#just now i had the option to get out a stop earlier than my normal plan and try a 3 minute sprint from one side of the station to the other

[thekittenkait]

i gotta stop taking the DB like i'm fucking min maxing a strategy game

[eth-edwards-73]

can i request a kenan yildiz one? where him and reader have a heated fight in the morning but in the evening they had planned a date beforehand, they still intended to go and when they are getting ready he cant do his tie as usual and reader helps him with that and somewhat they forget the argument they had that morning, hope this is enough to sparkle your imagination! and thank you <3

So this was a little late but it's fine

Afterthought

Kenan Yildiz x reader warnings: none, just some fluff

You and Kenan had had an argument, like you often did now. All of the arguments started the same, with Kenan overworking himself and with you doing everything at a slow pace. Normally it’d just be the two of you creating some space between each other and letting it rest but today you two had a date planned at an upstage restaurant that charged cancellation fees so not going wasn’t really an option. 

You had started getting ready very early like you usually do, taking an everything shower, giving your hair some extra attention and starting on your makeup very early so that you could go as slow as you wanted while listening to some music. You were done with your makeup way earlier than you expected but you didn’t really mind it much since now you had more time to pick out an outfit. 

The dress was something you had picked out in advance and had bought for the occasion so that wasn’t something to worry about, what you did have to worry about were the shoes and the other accessories you wanted to pair with the outfit. 

With your nails freshly done you decided that matching the shoes to the nails was the way to go so wine red stilettos it was. You concluded that you wanted the attention to be on the dress and not on the jewelry so you stuck with some small, chunky hoop earrings and a few dainty rings.

As you were almost done with putting on your outfit you noticed Kenan struggling with his tie. Usually you’d tie it for him but since the situation was still tense, you settled on waiting a little longer before stepping in to help him. 

In the end the ask for help or to help didn’t come from you but from him. He turned around with a soft sigh, his eyes pleading but you waited for him to explicitly ask you for your help. 

“Liebe, can you please help me with my tie?” He softly asks you, nervously fiddling with the fabric of the tie as if he’s afraid you’re going to refuse. “Sure, Kenan.” You reply with an equally soft tone, approaching him and quietly beginning on his tie, he looks like he wants to say something but the second his lips part he stops himself. “Talk to me.” You whisper, encouraging him to talk about what he’s feeling and thinking and he swallows before nodding, his hand finding the hem of your dress and fiddles with it, a nervous tic. 

“I’m sorry..” He starts, his voice trailing off as he tries to find words. “I’m sorry about calling you lazy and slow, it wasn’t fair towards you because you’re not lazy or slow, we just work at different paces.” He tells you a little more confidently and your heart softens a little, skipping a beat. “I don’t know why i said it, i was just frustrated and everything was just pent up and i snapped and i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have snapped at you, it wasn’t okay and i hope you can forgive me.” He tells you, his fingers brushing against your upper thigh as he continues fiddling with the hem of your dress. You finish tying his tie and you gently pull his face down because the height difference is height differencing and you gently press a kiss to his forehead.

“Of course I forgive you, I'm sorry for yelling back.” You tell him, looking into his eyes with a soft smile on your face, moments like these make you fall in love with him all over again. 

“You look beautiful in that dress.” He mutters as he admires your body in the dress you had chosen. He adores you, every part of you, even the things you’re insecure about. He loves the way you look and he wouldn’t want you any other way than the way you feel most comfortable with considering looks. 

“Thank you, love.” You reply, looking up at him with adoration before pecking his lips.  “Let’s get to that reservation, wouldn’t want to be late.” You tell him with a grin, before pulling him out of the bedroom and down the stairs all the while giggling, your hands intertwined as much as your souls are.

And this again proves that everything will truly be alright even though sometimes it doesn’t feel like it will.

So i've been trying to lace in some positivity to body and mental health into my posts, i'm not sure if it's noticable but i've been trying and i hope that it reaches the people who need it the most because even though it might not feel like it, there's someone out there who cares about you

(and if you really think no one does think again because it's me, i care about all of you)

but i just want everyone to feel loved and special

anyways this request was from i think two or three weeks ago so sorry for the lateness i was just a little busy with everything going on in my life

and i promise the other request will also be written very soon

lots of love xx me

(oh and also for the dress i was imagining the Halter Backless Satin Mini Dress in white from Bosom Blouse but you can picture any dress really)

[prettyboykatsuki]

✮ tags ; fem reader, historical fiction (time period typical commentary about gender), bantering / romantic tension, smoking cigarettes, indirect kiss, enemies to lovers if you squint, a vague age gap hejkfdjks

✮ a/n ; i cant believe myself but i needed to get it out of my fucking brain.

"Aren't very good at being stealthy, are you Mr. Marston?"

His eyes linger on your frame longer than he'd like them too. You're still in your night clothes, and dawn has yet to break. Up earlier than he's used to seeing you. Up brushing his horse, of all things. Old Boy's nothing but tender under your care.

The faint mist of morning touches his skin, turns him cold. You oughta be even colder like that, but it doesn't show on your face.

He scoffs a little, hands tucked into his pockets. "Wasn't trying to be. Nobody's up this early so I though we had some unwanted company."

"I guess I still count for that, huh?"

“Oh, shut up would you?”

You giggle back to him in reply. It’s rare to hear. Normally when you're laughing, it's a lot coarser. Always so rowdy. He doesn't mind how you sound now. He sits on a log nearby, watching you as you pat the horse gently. Brushing it's mane and whispering words quiet enough that he can't hear over them over the crackle of the freshly lit campfire.

He can't see your face in the dark either, not well. But you're smiling.

"He likes you more than he likes me," He mumbles.

"A woman's touch or somethin' like that," You reply back. John laughs sardonically.

"A woman? Hardly. Got plenty of other options if that's what he needs."

You shoot him an unimpressed look, brows furrowed. Most women would be pissed at him for saying so. John wouldn't say it to anyone but you, he figures. You hardly look mad though, if a little displeased.

You rifle through the horses saddle (with all of John's things, not even bothering to ask him permission) until you find some sugar cubes. The horse makes a pleasant noise as you coo at him, opening your hand up to feed him.

"But he's eating out of my hand all docile anyway," You give John a furtive glance, smile pulling at the corners of your lips "Reminds of somebody,"

Yeah. Right. He bets it does.

For how much you and John argue and for how much you get on each others nerves, he can admit to himself that he spends more time looking at you then looking away. He can't understand it himself. Makes him feel guilty. He ain't much of a good man. He ain't much of anything. A decent marksman, a fine swindler. Not much else.

The flame paints your face orange-yellow in the light. Not enough for you. Not in anyway. But he can't keep his eyes from memorizing you . Always noticing the way you look back at him. All tender. You can be a lot of things when you want to be, but he doesn't often catch it.

It's hard to ignore when he does. "Don't you have things to do, Mr. Marston? Your turn to stand watch today, isn't it?"

He wants a little longer with you. He frowns at you. "Mr. Marston? You call everyone their name but me."

"Does it bother you?"

Course it does. That's what he wants to say. He looks around for his satchel and pulls a cigarette out from it along with a lighter. The flame sparks, looking away from you. "Just wondering why that is."

"Well, lets see," You stop tending to Old Boy after a few more lonesome pats, instead walking towards him close to the fire. You pour yourself a cup of coffee as you sit on the log adjacent. "Arthur's troubled when I say Mr. Morgan, says it makes him feel old. Mr. Smith is too formal for Charles, and Summers is... Summers. Same with Dutch, and Hosea and Bill. Mm, I guess that leaves Javier - but he's hardly a mister."

"And I am?"

You grin into your cup of coffee, not looking at him. "Course you are, Mr. Marston. What else would you have me call you?"

"My name would do you just fine."

"I like Mr. Marston. It's nice and formal, and well," You do peer up at him at him this time. "Young ladies are supposed to be prim and proper and formal, aren't they? At least from what I know. Shouldn't go around calling a man with a son by just his name now should I?"

Damn it. You're clever. "It's no wonder men lose their betting money to you."

"What are you saying now? Just trying to be mindful. Would you prefer I call you your name, Mr. Marston?"

You're doing it on purpose now. He sighs.

"Call me whatever you want," He says, giving up on it after a while as he takes another drag of his cigarette. You finish your coffee, bemused before empty out the grounds.

After, he watches as you saunter over to him. You bend forward, too close - bare skin inches away from prying eyes.

He's thankful everyone's asleep and not around to witness this.

You bend to him eye level, plucking the cigarette half-smoked from between his fingers and placing it between your lips. Your lips are smooth, shiny and plump and soft.

You hold it between your pointer and middle and take a deep inhale of smoke. The scent of tobacco floods his lungs again as you blow the remaining smoke out into his face, making him cough.

He stares at you wide-eyed and awe struck as your grin widens. A flush creeps up his face as he realizes where your mouths been, watching the end of butt of the cig get dark and stick between your lips.

"Thanks for the cigarette, John," You say, waving him off as you turn back towards your tent. "I'll see you at supper,"

John watches you smoke as you get yourself ready for the day, at the far end of the camp - adjusting something in his jeans. Damn you do something to him.

[waterfae]

A Good Pillow [Part 7]

Summary: A glimpse of your budding friendship with Ominis and your growing feelings after the events in the Scriptorium.

Pairings: Ominis Gaunt x Reader, Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mild language, angst, comfort, fluff, friends-to-lovers, unhinged Slytherins, complicated relationships, house-neutral reader, no use of Y/N, no beta

Word Count: 1.9+ K

Part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

|| General Masterlist || Hogwarts Legacy Masterlist ||

Fresh fallen snow blanketed the school grounds and it crunched beneath your feet as you made your way towards the north exit. The weekend had finally arrived and after the long week you had been having, you were glad to have some time away from the castle, even for just a few hours, to go do normal teenage things. It had grown so stifling inside those walls with all your varying responsibilities, ranging from your schoolwork to your activities with the keepers and Professor Fig, and of course, the drama with Sebastian.

You tried to keep Imelda’s advice in mind. Be honest and keep it simple, she had said, but Merlin, why was it so difficult? You wrote out rough drafts of letters, practiced in front of mirrors, even subjected poor Deek to sit through various monologues, but it all sounded so ridiculous. Everything you thought of saying to your poor friend sounded utterly stupid. It made you want to stab your brain repeatedly with a quill. Why was it so hard to convey your honest feelings towards him? Fighting and magicking your way out of things appeared to come more naturally to you; you were beginning to think facing Ranrok might be easier than facing Sebastian. So you attempted a different approach for the time being: avoidance. You made sure that you were never alone when Sebastian was around, lest he try to corner you once more; always surrounded by friends and fellow classmates in hallways, studying in the library, or walking to class or the Great Hall. As soon as news of a Hogsmeade trip was being scheduled, you immediately jumped up at the chance for an excuse to simply get out.

And get out, you did. An afternoon of butterbeer with friends at the Three Broomsticks had been the planned activity, but your desire for reprieve was so strong it led you to decide that the best option would be to head out much earlier and pass the time near the lake.

You picked up a small rock and, with no particular target in mind, tossed it across the water. It landed with a kerplunk.

“Not sure if the giant squid would appreciate that.” A voice suddenly said from behind you.

You jumped at the sound and turned to find Ominis slowly making his way towards you, the red glow of his wand heavily contrasting against the white snow all around. You allowed a small smile to grace your features, realizing who had spoken, “Ominis Gaunt, are you following me?”

He let out a chuckle, “Initially, no. I was on my way to Hogsmeade when I heard from Leander that he had seen you come this way by yourself.” You nodded at his explanation as he continued, “I thought, perhaps, it would be nice to keep you company.” He paused for a second, then continued hesitantly, “I’m not intruding on anything, am I?”

“No, no! Of course not.” You waved your hands in protest, “Honestly, I’m just here to waste time. I’m not meeting the others for another couple of hours.” You gestured around you, knowing full well he couldn’t really see what you were gesturing at, “I just thought it would be nice out here. You know, being cooped up in the castle all week. Freshly fallen snow...crisp fresh air...a beautiful view of the lake.”

“Not as beautiful as you, I’m sure.” He said with a smile.

You laughed, finding it hard to believe that he was attempting to use flattery on you right now, “Ominis, how could you say that? You haven’t even seen me.”

“I don’t need to, darling. I can feel it radiating from you whenever we’re together.”

You stopped laughing abruptly and stared at him, his words striking at your heart and making your cheeks burn, “Ominis, stop it.” You bit your lip, “You’re making me blush.”

“Am I?” He smirked as he took a few more steps towards you. He pocketed his wand and removed his gloves, then reached up with his two hands and placed them on both of your cheeks, “Hm, I suppose you do feel a bit warm.” He dropped his hands down to your shoulders, “Not quite warm enough though.”

You gave him a quizzical look, but before you could question him, he had already reached around his neck to unwrap his scarf. Slowly, he transferred it onto you, wrapping it around your neck. Your heart thumped aggressively in your chest as he worked, so close to you now with his lips at the level of your eyes. He wrapped it around a second time to secure its placement.

“There.” He lightly tugged at the ends, “I’m sure you look even more beautiful in Slytherin green.”

You fingered the scarf now on your neck, you could smell him on it and your cheeks burned even hotter, you were practically feverish, “What about you? Aren’t you cold?” You secretly hoped he’d never ask for it back.

“It’s fine. This way, I can keep making you blush.” He brushed a cheek with his thumb, “You can use it to hide behind.”

You bit your lip again to keep you from squealing at his actions and the words he was saying; you were sure you’d implode if you didn’t keep your emotions in check. After a few moments, you were ready to make another comment, when he suddenly gave the scarf another tug, cutting off your thoughts and causing you to stumble slightly towards him, “I’m also hoping,” he began to lean forward, “that seeing my scarf around your neck,” his lips were at your ear now, “will deter others from trying to steal your kisses from me.”

Your mouth fell open and gasped.

He knew.

But of course he knew, you thought, mentally smacking yourself. Sebastian and Ominis could barely call each other friends at this point, but they were still in the same house together. They still shared a dormitory. They slept together, ate together...lived together. Of course he would know. And if he didn’t, he would have surely found out eventually. Even if you did try to hide it.

“You have to know, it was nothing.” You could feel the panic begin to sink in with your realization, you wanted to make sure he didn’t have the wrong idea. You kept it from Ominis, yes, but not out maliciousness, “I didn’t even kiss him back!”

Ominis pulled himself back and laughed, “Relax. I’m aware.” He let go of the scarf and took your hands in his, “Admittedly, I was a bit...peeved when I first heard of it, jealous even. But gauging from his reaction,” he brought your hands up to his lips and gave quick pecks on each, “I surmised that it didn’t go quite as well as it did for me.” He gave another smirk, “Which, I must say, gave me quite the ego boost. Not that I ever had any doubt.” He lightly squeezed your hands and brushed his thumbs over your knuckles, “I know we’ve never talked about it directly, but I’m quite confident in our feelings for each other. Am I mistaken?”

You inhaled deeply, your mind whizzing, working overtime as it processed what Ominis had just conveyed. Every nerve in your body seemed to be sending off sparks as it all began to sink in and it filled you with excitement. You shook your head, “No, not at all.”

“Good.”

He guided your hands to his shoulders and when he was satisfied with you resting on them, he gently slid his down to your waist. Your breath hitched and you felt your heart start to race when his hold tightened and pulled you closer.

“May I?” He asked softly, already so close that his nose grazed against yours.

Slowly, you allowed the lids of your eyes to fall as you whispered back, “Yes.”

His warm lips lightly brushed against your own and you let the breath you had been holding out through your nose. This, you thought, this was a kiss you could reciprocate. The tension you had felt earlier evaporated as your arms wound tighter around his shoulders and he wrapped his around your waist, closing the gap between you.

Ominis grew bold, leaving you with more and more open mouthed kisses, ones you returned fervently. It was different from the ones he had given you previously in that corridor, he had been soft and gentle then. This one felt more...heated as it continued. Even with your eyes closed, the world around you felt as though it were spinning wildly. One of his hands had snaked up to cradle the back of your head as he deepened the kiss, holding your body tightly against his and a sound you didn’t realize you could make emitted from you. You pulled back from the shock.

“Sorry.” You said shakily as you panted. You didn’t mean to break the kiss; you were very much enjoying it, but the moan that you had released had caught you off guard as soon as you heard it. Had Ominis truly just pulled such a lewd response out of your body? What else could this young man make you do, you wondered. The thought set a fire throughout your body.

Ominis shook his head before leaning his forehead against yours, also out of breath, “Don’t be. I won’t ever ask for more than you are willing; no pressure. He continued to cradle your head affectionately, fingers entangling themselves in your hair, "My wish is for you to have a safe place with me, not to add to your burdens.”

“Oh, Ominis.” You whispered, leaning against him once more and resting your head on his shoulder, “I do feel safe with you.” Your hands slid down to his chest, gripping the fabric of his cloak, “Your presence is always so comforting.”

He smiled and moved to leave a kiss on your forehead, “I’m glad to hear it.”

How long you stayed in each others embrace, you weren’t sure – basking in the warmth and gentle caresses, whispering promises and sweet nothings. It took every ounce of effort to finally pull yourselves apart and make the trek back up the road to Hogsmeade where your friends would be waiting. You half-jokingly asked if you should even still go. Ominis merely ruffled your hair and took your arm, laughing as he dragged you along the path.

When the two of you arrived to the Three Broomsticks, arm in arm, the table erupted in a mixture of applause and groans, causing both of you to blush. Leander had thrown his arms up in defeat (as if he had a fighting chance, Garreth would later comment). Everett and Natty were still unnerved by Ominis’s presence, but had the decency to not make a show of it. Poppy smiled brightly. Samantha’s jaw dropped, but said nothing. Violet was left a giggling mess. Imelda was the one that had risen from her seat and walked over to the pair of you, slow clapping as she did so.

“Bravo.” She said with a smirk and a knowing glint in her eye as she reached up to play with the Slytherin scarf still hanging around your neck, “Well done.”

The act unnerved you slightly, causing you to stiffen and grip Ominis’s arm tighter, because you knew that behind it was the unasked question: Have you told Sallow yet?

The expression on your face must have given her the answer; apprehension darted across her features and you both knew exactly what the other was thinking: there would be no avoiding the issue after this. If you didn’t talk to Sebastian, the gossips of the Hogwarts student body would. Either way, it was not going to look good. You simply had to choose the lesser evil.

a/n: Enjoy! ( ੭ ˘ ³˘)੭°｡⋆♡‧₊˚

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always greatly appreciated and my askbox is always open. ♡

taglist: @cherry-cola-100 @moonsickness-posts @superblyspeedydragon @plumzlovesfics @costellation-hunter

[thefallennightmare]

Masked: Part Two Teaser

Please enjoy this new teaser cover/snippet for Masked! Not sure exactly when it will be posted. Hopefully soon! I will be posting the CW again, just so people are aware.

18+ TRIGGER WARNINGS: angst, fluff, language, stalking, breaking and entering, watching someone sleep, blood, some medical talk, a very brief mention of bombing and the aftermath of it, a scene of someone receiving stitches, two mentions of the use of drugging, murder, torture, and smut which includes p in v, primal play, knife play, branding, mask kink, chasing through words, consensual nonconsensual, oral with female and male receiving, fingering, possible anal play, bondage, and edging. I might add more to the warnings the further I get along while writing. But for now, these are all the warnings so please, read at your own risk.

A little longer than normal written snippet below the cut!

I sat slumped in the corner of the emergency room, nearly falling out of the chair as I tried to gain my bearings. Fading in and out of disassociation from the last few hours of work.

Blood. Destruction. Death; so much death.

I'd been an emergency room nurse for years and this night was the first night I'd been shaken this bad. All I could see when I closed my eyes was the bodies that were wheeled in, one after the other. It was quiet now, all of us doing whatever we could to save the ones that had a chance while the amount of red tags doubled with each passing minute.

"Hey," a soft voice pulled me from my thoughts and I gave a weak smile over to my coworker, Meri.

"You doing okay?" She asked while sitting next to me.

I shook my head. "No but I will be. I have an appointment with the hospitals therapist in thirty minutes. Just need to talk this out."

Meri patted my knee. "I think that's a good idea. The bombing at the local theater was pretty heavy. Good news is police caught the guy."

"Good," my voice was laced with anger but my body remained slumped in the chair.

"I know now might not be the best time to bring this up, given what happened, but a group of us are going to the local fair once our shift ends. I think it would be a good breath of fresh air; literally." Meri spoke while rising from her chair.

The photo in the pocket of my bloody scrubs weighed heavy as I thought about going out after my shift, already having a plan.

Don't believe his lies were written on the back of the polaroid photo of me holding a fresh bouquet of black petunias that were left in front of my apartment door.

The worst part wasn't the fact that someone had managed to get that close to me to snap a picture without me knowing. It was the fact that I had found this picture in the belongings of one of the victims from the bombing.

No one knew I found the picture, having to log it into evidence if I had.

Swallowing thickly, I glanced up at Meri while weighing the options in my head. I planned on figuring out where Masked.Omens lived to question this photo.

You don't know anything about him, idiot. You don't even know where to look.

Rolling my eyes at the voice in my head, I eventually nodded to Meri. Even though I had strict orders from Masked.Omens from earlier when he left me a note in my work locker to not go anywhere after my shift tonight because he planned on stopping by my apartment to see me. I had less than a minute in my break so I couldn't question how the hell he managed to sneak into the break room of the hospital.

Fuck him, he's lying to you.

"Yeah, I'll be there," I said while sitting up straighter in the chair. "I'll be there around seven."

Meri smiled wide while squealing, the aftermath from tonight already leaving her system.

"Awesome! The Ferris wheel is the main attraction of the fair. So we're definitely riding it!"

Giving her a weak smile, I rose from the chair and with a wave over my shoulder, I walked down the long hallway towards the breakroom. I needed to clean myself up a little bit before my appointment with the therapist.

Riffling through my bag in my locker, I quickly checked my phone and nearly dropped it at the text from an unknown number.

Unknown: I told you not to go anywhere tonight, angel. You might want to rethink your choices otherwise there will be serious consequences.

The brand underneath my breast itched when I remembered the last time I did something that had serious consequences.

How the hell did he know about me going to the fair tonight? It had only been a few minutes since I agreed to go.

Snapping my eyes up toward the camera in the corner of the break room, I flipped it off with a snarl when I realized exactly how Masked.Omens found out.

"Fuck you!" I seethed while throwing the picture and phone back into my purse, and slamming the locker shut.

[updownlately]

hi. i’m alive. it’s been a minute, eh? life’s been crazy. it’s been weird. it’s been a mess in all honestly, but we back and we’re gonna give this another crack. randomly came up with this idea at 1am while i was terribly tired but couldn’t sleep so here ya go. not at all proofread or factually checked. it’ll actually be a miracle if it’s coherent at all really anyways, enough of my yapping, much love 🫶.

ッ

please don’t leave me here (i don’t know where my heart is)

awfc x reader

~~~

it happens quickly.

one second you’re focused and running, the roar of the crowd spurring you on, breathing life into you as you sprint across the pitch, your body thrumming with energy as you get to do what you love for a living.

the next, you’re laying on the wet pitch, nearly curled into a ball as pain erupts in your leg. 

normally, the feeling of wet mud smearing against your arms and cheek would leave you feeling nothing but disgusted, but in this moment, you feel nothing but the burning ache in ur leg and a similar ache beginning to grow in your heart.

you were pretty sure you knew what just happened, and the thought of it caused your eyes to sting, you now desperately wishing for this to be nothing but a nightmare.

yet, the little voice in the back of your head knew better, and it didn’t fail to remind you so.

~~~

you don’t know how much time has passed since you’d been subbed off and now. 

hell, you don’t even really know where you are. all you can make out from your blurry vision is annoying white walls, bright lights, and the lack of grass around you.

it’s what begins your panic- breath starting to pick up as the unfamiliar environment wraps around you, closing in on you, a lack of mobility that you didn’t notice earlier holding you down.

what the fuck was going on?

~~~

you only come to again a few hours later, or that’s what you’re told. 

you’re in the arsenal medical room, small knick-knacks in the corner confirming that information as you finally take a proper look around.

you’d woken up to a member of the medical staff watching over you nervously. apparently you’d passed out somewhere between the panic attack you’d had and the administration of the laughing gas they’d used to calm you down. 

matthew, your team doc, finally stopped eyeing you like you were about to spontaneously combust, tilting his head and silently weighing his options before murmuring quietly and shaking his head to himself.

all you get told is he’ll be back in a minute, and then suddenly it’s just you and the grandly entertaining four white walls surrounding you.

~~~

you still can’t make out how much time has passed when you hear a stampede of footsteps approaching you. it couldn’t have been more than a few mere minutes, but with how you can still feel a dull ache in your leg, and your hearts breaking and silently begging for you to tell it some good news, all you can do is wait for someone to confirm your suspicions. 

it just had to be you didn’t it? 

you can feel your eyes start to sting as your thoughts start to race. 

after all the precautions you’d taken, after helping teammate after teammate go through this exact situation, of course it had to happen to you.

you wanna laugh at the irony of it all, having witnessed beth, then viv, then leah, laura, and person after fucking person around you go through this exact moment. 

and then you go and do the same, contracting it like some godforsaken disease. 

you wanna cry. you wanna yell. you desperately want it all to go away like it never happened. 

but you can’t. and it’s that realization that finally causes you breath to shake as the first few tears to fall.

~~~

you soon feel your head being cradled and pulled towards someone’s chest. all you can do is turn into it and try to choke down your tears, body silently shaking as your faith in the universe starts breaking. 

~~~

you’d apparently cried yourself to sleep in viv’s jersey, poor viv -bless her heart- holding you until you’d passed out, and then keeping your sleeping form company until you woke up nearly half-an-hour later, groggy and feeling like utter shit. 

she doesn’t even have to say anything to begin your waterworks again- just a silent nod and sad smile confirming everything you already knew.

the acl crew had a fifth member as of today, and it was no one other than you. 

~~

slowly, each of the girls visit you. 

some come by silently, giving you a hug and a reassuring pat on the head, as a few stick by.

steph’s one of the first few to enter, bringing a solemn kyra and alessia behind her. 

if you weren’t feeling so broken you probably would’ve laughed at just how still kyra was for once in her life. 

with hugs from all three and few encouraging words from the tillies’ second in command, you shooed them out, forcing on a fake smile that they all saw through yet chose to ignore. 

lotte, foxy, viv, and beth were next, the former two silently patting you on the shoulder, before sharing a few words of support as viv and beth both took post by you protectively. 

with a mix of a few other girls, kim and leah were the last to visit, both trying and failing miserably to hide their worried looks. 

you were, ultimately, one of the younger ones of the group, only a year older than kyra and yet not a day more mature. 

combined with your normally bubbly personality, it hit the team a bit harder to witness your tear stained cheeks and leg wrapped in the brace as you tried to hide the sadness the radiated from you at the moment.

“kimberly, what did i say about you frowning too much? you’re gonna get wrinkles like squidward if you don’t quit it soon.”

~~~

your surgery occurs a few weeks after the initial injury. 

leah, viv, and beth end up coming with you for the actual procedure, only leaving after being prompted twice by the nurses. 

since the initial tear, you hadn’t spent more that a quarter of an hour by yourself, instead taking up residence and the meadema household.

as much as you appreciated the love being shown, you still felt your heart clenching each and every morning that you’d waken up- the feeling of the brace much heavier than a kilo and only a fraction as heavy as the weight on your chest. 

the doting was nice, it was nice being taken care of especially with such an agonizing injury. but it couldn’t compete with the way your crutches taunting you in the morning light. or with you even the simplest of movements you used to be able to do without second thought now felt like everest.

it was in all honestly a challenge you just weren’t prepared for, not that you thought you’d ever have to be. 

~~~

the first few weeks after your surgery, you slowly get used to the feeling of not putting weight on your injured leg, as well as the dull aching pain in your heart that seemed to have made itself home in your chest. 

most days, you find yourself laying in till late into the night, the darkness providing the perfect atmosphere for your thoughts to spiral deep down, and down, and down into the abyss. 

could you have predicted it? should you have said yes when asked if you wanted a substitute at half? what had you done differently those past few days? 

you spent hours upon hours racking your head, waking up to breakfast calls with eye bags so dark, it worried your team if you were getting enough sleep.

but you knew you could survive without sleep. what you really needed was answers.

~~~

it’s how you found yourself sprawled across the couch a few days later-watching viv as she cuddled the dogs.

“did you ever wonder what you did wrong?”

the words come out before you can stop them. 

viv’s head snaps up at your question, eyes softening in familiarity as the weight of the words sinks in.

“so that’s where you’ve been?”

you tilt your head to the side, silently beckoning her to elaborate. 

“you’ve been trapped in your own mind. we couldn’t figure out why, even though we all kept trying.”

the dutch striker doesn’t elaborate, and you find yourself surprised to feel the weight on your chest lessen a bit, a small spark of warmth spreading through you for the briefest of seconds.

the two of you end up talking for hours, beth quietly joining in after a short time- your head starting to finally quieten after nearly months of panic. 

~~~

its a week later than you actually find yourself back at the arsenal training ground. 

between weeks with a private physiotherapist and a never ending slew of doctors appointments, somehow you’d been approved for a light strength session with a key focus on your healing knee.

there’s a slight smile gracing your face as you follow leah to the weight room, finally free of those godforsaken crutches you’d been relying on. 

everyone could immediately tell how relieved you were once you’d finally stopped using them. the clear way your shoulders rested more loosely, more relaxed told them everything the needed to know, and simultaneously causing small smiles on their faces, not that you would know, too busy breathing out an unabashed sigh of relief at a small piece of your freedom finally being returned to you. 

so as you follow leah and the s&c coach to the astro turf inside, you feel your heart start to swell ever so slightly at the feel of the (fake) grass under your feet. 

it takes everything in you to not let a tear escape as you feel leah’s hand intertwine with yours as the turf crunches underneath your trainers.

that night, the whole team shows up to the meadema household- ‘a small party due for our recovering energizer bunny’  according to leah.

you feel your heart flutter as your teammates surround you in a massive group hug and you find yourself smiling more that night than the past 2 months combined. 

~~~

the weeks go by as you progress with your strength training. 

it takes countless sessions with the medical team babying you in the weight room, the turf now feeling old and burdensome as you itch for the feeling of real grass and soil underneath your studs. 

you’d been outside a few times, don’t get yourself wrong. but nothing compares to the gliding feeling of a proper pitch, with the wind hitting you stark in the face as baby hairs fly which ever way. as the ever so slightly uneven ground pushes back up against the studs adorning the bottom of your boots. as the oh-so familiar thud of the ball hitting your feet echoes in your ears. 

your heart was getting real sick of the turf and you just had a feeling it was going to let you know soon enough.

~~~

it’s the next day that you felt a little niggle in your bad knee. 

you’d waken up with a dull ache- so slight that you would’ve missed it had you not gotten used to being hyper vigilant about your legs. 

you feel the slight weight on your chest return and you can’t help but just turn onto your side and tuck yourself into your sheets again. 

so much progress had been made until now. you couldn’t bear the thought of it all being washed away.

~~~

its a few hours later than beth comes in your room. 

at first, she tries a loud call to wake you up. once she realizes that’s not working though, is when you can feel her emotions shift- the bubbly personality of hers shrinking itself down as you can feel sympathy envelope the room. 

you don’t have to say anything to her- somehow beth just knows.

you feel her sink into the mattress beside you, carefully pulling you into her arms, your body shaking ever so silently as you feel a weight so foreign yet so familiar come to rest on your chest yet again. 

~~~

the niggle, it turns out, was you agitating your stupid knee again. 

sometime between the last training session and that night, you’d put too much reassurance in your body, because of course, how dare you trust your body to heal like normal.

though, to be fair, normal didn’t seem to be quite as the word suggests.

either way though, the dull ache persisted well over a week, sidelining you yet again as the medical team wanted to wait an extra week to make sure it wasn’t anything serious. 

it’s how you find yourself nearly two weeks later, curled up beside alessia and kyra in the living room, la la land playing on the tv as you desperately wished for your mind to stop wandering to every negative possibility, and instead focus on how just heartbreaking the story of mia and sebastian is- a love that was meant to be, yet ill-fated.

it would be a shame to have a love of that sort.

~~~

your return to s&c this time is accompanied by a wave of nerves, more so than the team’s ever seen in you- normally cool, calm, and collected.

it’s in the way you silently plead for viv to stay the whole time. 

how you don’t dare complete an extra rep, taking each set slow until it is down. 

how you focus on your knee more than anything else in the room, hyper attentive to the way it feels through each exercise, doing your best to ensure you weren’t pushing it to hard. 

oh the joys of being unable to trust your body.

~~~ 

it’s a slow process, with a lot (and really, a lot) of tears, of being on the brink of giving up, of nights spent on the couch with viv, and beth, and leah, and lia, and alessia, and really whoever was there to listen as you mindlessly rambled on about how your knee was failing.

it was countless nights of many of them surrounding you one by one, fighting the voices in your head when you were too tired to do so, holding you close when you struggled to fall asleep, reminding you that you were better, simply put, better than the voices that convinced you otherwise, pushing you to be your best, to do your best, because they weren’t here to let you fail now. 

it was a slow process, but it lead to here. 

you should be happy, be feeling light, but the nervous thrumming in your chest is louder than ever today. 

you’re finally cleared to run on the anti gravity treadmill, and you’re pretty sure you haven’t heard your heart pound this loud since you’d actually done your stupid acl. 

it isn’t long before you’re ushered onto the machine, viv’s quiet “c’mon liefde” spurring you on as you hear beth, leah, and steph yell words of encouragement your way. 

and soon enough, your finally jogging. 

nearly 7+ months and your finally jogging for the first time. 

you’re pretty sure you feel a tear slip down your face as you finish the two minutes run.

and for the first time since seven months ago, your chest feels incredibly light, even if it’s for a few passing moments, pride swelling in your heart as you’re sucked into a group hug immediately upon stepping off the machine. 

~~~

there’s the saying about needing to see the darkness to appreciate the light, and you’d be lying if you said you never found it cheesy.

but now?

now? standing back on the sideline at the emirates, you kind of get what it means. you kind of get the way the universe reminding you of the love you had for not only the sport but for the people you overlooked. there was something tender about the way you had all your teammates applauding you the second the fourth official signalled the change. the way the emirates roared in applause, in joy, in respect, and in love.

it’s a little over nine months of blood, sweat, and more tears than an olympic pool, but you can finally feel the rare london sun shining on you, and the freshly cut blades of grass under your studs, and all you really know is it doesn’t get much better than this. 

life really doesn’t get much better than this. 

[darknight3904]

The Stars

Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Asgard 2013

Warnings: Loki's dirty thoughts about  Astri, Loki talking about his life with Thanos.

For someone who had been locked up for weeks, Loki looked a little too desirable. His deep voice was soothing as he read the book he had chosen for tonight. Astri had long ago stopped focusing on the words and was admiring him through the yellow barrier that separated them. His hair was a bit curlier today than it had been yesterday, Astri wondered if he had done it like that on purpose. The green leather and golden armor he normally donned was gone and in its place was a softer more comfortable-looking outfit, perfect for the lounging that took up his days.

   "You aren't listening," Loki said suddenly

   "Sure I am." She lied

   "I chose a romance book because I thought you'd enjoy it." Loki sighed

   "And why would I enjoy a romance book?" Astri asked

   "I thought most females enjoyed romance books." He reasoned

   "How stereotypical of you, Loki." Astri smiled

   "Well if you don't want to read what do you want to do? Our options are limited given I'm stuck in here." He said, snapping the book shut

Astri thought about what they could do with Loki stuck in a cell. The idea of trying to push her way through the golden barrier crossed her mind, sure her magic might be strong enough but was Odin's rath worth it? Astri wasn't quite sure. 

   "How about we just sit and talk?" Astri suggested 

She took Loki's silence as agreement and began the conversation. 

   "What do miss now that you're stuck here?" 

   "Everything," Loki admitted 

   "If you had to pick one thing," Astri said

   "I guess I'd choose...the stars. It was always peaceful looking out my balcony at night when the stars shone. I wish I could experience it again." He chose 

   "Interesting choice." Astri complimented, standing up

   "Where are you going?" Loki asked 

   "To my chambers. I'll see you another time." She explained as she walked away 

She could hear Loki scampering to find a reason for her to stay longer, even offering to never choose a romance book again for them to read together. Astri was glad that he had chosen something simple for her to bring to him, had he chosen something like conquering Midgard that would have made her idea much harder. Now, all she had to do was figure out how to get through that damn gold barrier.

Loki didn't see Astri for the rest of the week, the only signal that she wasn't angry with him was the romance book she had sent to him via a guard who had handed him a note to go with it. 

Thor's lady, Jane, says men who read romance books are hopeless romantics themselves. 

Was he a hopeless romantic? Surely not. They were just means of entertainment for him after all he had a higher purpose that he'd someday fulfill. Astri's analysis was wrong. Speaking of Astri, where the hell was she? She had said she'd see him again but didn't give a date or a time and it was driving him mad. The only other real interaction he'd had since she left earlier this week was with Frigga who projected herself to his cell. Sure, it felt like she was close to him but it hurt when he'd try to reach for her only for his hands to slip right through. Loki loved Frigga deeply but he yearned for Astri's sharp remarks and how she'd immediately call him on his lies. 

He wondered what she'd be wearing the next time she entered the dungeons. Perhaps a lilac dress? She had been in a pale pink the last time they spoke. Of course, he'd love if she wore the blue one she had that had white lace embroidered on it, that one was his favorite. The way it accentuated what she thought was hidden so well under the fabric was perfectly sinful. Astri's figure had been on Loki's mind a lot recently. Initially, he thought it was because of being stuck here and the fact that she was going through his mind at night. But it had continued the entire week and he hadn't seen her at all. Sure, it could have been her going through his mind but that didn't explain why he thought of her even during the day. He'd spend time reading or drawing and find his mind wandering to her what her lips would taste like. He had smelled the stuff she put on them once, it smelled like fruits, would she taste like it too? Loki's mind spiraled more as he wondered what she'd look like if he slipped his hand up her skirt and into the apex between her thighs. He'd love to pin her down on the bed he was sitting on now and press his face between those same thighs until she screamed from overstimulation. He wondered about what she'd look like above him, gasping in pleasure as she took what had always been hers.  Loki wanted to be able to press a kiss to every inch of Astri's body and yet here he sat, imprisoned while she flitted about in the castle about him.

   "Good, you're still awake." 

Astri. Finally, she showed. Loki's hands fumbled with the pillow beside him as he placed it quickly over his lap. It was so late what was she doing down here now? 

   "Well don't be shy, get up and greet me properly." She commanded 

Loki eyed her arms which were overflowing with a bundled-up blanket and a big wicker basket. Ordinarily, he would've risen to greet her but his half-hard cock wasn't something she'd want greeting her so he stayed put. 

   "Fine, be rude." Astri huffed, pushing the blanket and basket through the small weakness in the yellow shield that was meant for delivering his meals. "You'll be thanking be after this." 

Loki's eyes widened as Astri's closed. A soft blue hue covered her body as she took a step towards the shield. 

   "What are you doing? The guards will-" Loki stopped his words as Astri phased right through what was penning him in. "When did you learn to do that?" 

   "What do you think I've been spending my week doing?" She smiled crossing the cell to get to him 

Loki wasn't expecting a warm hug but he welcomed it anyway. 

   "I can't believe you tried conquering Midgard," Astri said pulling away and giving him a hard shove 

No sooner had he opened his mouth to explain his glorious purpose than Astri had slapped her hand over it, shutting him up entirely. 

   "You can talk about glorious purpose later. I have a surprise." She smiled, turning around and laying the blanket on the ground. 

   "What are you doing? You do realize this is a dungeon...how did you get past the guards?" He asked suddenly curious 

   "A cloaking spell." She smiled and began unpacking her basket which as it turned out was full of food. 

   "So you're here to have a midnight picnic with me?" Loki asked finally standing up 

   "No, silly. You said you missed the stars, so I brought them here." Astri smiled pulling him down on the blanket with her. 

Loki decided to indulge her desires and got comfortable beside her. His hand reached for a grape as Astri snapped her fingers beside him. The area around them dimmed and the ceiling of the once bleak cell was transformed into a brilliant light show. The other cells disappeared as Astri's magic took over and seemingly wrapped them in their own little bubble. The stars twinkled and danced in front of Loki's eyes as he observed what she had done for him.

   "Do you like it? I know it's not the stars from your balcony but it's the best I can do right now." She said

   "I love it." He smiled, looking at her 

   "Good...I also brought some food." Astri awkwardly pointed out

   "Yes, I see, thank you. " He said genuinely 

They sat in awkward silence as Loki tried to think of something to say to the girl next to him. This was the first time they had been physically in front of each other in weeks. His hands itched to take hers in them, they looked impossibly small as she picked at the skin beside her nails. 

   "What the hell were you thinking?" Astri asked suddenly 

   "I bed your pardon?" Loki asked, confused. 

   "You knocked me out, destroyed Joutunheim, then let go and fell who knows where after Odin woke up and tried to help you and Thor." She explained 

   "Is that what they told you happened?" He laughed 

   "Yes. I want an explanation, now." She demanded, reaching to poke at his ribs, an oddly ticklish spot for him 

   "There was no point in staying behind. There still isn't anything for me here on Asgard, my rotting in this dungeon proves it. I have never and will never be essential to the house of Odin." He said 

   "Nothing here for him he says." Astri sighed "What about me? Or Frigga? During the year you were off gathering an army did you ever think about what we were feeling?" 

Loki felt his anger boiling in his stomach. Did Astri think he was off galavanting across the galaxy, feasting war generals so he could use their troops to win Midgard? 

   "Do you honestly think I was living my best possible life after I left here? What do you think I was doing all that time?" He snarled, upset that Astri was only talking about her and his 'mother'. 

   "I've wondered every night what you were doing where you were but you never speak of it." Astri said 

She had him there. 

   "Have you ever heard the name Thanos?" Loki asked, he felt his hands shaking. Why is he telling her this? Stop it. Send her away, yell at her to go back to her room, and push her away. 

   "I've heard it, in whispers from travelers and reports from across the galaxy, Odin has mentioned him." She said, Loki could feel her eyes on him, his gaze cast at his lap. 

   "After I let go I ended up in a place called the Sanctuary. I met Thanos there. He offered me control of Midgard in return for the Tesseract." He said shakily. 

   "What more? Months after you went missing, I kept trying to find you, and one night I did, or I think I did. You were suffering heat or something was being used." Astri said gently brushing her hand along his shoulder. 

   "He uh...He, Thanos used a tremendous amount of heat to buy my submission." Loki said, shutting his eyes. "Frost Giants can burn as it turns out." 

Loki felt Astri's hand rubbing at his back and her chin resting on his shoulder. 

   "After I had submitted to his whims, he used the Mind Stone, one of the Infinity Stones to do his bidding. After that, he sent me to Midgard, Infinity stone in hand." He said, "It remains there, those Avengers have it." 

Loki heard Astri let out a soft hum of confirmation next to him. Minutes passed and Loki dared open his eyes when he felt Astri shift beside him. 

   "I want you to know something, Loki." Astri said hooking a finger under his chin so he'd look at her "You are good. You always have been even if can't see it. 

Their noses brushed as Loki's eyes fluttered shut again. He felt hot tears run down his face at Astri's words. Damn it why did he always cry when he wanted to express emotion? 

   "Thank you, Astri. I don't feel that way, though." Loki said his eyes opening to meet Astri's whose face was close to his. 

   "You will. One day." She reassured 

Astri was indescribably warm as she pressed her forehead to his. Their breaths mingled as Loki took her hands in his. 

   "I missed you. There wasn't anyone to read with or joke with." She admitted 

   "You could have with Fandral." Loki smiled 

   "Oh please, Fandral reading?" Astri scoffed 

   "True, I think he'd rather chop off his right arm than pick up a book," Loki said, sitting up and pulling away from her slightly. 

Astri's hands broke from his, and she grabbed at his shirt, pulling back towards her. 

   "Wait." She murmured 

   "What is it?" Loki asked 

Astri's face grew redder the more Loki looked at her. 

   "Don't you have something to say? You told me to wait." He teased 

   "I just..." 

Come on, say what's going through that pretty head. 

   "I like it when you're close to me." She whispered as if it were a secret.

   "I it like when you're close too," Loki admitted, reaching out and twirling a strand of  her hair around his finger 

Astri let out an amused giggle and leaned closer. 

   "Guess I should stay nearby then." 

Loki had no complaints about that statement and nodded in agreement. Astri's scent invaded his nose, it was exactly as he remembered. Fruity yet flowery at the same time, and yet it wasn't too overpowering. He watched as her tongue appeared, slightly wetting her lips, it was like she was trying to tempt him into touching her. 

   "What're you thinking about?" Astri asked 

   "You," Loki said 

Astri barely had enough time to crack a smile at his admission. Loki knew what was next, a smart comment about how she was always dancing around in his mind. So, he stopped it in what he thought was the cleverest way possible and brushed his lips on hers. They tasted of fruit just like he had imagined for so many years. Astri had let out a small squeak of surprise when Loki had leaned in but now, he felt her smiling into their kiss. Smaller arms wrapped around his shoulders as she let out a laugh, breaking away for air. 

   "What was that?" She breathlessly asked 

   "You said you liked it when I was close." He said a wide smile on his face. 

Astri tossed her head back with a laugh and Loki felt his own laugh bubbling up through his stomach and out his mouth. He felt Astri's hands playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, her nimble fingers pushed through his dark strands and a shudder ran down his spine. Their lips met again, this time with Astri initiating. Loki gently cupped her face as he felt her invade all of his senses, her presence was casting an unbreakable spell on him and he gladly welcomed it with open arms, after all, it was all he could ever dream of. 

Hehe first kiss for Loki and Astri. 

I am having Coriolanus Snow brain rot. Tom Blythe is one sexy mf. 

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[cha-lii]

Ah for the Bad Things happen bingo apologies as I am always in a Sanji mood, but to maybe request Leave me Alone and/or Traumatic Touch Aversion for Sanji. Something that always gets me is when he needs comfort but pushes people who want to comfort him away and I would love to see your take. Or tortured for information? Sanji not selling out the Straw Hats or even Germa. If any of those tickle your fancy

And if you're not feeling those, perhpss Sanji cauterizing a wound on Zoro? Some good trusting nakama after bad stuff.

Thank you if you do and no worries if not!

(blue prompts are taken, yellow completed – the rest are free)

Hellooo @finalgale, my love I did not ignore you, I am just a Tragically Slow Writer – please enjoy this angsty word vomit that I mostly wrote tonight in a frenzy of inspiration that will likely not strike again for many moons!

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52234756/chapters/148709830#workskin

and over i go

Chapter 2

Dinner that night was tense. Sanji could tell that everyone wanted to talk about what had happened, but no one seemed to know what to say. Instead they sat in near silence at the galley table, watching Sanji bustle around the kitchen as he hastened to add the finishing touches to the myriad dishes he had prepared for them in the short time since they’d left that place behind them. The food he’d prepared for them was just as extravagant as always, and as he laid the dishes out on the table he made sure to present them with the same flourishes and smiles that he normally would, but any attempt at taking a conversation with him further than polite chatter was swiftly and smoothly shut down.

He doubted he would be able to carry a normal conversation anyway. Not with how his mind was still buzzing from his earlier meltdown. He kept getting flashes of hostile faces and scared shouts; spittle on his face and a hand on his arm, pulling him – and then, not far behind, chasing his every thought like a pack of hungry dogs, his brothers’ faces would come to mind. Twisted, mocking, cruel – Sanji shook his head sharply, and served his nakama dinner.

Most of them seemed willing to let the matter drop in favour of digging into the feast in front of them, but Sanji quickly noticed Luffy watching him closely in between bites. He knew that his captain didn’t believe any of his nonchalance for even a second; knew he could see the lingering redness around his eyes, and the tousled hair he’d forgotten to flatten after he’d pulled at it, and the way he just couldn’t seem to get his hands to stop shaking. When he caught glimpses of the others’ faces, he could tell that they weren’t buying into it either.

He kept trying anyway.

Bringing out the last dish, Sanji realised he now had no other option but to join the rest of the crew at the table. Idiot. He swallowed back a sigh, and sat in his chair with tired resignation. Luffy was following his movements, watching and waiting for any sign of upset, and Sanji had no choice but to fill his plate and eat the food, even though it was tasteless in his mouth and swallowing each bite took a ridiculous amount of effort.

Even though he could hear Yonji’s voice in his head telling him it was shit, he was shit, and everyone could tell, that’s why they were all staring at him and whispering about him and hating him–

Sanji ate, and hoped it would be enough to ward off his captain’s concern. But when all the food was eaten, one look at Luffy’s face told Sanji there was no avoiding the elephant in the room. Sure enough, the moment Luffy clocked that there was nothing left for him to gorge himself on, he sat back and fixed his gaze solidly on Sanji’s across the table.

“Sanji,” his voice wasn’t loud, not really, but it cut through the small conversations that had managed to find their footing around the table like a hot knife through butter. Sanji swallowed down the anxiety bubbling at the back of his throat, and tried to silence the voices in his head, and wished he could bring himself to look away from those warm, steely eyes. “I’m sorry.” He blinked.

“You’re – what?”

“I’m sorry,” his captain repeated, and Sanji began to understand that the hardness in Luffy’s gaze had nothing to do with rage or resentment or disappointment, but rather regret. He shook his head, but Luffy continued on, “I didn’t listen to you when you said you wanted to leave. And now you’re hurt. I’m sorry.”

“Luffy, no,” Sanji’s words were strained, and he could feel his panic rising again. See? It whispered to him in his brother’s voice, see what you do? “It wasn’t your fault – you know that. I told you that.”

“It wasn’t yours either,” Robin said, watching Sanji closely with a horrible sort of empathy in her deep eyes. “You understand that, don’t you, Sanji?” He tried to nod, wanted to nod, but he couldn’t. It felt like too much of a lie.

“It was just–” he tried, struggling through the tumult in his brain to find the words needed to end this conversation as quickly as possible. “It was just – unfortunate.” He cringed at the words even as he said them, and cringed again at the answering scoffs from Nami and Zoro. “I mean – it was just shitty timing, that’s all. Maybe if we’d gotten there a few weeks from now, or even months… maybe then it would have been easier for me to – to avoid it. For those people to… tolerate me.” Several of his friends bristled at his choice of words, and he quickly continued before any of them could voice their protestations. “But – I don’t know. It’s fine, though. I’m fine.” Nami scoffed again, her concern a thing with sharp edges.

“Yeah, sure,” she said, and from the way her voice seemed tight and just a little bit higher than was normal, he could tell she was barely holding back tears. “You’re ‘fine’. You spent, like, an hour having a panic attack before making us dinner, because a bunch of strangers took one look at you and wanted you dead. And you can barely even look any of us in the eyes – but yeah – ‘fine’.”

A few of the others shuffled uncomfortably in their seats, and none of them seemed quite so willing anymore to try staring him down. Sanji was aware of Luffy saying Nami’s name in that same quiet voice, but he couldn’t quite hear it over the blood rushing in his ears. Weakling. He clenched his hands under the table, wishing that he could steady them enough to start clearing away dishes, just to give himself something to do. Anything to get away from that table, and those eyes. Anything to distract himself from those voices whispering away in his head.

“I’m fine,” he said again, when he was sure his voice wasn’t going to betray him. “Maybe I was a bit upset before, but I’m fine now. You think what happened back there is enough to rattle me, Nami-san? I’ve heard far worse. So, yes. I am fine.” His voice was harder than he’d intended, and he’d perhaps said more than he’d meant to, but Nami didn’t say anything else, and he could only feel disgustingly relieved at her silence. Sanji cut a quick glance around the table, found everyone’s expressions suddenly unbearable, and stood to begin clearing away the dishes regardless of the fact he was still shaking.

He carried the tall stack of plates to the sink, and was glad when the rush of the tap drowned out the whispers behind him. He sighed, and ignored the familiar feeling of dread pooling in his stomach, and tried to breathe around the weight on his chest.

They regret saving you, Ichiji was telling him. They’re realising what a stain you are on their reputations, and they regret even meeting you in the first place.

“Sanji,” Luffy said, suddenly standing right behind him. He was still so quiet, like he was trying to soothe a cornered animal. “Talk to us.” He wants rid of you, idiot.

“I’ve already said my piece, Luffy.”

“You lied, though,” Sanji couldn’t help but flinch at the accusation, opening his mouth instinctively to argue back, but his captain wasn’t finished. “I know when you’re lying, Sanji. I could tell then, and I can tell now. Stop being stupid, you know better by now.” He’s wrong, it was Niji now, his voice carrying that same humiliating laughter that haunted Sanji’s entire childhood. You’re too stupid to know better – too much of a failure to learn from your mistakes. Same as ever– Sanji snorted, the anxiety inside him bubbling over.

“You are the absolute last person who has any right to call me ‘stupid’, Luffy,” he said tightly, hating himself more and more even as the words came tumbling out. He was suddenly desperate for a cigarette, but realised with a pang that his pack was in the pocket of his jacket, currently slung over his chair at the table. The table where everyone was still sitting, watching their interaction attentively. Listening to Sanji venting his frustrations on their captain.

Cigarettes weren’t an option, then. He settled for biting his lip, swallowing down any more biting remarks before he said something else he regretted.

“Stop deflecting, cook,” As though sensing his tenuous hold on his temper and wanting nothing more than to break it, Zoro spoke up. “We can all tell you’re not fine, you’re wound up even tighter than usual.”

“Fuck off, marimo,” Sanji bit out around his lip. He remembered the swordsman’s hand on his shoulder, his worried eyes, and the feeling of cloth against his face as Nami used his bandana to clean away the spit on his cheek. Even the mosshead pities you, Niji whispered gleefully. Even he can see it.

Sanji couldn’t catch his breath anymore, and he was shaking so much that the plate in his hand rattled as he put it in the drying rack. He was biting down so hard on his bottom lip he could taste blood, only that was all in his head because his skin was too hard for him to even bite through anymore, because he was a monster now  –  he was falling apart. He knew he was falling apart, and he knew that the others could see it clear as day, which only made him feel even more vulnerable and exposed.

He also knew that they were just trying to help. They always were. But they didn’t seem to understand – he just needed some room to fucking breathe.

“Sanji-kun,” and now Nami was starting again, her voice softer than before. Now she sounded cautious, like if she said the wrong thing he was going to lash out at her. Just like I did, right? Niji hissed at him. She’s scared that you’re going to hurt her, just like I hurt your little chef. Sanji bit down harder on his lip, and grabbed another plate from the stack. Nami didn’t even know about what happened to poor Cosette, he reminded himself. Nami was just concerned about him – she would never be scared of him – her face flashed before his eyes: tearful, screaming – terrified. Begging him to stopstopSTOP hitting their captain–

The water was too hot – he could tell because there was steam billowing into his face, and his skin was red – but he could barely even feel it. He tried to pretend it was because his anxiety was making the very tips of his fingers numb, and not because he was becoming so fucking inhuman that he couldn’t even feel pain anymore. Nami was still talking behind him, “– and you know we only want to help. We care about you – we love you. Just talk to us, please–”

“Sanji?” Sanji’s shoulders were heaving with every difficult breath he managed to take, and he had such a tight grip on the plate he was holding he was scared it might shatter, and Luffy’s voice behind him sounded confused now, even more worried than before–

Careful, Sanji, Ichiji whispered to him, you’re being pathetic again, they’ll see–

Ha, Sanji’s crying again, look at him–

Stupid, worthless–

There was a hand on the small of his back, and another on his shoulder, and something – something landed on his head, falling low, covering his eyes – and there was absolutely nothing that Sanji could do to stop himself from crying out, or to brace himself when he flinched so hard that the plate he still held went crashing to the floor.

Some vague part of his mind was aware of the sudden commotion behind him, and of the shell shocked look on his captain’s face – but the other part of his mind, the part that had been spewing poison all evening, that part was screaming at him to get it off. He tore at whatever had been secured around his head, but only managed to yank it forward a few scant inches before he met resistance at the back of his neck – it was stuck – and he could barely breathe already but now he really couldn’t breathe–

Another pair of hands – warm, calloused but soft, firm but gentle, and nothing at all like what his brain wanted him to expect – took hold of his and guided him until he managed to free himself from whatever the fuck was–

“Your hat,” he whispered hoarsely, blinking at Luffy. His captain, his friend, his saviour. Standing before him looking scared. “It’s – your hat.” Luffy searched his face, still holding Sanji’s shaking hands securely between his own. He nodded.

“Yeah, Sanji,” he said, his voice still carrying that faint tone of confusion, now undercut with something deeper, intenser. Something that Sanji has seen him topple governments over. “It’s just – it was just my hat. What else would it have been?” Sanji shook his head.

“S-Sanji,” and that was Chopper’s voice, timid and frightened and tearful. Sanji’s head jerked toward the sound, and he saw them all where they’d leapt up from their seats, confused and alarmed but ready for action, ready to fight whatever they needed to fight to stop their cook from looking like that.

Or maybe they wanted a better look at the crybaby, huh? Sanji flinched, and Luffy’s grip on his hands tightened in response.

“Sanji,” he said again, “what else would it have been?”

“I-I–” Sanji couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, and they were all watching him, waiting for an answer, for an explanation, for a reason, as if Sanji hadn’t been searching for that his entire fucking life–

“Sanji, breathe,” Usopp was rounding the galley island to stand by his side, hesitating only slightly before resting one hand on his shoulder and splaying the other flat on his chest. Luffy didn’t let go of his hands. “Just breathe. C’mon, we’ve – you’ve been through this with me before. Just breathe.” Sanji tried to meet Usopp’s gaze, then realised he was scared of what he’d find in it and decided to just close his eyes instead. “That’s fine – just breathe with me. It’s – you’re okay. It’s okay. It’s okay, right?”

“Of course it’s okay,” Luffy’s voice rang out, louder now than it had been. He was clearly affronted by this whole situation. “You’re with us. And you’re on Sunny – everything is okay, Sanji. Sanji!” He shook their joined hands until Sanji opened his eyes to look at him. “You’re – what else would it have been?” Usopp shushed him, but Luffy ignored it. He seemed genuinely confused. He looked guilty, and Sanji hated that he looked guilty. Hated that he’d made his captain feel guilty over something that Sanji had thought he’d gotten over, something that had nothing at all to do with his captain, with any of them–

Poor Sanji, still hung up on his helmet, Yonji was mocking him.

Poor Sanji, still nothing more than a worthless little crybaby, Niji was joining in.

Poor, useless Sanji – he’ll never really escape, Ichiji was hissing at him.

Poor, poor Sanji–

“Sanji–”

“Th-the helmet,” he gasped out, breathless and hoarse. “I th-thought it was the h-helmet.” Luffy blinked at him. He looked to Usopp, who shook his head, also at a loss. He looked to the rest of the crew, and didn’t find answers there either. Sanji closed his eyes again, trying to focus on the hands holding him together.

“What – Sanji, I don’t know what you mean,” Luffy said, and Sanji almost laughed, because of course Luffy didn’t. Even at his most exposed, Sanji had never told Luffy or Nami or any of them about the helmet. Or the cell. Or those endless, endless days when he’d been convinced that he was going to die down there, alone and unloved and unwanted. Or the endless, endless nights when he’d wanted to. He had planned on taking those secrets to the grave – but, of course, he was too weak to even manage that much. “Sanji,” Luffy shook him again, a sort of urgency bleeding into his tone, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Was it–” Nami’s voice broke, and she took a breath before trying again. “Was it – Judge. Was it the V– was it them?” She sounded close to tears. She also sounded like she already knew the answer. From the way his captain’s grip became bruising – silly Sanji, monsters like us don’t bruise – Sanji could tell Luffy had come to the same realisation as his navigator.

“I-I–”

“Was it?” Luffy sounded angry now. “Was it them? Did they do something to you?” Sanji shook his head again, and tried to breathe. He finally managed to get some air back into his lungs, and if he tried hard enough he could focus on the feeling of Luffy’s hands holding his; of Usopp’s hand still pressed securely against his heaving chest; of the rough texture of his captain’s treasure still clutched in his own trembling grip. If he tried hard enough he could focus on all of these things, and pretend that they were enough to drown out his brothers.

“It was – a long time ago,” he managed, opening his eyes.

He looked at Luffy, at the way his jaw clenched and lip curled furiously. He looked at Usopp, at the hard line of his furrowed brow as he tried to make sense of what Sanji was saying. He looked at his nakama, still standing around the table. Nami’s face was red, a mixture of sorrow and anger. And Chopper was in Brook’s arms, and he and Franky were crying. Jinbei looked angry, and Robin and Zoro looked murderous. And Sanji didn’t know what he’d done to deserve them–

Nothing.

“What was a long time ago?”

You’ve done nothing to deserve them.

“Sanji.”

You don’t deserve them.

“Sanji! What was a long time ago?” Luffy was getting louder with every word. Sanji swallowed thickly, and licked his lips, and tried for the first time in his life to find words to describe the abuse that had scarred him worse than any words or beatings or starvation ever could.

“The – the helmet. He – they made me wear a – a helmet. He did – Judge did. He made me wear it. He made me. He–”

“Why?”

“Because I was dead,” Sanji whispered, the words cutting through the heavy silence in the room with the force of a bullet. “I was dead – and he didn’t want anyone to see me. I was dead. But he couldn’t – he couldn’t actually kill me. So he – he – he made me wear the – and he locked me down there. He–”

Sanji couldn’t breathe again, and Luffy’s grip was too tight, and he could feel Usopp shaking. He heard Chopper crying, and Nami’s wounded noise. He heard Zoro’s low, “And why exactly aren’t they fucking dead right now?” and he heard Robin and Brook’s noises of assent. He wanted to turn to them, to explain to them that it was behind him, had been behind him for years – but he couldn’t fucking breathe anymore, and his vision was going black around the edges.

His hands were released, and warm arms wrapped around his shoulders. His head was pushed into the crook of Luffy’s neck, and firmly held there. Usopp’s hand was still on his chest, crushed between them, but the sharpshooter made absolutely no move to free it, instead slinging his other arm around Sanji’s shoulders. A weight settled against his legs, and Sanji almost startled before he realised it was only Chopper. The little reindeer pressed himself against Sanji’s calves, rubbing his face against his slacks.

“They were wrong,” Luffy whispered to him, and Sanji shook his head, forehead rubbing against his shoulder.

“Please don’t, Luffy. Please don’t.”

“They were so wrong,” his captain continued, ignoring his pleas and whimpers. “They were wrong about you, Sanji. You’re better than them. You’re so good, Sanji. You’re so good.” The noises coming out of Sanji’s mouth were almost foreign to him; noises he hadn’t made since he was eight years old. Noises he hadn’t thought himself capable of anymore.

They were always in there, silly little Sanji.

“You’re so kind, Sanji.”

You’ve always been a scared little boy.

“You’re so much stronger than you realise. So much stronger than them.”

You’ll never be anything more than a scared little boy.

“You’re amazing, Sanji. Sanji.”

Sanji.

Luffy squeezed the back of his head, holding onto him tightly even though Sanji was getting tears and snot all over his t-shirt. Even though the precious straw-hat was pressed tightly between them. Even though he could see him for all that he was. “Sanji, you’re my nakama. I love you, okay? I love you so much, Sanji. Okay? Okay, Sanji?”

You’re worthless.

“Okay, Luffy,” he whispered, and wished his captain would never let him go.

[emitheduck]

Hostage Situation (Spencer Reid x Reader)

A/N: keep in mind, I’m on S1 right now. He is still soft baby boy, and nothing bad has happened (and i KNOW stuff is gonna happen)

T/W: guns, shooting, hostage situation, death, bad guy is on drugs MASTERLIST -

When he woke up this morning, Spencer Reid’s first thought was not that he would be stuck in the middle of a hostage situation. His usual routine was the same; wake up, get ready, stop in at a local coffee shop for some coffee, then head to work. Today was different, and he noticed it the second he walked into the shop. 

Before he could even get in line to order, a man was cursing and yelling at someone behind the counter. He was just about to tell the man to take it outside to cool off, and then he pulled out his gun and shot the worker behind the counter dead. 

Panic ensued, and just as he was about to jump over the counter, the man yelled for everyone in the coffee shop to sit down so he could barricade the door. This man looked crazy, and he was not about to set him off–sending one quick text to Hotch with his location and a 9-1-1 ping was all he needed. 

The cops and the BAU were on the scene before he could blink. The only downside, this man was threatening to shoot someone else if they tried to get in the building–and he left his gun back at the office. 

“Really not how I expected my morning. So much for treating myself.” A soft voice said from next to him, and he looked at the woman sitting next to him. Her legs were pulled up to her chest, and she had silent tears running tracks down her cheeks; but even so, she was breathtakingly beautiful. 

“Did you know that only about 12 percent of hostage situations a year. In all honesty, 90 percent of them are resolved successfully. I’m betting that we’ll be okay.” He told her calmly, trying his best to keep watch as the man continued to move couches over to block the front door. “How long was he yelling earlier?”

She wiped at her cheeks before answering him. “I’d say a good 10 minutes. It seemed like he was talking nonsense though. Hate to say it, but I thought it was drugs.”

Spencer nodded. “Usually there are 4 types of hostage situations. A ‘mentally disturbed’ person, criminals trapped during the mission, prisoners revolting, or political terror. I feel like he might be the first option with the way he’s acting.” He told her, watching as the man seemed to get into an argument with himself. 

“Do you normally spit facts at random or are you just making all of this up?” She asked him, watching as the corner of his lip twitched up in a smile. 

“I have an eidetic memory. I can see things once and remember them for, who knows, nothing’s gone away yet.” He told her, watching as she processed the information. “You could really ask me anything, and I could more than likely tell you something about it.”

“My name is (Y/n).” She told him, eyes quickly snapping to the man who was holding them hostage as he started yelling. 

He was yelling at everyone in the room; telling them all to be quiet so he could concentrate. That’s then the phone on the wall started to ring. “You! I want you to answer that!” He yelled, pointing the gun at (Y/n), eyes never actually leaving from his make-shift barricade. 

(Y/n) slowly got up off the floor, going behind the counter and holding back a sob as she had to step over the dead barista to get to the phone. “Hello?”

The room was silent, trying to hear what was going on at the other end of the phone call. “Well? What is it?” The man yelled, turing to (Y/n) to shout at her, waving his gun in the air. 

“It’s a call from an Agent Hotch over at the BAU. He’s saying that you need to talk to him.” She told him, handing him the phone over the counter.

The man snatched the phone off the counter, listening intensely to what the other man was saying on the other line. That was until the got mad, and threw the phone back at (Y/n), hitting her in the forehead before he turned back to hiding behind the couch. 

“(Y/n)!” Spencer whispered, going over the counter and rushing to her side. The hit didn’t knock her down, but she was sitting on the ground, silently sobbing while a cut on her forehead was bleeding and running down her temple. 

“He threw it so hard, I’m just so lucky I didn’t get shot.” She told him, reaching up trying to use her sleeve to stop the bleeding. 

Spencer grabbed the phone off the ground, checking for any damage before he held it up to his ear. “Hotch? Are you there?”

“Reid? We got your message. This man is Gary Turner. Low level criminal, a few arrest records but nothing serious that caught our attention on the first look. Then Garcia found that the barista used to be his dealer–this man is addicted to methamphetamine and is most likely high, provoking him to shoot.”

“On average, a high can last anywhere from 4 to 16 hours depending on the strength and timing of taking the drug. That’s not even counting the initial rush of taking the drug which can last 14 hours max.” He paused, looking over to (Y/n) who was staring at him like he was crazy. “What should I do?”

“My advice is to just hang tight and wait for us to figure out an approach to getting inside. Last thing we want to do is spook him; it could provoke an attack.” Hotch told him, then let out a sigh. “If you get someone to talk him down, you could try to take him down when he’s not watching.”

Spencer nodded and then put the phone down, making sure to not hang up as the ringing could provoke the man further. “We can either wait, or try to take him down.”

(Y/n)’s eyes went wide and she shook her head. “Both of those ideas sound crazy, are you kidding me?”

“I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself earlier. My name is Dr. Spencer Reid, and I work for the BAU. I work for the FBI, and the man you spoke to on the phone is my boss.” He told her, watching as she processed the information. “You can ask me as many questions as you want, right after we’re not being held hostage.”

“What do you need me to do?” She asked, watching as he seemed to stop and think. 

“Either way, it poses a risk for one of us to get shot. One of us could get shot talking to him, and one of us could get shot trying to stop him. He’s using the gun frantically, firing out of fear. It looks like he’s holding a Glock 17, which means it holds about 17 shots–16 now that he’s fired one. But we have no idea how many he actually loaded into the gun in the first place.” 

(Y/n) dried under her eyes quickly, before slowly standing up from behind the counter, grabbing the phone. “Agent Hotchner said he wanted to talk to you again. Something about more questions?” She said, giving Spencer a quick nudge with her foot as a sign to start moving. 

“Can’t he take the damn hint! I don’t want to talk!” The man–Gary–yelled as he stood up, pointing his gun at (Y/n) chest as he walked over and grabbed the phone. “Can’t you all understand! This wasn’t meant to go down like this! One more time asking me stupid questions, and this girl gets shot and it’s all your fault! All of this, it’s not my fault!” He yelled into the phone, waiting to hear what the man on the other end of the line had to say.

As he was yelling, Spencer slowly slid out from behind the counter, telling the other patrons inside the coffee shop to stay quiet as he worked to sneak up behind Gary, who was still yelling into the phone. 

(Y/n) tried her hardest to not glance over at Spencer as he was moving; knowing if her eyes darted to him, the man in front of her would get suspicious and start to panic. “I’m sorry, he was speaking into the phone and wanted me to give it to you again.” She told him as he slammed the phone down on the counter.

“You give me this damn phone, one more damn time, I’m gonna make sure that you regret that decision.” Was all Gary could say before Spencer got to him, quickly snatching the gun from his hands and taking him down; holding his arms behind his back as he tackled him to the floor. 

(Y/n) grabbed the phone. “He’s down. Spencer took him down.” Was all she had to say before a police officer burst in through the window. Different police officers rushing in to help the other victims leave the building while (Y/n) stayed by Spencer’s side. “I can’t believe you took him down.”

“Personally, I can’t believe it either.” Someone said as he walked up. She didn’t even have to ask. This was Hotch, the man she had spoken to on the phone–the man who told her Spencer was going to find a way out. “Nice work Reid. And I’d have to say, wonderful work (Y/n).” He told her, taking Spencer’s place so he could handcuff Gary before dragging him out of the building.

Spencer gave her a slight smile as he brushed himself off. “It was pretty amazing that you kept talking to him even when you could see me coming, even when you had a gun pointed at you. It took a lot of agents years of training for that level of calm.”

“I’m just as surprised as you are.” She told him with a sigh. “How do I go back to my normal day after this?” She asked him with a breathy laugh. 

“Honestly? I really don’t know how you can. This is just a fraction of my everyday life, and I still can’t believe it happened when I wasn’t at work.” He told her, frowning when he remembered that she had a cut on her forehead from where Gary had struck her with the phone. “Why don’t we try to get you cleaned up before you head on your way?”

(Y/n) nodded, looking up at him before she started to cry. “I just wanted to say, thank you.” She wasted no time, quickly throwing her arms around the other man, not helping all the emotions that rushed to the surface. “I can’t thank you enough, because I honestly don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there.”

Spencer was trying not to blush, still feeling his entire body ignite in flames. “It was nothing, honest.” This was one of the very few times in his life he seemed to be at a loss for words. “Would you be okay if gave you my phone number? Y-You know, to call me in case you start to experience any symptoms of PTSD? Those could be anxiety, nightmares, fear, flashbacks–”

“Spencer, would it be too forward to just ask if you wanted to go out with me sometime?” She asked him, smiling up at him. “I won’t say no to your number though, you know, just in case.” (Y/n) told him, leaning up and pressing a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

He was blushing like an idiot, grinning down at her as his hand reached up to touch his cheek where she had kissed him, the spot feeling almost electric. “Anytime.”

–

“I’m telling you, she asked me out!” Spencer yelled as he stirred sugar into his coffee.

“And I’m telling you. I need to meet this girl and find out what’s wrong with her to see why she asked you out in the first place.” Morgan smirked, loving the reaction he was getting out of the younger man. “And all this happened because of some hostage situation?”

“You can even ask Hotch, he was there and everything.” He emphasized, watching as Hotch was walking by, a perfect opportunity to ask him a question. “Hotch, did the girl at the shooter situation not ask for my number, kiss me, then ask me out?

Hotch paused, his expression unmoving. “Reid asked if he could give her his number, she did in fact ask him out, but he only ended up with a kiss on the cheek. Too chicken to actually press one to her lips.” He told the two men before walking away.

“You know, for someone so smart, it’s a wonder how you didn’t get the hint she wanted to kiss you. You better kiss her when you take her out on a date.” Morgan told Spencer, giving him a firm pat on the back.

He nodded, processing the information as Morgan started to walk away. “Wait! How do I even ask her out!”

MASTERLIST

[borrowing-at-midknight]

Handoff

Part two is finally here, short and sweet. This can be read without reading the other one, though.

Ted discovers Schlatt's borrower friend.

~~~

“FUCK YOU! OH MY GOD!”

Ah yes, that's exactly what you want startling you to consciousness. Schlatt, through the drywall, screaming and laughing maniacally at whatever game he happened to be playing on stream this time. You had meant to get up earlier to ask him for help getting water, but it seems to be too late for that. You shrug it off and start getting your supplies ready to go.

If you were being honest, water was one of the things you asked for help borrowing the most since you agreed ‘not to be so stubborn,’ as Schlatt likes to say. It's one of the most difficult things to get, especially when you're scared of falling down the drain. For the most part, you still wanted to live in your place inside the walls; you'd put too much effort into the place to just abandon it. There were times, however, that you spent a few days in a row out in the open. True to his word, Schlatt did in fact upgrade you from the shoe box. He went out of his way to buy a small box that could be propped open or folded closed, slightly larger than the shoe box. He and you had even been working on getting the cats used to you so that there was less to worry about when you did spend time outside the walls.

By the time you get out of your thoughts you're approaching the kitchen exit, only to see that it's been blocked. A bag of bagels has been pushed up against the hole in the wall. It takes a little less than a minute to shove it away from the wall enough to make room to get out. You weren't sure why Schlatt decided to block your exit, or if it was an accident, but you continue on towards the sink. As you make your way, you start pulling out your rope and making a lasso out of it.

You almost don't notice the rush of air as a clear plastic cup is slammed over you, catching you off guard enough to walk straight into the side of it and send you stumbling backwards. Once you realize what's going on, your heart nearly stops right then and there. Hesitantly, you will yourself to look up.

A hand. Still holding the bottom of the cup, just as big as Schlatt's. A hand. Beyond that, a face that you think you might recognize, but can't be sure. Short black hair, round wire-framed glasses, soft brown eyes. His expression is a mixture of shock, confusion, and awe.

‘You've gotta be fucking kidding me.’

“What in the…”

The feeling of being trapped under a plastic cup is unfortunately all too familiar. The outside world is muffled and warped by the plastic, but at least you can see out of it this time. See your captor. You start to weigh your options.

You could just cut through the side and make a run for it, but who knows what this guy would do, if he would smack you into oblivion like a bug. You could try talking to him, explaining that you know Schlatt and that he should let you go. Would he even believe you? Maybe you could-

“What are you?”

You snap out of it, attention flicking back to him. He's lower now, leaned down to get a better look at you. Schlatt obviously trusts this guy to hang out around his house unsupervised, but that doesn't mean you'll just trust him with your life. You take a step back and shake your head.

“No? Wait, so you can understand me. Can… Can you talk?”

Hesitantly, you nod.

“You can! Okay, maybe that was a dumb question. How about… your name?”

You take a moment to consider. There's no way Schlatt doesn't find out about this, even if he is streaming at the moment. How close he is to finishing up, you have no clue. He wouldn't let this guy around if there was any chance of him hurting you, though. Right? You take a deep breath and gulp.

“(Y/n).”

“(Y/n), huh? I was kinda expecting something less normal than that, honestly. I'm Ted.” He pauses, examining you with a scrunched expression. “What… are you? Like, how are you that small?”

Furrowing your brows, you give him a skeptical look. “Let me out and maybe I'll tell you, officer.”

Ted's face lights up with a lopsided grin, caught off guard by your joke. “How do I know you won't just run away? I mean, I won't stop you, but I have questions that need answers.”

You flash your knife at him. “I could've made a break for it a long time ago, but I'd really rather not get crushed like a bug, thanks.”

“Woah, woah, I wouldn't hurt you!” He sounds almost offended by the accusation. “Sorry for the scare, I didn't mean to intimidate you or anything. Here. Truce.” Slowly, Ted lifts the cup and sets it to the side.

Seeing humans move objects as easily as they do will never not send chills down your spine. You put that in the back of your mind for the time being. Brushing yourself off, you take a deep breath of fresh air.

“Trust me, I've had worse. This is barely half of what I got when I first met Schlatt.”

“Oh! So you know Schlatt! Does he… know about you?” Ted gives you a skeptical look.

You can't help but laugh at the insinuation he makes. “Alright, I'm not some sort of creep, relax. We've known each other for a while now. He helps me out sometimes. A lot of times, actually.” You rub the back of your neck awkwardly.

“Is that so? You'll have to tell me all about that first meeting you mentioned, some day. For now… how?” He motions to your whole body as he leans on the counter, arms crossed.

Unconsciously, you take a few steps back. “It's not really a ‘how,’ I just…” You pause, considering how to word this. “This is just what I am. It's not like I was human and got this way.” You snicker. The idea of a human being shrunk to your size was amusing. Schlatt wouldn't last a day.

Ted’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, so there's just tiny people that exist? Because there's no way you're the only one of… whatever you are. Oh my God, are there tiny people in my apartment?”

“Probably, you live in a dump.” Schlatt walks in from the hallway, headphones around his neck, sipping on some GamerSupps.

Ted straightens up to face Schlatt, quicker than you expected, causing your heart to jump to your throat. You gasp lightly and step back, both actions going unnoticed by the massive humans.

“I clean my apartment every week, it is not a dump!”

“Yeah, I wasn't talking about the apartment.” Schlatt reaches past Ted, over you, grabbing a bag of Goldfish from the cabinet. Seeing him move sends an all too familiar chill down your spine. The feeling only intensifies when Schlatt offers you one of the crackers, his huge hand outstretched towards you with a single Goldfish pinched between his fingers. You snap out of your daze, quickly playing it off and accepting the cracker. “So I see you two have met.”

“Wait, so you know more about this?” Ted motions to you.

“Yeah, man. They aren't really too fond of humans. This one's a defect, apparently.”

“Hey!”

“What? Look at you, you're hanging out in my kitchen. No other borrower does this shit, you said so yourself.” Schlatt has a grin plastered on his face.

“I have so many questions.” Ted’s face scrunches up, his eyes flickering around the room as if trying to find the words or where to even start.

Before Schlatt says anything, he looks to you for authorization, to which you give a nod of approval. No point in keeping it from Ted if he's already seen you, right? “(Y/n) is this thing called a Borrower. They came with me from New York. We met when I was in college, and we've just kinda stuck together ever since. They live in the walls most of the time.” Schlatt's accent is heavy as he speaks, almost monotone. “Can't believe I'm not charging this bitch rent, honestly.”

Ted has his fingertips to his temples as he takes in the information. “The walls.” It doesn't come off as a question, more like he's confirming what he heard.

“Yes, the walls.” Schlatt huffs a laugh at Ted’s face, clearly dumbfounded.

Ted turns to you. “The walls. Why would you stay in the walls?”

Schlatt throws his free hand in the air. “That's what I've been saying! Hey, that gives me an idea, actually.”

“Uh oh, don't hurt your head big guy.”

“Shut it, pipsqueak. Ted! Since you guys are buddy buddy now, I have a favor to ask. You know how I'm moving back to New York?”

“Wait, what?” You and Ted exclaim in unison.

“Did I forget to tell both of you? Whoops, anyways, while I take care of everything, maybe (Y/n) can stay with you! It'd be good for them to get outta the walls for a while. Maybe they can even find out if there's any borrowers in your apartment.”

Ted furrows his eyebrows and crosses his arms, looking down in thought. “I am curious to know if there's anybody in my place…”

A shit eating grin spreads across Schlatt's face as he glances at you before turning his attention back to Ted. He slaps his friend on the back, pulling him forward with an arm around his shoulders. “That's what I'm talking about! Now, come, I'll show you what you'll need.” As Schlatt drags Ted off to his bedroom, you huff a defeated sigh and turn around to the walls.

Better get packing.

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 1: Checking In

The Sun is the Center of Everything

See Author's Note (CW: addiction)

Word count: 3.5k

Damiano David x Y/n

His family and his friends, mutual and otherwise, made tepid comments about Damiano’s wellbeing. They knew they didn’t have the right to ask anything of you, not anymore.

“Just checking in! I know the breakup was tough.” Tough. The word choice made you outright laugh. It was something you’d say to a child who just lost a football game. I know that was tough, buddy. 

“Hey, checking in, hope you’re doing well.” 

“I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing, y/n.”

“I know I checked in on you earlier, but I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” I was forced to choose between my sanity and my relationship, but God granted me neither.

“I’m doing fine, all things considered.” “Checking in” was their excuse to call, it was a transition to statements like, “We all miss you alot. Hope we’ll see you soon, sweetheart.” “Well, I’m glad you’re doing well, since I know Damia has been struggling.” “Have you heard from Dami? I was gonna call and ask how he’s doing as well. I heard he’s not coping well.” “You were such a force for good in his life. I think he really needs that.” “I wish I knew how to get Damiano closer to being fine, too.” That last one earned a real life eye roll. At least his friends had the etiquette to feel guilty for dragging you back into it. 

You were certain that your heart couldn’t bear to love someone hellbent on self-destructing. You were certain that Damiano wasn’t going to get sober of his own volition. He’d lose his temper when you’d bring up those two years of not drinking. Articles, books, podcasts, speeches, YouTube videos, TV, movies, therapy, support groups, doctors, even a sobriety coach. You spent more time on resources for his addiction disorder than you did self-care, or hobbies, or some days, even work. Your life revolved around stopping this behavior before he became a tragic stereotype and left a black hole in your life. Damiano’s life revolved around Maneskin’s unrelenting schedule. 

He’d do anything to reclaim his autonomy, but the options were slim. The documents from Sony US hadn’t been translated with nuance and you wondered if that might void some of it. Hoped, really. He’d signed his life away to realize his dream. Now all he could do is show his handlers that they’d bought a faulty machine. In fact, he was self-destructive enough that he’d do it just to spite them. 

The first time Damiano was hospitalized with alcohol poisoning, you found about a dozen ways to reassure yourself that everything wasn’t falling apart. He’d been sober for two years so his tolerance was low. Damiano was probably drinking the same amount. Then you found out it’d been hard alcohol, no mixers. Now the excuses were he didn’t remember when to stop. He had to relearn how to self regulate when drinking. 

Ethan had been the one to call the first time, when they’d managed to contain it. The second it was his head of security, Ronnie. In a totally normal and healthy way, you combed through Twitter for an hour. The knot in your stomach said the news would break and it did. Splashed across tabloids was a haggard looking picture of Dami that you tried to date based on his outfit. Your therapist called your behavior “obsessive,” but followed it up with a surprising amount of empathy.

“Tough love can be equally painful on both sides.” You’d never told her you still loved him. It was obvious. For the first time, carrying around all Damiano’s secrets felt like a burden. You’d never betray his confidence, despite how poisonous he’d been towards the end. SME had you sign a non-disclosure agreement in early 2021. You’d insisted it wasn’t necessary, that there wasn’t enough money in the world to pay you to talk to the press. Sony had simply said, “for now,” prompting Dami’s stereotypically Italian temper to flare.

Ronnie was more concerned with you telling Damiano that he’d relayed this information, clearly against your ex-boyfriend’s wishes. 

“Be honest with me, are you breaching contract by calling me?” There’s a very long sign on the other end of the line.

“Technically, no. He hasn’t taken you off his emergency contacts. I’m more concerned about the disruption it would cause.”

“Disruption?”

“Explosion. Whatever he’s ingesting has made him volatile, constantly on edge. The edge of rage, that is. We’ve stopped hoping for good days and started hoping for some good hours every few days, ideally around showtime or interviews.” 

“Wow, okay. I know he has a temper –”

“He’s never not angry. It's always simmering under the surface.” Through the silence, you can hear the sounds of the hospital. Layers of anxious voices and the constant beeping of some machine.

“You didn’t do this.”

“I know,” you respond automatically.

“Y/n, you didn’t do this. He did this to himself.” Dami had violated boundary after boundary as you set them. He became less recognisable, until he wasn’t the person you fell in love with. Full of creativity, light, good humor, who loved art and comradery more than he did any substance.

“I mean, I don’t think the breakup is why he’s so angry. The depression is probably from the alcohol. That’s actually why I’m calling.” Ronnie has the same tone of voice as those who are “checking in.” “The decision has been made, that he’s going to rehab.”

“Good.” With your back braced against the wall, you slide down onto the floor with relief.

“That decision has been made without Damiano’s consent.”

“Can’t you consult him?”

“No,” Ronnie says firmly. “Addicts aren’t rational.” It was the first time you’d heard someone call Dami an addict. Before now, that word had only existed in your own head.

“I can’t believe it got to this point so quickly.” Your cat, Princess, senses your anxiety and rubs against you. Dami had picked her out as a tiny kitten. When would she start wondering where her dad was? Maybe not yet, he was gone for long stretches of time on tour. Princess doesn’t know he isn’t coming home, and that thought both makes you jealous and sob hysterically. 

“Y/n? Y/n? You still there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you sniff, eyes burning.

“SME is using the full weight of its influence to force Dami into rehab. He might call you and say anything he can think of to get out of it. Don’t believe him. You can’t trust him right now.” The thought of Dami calling and begging you to fly him home, only to go on a bender makes you sick.

“Should I block his number and Whatsapp?”

“That's up to you.”

“You called to tell me it's up to me?”

“I called you to warn you. So you could steal yourself. So you’d know about it before the tabloids.”

“I suppose now that Dami’s hospitalization is public, someone is also gonna leak that he’s going to rehab. Cover their own asses?” Ronnie falls silent. “You know, going to rehab in privacy would be a fuck load more effective. Let them wonder.”

“I wish they would.” Here was the impasse you always reached. Damiano treated as a doll to be flung around for profit, as if he didn’t have a soul. 

“Fine. Thanks for calling me.” Each time, you tried to tell them not to update you in the future, and each time your tongue refused to form the words.

“Y/n, I have a feeling that something is really not right with him. That it could get much worse before it gets better.” Now, he’s managed to tick you off.

“Ronnie, I tried everything in my goddamn power to keep him from crashing and burning. More than anyone else! I devoted hours to –”

“Y/n, I know.”

“I couldn’t stop him from self-destructing. I tried!” The sound of tears creeps into your voice. “I couldn’t stand to watch it anymore. I don’t know if he was refusing to get better or was unable to, but either way I…tried.”

“No one questions that. I mean that Damiano might need for things to get worse for them to eventually get better. He’s stubborn and short-sighted. I want you to be ready.”

“How much worse?” you whisper.

“He might need to bruise his ass on rock bottom to stop idealizing self-destruction.”

“‘Live fast, die young’ sounds a lot like I’d rather stick it to the man than grow old with you. My ego is bigger than my love for you”

“I don’t know that that’s true, y/n. For some people it's a matter of time before they become addicts when they’re put into this pressure cooker. I’ve seen it before.

“And?”

“Only Damiano can pull himself out of it.”

“So I just wasted my time,” you respond bitterly.

“Showing Damiano how deeply and unequivocally you loved him might save him still.”

“I thought he had to save himself.”

“You’re telling me that after five years he’s not a part of you and vice versa?”

“No.” No, I’m not telling you that, because I know the opposite to be true so viscerally that it has almost destroyed me. The part of Damiano that lay in your heart should be withering in his absence, but it remained very much alive. How do you move on from someone you hadn’t broken up with? The version of Dami that caused you to end it wasn’t truly representative of his character. He was still in there, progressively buried under the rubble of this revolt. The man you loved was unreachable which also made it impossible to move on. Every day he held you in his hellish limbo. 

Damiano did his 30 days. Then 30 hours after discharge, he overdosed in Milan. You started buying a train ticket as soon as you saw Ronnie’s contact on the screen. 

“Is he alive?” 

“Yes, but he’s on a ventilator.”

“God damn it Dami,” you whimper, doubled over and on the verge of screaming into your hand. “What's happening?”

“That's literally all I know. Someone found him in the bathroom of a bougie nightclub and gave him Narcan, thank god. His lips were purple, so…” For a moment Ronnie’s voice is drowned out by a sob. “It’s gonna be messy. The ambulance was photographed.”

“Christ.” This would make international celebrity news. Every asshole who’d typecast Dam after Eurovision would be competing for the most public validation. 

“We don’t think it was intentional.”

“But how bad was it? Like would he think he was gonna die in the moment? Was he alone? How long was he conscious? What – what about organ failure. What if –”

“Y/n, I don’t know,” Ronnie says slowly. “I will call when I have more information.” You’d been on the train for 20 minutes before your phone rang. He was going to be okay. You balled up your coat and screamed, using it as a gag.

“Turns out, to compensate for the hangovers, he’s been doing cocaine.” Never has irony been more painful. “He wasn’t testing his drugs. The coke was laced with fentanyl. Another line might have killed him.” Only then does the possibility that Damiano could end his own life become apparent. It swallows up every other aspect of your reality, until you’re standing in the doorway of his hospital room. 

Thomas’ girlfriend Mia sees you first and runs in for a hug. Ethan and Vic were sleeping in their hotel rooms. Ronnie’s jacket is crumpled in a chair, forgotten after drifting off to sleep probably.

“Hey! Ronnie said you might come, but…” But I’m not Damia’s girlfriend. Perhaps he’d found someone new, and you were encroaching on their territory.

“Shit, I just thought that, um…is he dating –”

“No.” The amount of relief that provided was just evidence of how damaged you were. “He’s been in a coma for almost three hours, lots of good brain activity. He should wake up soon.”

“Coma?” you squeaked. In Tom’s eyes you saw how taxing this new Damiano had been. You weren’t the only one that loved him unconditionally. 

“Yeah.” Thomas rubs his face and sighs. “Fuck. We have so much shit tomorrow.” SME had scheduled a press tour as soon as Damiano was discharged, to make up for lost time. Everything was pushed back because the band couldn’t release something they hadn’t done publicity for.

“I’ll sit with him for a while,” you reassure. Mia helps Tom up out of the chair. After exchanging appropriate greetings, they exit the room, whose door remains open. Now you had to look at him. The ventilator emits rhythmic rushes of air, so your eyes find the source of the sound first. Then you follow the tubing until it enters Damiano. He’s gray, sickly looking like he had COVID again. Surely they already tested for that. 

The concern had been damaging his voice, like the tobacco and weed hadn’t already put his vocal chords on the edge of irreversible harm. How damaging is a plastic tube shoved down your throat? Alcohol caused esophageal cancer and coke eviscerated your sinuses. What would those do to his singing voice? 

You’d refrained from watching his gigs, but now you have the compulsion to find a video of this morning’s interview. It was just the talking portion, no performance. That was Sony’s idea of easing back into the public’s eye. In the thumbnail, he doesn’t look like an addict. Damiano’s skin had aged backwards while in rehab. He was beautiful, pale from so much time in doors, but healthy. The fact that he’d managed so much damage in a matter of hours made you nauseous. 

You sat in the bathroom while the feeling passed. The pale green tiles were cold. Should you leave? You couldn’t even work up the bravery to touch him. But if you left, Dami could wake up alone with a tube down his throat, confused that he wasn’t dead. Meanwhile, the fluorescent lights illuminate details in the reflection of the mirror that you’d prefer not to be made aware of. After pondering some adult acne, you decide that you aren’t the type of person to abandon someone, just because they abandoned you.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you startle the nurse at Damiano’s bedside.

“Geez, I didn’t know you were in there!” She brings a hand to her ample bosom while taking a deep breath.

“Shit, sorry. I was just…having an existential crisis.”

“Ah, so you must be the girlfriend, then.”

“Yep,” you answer automatically. After five years, that response was ingrained into your frontal lobe. This would have been the first time you answered no.

“I’m Maria and I’m gonna be your nurse this morning.”

“Morning?”

“It is…” she checks her smart watch, “5:04. So early morning.” Her chipper tone gives you cognitive dissonance. “I’m just gonna take some blood, just to monitor how his organs are functioning. Unfortunately a tiny amount of fentanyl can wreak havoc.” 

“His organs are failing?”

“No,” she answers firmly, going so far as to round the bed and pat you on the shoulder before putting on latex gloves. “He’s young and it's his first OD. He could bounce back quickly, but a coma is the body's last ditch effort at keeping itself alive. He’s lucky.” She gives you a knowing look. “I can recommend some great treatment programs, now that he officially has his Substance Use Disorder diagnosis.”

“Um.”

“Maybe we’ll tackle that around breakfast time. Now why don’t you hold onto his hand.” She ties a purple tourniquet around his bicep on his left arm while you gingerly take a seat. “Mhm, go ahead,” she permits, completely oblivious to the war raging inside you.

“Does – does it help?” Your left hand quivers, half an inch above his, close enough to feel the heat.  For some reason, you expect Dami’s skin to be cold too, like a corpse. 

“It can be difficult to find a good vein after an overdose.”

“Are his veins damaged?”

“We didn’t find any evidence that he was using intravenously. Unfortunately hypoxia, A.K.A. oxygen deprivation, is a result of –”

“Will he have brain damage?”

“You’ll have to ask the doctor that question.” 

“Does Narcan hurt?”

“No, but he’ll probably have a headache.”

“Does overdosing on fentanyl hurt?”

“It’s heavily sedating.”

“Would he know that he was overdosing?”

“Depends on how experienced of a drug user he is.”

“I’m pretty positive that this is his first overdose.”

“Then probably not.”

“Would he be scared then?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

“Would he be afraid of dying?”

“Honey, hold his hand.” Maria pats you on the shoulder as you finally set your palm against Damiano’s. His skin is warm, as always, and he feels sturdy. The sensation of his hand in yours brings back so many memories that you’re fighting not to drown in them. It's strange, him not responding as you squeeze down. Dam loved to talk about marriage, how the ceremony would go, the reception. You’d debated matching rings. Now you watched the blue line of his heart rate on the beeping monitor.

“Okay, all done,” Maria announced, smoothing adhesive labels over vials of blood. “The doctor will be in shortly and – oh.” She freezes, then presses the call button.

“Is he okay?” Your heart falls from your chest to stomach, out your ass, and lands on the linoleum floor. 

“Yep, looks like he’s coming out of it, actually. Stand up,” Maria requests, pulling on your arm. “Make sure you’re in his line of sight. Waking up on life support can be quite disorienting.” Damiano’s face looks the same, but then his pupils move under his eyelids. You’re the first thing he’ll see and that pressure is impossible to bear. 

“I can’t! I’m so sorry.” You rub your eyes then stand up, grabbing your purse and overnight bag. Maria doesn’t protest. She lets you leave in a flurry of movement and tears, throwing the door open so forcefully that it hits the wall. Once outside of the hospital room, you immediately feel compelled to go back. Dami had never done anything to warrant being left alone at such a pivotal, terrifying moment. You knew with absolute certainty that if the roles were reversed, he’d have never left your side.

“Okay.” You take a deep breath upon re-entering the hospital room, holding Dami’s right hand in both of your own. “Okay, I’m here. What now?” 

“We wait,” Maria answers, as a doctor enters the room. There's the medication given, vitals taken, brain activity analyzed. The waves on the monitor become closer together, then more drastic. Medical personnel may be accustomed to it, but the rapid beeping elevates your anxiety.

“We’re bringing him up out of it gradually, so he doesn’t hurt himself,” narrates a young doctor. “Mr. David will have regained a level of consciousness by now. Probably thinks he’s dreaming.” How would a person not startle while waking up with a tube in their throat? It’d been almost three months since you’d last seen him, but if you thought about it that way, you’d just run. Instead, you imagine that you’re waking Damiano up from a bad dream, even though it was typically the other way around.

“Will he recognize your voice?”

“Of course.” The response comes out defensive when you didn’t intend it to be.

“Talk to him.”

“I…okay.” You lean down, getting closer to his ear. “Dami, it’s y/n. It’s y/n, I’m really here. It's me, baby.” That last word gets stuck in your throat. It’d be so long. How many messages had you missed? He must have tried to contact you.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t answered. I don’t know the right things to say. I don’t know if saying something is the right thing.” Maria and the other nurse in the room are looking at you with a bit of judgment, but the doctor is focused on the monitors.

“Great. That’s great.” You raise a shaky hand to Damiano’s cheek and brush your thumb back and forth.

“As soon as I heard, I got on a train. I still think about you everyday, even more than when we were together. Hopefully you won’t remember any of this, me babbling on. I’d call it pathetic, but you wouldn’t like that.”

“Page whatever respiratory therapist is on call this morning, please. Thank you.” For another couple minutes you wait for improvement, signs that your boyfriend still existed in this body. The doctor is enthralled in what appears to be unchanging information to you, and administers another dose of something. 

“I always thought it was kind of sudden,” you confess. “Damia, if you can hear me, come towards the surface.”

“He can definitely hear you. I’m Dr. Williams, by the way, or just Paul.” The young physician never breaks focus. “Common misconception. If waking up from sleep isn’t instant, why would waking up from a coma be,” he chuckles. Damiano’s hand twitches at the wrist, like a muscle spasm.

“He just moved!”

“Mm-hm.”

“Is everything okay?” Ethan exclaims, having walked in while all your focus was elsewhere. Someone herds him into the hall and closes the door. Then Dami squeezes down on your hand, properly, like he intends to. His eyes flutter and you feel his presence enter the room.

Notes: Chapter 2 posted on Sunday. Let me know if you find this fic interesting/compelling so far. I'll be posting two short chapters a week, word count ranging from 2.9 - 7.3k. Hello to the new members of my taglist!

-XOXO Eden

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[king-midas-fortnite]

Journal Entry: 00

This entry is a prequel of sorts to everything that's happened. Midas writes about one of his first nights after escaping the Underworld, and a new ability he discovers.

I have been home on the Marigold for all of about a week. While I am overjoyed to be back in the company of my crew, my family, something inexplicably terrible happened tonight. Something I’m struggling to make sense of.

I am far from free of Hades and his torment. I hear his taunts and the haunting voices of all the souls he allowed to goad me constantly. I feel their hands on me while I try to rest, gripping at my arms and throat like they are trying to drag me back every time I feel sleep finally come to me. When it does come, it’s less than an hour before I’m waking myself from dreams of everything I endured in my imprisonment. Horrific memories of the visions the shades plagued me with, along with the ever present memories of my daughter.

Even with all of this, I thought at least that I was physically free. I got out. I’m back. I’m alive and surrounded by people I care for, and who I know now without a doubt return the sentiment. But…I was wrong. I am out, but the underworld has not left me. It’s left behind a rot in my soul that I doubt I’ll ever be able to shake.

Earlier this evening, I surrendered my attempts to sleep and poured myself a few drinks. I’ve been doing that a lot more recently. I’m not proud of it, but there’s not much else I can do. Sometimes if I have enough, it blocks everything out just enough for a brief bit of rest. Anyway, I’d taken a bottle to my office, and had been sitting at my desk for who knows how long. I tried to get some work done, finish remaking files lost to the flood, but I couldn’t. The aforementioned voices of souls dammed to Hades’ domain were louder than usual. Instead of drowning them out, they got worse the more I drank.

The things they say to me…I don’t particularly want to write them down. Maybe someday I’ll be able to forget them. If I’m fortunate enough for that to happen, I don’t want a record to remind myself here. They’re horrific. I think that should be sufficient enough an explanation.

I’m sure—I KNOW, they are just hallucinations and these episodes will pass, but tonight was a nightmare. Usually sounding like a passing whisper or like they are speaking from another room, tonight they were far more corporeal. I could feel breath on my skin while they spoke to me. And again, their hands were all over me. It felt like they were trying to pull me out of my own body. I sat in my chair, holding my head and trying to fight against every instinct to flee where I was for so long as their whispering grew to screaming. If I didn’t know death would only mean returning to that place, it would’ve been a tempting option.

It all grew so loud, so intense and overwhelming that I finally screamed back for them to stop. At the same moment, I’d felt it. I couldn’t breathe. My chest was still. The cold chill of death settled quickly deep in my bones. I’d opened my eyes and shot up from my desk, knocking my chair back behind me while the gold skin of my hands turned the same sickly green of the Styx waters. I didn’t even have time to panic and wonder how I’d died again before I was falling down, passing through the floor underneath me as if it weren’t there at all. I opened my eyes again when my body struck the hard wood of the level beneath my office, completely knocking the wind from me.

When I’d reoriented myself and looked back to my hands, they were normal. My body was intact, gold and living flesh again. I’d stayed on the floor for a little while, staring up at the ceiling I had just phased through as I caught my breath. Eventually I stood and came back up here, confused…frightened. I stood at the doorway to my office a long while, staring at my desk. I don’t know why, or what could possibly possess me to try and recreate that feeling, but I needed to know if I could. Once I started hearing the whispers again, I latched on instead of trying to ignore them. I allowed them to start screaming, and I allowed the dread and cold of the dead to wash over me again.

I saw that wispy green enshroud the edges of my vision, and I stepped forward. Next thing I knew, I was across my office. I’d passed through my desk, and nearly hit the wall on the other side of the room before I was collapsing to my knees and sucking in breath like I’d been drowning. That’s what it had felt like. All over again it felt like being dead. My heart beat like a drum in my chest as it regained its rhythm, and air burned into my lungs as I felt heat return to my limbs.

After a moment I pulled myself up off the floor, fixed my chair, and sat back down where I am now. I have been up all evening, writing as the sun comes up just to try and get a handle on what’s happened. Whatever this new “power” is, I will not use it flippantly. I feel as though it has taken something from me already. If nothing else, a part of my sanity. I will never be free of Hades. Not completely, it seems. If that is the case, so be it. I’ll try to make use of this ability when it’s needed.

I just hope it never is.

Reminder: these are not "public" to other Tumblrverse characters. Okay to reblog, but please do not roleplay on journal entries!

[willows-writings]

‼️This post is part of a choose your own adventure series and is not meant to be read stand-alone. Click HERE to go to the masterlist and Chapter beginnings‼️

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Ask Josh about the overalls

Chapter 2

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The two of you were still human and needed air sometime so the next time you drew apart, you posed your question. 

“Josh,” he moves to kiss you again but you place your hand that was previously on the bed on his cheek. “Wait, I wanted to ask you something.” 

“Mhm whatever you want baby just say the word.” You can tell he’s not really paying attention to you, too busy tracing your lips with his eyes. 

“I found something earlier in the closet across the hall, it was a pair of overalls? I thought it was weird cause I've never seen you wear any. Anyways I took it out and put it in our closet.”

In an instant his whole attitude changes. “What!” He exclaims as he sits up and, gently, maneuvers you off of him.

“Shit I’m sorry Josh, were they there for a reason? I just thought they fell there or something and you might be looking for them.” At this point he had stood up and faced the window, you kneeled on the bed staring at him not entirely sure what to do.

You hear him let out a breath and watch as his shoulders drop before he turns back to you. His face is back to normal, not staring at you in the loving way he was a few minutes ago but not upset anymore. “Where are the overalls now?” 

You point to your shared closet “Like I said in the closet, they should be the first thing you see when you open it.” He opens the closet and grabs the overalls but doesn’t move or say anything else. “Look Josh, I’m sorry, they were wedged in between some pipes. I thought they were your dad’s or something.”

He turns to you again and this time his face is closer to the loving expression he had before. “No y/n it’s ok you have no reason to be sorry. It’s just, you said they were between some pipes? They were definitely there for a reason, to stop the pipes from leaking or something. I mean you know this house is old and the last thing I need to happen this weekend is something breaking, you know my parents barely let us come up this time, they would never trust me again. I’m just gonna go put them back where they belong.” He laughs at the last part and starts to make his way towards the door, but you can tell he’s still worried. 

“Hey,” he turns to your voice, “what if… we just stay here tonight? I mean tension in the group is still running high, there’s a good chance everyone else will stay split off or just go to sleep. We could make hot chocolate and popcorn? Watch a movie? I got a few of those horror films you like downloaded on my computer? It’ll be fun!” You know at this point you're rambling but you can see his face softening the more you talk. 

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” He briskly walks over to you so he can plant a dramatic kiss on your forehead. When he looks at you again there’s a huge smile plastered across his face. “I’ll check on everyone else and get the food and you can stay here, pulling up that movie, and just stay looking pretty for me which shouldn’t be too hard cause you always are.” He winks and you roll your eyes. “I’ll be no more than an hour, maybe get some rest, it’ll be a long night.” He says the last part while walking out the door in a sing-songy voice. 

The door closes behind him and you lay back onto the soft pillows, he’s right, a nap would be nice right about now. You close your eyes and let sleep overtake you.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

End of Chapter 2

You got: Endings #1

Chapter 3: Beginning #1 (coming soon!)

OBaC Masterlist

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

If we were actually playing the game this would be the option that would cause your and Josh’s relationship bar to decrease the most. Obviously it would remain very high cause yall are tight like that but he’s definitely upset. Oh well. 

For anyone confused when this takes place it’s around the time Mike and Jess are walking to the cabin, and before Josh goes with Chris and Ashley.

[falcqns]

i should go home (but i'm fighting that right now)

✰ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Tim Bradford x Lucy Chen

✰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Tim isn’t okay with Lucy going undercover, but he’s good at hiding it. Or so he thinks.

✰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: set during s3e06: Revelations, Tim Bradford is a simp for Lucy Chen, references to s2e11: Day of Death, mention of childhood abuse and neglect, hints to Tim being a Dom and Lucy being a Sub, angst, fluff, angst with a happy ending, undercover, rookie year, friends to lovers, tagging @natashasera

don’t forget to read and reblog, and i do not give permission for my works to be posted anywhere other than tumblr. thank you.

It wasn’t a secret to anyone in Mid Wilshire that Tim was protective of his rookies, but everyone also knew that he was more protective of Lucy than he had been of any other rookie he’d trained. Tim knew that everyone was aware, that Nyla was aware, which is what made it so much more aggravating that she’s letting her go undercover, and not letting him have a say in it at all. It wasn’t that Lucy wouldn’t be good at UC work, because she would. She would be the best at it, but he couldn’t lose her. Not only just in the way he lost Isabel, but he couldn’t lose her at all. He’d gotten a taste of a life without Lucy Chen and he knew now that a life without Lucy Chen is not a life worth living. 

Tim stood at the door of the roll call room, fuming so hard he was shocked he didn’t have smoke coming out of his ears. He wanted to shut this entire thing down. He was shocked that Grey even approved Lucy going under without his permission. Normally, Tim would have to approve something like this, and had he be given the opportunity to approve or deny her going on this op, he would have said no so quickly. But, he wasn’t the option, so all he could really do was announce his anger and disagreement with this and hope that she would pull out on her own. But knowing Lucy, she wouldn’t.

Tim had just enough self control to wait until the briefing was finished, but he did give Lucy a look that he hope portrayed just how angry he was when she was instructed to stand up so everyone could get a good look at her. 

People starting filtering out of the room, and Tim immediately stalked up to Nyla, and got in her face. 

“The hell are you doing?” He asked. “You can’t pit an untrained probationary officer against one of the most dangerous crime syndicates in California.” 

Nyla rolled her eyes, smirking slightly before responding. “I don’t want to hear it Tim,” She said, furrowing her brows at Tim and gesturing to Lucy. “She volunteered. Plus, Grey authorized it, and we have some of the best operational expertise she could ask for.”

Tim then ignored Nyla, turning to his rookie. “They know the gladiator cage you’re walking into.” He stated. “That’s not volunteering. That’s being used.” He stated, before walking out of the room, and heading back to his shop, anger flooding every inch of his body. 

He then spent the rest of the day trying to get the look on Lucy’s face out of his mind. He had been harsh with his words to her. And while he still stood behind what he said, it didn’t stop the guilt that he was feeling after seeing the hurt look on her face. She had been clearly seeking out his approval, like she always did, and he just tore her down instead. That was something he did at the start of her rookie year, but stopped when he had realized that she wasn’t driven by tough love, she was driven by praise and acceptance.

He knew that her thriving off of praise and acceptance was a reflection on her childhood, where she probably didn’t get that as much as she should have, if at all. From his one and only interaction with her parents, the day after he’d pulled her from the barrel, he knew that while Lucy’s parents never physically abused her, they definitely were neglectful at best, and mentally and emotionally abused her her entire life. 

Tim knew that, and Tim still acted like he did earlier. He still didn’t approve of her doing undercover work, but he could have at least tried to be supportive, and offer to help her in anyway possible. He could have been open with her, and told her his fears, and explained that he didn’t want her going undercover because he didn’t think she could handle it, it was because he didn’t want to lose her. He didn’t want to go days without talking to her, without hearing her cheerful voice, without seeing her beautiful face. He had 13 days left with her, and he didn’t want to spend those last 13 days without her. He wanted her by his side, where she was the safest, until her last day as his rookie was over, and he could ask her to be by his side like she belonged, forever. 

So while he wasn’t happy in the slightest that he was not given a choice when it came to his rookie going undercover, he accepted it, and then found himself on a rooftop with Nolan, watching the op go down. He put up with the conversation with Nolan, but kept his eyes on the nondescript van where he knew Lucy was. He saw Zhang step out, followed by Harper, holding a rifle. Lucy made her way out of the van. She looked scared, but Tim knew that when Lucy was scared on the job, she didn’t let it show on her face, which meant she was in character. 

Tim let out the breath that he was holding as he watched the op unfold. While he couldn’t hear what was happening, he was able to deduce what was happening through the body language of everyone involved. Suddenly, one of Salonga’s men pulled out a radio, and said something. Seconds later, another car pulled up, prompting Tim to pull out his own radio.

“We’ve got another guest at the party,” he said, a hint of anxiety in his voice that he wasn’t even trying to hide anymore. “Standby for rescue.” He put his radio back, and continued to watch the buy. 

As he did, he wanted nothing more than to pull Lucy out. He knew that she was strong, but the side of him that wanted to wrap her in bubble wrap and keep her by his side so nothing could hurt her wanted her out of that dangerous situation. But, he knew if he did that, she was going to be even more angry with him, and at the very best would cause her to resent him for the rest of her rookie year, and at the very worst would cause her to request a transfer and he would never see her again. His heart couldn’t handle that, not seeing her ever again, so he wouldn’t pull her out. She needed to see this through, and if anything went wrong, he would be there, protecting her in a heartbeat. 

He watched with bated breath as Lucy willingly got into the car with Salonga, his anxiety for her turning into anger. He knew that Nyla had grilled her about not going to a secondary location, and while yes, she technically wasn’t leaving the location, she was in a closed vehicle that they could only monitor the audio. Anything could be happening visually and they would have no clue what was happening until it was too late. 

When Lucy stepped out of the car a few minutes later, he let out the breath he had been holding. The next few moments flew by in a blur of seeing the money, being told to move in, and running up to Chen, placing her hands behind her back and cuffing her. 

As he started to lead her to their shop, number 7-a-19. He helped her into the back of the shop, watching as she looked him in the eyes for the first time since he had berated her in front of Zhang and Harper. “You did good,” He said simply. He wanted to wait until they were alone to have a proper conversation, not only about how proud he was of her, but also about how stupid of a decision it was (in his opinion) to get into Salonga’s car. He shut the door, rounded the car, shut the other back door, and hopped in the front. He got in the front, pulling out of the parking garage, and heading toward the station. 

Once they were on the freeway, Tim fished out the handcuff key from his belt, and handed it to Lucy. 

“I’m still mad at you,” Lucy said, accepting the key, and un-cuffing herself.

Tim nodded in understanding. “I know,” he said. “I’m mad at you too.” 

Lucy laughed. “For what?!”

Tim looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Where should I start? Going behind your training officers back, volunteering for an undercover op without approval from said training officer, getting into Salonga’s car where we couldn’t monitor everything happening.” He listed. “Not to mention, had Grey not told me, I highly doubt you would have on your own accord.” 

“I didn’t come to you before volunteering for two reasons.” Lucy snapped. “1, there was no time, it was a heat of the moment decision because we were in danger, and 2, because I knew you wouldn’t approve.”

Now it was Tim’s turn to laugh. “Damn right. You are MY rookie, and that means that you are MY responsibility. You’re damn right I wouldn’t have approved of you going undercover. You are not experienced, you’re still a rookie for gods sakes! There shouldn’t have been an opportunity for you to be even exposed to undercover work.” He said loudly.

Tim immediately regretted his words and tone when he hear Lucy sniffle from the back seat. 

“S-So you don’t think I’m good enough for undercover work.” She stated. “Really loving the support from my TO right now. I thought you would have been proud of me.” 

Tim sighed, and pulled the shop over. He got out of the shop, and opened up the backseat, letting Lucy out. She didn’t make eye contact with him, and slapped the cuffs and key in his hand. 

“Get in the front seat.” He said. 

“Why?” Lucy challenged. 

Tim rolled his eyes, exasperated with her attitude. “Get in the car, Boot.” He snapped, getting back in the drivers seat. 

“Its shop, not a fucking car!” Lucy yelled at him as she walked (more like stomped) around the car. 

Tim ran a hand over his face, and sighed, before turning to Lucy when he heard the passenger door slam. 

“Okay first of all, stop with the attitude.” He said, and Lucy’s mouth dropped open. 

“I do not ha-“ She started, but then Tim grasped her chin, and looked into her eyes. 

“You do. You have an attitude right now, and I’m sick of it. I know you just went through a very stressful situation, that you’re tired, and angry, but I need you to stop acting like Lucy, and start acting like Officer Chen, got it?” He said, sternly, and Lucy nodded, eyes wide. Tim swallowed, trying not to think too much about how easily she submitted to him.

“Yes, I am mad at you. For all the reasons I mentioned. My anger is valid and justified. I know that, and I know for a fact that you know that. I am angry that you did this without coming to me first, but it is not because I think that you can’t handle it, or that you’re not strong enough for undercover work. It’s because I already lost someone important to me to undercover work and I am not willing to risk that with you, okay?” He said, and Lucy nodded, gulping, tears starting to form in her eyes. 

“You did great. You did better than I was expecting you to, but that doesn’t mean that I’m okay with it.” He expressed. “We can talk more about that later, but right now I need you to tell me what you need to recover from the op. You are not yourself, because regular Lucy would not yell, stomp, or swear at me like you did. So, lets get back to the station, so you can be debriefed and I can drive you home. Can we do that?” He asked, and Lucy nodded, her body starting to relax in Tim’s hold. “Good girl.” 

“‘m sorry,” Lucy whispered as Tim released her cheek. “‘m sorry I yelled at you.” Her tears spilled over and began running down her cheeks, and Tim wasted no time in wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close to his chest. 

“Its okay.” He whispered. “I’m not mad anymore, okay?” He reassured, and Lucy nodded, still sobbing. “And for the record, I am proud of you. I’ve never been prouder of a rookie than I am of you. So I want you to get the doubt of my pride in you out of your head. Me being proud of you and me being angry with the way things went down are not related.” He reassured her. 

“O-Okay.” She stuttered. Tim nodded, pressed a small kiss to the top of her head, and then removed his arm, and was about to grab onto the steering wheel when Lucy grabbed it, and gripped it tightly. Tim smiled, but let her hold on to his arm as he drove. 

They made it back to the station a while later, and Lucy was immediately pulled away by Nyla for their debrief, but not before Tim told her to change out immediately after and wait at his truck. Tim was also pulled into his own debrief, as he was just surveillance and wasn’t able to know the intimate details of the operation against Salonga. He also had a rather uncomfortable conversation with Grey about why he had interrupted the briefing and spoke to his rookie like that, where he explained his reasonings, and got off rather easily, as Grey understood where he was coming from but insisted that next time he needs to speak to his rookie with the respect and kindness that she had more than earned. 

He changed out, and met Lucy by his truck, where she was standing, looking around nervously. 

“Hey,” he said, with a smile on his face to let her know he really wasn’t mad anymore. “How are you feeling?” 

Lucy shrugged, a small, unsure smile on her face. “Im good. Tired.” She said, as Tim walked closer. 

“I can imagine.” He said. He put his bag down at his feet, and tucked his hands into his pants. “Look, I know that I was out of line earlier today, during the briefing.” He began. “I was scared for you, and angry that had I not gone to see Grey on my own accord, theres a high likely hood I would have been kept in the dark about it, but I had no right to yell at you and talk to you the way that I did. You deserved to have to support throughout your first undercover operation, and I should have put my personal issues with undercover work aside and helped you. So, I’m sorry.” 

“Wow,” Lucy said, her eyebrows raising. “An I’m sorry? From Tim Bradford? That was not what I was expecting at all.” She said, and Tim furrowed his own brows in confusion. 

“What were you expecting me to say?” 

Lucy looked him in the eyes. “I was honestly expecting you to say that while I did good today you stand by what you said this morning and that I shouldn’t be doing undercover work at all, much less while I’m still a rookie.” 

Tim sighed, looked down, and moved closer to Lucy. “That’s not what I think, or what I meant by my little speech in the car earlier. I was just struggling with my own shit, but I now realize that I shouldn’t let my own trauma trigger yours, and it wasn’t okay for me to grab your face like that, or speak to you like I did.” 

“And by realizing, you mean Grey yelled at you?” She joked, and Tim nodded with a sheepish smile. “Thats what I thought. And about the grabbing my face, I actually liked that. It helped me focus, and helped ground me.” She explained. 

Tim moved even closer to her, brushing a stray hair out her face as he cupped her face. “Really?” He asked. “You liked it?” He asked in a slightly joking tone, and smiled even bigger when he saw her become slightly flustered. Suddenly, the confession that he was saving for after her last shift as a rookie was on the tip of his tongue, and he did nothing to stop it. 

“Do you want to know the real reason I didn’t want you going undercover?” He asked, and Lucy immediately nodded. “The reason I didn’t want you doing this is because I’m just overprotective of my rookies. I was upset because you mean more to me than any of those other rookies ever did. I trained them, they graduated to P2 or washed out, and I moved on to the next rookie. Until you walked into the room, and I was assigned as your training officer. Most rookies would have just followed orders and let me die or ran for the hills if I got shot on their second ever shift. But, not you. You stayed, disobeyed me but pulled me from danger, and thats when I knew that training you was going to be different. But, it wasn’t until I came in to work on December 9th, 2019, that I realized that I was in love with you.” He admitted, his voice shaking slightly, but determined to get this out before he lost the confidence. He saw Lucy’s eyebrows raise slightly, her lips drop one, and tears rim her eyes once more.

“W-What?” Lucy stuttered, swallowing hard. “You’re in love with me?” She asked. 

At first, Tim wasn’t sure whether she was happy or sad about that, but then he looked deep into her eyes, and behind her beautiful brown eyes, he saw happiness. He saw hope, and most importantly, he saw the love she had for him. And that happiness, hope, and love gave him the boost do not answer her with words, but instead, answer her by leaning in, and pressing his lips to hers, hoping he was able to convey the love he had in his heart, body and mind for Lucy through the kiss. 

Lucy melted into his body, and he held her as close as he could, knowing for the first time since he pulled her from that barrel that she was safe, fully safe, and that she would be by his side, forever, just like he wanted. 

[euthymiya]

here with the week’s shipment of thoughts. I think both ayato and wriothesley would be huge saps that are super into talking to your baby while you’re pregnant. Doting on your tummy and speaking fondly to your belly as they feel the baby kick while you both lay in bed. Might even translate into your baby finding their dad’s voice soothing when he holds them once they’re born :( easiest way to get baby to stop crying is for dad to talk to his little one in a hushed voice :((

-fafwt anon (I promise I’m not trying to take years off your life 😭)

Yet here you are. Taking years off my life. WEEPING. Anyway I’m gonna throw alhaitham in here too because I want to talk about all 3 of my little guys

Wriothesley likes to come after a long day of being the sole person to reform a prison and sees you laying in bed and throws you a tired, wolfish little grin. Normally, when he’s tired and pent up, he throws a few punches at the pankration rank but lately, something about whispering to the growing angel in your womb gets him to relax far better. He lowers himself to your belly, kissing over your cute little belly button as he lifts your shirt and presses his cheek against the skin. You’ll whine about his stubble tickling and he’ll chuckle before he murmurs, “hey sweetheart. Cozy in there? You wouldn’t believe the day your old man’s just had.” And then he babbles away about a fight he broke up and the prisoner who tried to swim his way to freedom and didn’t make it far at all. All while your fingers stroke through his hair, guiding his hand along your belly to feel all the little kicks

Ayato comes back to you with a little skip in his step, almost. Every day. He’s most excited for the part of his day where he returns to his darling wife and her swollen little belly where his precious bundle resides. Any and all stress is washed away as soon as the work day ends and he realizes he’ll see you—he’s rejuvenated, almost. And his first line of business is to lean down, press a kiss to your lips, forehead, and then down your neck and collarbone until he reaches your belly. “Why hello, little one,” he’ll murmur, “I trust you’ve been on your best behavior for your mother? You don’t want to trouble her, now—she can be quite vengeful when she wants to be.” He chuckles at the soft smack you give his shoulder before his hand presses to your skin, eyes awed and marveling at the tiny little kicks as he whispers, “our child responds to my voice, don’t you think, my darling?”

And alhaitham. Oh sweet, sweet alhaitham who comes home earlier than expected almost every night. He somehow finds a way to get his duties done and slip away before he’s actually meant to clock out with the excuse of a pregnant wife and duties to take care of her. And who can complain when he finishes all he’s meant to? He comes home with something for you every day, too—somehow always knows just what to get at the markets for your cravings so he’s thoroughly prepared. And while you happily munch away at the sweets he’s brought you, he presses a kiss to your belly and starts speaking to your baby as if they’re already right there with him. “What book shall we read tonight, hm?” He asks, “perhaps a new bed time story to see how you like it.” You giggle at how he gives your unborn child options, murmuring a quiet, “as long as it’s not an academic journal, I think our child will be just fine, haitham.” And he fights back a tiny smirk as he pretends to be shocked. “Oh? You don’t think our child is meant to be a scholar right from the womb? You underestimate their intelligence.” And it’s a back and forth of banter, just the two of you poking fun at each other until you gasp and cut him off, grabbing his hand and pressing it to your upper belly. His breath catches as he feels a small kick before he grins in awe and whispers, “I told you they enjoy hearing about journals. Look how excited they are.”

And all three of them are such gentle, careful dads. Whisper in the softest, most delicate tone you’ll ever hear against their baby’s ears—it soothes the crying almost instantly. You watch with misty eyes every time as strong, muscled arms cradle a tiny little body, soothing the precious bundle in their hold with just the low rumble of their voices alone

[umbracirrus]

WIP Whenever 💛

Work is quiet (it's barely 9am though, so unsurprising), and so, I'm posting a WIP... Got a busy few days coming up that I forgot about so this is probably the best opportunity that I've got!!

I was tagged by @thequeenofthewinter, @oblivions-dawn, and @bostoniangirl21!☺️ I'll catch up on all of yours later!

-----

How had she forgotten just how cold it was here?

Elyse felt a shiver go down her spine as she wrapped a woollen blanket she had been given around her shoulders. Her cloaks, her coats, her gloves, her scarf - all of it was in Dragonsreach still. It wasn’t as though she could go back to get them either... She couldn’t bring herself around to doing that. Not yet. Her emotions were still too heated to face anyone there – Balgruuf in particular.

How could he have done such a thing without so much as consulting her? Or even telling her of his intentions, of the risks which her personal decision was entailing?

Perhaps what hurt her most was the promise that she would be safe. From the moment that she had read those words from Ulfric, and learned of what Balgruuf had done... She had stopped feeling safe. An important decision had been taken away from her, and following on from her journey to defeat Alduin... One thing that she learned about herself was that the ability to make her own decisions was sacred to her. Those who took them away from her... Took away her autonomy... Many of those people she now deemed either unsafe, or an enemy. In some cases, both.

Thankfully, the Greybeards were neither. Their words – or at least the few which were not of the thu’um – were of guidance or wisdom.

Elyse quietly thanked Master Arngeir as he placed a bowl in front of her as he decided to keep her company in her silence, steam radiating from the pale-looking broth within.

“Something troubles you, Dragonborn.”

She didn’t respond as she kept her hands on her lap, lightly bandaged fingers digging into her trousers. Following her hasty and anger-fuelled exit from Whiterun, it head turned out that she had caused quite some damage to her hands. Bloodied scrapes from hitting the wall dusted her knuckles, and though not quite frostbitten from the midwinter chill and the death-grip which she had of Odahviing’s scales as they flew through the skies, they had needed to be slowly and carefully brought back up to a normal temperature. She hadn’t bothered with casting a spell to try and patch them up, the stinging and soreness helped with reminding her that this was real. Kept her grounded. “I’m just... considering my options. That’s all.”

Arngeir gave her a discerning look, it being obvious that he knew that she was tip-toeing around the exact truth of her situation. However, he didn’t press on the matter. That was one of the things that she quite liked about High Hrothgar... For that matter, Balgruuf – because of course it would have been him – had articulated the exact reason in a way better than she ever could have done over three years earlier.

A peaceful place, very disconnected from the troubles of the world.

The perfect place for reprieve.