reed was strong as hell, Lynn mused feverishly, leaning nearly all her weight on them as they transitioned her into the car with one fluid motion. They even buckled her seat belt for her, making some soft noise when she moaned in pain as the strap touched her stomach.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna head to urgent care?” Reed asked. “They might be better than the student health center, and you’re really not looking good.”

Lynn shook her head, a dizzying motion that took more energy than she had. “Nah... I just wanna rest.”

“If you say so.” There was that worried note in their voice again, and Lynn leaned her head against the seat as the car lurched into motion, and so did her stomach. “I think there’s some trash bags in the glove compartment if you need ‘em. I’ll try to drive safe, but this thing? Is kind of a beater. You should see what it’s like on ice, though.”

Lynn made a small noise of acknowledgment, wincing as they bumped over mounds of slush. Saliva pooled under her tongue, and she swallowed hard. Not here, she thought. God, please not in front of Reed. Her throat burned with acid, and she gripped her stomach tightly, one hand covering her mouth. Just as her tongue lifted with a strong gag, a plastic bag was shoved into her lap. Gratefully, she buried her head in it.

“You’re okay, just get it up,” she heard Reed say, and then, “Oh, god,” as hot, foamy bile splashed into the bag, followed by a series of gurgling burps. “You’re really not feeling well, huh?”

She shook her head miserably, spitting into the bag and eventually wiping away a thick strand of mucus on the edge of the plastic before twisting it shut in disgust. “God. No. My stomach hurts so bad.”

“Do you need to get out for a sec? Being in the car probably can’t help.”

“Maybe.” Her throat still felt tight, and she tried to force a burp as she fumbled with the car door, only to end up barely scrambling to undo her seatbelt in time as she retched again and again, mucus falling in a steaming pile in the snow. Stomach finally empty for now, she belched emptily, a cloud of condensation forming as she did so.

Lynn vaguely became aware that someone was rubbing her back, and when she turned, Reed was holding her steady. “Ready to go?” they asked.

Lynn scrubbed at her watering eyes. “Yeah, she said weakly as they helped her back into the car. “God, this must be so gross for you.”

Reed shrugged as they put the key in the ignition. “Eh. I’ve got a strong stomach. Not really easily grossed out, you know? Besides, you're sick, so it’s not like it’s your fault. Someone’s gotta help you”

---

She managed to make it to Reed’s apartment without vomiting, though they did have to pull over several times so that she could take deep breaths out of the open window. Their apartment was several flights up, and they’d grimaced before slinging an arm around her shoulders, supporting most of her weight without even asking. Lynn didn’t even bother to protest -- they practically carried her up the stairs, but all she could care about was the fact that they were warm against her freezing skin.

“Okay!” Reed said, fumbling with the keys. “It’s not much, but at least I have a couch.”

Their apartment was small and cramped. The door opened onto a living room of sorts, with two faded couches forming a L-shape across from a TV. A slightly torn rug sat underneath a coffee table piled high with books and takeout boxes, and Reed rushed to clear it off, leaving Lynn standing by the front door, weaving back and forth.

There was a wall with an entryway seperating what Lynn assumed to the the kitchen area to her right, with another door closer to the entryway. On the left wall, close to where the couch sat, was a second door that was partially open. From the mess inside, she could guess it was Reed’s bedroom.

“C’mon in,” Reed said, gesturing to the couch. “Um, sit down, maybe? You look like you’re gonna die. Do you have any -- God, your roommate really kicked you out with nothing, huh? I was gonna ask if you wanted to change into, like, pajamas or anything, but you don’t even have a coat on.”

“Um,” Lynn said, still hovering awkwardly. “Yeah. She really didn’t want me to infect her.”

“Cool, cool. She’s an asshole.”

“Um --”

“No worries, I probably have something that’ll fit you.” Lynn very much doubted that, given that Reed had a good foot on her. “Do you need anything else? Like, food, we should probably make sure that you eat at some point? And I think that I might have some fever reducers somewhere around here --”

Lynn’s stomach cramped harshly. “Um,” she interrupted them, a note of urgency in her voice. “Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

“’Course! It’s that door--” Reed pointed to the closed door near the entrance Lynn had noticed earlier. “-- right there. Um, do you need help?”

Her guts churned again, and she managed a wan grimace. “I think I’ll be okay.”

Much to Lynn’s relief, their bathroom was almost shockingly clean. Her stomach still felt sore and achy after she’d finished expelling its contents from the other end; her nausea was fading for now, but the tightness in her throat and gnawing feeling in her stomach told her that she was far from done with this illness. She stumbled out of the bathroom, rubbing her aching stomach and nearly tripped over a pile of clothes on the floor.

“Those are for you,” Reed called from somewhere in the depths of the apartment. “Try ‘em on!”

Lynn retreated back into the bathroom, yanking her shirt off. The sweatpants Reed had provided just fit if the drawstring was pulled all the way, and their hoodie was a very loose fit, but the fuzzy inside felt wonderful against her sore stomach.

She sank down onto the larger of the two couches, which Reed had lined with sheets and stacked blankets on while she was gone. She pulled one up to her shoulders as Reed emerged from the kitchen area, carrying a mug of something steaming in one hand and a thermometer in the other.

“Hey,” they said. “Do me a favor and open wide, ‘kay? You’re not looking too hot, and I wanna know how worried I should be.”

“’s just the flu,” Lynn said weakly, but allowed Reed to slip the thermometer under her tongue. It beeped an agonizing minute later, and Reed winced at the number.

“102.3. That’s... not good,” they said. “I think that you should really rethink urgent care.”

Lynn groaned. “’M fine, really. Just need to rest.”

“Okay,” Reed said. “That’s fine, but I’m gonna need you to drink something first, okay? We’re gonna need you to keep some fluids down if you don’t wanna land in the emergency room.”

“‘Kay.” Lynn accepted a sip of the mug that Reed pressed into her hands. It was some kind of green tea, and it actually tasted... pretty good? “Thanks,” she whispered, her throat sore from fever and vomiting.

“No prob, dude,” Reed said, taking the mug from her hands. “Get some rest, okay?”

Lynn nodded, already drifting off into sleep.

---

She was vaguely aware of being woken on and off through the next few hours, Reed coaxing her to sip ice water or take her temperature before letting her slip back into feverish dreams. When she finally fought her way back to consciousness, the room was dark. The digital clock glowing on the coffee table read 8pm. She’d texted Reed to get her at... what was it, 2?

Groggy, head spinning, Lynn sat up. She felt awful, overheated and sweaty. She could just make out the shape of Reed’s body around the corner at the kitchen table, the glow of their phone illuminating the outline of their face. As if on instinct, they turned to face her.

“Hey,” they said, scooting their chair back. “You okay if I turn some lights on?”

Lynn nodded, then, remembering that it was dark as shit, said, “Yeah, that’s fine.” 

“Cool.” They turned on a lamp beside the couch, sitting at the end, near her feet. “How’re ya feeling? Your fever is still pretty high, d’ya think you could keep down some soup?”

Food? Ugh. Lynn made a face, but Reed pressed on. “C’mon, you need something in your stomach. Like, not just water, but actual nutrition, or you’ll just get sicker.”

Her stomach felt vaguely queasy, but Lynn shrugged. “I’ll try.”

“Great! I’ll warm some up for you.”

She dozed as the microwave ran and then beeped, and then Reed helped her sit up against the pillows with the bowl of soup in her lap. Her stomach gurgled as she ate, but seemed to accept the first swallow, so she did her best. She’d managed about three-quarters of the bowl when her stomach gurgled ominously, and she set it down. 

“I don’t think I can eat anymore.”

“Okay, no problem,” Reed said. “Mind if I take your temperature again?”

Lynn shrugged noncommittally, and they whipped out the thermometer. She was glad when it beeped -- the whole time she was sitting up she’d been shaking with chills, and she quickly buried herself back under the blankets, swallowing a queasy burp.

They didn’t read out the temperature this time, just sighed. “If I leave you with some water, will you drink it? The most important thing right now is to keep hydrated.”

“Um. Sure.” Reed pushed forward a glass of water, and Lynn smiled shakily, but didn’t drink it. “I just don’t wanna puke again, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it. You must feel awful,” Reed said, and Lynn laughed hoarsely.

“That’s an understatement.”

“I get it. But you gotta drink something. You’ll feel worse if you don’t.”

Lynn hesitantly picked up the glass -- it felt too heavy in her shaking hand -- and cautiously took a small sip, and then another. To distract herself from the uneasy feeling in her belly, she asked, “Can I ask a personal question?”

“That depends... how personal are we talking? ‘Cause if we’re gonna get in there with the questions, you gotta buy me dinner first.” Reed wiggled their eyebrows, and Lynn felt a warmth that had nothing to do with fever run down her spine.

“Um. Why are you doing this?”

“What, talking to you? ‘Cause I’m bored, and there’s nothing on TV. I mean, if you want me to shut up, I can?”

“No! Like, taking care of a sick stranger you’ve never met. Like, gross sick.”

“Eh.” Reed shoved their hands in their pockets, looking away. “It’s what I would’ve wanted someone to do for me.”

There might have been a story there, but Reed looked a little down, so Lynn decided not to press. “Well. In that case, thank you. It’s appreciated.” Her stomach gurgled again, going from uneasy to actively nauseous in half a second. “Shit -” she gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth and throwing off the blankets.

Reed jumped up, maybe to help her, but she was already unsteadily standing, the cold air a shock to her system after staying under the blankets for so long. “Hmmmk!” she gagged, saliva flooding her mouth as she wobbled towards the bathroom as fast as her weak body would let her.

She didn’t make it.

Lynn was just in the threshold of the bathroom when her stomach lurched, squeezing as she heaved again, and she lost it, vomiting into her palm and all over the floor. The sink was closer than the toilet, so she lurched over to it, barely making it over the counter before undigested soup came flooding up her throat, forming a foaming mess in the basin. She heaved again, drawing in a ragged breath before she felt a large, calming hand on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry!” she sobbed, tears running down her face. “I didn’t mean to -- I didn’t know I was gonna be sick, and I tried to get to the bathroom, I really tried --” 

“Hey,” Reed said. “Hey. Lynn. Dude. It’s okay. That was kind of my fault anyways.”

“It’s not! I puked all over your floor, and in your sink --” The liquid was slowly draining now, but chunks of undigested noodles and chicken and vegetables were clogging the drain. God, what had she done? "I’ll clean it up, I promise!”

“You don’t have to worry about that, I got it,” they said softly. “Don’t make yourself more upset, you’ll get --” They sighed a little as she burped over the basin again, bringing up a torrent of chunky liquid. “--Sick.”

“Sorry,” Lynn managed when she was done dry-heaving. All that would come up was airy burps.

“Again,” Reed said, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have forced you to eat or drink when you weren’t ready for it, and I definitely should’ve given you a trash can or something.” They shrugged. “Nothing that can’t be cleaned, so. Lesson learned.”

Reed guided Lynn over to sit on the closed toilet seat. “Sit here for me while I clean this up, okay? Just let me know if you start feeling bad again.”

Lynn took in a shaky breath. “Okay.”

Her stomach was cramping hard again, and she wrapped both arms around it, hunched over. Through a haze of fever, she watched as Reed, wearing a pair of dish gloves, scrubbed the sink and mopped the floor. Then, once the bathroom smelled of soap and disinfectant, they wet a washcloth with warm water and crouched down so they were eye level with her.

“Hey. I’m gonna clean you up a bit, okay?” Lynn nodded miserably, sweaty hair sticking to her face. She felt awful, shaking with chills and fever alternately, head swimming.

Reed gently wiped her face with the cloth, then her arms and hands. They re-folded it and rinsed it again, wringing it out and draping it against the back of her neck. She nearly gasped when it touched her skin. They’d used cool water this time, and it felt wonderful. 

“There we go,” they said. “I bet you’re probably wanting a toothbrush or some mouthwash.” 

God, she did feel gross. “Yeah,” Lynn croaked. “That’d be nice.”

“Cool, okay, good. Just stay here for a sec while I go grab some from the closet, okay?”

“Where else would I go?” Lynn’s eyes grew heavy. Sure, she had other places to go, but for now, she was glad to be right here.