#like every other minor cut bleeds a normal amount

[i-like-gay-books]

fighting my demons (going through one of those periods when you get a nosebleed and then for the next few days after you keep getting the same nosebleed because the wound keeps reopening)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Realistic Injuries

References (Minor Injuries; Head Injuries; Broken Bones; Dislocated Joints; Cutting & Piercing; Blood Loss; Blunt Trauma; Burns)

WHAT'S "NORMAL"

For a normal, reasonably healthy adult the following reading are ‘normal’. Some variation is usual and what’s normal for one person may be abnormal for another.

Pulse Rate

Between 60-100 beats per minute

A fitter person will have a rate towards the slower end of the margin and a child or young person will have a naturally high rate.

Any drastic increase or decrease in pulse rate is cause for concern.

Blood Pressure

120-140 over 70-90

Can vary with the time of day, amount of stress and a number of other factors.

High blood pressure is not usually immediately dangerous but can cause long term damage.

Low blood pressure can cause faintness, dizziness and blackouts and is usually a sign that there is an underlying problem to be treated.

Body Temperature

36°C (98.6°F) to 37.5°C (99.5°F)

Relatively minor variations in temperature are cause for concern.

MINOR INJURIES

Bumps, bruises, cuts and grazes

All inconvenient.

But not incapacitating.

A blow to a bony part of a limb or to a joint

Hurts a lot at the time of impact (as anyone who’s banged their shin will agree) and may swell and stiffen.

The impact may also have the effect of temporarily disrupting the ‘power supply’ to the limb meaning the person getting hit is likely to lose their grip on anything they’re carrying and be unable to move the joint for a few minutes.

Bruises

Can take anything from a few seconds to over a day to appear and anything from a day to several weeks to fade away again.

Soft fleshy areas bruise much more colourfully.

Sprains and torn muscles/tendons etc.

Will stiffen, swell and become more painful after a few hours.

A bad sprain can be every bit as incapacitating as a broken bone.

HEAD INJURIES

Probably the most common injury in fiction.

From “let’s bash the bad guy over the head to stop him running after us” to those scenes where everyone gets thrown all over the flight deck by the first bit of turbulence and bounce their heads off consoles.

Minor Head injuries

The human skull is pretty robust and designed to take a fair amount of punishment. Consequently the occasional bump won’t do all that much damage.

A minor bump on the head may leave a character feeling dazed and suffering from a headache, blurred vision and ringing ears but will clear within a few minutes.

Facial bruising - quite uncommon, it takes quite a hard blow or a blow that impacts with the soft tissue around the eyes to leave a mark.

Minor cuts and lacerations on the scalp and face will hurt and bleed out of all proportion to their seriousness. [NOTE: A ‘laceration’ does not mean ‘a very bad cut’ – it is a term for a specific type of wound caused by the tearing rather than the slicing of the skin. It’s the sort of cut you get from being hit with a blunt object (or a fist).]

Medium Head Injuries

A more forceful blow (equivalent to a fall of several feet) can lead to complications of the injury.

Concussion (damage to the brain tissue) is quite common after a hard blow to the head and is often accompanied by temporary unconsciousness. (And it should be very temporary if you don’t want your character to be permanently damaged). This can also result in dizziness, nausea and, not surprisingly, a nasty headache.

Medium cuts and lacerations will be painful and messy but not dangerous. There may be scarring.

Severe Head Injuries

A blow to the head resulting in prolonged unconsciousness will almost certainly result in brain damage, possibly a fractured skull and bruising or bleeding within the brain itself. It can be fatal either straight away if the damage is extensive enough or later as the blood from the injury causes pressure to be put on the brain.

Severe cuts - can damage muscle and sinew and do permanent damage. The pain from such injuries would have most characters unable to concentrate on much else.

Concussion Symptoms

Confusion, disorientation, memory loss,

Dizziness, headache (lingering after the first few hours)

Nausea, vomiting,

Pupils uneven in size and/or reaction,

Sluggish reactions, sleepiness.

Any painkillers given to treat the headache must be non-narcotic and relatively mild. Otherwise it is difficult to tell if sleepiness is caused by a worsening of the injury or by the painkillers.

Someone suffering from a suspected head injury should be watched for at least 24 hours, and woken every few hours if they’re asleep, to check for the above symptoms.

BROKEN BONES

In general they hurt. A lot. Any character with a broken bone (with the possible exception of the ribs) is going to know about it and not be very happy. It is possible that if there is no displacement they might not hurt much at all, and it may not be immediately obvious that the bone is actually broken.

The initial shock and pain is often enough to cause unconsciousness. Keeping the limb immobile will minimise the pain but any pressure or movement is going to be extremely unpleasant.

Severe breaks (compound fractures) can cause part of the bone to protrude through the skin, this will also cause blood loss, which can be severe enough to be dangerous. Nerves and blood vessels can also be permanently damaged.

Smaller bones are obviously more likely to break than larger ones but they hurt every bit as much.

Distinguishing between breaks/sprains is not always easy with just 'it hurts to go on but as a guide… Lots of pain but some movement is a relatively good thing -- it indicates 'just' a tear. Less pain but very limited movement is a worry, because it can mean you've snapped something, and the joint becomes useless without surgery.

Broken Ribs

All sorts of nasty complications can arise here. For a start, though a character who has just broken a rib will feel winded and uncomfortable, the initial discomfort will pass quickly and they may feel fine for some hours afterwards. Possibly they may not even realise that they had broken anything.

After a few hours it will start to hurt badly and breathing may be impaired and painful. Problems can occur when the injured person is breathing only shallowly because of the pain and not expanding their lungs fully, lungs can collapse as a result, causing pneumonia. Interesting in a morbid kind of way is that the breathing difficulties of a collapsed lung aren't what gets you - it's the air pressure that builds up in the chest cutting of the blood flow to the heart.

Broken ribs can also puncture a lung or even the heart with fatal results. A punctured lung would result in death within 3-15 minutes if untreated.

DISLOCATED JOINTS

Hurt just as much as broken bones.

Can be forced back into place without medical facilities but it’s not recommended and will hurt a lot, probably enough to cause unconsciousness. On-the-hoof treatment is the same as for broken bones – imobilise and support the limb.

There are a few dislocations which can be life-threatening -- the sterno-clavicular joint (where the collarbone joins the breastbone) is one. It requires a lot of force to pop it (most people's collarbones will break before the joint goes), and the collarbone usually goes outwards, but if it displaces inwards, it can compress the airways. This joint can dislocate if you get slammed very hard into something like a wall and take the impact on the point of the shoulder. I can also say it hurts very badly and for a very long time.

CUTTING & PIERCING

most human beings come equipped with a healthy set of defensive reflexes to avoid it. If at all possible they will try to put something else (like hands) in the way of the blow. Most people injured in a stabbing have injuries on their hands and arms as well from trying to ward off their assailant.

The severity of the injury depends a great deal on its location:

Limbs

The arms and legs are not protected by much flesh so even a shallow cut or piercing injury here may damage bone and muscle and render the limb effectively useless.

Severe blood loss can occur if the major blood vessels in the inside of the upper arm and inner thigh are damaged.

Abdomen

Piercing injuries will bleed a lot and can easily do fatal damage, although unless a main artery is hit then it’s not going to be a quick death. A piercing more than 2 inches deep starts to get dangerous.

If the main descending aorta is hit, the character has seconds to live.

The femoral or renal arteries will lose a fatal amount of blood in 2 – 3 minutes.

Injury to internal organs would cause bleeding, infections and a nasty slow death if left untreated. Bleeding from the spleen or liver would cause death within 20 minutes. Less major damage to internal organs would cause death either from blood loss over several hours or up to several days later from infection and other complications.

Relatively slight cuts to the stomach area would affect breathing and damage muscles, More major cuts to this area can damage nerves and muscles, meaning the injured character would have no control over their legs. Not nice, when you’re trying to get away from the nutter who’s just sliced you up and suddenly your legs don’t work…

Extensive cuts here can also mean the insides are suddenly outside. Not pretty, not comfortable and, untreated, leaves the character with about 15 minutes to live and they’re going to wish it was much less. Quite apart from the pain (which is pretty horrific) the sight of their own insides tends to make most people quite hysterical.

BLOOD LOSS

Major blood loss will result in a fast weak pulse and accelerated respiratory rate.

For an average healthy person about a litre of blood lost is enough for shock to set in.

Loss of approximately a litre and a half to two litres or more will require transfusion.

Loss of more than 2 and a half litres will probably result in unconsciousness and, if transfusion is not given, death.

Symptoms of Blood Loss

Blood loss in litres < 0.75 || 0.750-1.5 || 1.5-2.0 || > 2.0

Percentage of blood lost < 15% || 15-30% || 30-40% || > 40%

Blood pressure Normal || Normal || Reduced || Low

Pulse rate (beats per minute) < 100 || > 100 || > 120 || > 140

Pulse pressure Normal || Decreased || Decreased || Decreased

Respiratory rate (breaths/min) 14-20 || 20-30 || 30-40 || > 35

Mental state Alert || Anxious || Confused || Lethargic

State of extremities Normal || Pale || Pale/Cool || Pale/Clammy

Amount of blood loss by injury

Severe blood loss, as a wound larger than a fist or that caused by a compound fracture. All figures are approximate and somewhat variable. They are meant as a rough guide only.

SITE OF INJURY || NORMAL BLOOD LOSS (Litres / %) || SEVERE || MAXIMUM

Shoulder: 0.85 / 17% || 1.25 / 25% || 2.1 / 42%

Arm: 0.4 / 8% || 0.85 / 17% || 1.25 / 25%

Elbow: 0.4 / 8% || 0.85 / 17% || 1.65 / 33%

Forearm: 0.4 / 8% || 0.85 / 17% || 1.25 / 25%

Wrist: 0.2 / 4% || 0.6 / 12% || 0.85 / 17%

Chest: 1.25 / 25% || 1.65 / 33% || 5.0 / 100%

Spleen/Liver: 1.25 / 25% || 1.65 / 33% || 5.0 / 100%

Pelvis: 1.25 / 25% || 1.65 / 33% || 5.0 / 100%

Thigh: 1.25 / 25% || 1.65 / 33% || 2.9 / 58%

Leg: 0.85 / 17% || 1.25 / 25% || 2.1 / 42%

Ankle: 0.85 / 17% || 1.25 / 25% || 2.1 / 42%

BLUNT TRAUMA

Getting hit…

Aside from the obvious risk of getting smacked upside the head or breaking bones (see above) there are assorted other injuries and complications which can arise.

Due to the elasticity of the ribcage getting smacked in the chest can cause a person to fly backwards some distance. Of course this means they can bounce off of something else and hurt themselves that way. At best they’re going to be winded and have difficulty breathing, which causes a certain amount of panic in most people. And it looks rather alarming.

Heavy blows to the back can damage the spine resulting in possible paralysis and death. Kidney injuries are also common when someone is hit in the small of the back. They can bleed and may shut down altogether. Kidney failure means the body can’t clear certain waste products from its system, if the waste products build up too far then coma and death can result.

Internal organs such as the liver and spleen can also be damaged by blunt trauma and bleed as detailed above. Other organs which may be injured are the pancreas and the intestines.

If the pancreas is damaged it may spill digestive enzymes which start to digest the person’s own insides. Obviously this is rather painful and unpleasant.

Damage to the intestines can result in blockages (causing pain, nausea and vomiting), bleeding, and the release of bacteria into the bloodstream resulting in septic shock (high fever followed by sudden drop in temperature and blood pressure – fatal if not treated) This can take 24 hours or more.

Usual treatment for internal injuries is IV feeding, antibiotics, painkillers and sometimes surgery.

BURNS

Burns are classified into degree by their seriousness.

1st degree burns – Red, sensitive skin, like a sunburn.

2nd degree burns – Blistering on the first layer of skin (the epidermis) only.

3rd degree burns – Damage to both the epidermis and dermis (the first two layers of skin), visible scars.

Burns over more than 70% of the body are life threatening due to dehydration and the risk of shock, kidney failure and infection.

Electrical shock

Physical marks can vary from none at all to severe tissue damage depending on the severity of the shock.

Internal damage can be done by electrical current traveling along the nerves and blood vessels.

Source: Leia Fee (with additions by Susannah Shepherd)

[shamrockqueen]

Wasteland paradise

Chapter 1

Pairing : Boyka X Reader (Post Apocalyptic AU/ inspired by but not in the universe of Fallout new Vegas)

Warnings : R18, human trafficking, purchased reader, eventual Smut, rough smut, eroticism (not every chapter has smut), death of minor characters.

Word count : 1498

Scott Adkins Masterlist

They say that the decay was gradual, overtaking humanity like a spiderweb of cancer and bleeding into the very bones of modern society. The elite sat comfortably on their pedestals as the earth below them crumbled—that is, until the rot reached them too. They say that when the tallest tower finally fell, it was already too late.

The underbelly was all that survived, becoming this new aristocracy within what once were major cities. Those who fled were left with the scorched landscape they had left barren. Some founded small communes; others formed almost farel gangs that roamed further out into the wasteland. Some settlements fizzled easily; some were attacked and picked clean by invaders; but a few seemed to live long enough to spawn other generations.

You’d never know what that modern world was truly like, and sometimes you’d find yourself wondering how your life would have been if the older generations had ensured a better future. It wasn’t worth thinking about anymore. No, living through the week has greatly outweighed depressive fantasies.

You found yourself alone—finally and horribly alone.

You tried your best to wash the blood stain out, but no amount of scrubbing could make the dress clean again. It felt low, repurposing the very clothes your mother died in while she lay naked in a shallow grave, but you couldn’t afford to waste the fabric. The dress would never come clean, but the pattern was a beautiful yet slightly faded floral blue, so the cleanest part of the fabric had to have been worth something. Anything to put some food on that empty table now that you’d be the only one left to provide for it.

Almost all of your time had been spent taking care of your mother until her slow demise, which had her coughing up most of her own blood. It was always hard to look at her while she was in that state, and the only hope now was that she would be at peace.

You looked at the once-beautiful dress you had bundled in your hands. It had been her favorite, but it was too late to bury her with it now. You pulled the small switchblade from your pocket and began cutting off the stained portion of the fabric. You didn’t bother to cut the seams, as whoever bought it off of the trader once it left your hands would just do it themselves.

You bundled the dress under your arm and left your little home. You had shared this poorly constructed, one-room shanty house with what was left of your family. The small shanty village wasn’t very big and didn’t yield very much production, but the few traders that came through were often a godsend as they brought in many much-needed supplies. A tiny smudge on their map, and they still remembered to visit all of you.

You hoped to get there early so as not to be stuck in the hot sun for most of your day. The caravan was normally parked over by the moonshiners shack, an old man who made a pretty good hootch and would sell a lot to the passing traders.

It was the main reason the caravan came at all and often a great reprieve from everyday life since he’d let the townsfolk get drunk at a hefty discount.

He was nice enough for an old coot, and more often than not, he could be seen sitting in front of his home with his dog Trixie, waiting for the traders to show up.

Old Trixie was sweet and would wonder over and nuzzle up to passersby in search of extra affection and maybe a bit of food. She usually rushed the hill when anyone got close, but when you rounded towards the shack, she wasn’t anywhere in sight.

You crested over the hill and looked down at the lonely little shack at the bottom. There were vehicles all around the house, alongside the trader’s trucks, but you didn’t see any people. You used your hand as a visor to shield your vision from the bright sun overhead to get a better look at the scene before you.

A mound of fluff lay motionless next to the door. Trixie’s telltale brown and white spots were stained in a deep, terrifying red splattered along her small body.

More bodies, larger and human, came into view, all of which lay slain by the side of the caravan. You stopped walking, shaking in your boots at the prospect of getting caught by whatever had caused this entire scene. You nearly pissed your pants off when the mirador walked out of the shack with a jug of hooch in each hand. He wore a torn armored vest doused in a fair amount of blood that most likely wasn’t his.

He turns back towards the house as if to talk to someone behind him, and you take this chance to turn tail and run back the way you came. The fabric was let loose from where you’d clutched it under your arm, kicked away by the dusty wind in exchange for your meager life. The desecration, the sacrifice, the loss—none of it was worth anything now, and all was forgotten in the wake of a possible bullet to the teeth.

The only sound you could hear was the crunch of dirt under your boots as the blood rushed to your ears. You sprint off as fast as you can, propelling yourself down the hill almost faster than your legs can keep up with.

You barely caught the sound of someone shouting after you with a jovial “Woah, where’s the fire?”

All were silenced after a loud bang of gunshots went off not far behind you. Everyone scattered like ants as more shots rang through the air.

You make the mistake of turning back to look at the whirring of a spiked vehicle as it rounds over the hill. You tried to run as fast and as far as your feet could carry you until you could find ample cover from the impending doom.

The flicker of the blue plastic tarp as it got caught up in the breeze stole your sight as you switched your direction towards possible safety. Your boots nearly slid out from under you as you dove towards the tarp. It proved to be a small, unused alcove between two shanty houses, with the plastic cover leftover from a collapsed partial roof.

You kick yourself underneath it and fling the tarp back over your body. You had to squeeze in among the long-forgotten junk as you tried to steady your heart.

You watched as the shadows flickered from the outside of your small cover; many were from those running away just as you had, but others were larger with more sharp edges. Your stomach ached as the shrill and broken voices of your neighbors disappeared into the distance, but it would be the first crack of gunfire that made your guts drop entirely. The cries of the fallen were quickly devoured by the roar of scrap metal against the rough terrain vehicles that rolled by.

You held your breath to keep from hyperventilating, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as tears dribbled tracks down your dirtied cheeks.

You hear heavier, slower footsteps that clinked as they hit the dirt. The sound of it was horribly clear as they got closer and closer to you, hidden only by a tattered blue tarp. When the cracked leather of the side of a boot came into view, you had to choke down every ounce of fear that wanted to burst forth, practically forcing it back down into your lungs as it twisted your face in horror.

You wait just as they wait. The boots don’t move for however long it takes to make your heart nearly beat out of your chest. Then they started to turn towards you.

The next sound is deafening as bits of rusted metal go flying as the blue sheet is ripped right off of it. Old car parts clunk and scrape together, and you have to cover your head with your hands as the small avalanche of junk falls over you.

As the hot sun hit your body once again, there was no use in staying quiet, and a scream finally forced its way out of your body.

To your dismay, you weren’t shot; you were only dragged out by the roots of your hair as the raider dug his fingers into your scalp. You're barely kicking as your legs fight, only to wiggle out from under the junk pile.

He pulls you out onto the road before giving you a kick and a quick order of “get up, off the fuckin ground.”

You scramble up, hands over your head, his rusted gun pointed to your face. He barked out “walk” through his broken teeth, pointing ahead of you with his weapon before kicking the back of your knee when you didn’t already turn and start moving. Your leg buckled but kept you upright as you limped ahead of him towards the chaos they had created.

Shanty houses were lit on fire after being looted and knocked over. A few children were being pulled away from the corpses of their parents left laying in the street; some were caught in the crossfire and laid not far from their fallen family.

“There’s almost nothing here aside from the hooch and the cargo from the caravan!” One man shouted out to the one following not far behind you, his gun still pointed to your back.

“Grab some survivors and load'em into one of the empty wagons. We can sell them off at the trade center for good money.” The voice behind you called back. “If they try to fight you, just shoot’um.”

When your knees shook, it slowed your pace, and you heard him yell at you, “Move, damn it.” And you picked your feet up as quickly as you could towards the caravan.

True to their word, anyone who fought back was shot immediately. They would say that they could still get plenty of money for a few of you, so losing 1, 2, or maybe 5 wouldn’t be an issue.

When everyone was loaded into the wagon, it pulled off with a kick of dust. You watched your old town smolder and smoke in the distance until it disappeared into the wasteland. You’d never see the shanty town again, not that there would ever be anything left to look for.

Chapter 2

Tags : @annwoods91 @jasminrt1

[aminiatureworld]

Return to Me

Characters: Albedo, Scaramouche, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,538

Warnings: Violence, Minor villain death

Premise: What is it like when the one you most adore becomes a stranger? And how’re you supposed to pick up the pieces?

In which the reader loses their memory.

Author’s Note: Just a note that this is not how actual amnesia works, and if you’re experiencing memory loss please contact your doctor.

That being said the amnesia is really good for angst and pining so how could I resist? It’s one of those guilty pleasure tropes I like to read and think of so I hope I did it justice.

Albedo

Albedo loved two things in this world, alchemy and you. They were what kept him centered, what kept him sharp and curious and full of life. So how could it be that one of those things should cause him such great unhappiness, and that said unhappiness should be the other’s suffering?

It had been a dangerous experiment, from the beginning Albedo was well aware of that. Testing whether or not elemental energy contained traces of elements via water could yield incredibly useful results about magic’s interaction with the ordinary world. But it could also backfire massively. Noxious gases, explosions, anything was possible.

But he’d thought he was prepared. After all you two had hiked all the way to the edges of Windrise specifically so no one would be around, and Albedo had even put up a barrier with the express intention of keeping anyone from getting hurt. It should’ve been fine, everything should’ve been fine, and yet when the Electro Slime condensate hit the water and the explosion knocked you both off your feet, slamming into the ground three meters from where you’d originated, he could only wonder how things had gone so wrong.

Picking himself up after a few agonizing seconds, every bone and muscle in his body stiff and aching from the sudden impact, Albedo crawled over to where you lay. To his horror you appeared to have hit a rock, and your head was bleeding slightly. Cupping your face in his hands the alchemist rasped out your name. The relief he felt when you opened your eyes was only momentary, replaced by shock and a sense of utter emptiness when you made out a groggy: “Who are you?”

Electro slime elements appear to contain no small amount of Chlorine, which, combined with only the hydrogen as a result of the electricity splitting the water molecules apart, caused an explosion. Although normally Albedo might’ve been thrilled by the discovery of an element only found mixed in the natural world, now he could only look upon that experiment with a raw sort of hatred that he hadn’t known he’d possessed. The ice around the alchemist’s heart had been burned away, and now all that remained was a burnt and shriveled up little thing, determined to make up for the lack of emotions by throwing its owner into the pits of despair.

Albedo spent all his time at first in the hospital and then in the apartment you two shared. You’d made an offhanded remark about how empty it looked, and Albedo had smiled awkwardly, not having the heart to tell you he could barely look at a piece of science equipment without a deep sense of loss. The doctors had said the effects should fade with time, but Albedo knew that there had been magic in the air, and a sick, twisted part of himself jeered that he was holding onto false hope.

It didn’t help that Albedo had been absolutely unprepared for the reality in which you couldn’t remember a thing about him, or your relationship. Never again would you rush up to him as you had before, excitement in your eyes and questions in your head. Memories of gathering crystal flies in the sunset and staying up all night, notes on old ruins swapped with sweet kisses and phrases that meant nothing at all, the beach where Albedo had sketched you for the first time and you had given him your first gift, all that was nothing to you, the stories of a stranger told by another.

“The first gift you gave me was a flower preserved in a solution of Cryo.” You said, words awkward and unsure in your mouth. Albedo knew that you weren’t really remembering it.

“That’s right,” he replied, voice light and calm, trying desperately to keep the despair from showing on his face. “It was a Cecilia. You said that it looked as if it was made of snow.”

“It sounds beautiful,” you replied, speaking more to yourself than to him, “I wish I could remember it.”

“You will someday, I’m sure of it.” He smiled, but the movement felt like too much effort to keep up and soon his face collapsed once more into an expression of melancholy. As if noticing this you smiled slightly in turn.

“Does it still exist?”

“Yes,” Albedo gazed out the window that faced you two. Beyond the buildings, only a few streets away lay his laboratory, locked away and gathering dust, “it does, but I cannot get it right now.”

“Oh,” you seemed at a loss for words, glancing down towards your hands, “that’s alright. I’d rather remember it on my own anyways.”

Albedo said nothing to this. Moving to place his hand on yours he paused. He was a stranger to you. This little act of comfort, all the little gestures he’d gotten so used to were now impossible. Dropping his hand to his side he moved to get you a glass of water, desperately trying to ignore the pain burning in his chest and in his heart.

_____

“Are these yours?”

Albedo placed the bag of groceries he’d just gotten on the floor. Moving over to where you were sitting, you were taking a break from adventuring until you remembered more, a decision made by the doctors for fear you’d forgotten how to control your vision. You had recently moved on from mostly sleeping to exploring your once familiar home, and now you sat curled on the couch; in your lap was a familiar book. Leaning over Albedo glanced at the page you were on.

“Yes, they’re mine. I like to sketch in my free time.”

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, running your hand reverently over the slightly stained page, “I can see the different shades in the mountain, even if it’s only a pencil drawing.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Albedo smiled to himself, the memory of that day offering him some solace, “it was quite a difficult thing to draw.”

“It had an odd name.” You scrunched your nose slightly in concentration, an expression so cute Albedo could help but let out a huff of bittersweet laughter.

“Dragonspine. That’s the name of the mountain.” Turning to put the groceries away he paused when you spoke once more.

“No. That wasn’t it. It was something else. V-Vida something.” Albedo watched, incoherent thoughts and emotions clouding his mind as you retraced the circles you’d been making on the page beforehand. Suddenly your fingers stopped and you looked up. “Vindagnyr, yes that’s it! There’s a fortress up there, a, what did you tell me they were called, a domain. And that’s the name of it.” You closed your eyes once more. “Something happened there, something to do with you. I can’t remember it, if I was there or if you told me about it before, but something’s there. Something important.”

Albedo felt as if he must’ve been dreaming. The same sort of emptiness that had filled him at the beginning of this catastrophe was there, but this time there was something else, the bitter feeling of a hope that he couldn’t be sure of filling his lungs and his mouth. He turned back towards you, teetering forward as he tried to grasp the situation.

“Yes. That’s right. Vindagnyr. The name it had before it was essentially destroyed by Durin. I met the Traveler there, a week before I met you.” He sat down on the chair adjacent to where you were sitting, memories filling his mind. “It was also the first place we performed an experiment together.”

“I’d like to go there again then.” Your face was one of open triumph and excitement, and there was something in your eyes that Albedo thought he might never see again, a sort of recognition that he thought had been lost, “I know you haven’t been to your work once. I suppose it would make sense, considering what happened, but would you take me there?”

“Of course.” Albedo’s voice was sure and solid.

“Even though I might not remember more.”

“Even then.”

You reached your hand out to the alchemist, and after a second Albedo took it. He ran his thumb over the back of your hand slightly, and you made no move to withdraw, instead squeezing his palm slightly.

You had remembered something. It wasn’t everything of course, and there was no guarantee that there wouldn’t be heartbreak up ahead, wouldn’t be frustration and sorrow and moments when hope seemed very far away. But as long as moments like this existed, Albedo could hang on. The anger and despair that had burned inside him remained, but now something stronger resided there.

And that was hope.

 Scaramouche

“Do you see them?” You whispered, raising your head slightly above the rock you were hiding under. Scowling Scaramouche made a cutting gesture with his hand.

“Yes I see them. And get back down!”

Although his tone of voice was harsher than usual you smiled a smile of understanding as you lowered yourself once more out of sight. Scarmouche took a deep breath in response, trying to control the coiling tension that sat in his stomach. Today’s mission was an unenviable one, made only worse by your presence, for Scaramouche knew these were no ordinary enemies, and though you could take care of yourself just fine there was a nagging in his head that refused to be silenced.

Your targets sat encamped up ahead, completely nondescript in appearance, although that was hardly surprising of deserters of the Fatui, especially ones of such high caliber as them.

Scaramouche’s expression twisted into a scowl of concentration once more as he thought about the moment when you two had received your orders to get rid of those who knew of the dealings of the army of the Tsaritsa, and who were certainly willing to dispose of said secrets for the right price. Although they were no doubt traitors of the worst sort and worth less than dirt, there was still something unpleasant about fighting people who had once been comrades. You’d mused it was because of the bonds of mutual struggle and culture, but Scaramouche suspected for himself it was more the annoyance of fighting people who were at least somewhat trained.

Scaramouche gave the signal and you crept once more out from behind your hiding spot. Manifesting your polearm Scaramouche could already see the well worn metal steaming. This battle was going to be bloody.

At first everything had gone well enough, being hidden on a ledge about the camp you’d managed to do a great deal of damage, made easier by their surprise and ill planned position. However things quickly began to turn sour. The ex-Fatui might not’ve had the equipment of their army days, but they retained the ruthlessness that had once made them so efficient and now made them so dangerous.

There was an odd smell running through the valley, the smell of electricity and something burning. Scaramouche stood in front of a man who had certainly once been a vanguard and a woman who appeared to have been a Cryo mage. Sweat coated their faces but Scarmouche felt cold with the thrill of battle. Electricity crackled to life in his hands and already bits of electricity were dancing on the charred and dinky armor of his enemies. What were they thinking sending a Harbinger against a pathetic group such as this? It was laughable, really.

“Such a pity that members of such an elite force are going to die like dogs.” He drawled. The woman in front of him gritted her teeth, summoning a trail of icicles which Scaramouche easily leapt over. “Is that truly your worth?” He laughed, before the calm that always came with killing washed over him. “Your best is hardly worth my worst.” Gathering electricity, Scaramouche prepared for the final, searing strike.

The man in front of him smiled a sickening sort of smile, the kind that one made only when they knew that it was the end, and then it all went wrong.

The sound of your voice was muffled by the energy approaching Scaramouche from behind, as the outline of a transparent sort of figure clipped his vision. Quickly whirling around Scaramouche was unprepared for the third ex-Fatui member, an agent who had apparently learned his skills well, bearing down on him. Raising his hands, the Harbinger was suddenly thrown aside by an unknown force. Fire made contact with lightning and the ground exploded.

Fighting to retain consciousness Scaramouche was aware of the sickly smell of burning flesh. Blinking away the confusion he glanced at the carnage around him. The agent lay haphazardly, face half obscured by a mass of flesh that must’ve once made him up but now seemed out of place. Behind him the other agents had hardly feared better, and the charred visage of mangled flesh replace what had once been arms, legs, necks. It was an unsettling view, and though Scaramouche couldn’t say it was the worst thing he’d ever seen it still left a vile taste in his mouth. How quickly a fragile little human could come undone, made into that which was unrecognizable.

Finally he fixed his gaze towards you, relieved to find that there was no apparent wounds, although that perspective shifted slightly when viewing your hands, which were covered with welts. Your fire must’ve mixed with his electricity, causing an overload of energy, and you two lying in the eye of the storm. Scaramouche looked at his own hands, and realized they were similarly reddened. Ignoring the pain he shook your shoulder. “Get up.” He let out when you finally opened your eyes.

However it was apparent very quickly that something was wrong. You eyes held no recognition in them, instead they seemed as blank and transparent as a mirror. Looking at him you furrowed your brow slightly.

“Where…” your gaze drifted towards the scraps of humanity around you and then there was nothing but screaming and a wetness on Scaramouche’s cheeks that felt suspiciously like tears.

“You need to get back to work.” Signora’s voice betrayed no sense of pity. Scaramouche was glad for it, he wouldn’t’ve been able to forgive her if there had been.

“I doubt those imbeciles need me for something as simple as the daily regime. If they do it’s their fault, not mine. I owe them nothing.”

“You owe them your work, it’s your duty as a Harbinger,” Signora’s eyes narrowed, “or have you forgotten that in your folly.”

“I’ve forgotten nothing!” Scaramouche snapped, eyes boring into those across from him. “I am well aware of what my obligations are and what they aren’t. As I said there is nothing of importance fir me right now, and I don’t wish to waste away my time with trivial matters.”

“What would our dear Tsarina think of such words,” Signora let out a dramatic sigh. Raising the glass she was drinking from to your lips she paused, “you best be careful. I cannot shelter you from your folly forever. Either you learn how to deal with this… unfortunate incident and your work, or I shall have that person thrown out into the snow.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Scaramouche’s tone was like acid and he felt for the moment as if letting go of himself wasn’t such a crime, for now there was no one to chastise him about it anymore.

“I’m warning you. Don’t forget what happens to those who cannot fulfill their duty to the Tsarina,” Signora paused, a cruel smile gracing her face, “or have you forgotten who caused this in the first place.”

It was all Scaramouche could do not to set the tent ablaze.

“Get. Out.” He commanded. Signora sighed, shaking her head and downing her drink in one go before walking out and leaving Scaramouche with the feeling of falling apart.

_______

“Do you sing?”

Scaramouche lifted his head at the sound of your voice, surprised by the question. You hadn’t said much since the aftermath of the incident, and Scaramouche hadn’t forced you to. After all it was one of the things he’d first appreciated in regards to you, you’d never forced him to talk when he didn’t want to. Now he felt the need to afford you the same courtesy, knowing that intelligence still lay behind those eyes even if recognition had disappeared. Now he put down the document he was reading, smiling wryly and shaking his head.

“No. Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s what you’re called isn’t it? Your name, one of your names. The… the Balladeer?” You said it as if it was a question, and perhaps it was. Scaramouche couldn’t think however, couldn’t think over the rushing in his ears.

“Where did you hear that?”

“I don’t know. I just heard it. Or I remembered it. But that’s who you are, isn’t it?” You smiled, and for a moment Scaramouche could almost imagine life was as it was before. “Can you sing for me?”

“No.” This conversation had happened before.

“Fine,” you shook your head, “but one day I want you to sing for me, when I remember everything, then I want you to sing for me.”

“Fine.” Scaramouche managed to get out, afraid of the rising emotions he felt, afraid they might break through his voice.

“You’re missing work, aren’t you.” You continued on, gaze piercing through him. “I can tell, I can hear people whispering about it when I go out. I’m not supposed to be here, and you’re supposed to be working. If what you told me really is what happened, you should work.”

“Ridiculous,” Scaramouche scoffed, “I can manage my own affairs. Besides,” his voice grew softer, as if he didn’t want to reveal himself to you. You were too familiar, but still a stranger, and a part of him hid behind the walls he built up around everyone else, the walls only you could climb over. “Besides, who would look after you.”

“I can look after myself.” Your answer was as confident as it had always been. “I have to, since I trust what you’ve told me about myself, about this work, this world.”

“It was you not looking after yourself that lost you your memory!” He was shouting by now, he was shouting but he couldn’t stop because if he stopped shouting he’d be crying.

“Perhaps. But it’s not looking after me to end up like the people we fought. So go to your work. And maybe one day when you come back, I’ll remember.”

He couldn’t say no to you, eventually you won. It had been that way since the beginning, you tearing down his bluffing and his empty promises. Perhaps it was what he appreciated most about you.

Every moment Scaramouche was away from you felt like he was betraying a part of himself, a part he had hid for so long. But you were right, just like before, and just like before you’d won him over with your honesty, your refusal to back down, and your view of the Harbinger for what he truly was, someone who was deep down truly afraid. That part of you remained, somehow without memory and without certainty it remained.

And if that part of you remained, well maybe some day the rest would return.

 Xiao

“Xiao look!” You let out a cry of delight as you threw yourself off the tall stone mountain, glider unfurling in a vibrant waves of color as you began circling in the air. Xiao scowled from the tree in which he was perched, unwilling to humor you in your folly.

“You’re going to be injured.” Although he hadn’t meant for you to hear that you still laughed at the comment, shaking your head as you once more carved shapes into the sky.

“It’s a lovely day for gliding! The air is so fresh and the breeze is just enough to keep you upright!”

“It’s too windy.” Xiao’s voice was flat. This was foolish, what you were doing was foolish. He could feel the currents, feel their laughter, their excitement. They were surely up to no good.

But you weren’t paying attention to that, instead you were gliding about as if you were born to fly. It was a beautiful sight, Xiao had to admit. The beauty of those immersed in what they loved. And what Xiao loved was you.

“Come on Xiao!” You called out. “Come fly with me!”

“No.”

“Oh c’mon, I know you can do it!” Screwing your face into a pout when the adeptus once more shook his head you shrugged. “Your loss.”

Xiao knew you were disappointed, but he couldn’t help it. It seemed somehow out of place for him to join you in whatever you were doing. Besides, he needed to keep track of the currents, just in case.

You dove down for a moment, and Xiao felt his stomach clench, knowing full well what you were doing, but unable to keep the worry out of his mind. And yet then you were flying up, up, up, up and though Xiao wanted to scold you, wanted to tell you to come down once more, he was rapt, in awe. You were too beautiful, and it stole his breath away.

A gust of wind came blowing through the stone monoliths and as your wings buckled and you plummeted towards the ground Xiao found that he was truly unable to breathe at all.

Perhaps it was a blessing that you were unconscious. Then you didn’t have to feel the way Xiao held onto your shoulders as if he’d never let you go, the way he gasped for the air he was supposed to be in charge of, the way his eyes were devoid of everything but fear. You hadn’t fallen so far, he told himself, you hadn’t fallen so far it was fatal. You were breathing, you were going to be fine. But he found himself unable to believe those words. If you had said them he would’ve, but there you were, a crumpled mess and he barely able to process the world around him.

Crashing onto the Inn balcony, not caring about the odd looks thrown his way, Xiao made his way upstairs. You were going to be fine. You were.

If only he could believe himself.

“They’re out of danger now.” Verr Goldet’s voice was calm, unnaturally so, and Xiao only softened a little at the knowledge, sure something had gone wrong. “But…” the innkeeper continued, confirming all of the fears Xiao had been secretly nursing.

“But.”

“But there seems to be a problem with their memory. They were very confused at first, unable to remember things such as Liyue, their duty as adventurer, this place, things like that. At first we thought it would clear, but now it seems that isn’t so. Their memory might be affected for quite a while.”

“I want to see them.” Xiao brushed past Goldet, determined to help you if this was to be your fate. But Goldet’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

“Xiao, they can’t remember you.”

At first there was the feeling of falling. And then, as Xiao vanished, there was nothing.

______

At first Xiao was determined to stay away completely. It hurt too much, hurt to think about what had happened. At first he’d managed to survive on anger, anger at the world, at you not listening to him, at himself for letting it happen. But quickly the anger faded and what replaced it was a loneliness so vast he couldn’t believe that he had managed to survive in such a way before he met you.

Still he didn’t want to go, didn’t want to see you as you were now, unaware of him and perhaps destined to remain so. How cruel fate was. It took everything he knew from him and just when he began to live again it took that to. It took away your memory, your livelihood, and for what? To punish him? It seemed unfair, so unfair.

So he’d stayed away, afraid that something would happened again to you if he were to show himself again. But the knowledge of such emotions as love is something that doesn’t fade, and Xiao found himself unable to continue on as before, finding the pain too great. He had to see you. At least to say goodbye, he had to see you. It would be unfair not to do so.

The moon was full, casting a silvery light on the landscape. Xiao drifted over towards the roof of the Inn, thankful that he was invisible, so as to not have to experience the moment your eyes reached him but you didn’t.

Your silhouette appeared quickly enough in the darkness. You seemed somewhat preoccupied, and yet there was a purpose to your step, made all the more evident by the Qingxin grasped firmly in your hand, a brethren of the other flowers which lay scattered on the railing.

“I know you’re there.” At first Xiao jumped, thinking perhaps you’d somehow managed to sense him. However he calmed down once you continued, it appeared you weren’t truly talking to him.

“I know you’re there. And I wish you’d come back,” You continued, gazing out on the landscape around you. “I don’t remember your name you see. They told me your name of course, but I wish they hadn’t, I wanted to remember it myself. It must be why you left, of course you didn’t want to see me like this. If what they said was true…” you shook your head, “I know it was true. I know that it had to have been true, that I cared for you, that you cared for me. I know because I miss you.” Xiao felt his heart pound in his chest, so loud he could barely hear you.

“I miss you so much. Isn’t that odd? I don’t know you anymore and yet I miss you. It’s as if something is missing. I mean, of course something is missing but it’s more than just the memories themselves. It’s the feeling. Like going outside without a coat on. I miss you, even if I can’t miss you because I can’t remember you I do, I miss you dearly.”

You paused, placing the flower on the railing next to the rest.

“I hope you see the flowers before they fade,” you called out softly to the dark, “and I hope one day I can look at you again. I remember you had such lovely eyes. I’d like to see them again to be sure.”

For a moment Xiao didn’t move, frozen by all he’d heard. But the minute you turned to leave he was already there, bound by the feelings he had for you, by the knowledge that continuing as he had been would kill him, would only hurt you.

“Do you remember me?” It was a silly question to ask, but he had nothing else to say. You turned towards him and smiled softly. It was true, your eyes didn’t recognize him. But there was something in your gaze nonetheless.

“Xiao.” You whispered, and the yaksha knew that he’d never be able to leave again.

[bestintheparsec]

Falling

Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Summary: Frankie’s stuck in his head about you. This definitely works as a standalone but I wrote it as a sequel to A Little Bit of Sugar

A/N: So I tried something different when I wrote this one - it’s unlike anything else I’ve written, but I hope you like it and I hope this brings some warmth to start off your new year!

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: a disgusting amount of softness (I apologize), angst but not really?, one minor mention of blood/injury

~

Frankie matches his stride to yours as you walk down the gravel path back to your place. He tries to pay attention to something, anything, other than the nervous flickering of warmth in his chest—how you pull your coat tighter around yourself when a breeze hits, the sound of your boots clacking on the ground with each step, the colorful holiday lights nearby that cast a subtle glow on your hair.

It doesn't help.

He knows the directions well enough now—you’ve only been on a few dates but he’s walked you home every time. You look up at him and say something that makes him laugh, and he tries to let that feeling of ease course through him, willing it to last longer.

It doesn't.

He’s afraid he’ll blow it—the fact that he’s been on more than one date with you is already more than he expected. Hell, the fact that you'd even wanted to see him again beyond the coffee shop you'd met at was more than he expected.

Each time after your evenings together, the only thing he’s given and taken has been a quiet embrace, a question if you’d like to meet up again next week. And each time, you’ve said yes. But it hasn’t been anything other than that. Just an exchange of shy smiles, fleeting gazes, and maybe an awkward laugh as you wave and he walks off.

Frankie huffs quietly—chuckles at the irony of being beside himself with happiness while simultaneously being unable to act like a normal human being around you. He hasn’t felt this comfortable around anyone new in a long time. Even though it’s only been a few evenings he’s spent with you, he knows himself and the difference in the way he’s been falling asleep a little faster every night, the way he feels the rest of the world and its problems melt away on these few evenings, just for a while.

And that’s exactly why he doesn’t want to fuck this up. What if you don’t feel the same way—if you’re only hanging out with him as a friend? He shakes his head—that can’t be right. Because that brightness in your eyes when you look at him, how you smile and glance down at the ground when he tells you he enjoyed the night—he knows he mirrors it all. So he can’t be crazy. That’s what he keeps telling himself, anyways.

You break him out of the brief reverie, mentioning a place you think he’d like to go next time. Next time. He breaks out a grin—he really would like it. His hand sways as he walks, lightly brushing against the hem of the back of your jacket. He wants to take your hand, feel its warmth in his, bring it to his lips for the lightest of kisses. But he can't do it. Too soon, he tells himself.

After you’ve both passed the same familiar sights along the path, you finally make it to your house. You turn to face him, and Frankie feels that nervousness creep up on him again. You have that smile that makes him melt lingering on your lips, your hands shoved into your pockets as you look at him, an awkward silence falling between you as you shift your weight from one foot to another. Fuck, what is wrong with him?

He tells you again that he had a wonderful time, a genuine softness in his eyes and heat in his cheeks. He feels his heart about to pound out of his chest. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, telling him the same and how you look forward to seeing him again. Those damn butterflies again. They seem to give him a nudge, almost as impatient as he is. Something about the glowing street lights and joyful ambiance nudges him a little harder—practically whacks him upside the head to just do it.

And then…

He murmurs a curt good night, turning to head back the way he came, not looking at whatever expression falls over your face as he does.

Frankie makes it exactly three steps before pausing where he is. He bites the inside of his cheek, briefly closing his eyes before turning back around—you’ve already started turning toward the door.

“Wait,” Frankie says abruptly, his voice more gruff than he expects as he calls your name. You turn and meet his eyes again, looking at him questioningly as he walks quickly up to you, stopping when he's inches away, before he can change his mind.

His hand trembles as he moves it to gently cradle your face, your surprised but soft, half-lidded gaze threatening to knock the air out of him.

“Can I...kiss you?” he murmurs, and before he can even think about what he’s just asked, your lips are on his, his hands on your waist pulling you in closer as he kisses you; delicate, light kisses of his warm lips to yours, a contrast from the biting winter air that surrounds you both.

~

Frankie’s bringing in some firewood from the yard when he sees you pulling up in front of his house. He’s spent the last thirty minutes chopping up some extra wood to make his house more cozy for your date tonight. Really it's just takeout and a movie, but something feels...different about it. You’ve gone to various places for your dates, but never his actual home, not for long. It’s been a rainy, cold week, so Frankie suggested staying in tonight, which you more than happily agreed to.

The rain has lightened up a little bit, slightly dampening your clothes as you get out of the car and grab your things. Frankie feels his pulse start to quicken, ignoring the mist of cool rain on his skin. God, even in this weather, you’re breathtaking.

Truthfully, he’d been thrilled at the idea of having you spend a date night in his home. But he didn’t anticipate the way he was more nervous this morning than he ever had been with you before, and he didn't have a clue as to why. He’s spent the day trying to make sure everything was perfect—cleaning up, making sure he had the food planned, spending a little longer picking out his clothes earlier, everything. Is this plaid button-up too much? Too little? It’s been driving him crazy, and he doesn’t understand it. His home is his safe place—a happy place, if he has such a thing. He wants it to be that way for you, too.

For a split second he imagines you with him at home; not just tonight, but always. Coming home to each other. Staying warm under the covers at night, fresh cups of coffee in the morning. Just as quickly, the thought disappears. It isn’t right. You’re good; too good to him, for him. How can he ever live up to what you deserve?

The slam of your car door brings him back to reality.

Messing with the firewood tonight probably wasn’t the best idea. Your smile fades when you get closer to him, a concerned frown on your face as you ask what happened to him.

He’d had a little accident when cutting up the wood earlier, giving himself a gash on his cheek, which started to bleed. A lot. It probably looks worse than it actually is. Because tonight is the perfect night for you to not be able to do anything right, Francisco. He was going to clean it up after he got done before you got here, but it’d taken him longer than he’d expected to get everything finished.

He brushes it off, telling you it’s no big deal, just a scratch. Not worth a fuss. Which you don’t buy, at all. Of course. By now you’ve both been standing in the drizzling rain for long enough that your hair has been matted down on your head and your clothes are starting to get soaked through.

He quickly gestures for you to come inside, the warmth of his home immediately comforting against the frigid chill of the rain.

“Frankie, please let me help with that,” you tell him as soon as he shuts the door behind you.

“It’s fine, it’s nothing—” he starts, but you cut him off, telling him you don’t mind and that dinner can wait. Way to start off the evening right, he swears silently at himself as he goes to grab the kit. He pulls a towel off the shelf, too, then heads back out to you in the living room. Wrapping the towel around you first, he takes a seat beside you in front of the fireplace and hands you the kit.

You start picking through it for what you need, but he stops you for a moment. Taking the towel off your shoulders, he carefully wipes away at the beads of rain on your skin while you watch silently. He clenches his jaw, purposefully avoiding your gaze. Once he’s finished, you murmur a soft thank you and he nods once, letting you get back to what you were doing.

With a gentle hand, you start to clean up the cut. Your fingers trace along his skin as though he’s made of glass; maybe he is right now. But Frankie doesn’t even flinch—he can barely focus on anything except you. Those kind eyes, your pursed lips as you concentrate on the task at hand...There’s definitely something wrong with him, and it’s not the wound on his face.

Before he knows it, you’re done, tucking everything back into the kit. “There…” you whisper softly, trailing off as your eyes examine your work, your fingers still lingering on his cheek.

Clean hands on broken skin.

“Th—There,” Frankie repeats, barely audible. He sees that twinkle in your eyes again, like maybe you’re distracted by other things, too. He feels his chest constrict.

This isn’t the first time he’s felt like he’s been giving you the short end of the stick. He bites the inside of his cheek, glancing down at the floor. He’s done things; bad things. It’s not fair to keep this...relatively new relationship going, when in the end he has nothing else to give except himself.

But as much as he feels like he's stringing you along for nothing...everything just falls into place when he’s around you. And the way you make him feel, it's like he has everything worth holding onto. That has to mean something, right?

He clears his throat, his mind coming back to you. You watch him with patient eyes, slowly removing your hand from his face. He immediately misses your touch.

“I—” he blurts out, taking your hand in his, gripping it for a second before letting go. But you take it again, the lightest of smiles on your lips, and Frankie feels warmth rush into his face again.

Before he can ramble any further, he leans into you, taking your face in his hands and presses his lips to yours. It surprises you at first, but you move closer to him, too. The kisses start out slow, tender, but then deepen as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer. You reciprocate, running your fingers through his dampened hair as his lips move urgently, desperately against yours, like this can’t last forever. He doesn’t want to think about that. For now, he wants to get lost in you.

When you finally break away from each other, it’s too soon; it’s always too soon. Frankie’s breathless, resting his forehead on yours, his hand tracing along your cheek, down to your jaw and then resting along your neck.

He lets a few seconds pass, trying to gather himself before speaking up again. “I...was going to say...I hope you like what I picked up for dinner,” he whispers, shyness suddenly coming over him.

You chuckle at his attempted change of subject, crinkles under your eyes that make his heart soften even more. When you move your hand onto his chest, he hopes you can’t feel his heartbeat pounding.

“It’s—I’m sure it’s perfect, Frankie. Whatever you chose.” You smile at him, and it’s then that Frankie wonders just how long he’s been a goner.

~

Frankie makes his way up the path to your house, the same one he's taken countless times now.

You’d told him to let himself in once he got to your place, so he opens the door after a few knocks and calls out your name. You don’t answer but the lights are on, and he catches the subtle smell of something burning, followed by some shuffling noises coming from the kitchen. Dinner is at your house tonight, as you’ve both grown fond of staying in rather than being out and having to deal with the bustling crowds.

He takes off his hat and calls your name again, a bit of concern in his voice this time as he smooths down his hair. You finally respond with a rushed muttering of acknowledgment and he follows your voice to the kitchen. When he gets there, he finds you hunched over, muttering some profanities as you pull a tray out of the oven.

You set it down and tuck the stray strands of hair behind your ear before turning to look at him. Frankie smiles, that same giddy grin he can’t seem to hold back whenever he sees you—but it drops a little when he takes in the expression on your face now. You look disheveled and exhausted, although you give him a half-hearted smile.

You and Frankie have been with each other on some of those longer days—the days where everything feels out of place. For many of those days you didn’t even know it was that kind of day for him. But it’s on those days that he’s found comfort, safety in you. Little things, big things; none of it matters when he’s with you.

“Are you okay? What happened?” he asks, moving closer to wrap his arms around you and place a soft kiss onto your head. When you pull away, you motion at the tray you’d just taken out.

You tell him you’d been baking pastries when you got home—his favorite kind—a surprise for when he got here. But it was a long day at work, and you were drained, so you’d decided to take a nap while everything was in the oven...and then proceeded to sleep through the timer.

“Everything’s ruined,” you tell him dejectedly, followed by a soft apology.

Frankie’s been so focused on the fact that you went out of your way to do something for him that he barely catches on to how upset you are.

“Hey—wait, no. Nothing’s ruined,” he reassures you, his voice instantly sweeter than sugar as he places his hands on your shoulders, then moves to cup your cheek.

Frankie thinks of the times you’d been together and things hadn’t gone according to plan—he’s not known for being the smoothest man alive, after all. Times where it was one mishap or another—but then he'd see that playful glint in your eyes, and you would make him laugh about it until his insides ached, and it would make him feel like nothing had gone awry at all.

“It’s just that...I wanted to do something special for you. It’s not much and it’s stupid, but—” you peer at him with those eyes that make him weak in the knees, and Frankie notices that same grounding warmth appearing in his chest again.

It's not the first time he's felt unbelievably lucky.

“Hey, it’s not stupid, silly,” he repeats, chuckling when you gesture dramatically at the burnt pastries on the table. “You didn’t need to do anything for me...you really made my favorites?” A gentle smile plays on his lips.

You laugh softly and nod, getting a grin from him in return.

He runs the pad of his thumb along your cheek, nonchalantly stating that you can make another batch and that he can help—you smile back, even though you both know he’s not much of a baker.

His eyes trace delicately over your features for the first time since he got here. He sees the patches of flour in your hair, on your clothes, and his eyes soften. He can’t believe you’re his —that he’s yours.

He thinks of how your nose crinkles when you smile after teasing him; how he’ll send you a text during the day when something makes him think of you, only to realize you’d never left his thoughts at all. The way the guys have been well-meaningly teasing him for acting differently lately. The way he hasn’t felt right lately—but not in a bad way—just different; like he was numb for a long time and now the novocaine has worn off.

And he realizes he’s fallen completely in love with you.

~

It was a rough night for Frankie. He’s been there before—nights where his mind is louder than the sharpest rings of thunder and he can’t get it to shut up, where all else around him seems hopeless, lost.

Dawn is just barely starting to peek through between the cracks in the curtains when Frankie opens his eyes, unsure of how long he was out for but knowing it couldn’t have been long. He closes them again, a quiet sigh escaping his lips as he tries to avoid coming back to his senses.

But he does come back; back to the cool air on his exposed neck above the blanket, to the weight of himself sinking into the plush mattress. And he finds himself next to something warm—you. His eyes flutter open again, taking in the form of your silhouette in the dark as you lay next to him, fast asleep.

He’d called you. He didn’t want to—it was late, later than it usually hits him. But you picked up, and you seemed to know before he said a single word. He didn’t even tell you what was wrong at first, just muttered profuse apologies laced through broken whispers. He really didn’t hear much of what you said after that—but just hearing your voice was enough. It’s always enough, more than he ought to have. I’ll be there soon, you told him. You hung up before he could argue otherwise.

That’s how you ended up here, in his arms, though it started off with him in yours.

He can’t see much of you, but Frankie marvels at the way your quiet breaths steady his own heartbeat, how the fabric of your shirt falls delicately over the curve of your waist where his hand rests now.

He wraps his whole arm over you, gently pulling you flush against him as you unconsciously tuck yourself into the space below his neck. His mind is still heavy, but simultaneously he feels safe. Home.

He holds you like this for a while longer, savors the warmth of you against him, the silent peace that washes over him. He doesn’t know if he’ll fall asleep again but he tries, counting his exhales as his fingers trace along your back.

It’s not long before you stir a bit in his arms, rubbing your eyes as you recall where you are. You put a hand on his chest, then move it to hold his face as you whisper some sleepy words of love and reassurance. They’re words he’s said to you time and time again, as if they’re in limited supply. And you tell him just as often, but he’s always found it hard to let himself believe it.

You always seem to know exactly what he needs before he realizes it himself—even if it’s the darker hours of the night—and  you’re always ready to drop everything just for him...it’s everything he would do for you, although he’d do so much more if he possibly could.

Frankie knows now. It’s here in the dark, with you in the fragile space in his arms and the hollows of his heart that he knows—you love him just as much as he loves you.

Your groggy voice fills the silence. “I’ve always wondered ‘why not me��,” you murmur, still half-asleep.

He caresses your face with the back of his hand, a gentle smile as he asks what you’re talking about.

“Everyone around me...It seemed like everyone was finding their person. But never me,” you repeat, yawning as you blink your eyes open.

“But I know now...” you trail off, moving to rest your head on his chest. “I never found anyone else because I was supposed to meet you.”

You say it so casually, so calmly but it doesn’t hit Frankie with any less force. You’re too drowsy to think anything of it, but these words will carry him for a long time. Wherever he is, he’s never more at home than when he’s with you.

You don’t add anything else, simply draping your arm over him and moving in closer as you curl up and try to find sleep again. He’s unable to find the right words to respond, simply leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head.

Frankie reaches down and pulls the blanket over both of your shoulders, shutting his eyes once again and tries to join you in that state of slumber. It’ll be easier, he thinks. You’re here, and he’s home. And you fit perfectly in his arms—you always do.

~

“Okay, just keep them closed,” Frankie says with underlying excitement in his voice.  He’s standing behind you with his large hands over your eyes, and you’re unable to peek through them.

You laugh with confusion. “Seriously, what are you doing, Frankie?”

He doesn’t answer, just shushes you and carefully guides you forward, helping you sit down on the bar stool by the kitchen counter.

“Okay, okay. You good here?” He asks, resisting and chuckling when you try to pry his hands away.

“Yes, Francisco, now move your giant hands,” you demand playfully.

He releases his hands and you look around, still confused as your eyes fall on the countertop in front of you. “A...cup of coffee?”

He’s still standing behind you, leaning over your shoulder. “Not just a cup of coffee,” Frankie huffs with feigned offense. “Coffee from the shop we met at.”

You chuckle again, still perplexed, but he just puts his hands on your shoulder. “See if you can guess the drink,” he tells you, his tone entirely mischievous.

You raise your brows, but wrap your hands around the paper cup, letting it warm your hands and inhaling the familiar scent of your favorite shop. Finally taking a sip, you concentrate and try to pick out anything that might be different about it, but come up with nothing.

“This is my usual order…” you shake your head, taking another sip and trying to figure out what he’s being so sneaky about.

Still nothing.

You give up, setting the cup down and spinning around on the stool to face him. “Frankie, what—”

But he’s not right behind you—he’s on one knee on the floor. You let out a tiny gasp and swear your heart stops beating as your mind goes from confusion to realization to a complete flooding of surprised emotions. You slide off the stool and stand in front of him, trying not to burst into tears while failing to maintain your composure. Frankie has this timid but equally giddy grin on his face as he looks up at you, holding the black velvet box in his hand.

Frankie’s so distracted watching your reaction that he completely forgets that he needs to say something now, and his mind seems to finally register the apprehension in the rest of his body. The grin changes into a nervous smile as he inhales, then exhales.

“I—fuck,” he trails off, trying to gather his thoughts again as you chuckle with amusement. “I...you know you’re the world to me, and then some,” he starts, a tremor in his voice. “I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you, and I…You make me a better person—hell, you make me want to be a better person…” he continues to ramble as you move closer before dropping to the floor with him, throwing your arms around him.

“You’d make me the happiest man alive if...wait, I mean, I’m already the happiest man alive, but I would be even happier…” His supportive arms embrace you as he laughs, full of relief, and murmurs into your hair between your sobs. “...if you would do me the honor of being my wife.”

He’s so beside himself that he’d missed all the times you’d repeatedly said yes while in his arms, so you tell him again, his face in your hands, and he beams as you pull away to look at him.

Once he slips the dainty, understated ring onto your finger, you pull him back in, his lips meeting yours as he holds you like this is the only place he was ever meant to be—much like how you’d found each other in that quaint little coffee shop what seems like forever ago.

~

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[thelibrarbian]

Alright. Alright, he could do this. He was the Great Papyrus, he knew how to fix bones, he knew how to heal, and Fell wasn't– His HP was stable now. There was no need to panic. It was fine.

Or: Underfell Papyrus is injured on patrol and four skeletons deal with the aftermath.

---

Rating: T

Tags: Platonic Edgepuff, Multiverse Shenanigans, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Description of Injuries, Healing Magic, Papyrus Tries His Best, Everyone Needs A Hug, Eventual Fluff

Chapter word count: 1944

---

I wrote a thing!

I started working on this for Camp NaNo in April. It was supposed to be a one-shot... it did not want to stay a one-shot :’D

Read on Ao3

or below the cut:

Papyrus rarely slept.

For all the unusualness that this night was about to bring, in this regard it was perfectly normal. It was 1:30 in the morning and Papyrus was wide awake, sitting up against the headboard of his race car-shaped bed and scribbling increasingly intricate puzzle designs into a notebook when he was interrupted by an urgent knocking from the front door.

He silently sprinted down the stairs on sock-clad feet - he didn't want to wake his brother, after all - wondering who could be visiting them this early in the day. Most monsters he knew did not share his sleep schedule (or non-sleep schedule, as the case may be) - the most likely explanation was that Undyne had burned down her house again with a midnight snack.

He skidded to a halt at the door, reaching for the handle. The knocking hadn't stopped; if anything, in the few moments it had taken Papyrus to come downstairs and open the door, it had only grown in intensity.

The monster on the other side was not Undyne.

And Papyrus realized that something was very, very wrong.

He only caught one glimpse of the sharp-toothed, fur-hooded version of his brother before he was pushed aside without so much as a 'hello' as Red staggered past him. It was rare for their parallel universe doubles to visit unannounced, but that surprise quickly faded when Papyrus' eyes fell on the second, larger monster that Red was dragging more than carrying inside. 

To say that Fell looked bad would have been an understatement. He was hanging limply in Red's hold, his armor dented and torn open in places, and even though his clothes covered most of where Papyrus suspected the worst injuries to be, what he could see of the damage was bad enough. He thought he could make out several spots of something dark in the snow, leading from the basement to the front door, and he firmly decided to think about it later. Or not at all. 

Thick beads of sweat were clinging to Red's forehead as he panted, visibly struggling to hold onto his brother. With a rather undignified noise of alarm, Papyrus sprung into action, helping Red to bring Fell into the living room and lower the tall monster to the ground. Cleaning, too, was something to worry about later. 

He saw Red open his mouth, looking as if the next sentence was taking him a lot of effort to get out, then took one glance at Fell's plummeting HP and didn't wait to hear whatever Red was going to say. A second later he was crouching next to his unconscious alternate, his hands on his breastplate - stars, that piece of armor was not supposed to bend this way! - and pushing healing magic into him.

Papyrus was proud to proclaim that he had trained and mastered every aspect of magic at his disposal. He was a formidable fighter and a more than competent healer, but even so, whatever had happened to Fell was almost past Papyrus' abilities. Trying to stop his HP from falling felt as if he was attempting to catch running water with his hands. Which! Was not quite as impossible as it initially seemed, but it took all his concentration to bring the damage down to a slow trickle. He thanked the stars for having blessed him with such a large pool of magic reserves - he did not want to imagine running out in the middle of this. 

Just when he thought he was starting to get things under control and could think about asking what in Asgore's name had happened to them, there was a soft huff next to him, then an equally soft thump as, in the corner of his eye, Red slumped to the ground. 

"Oh no, not you too!" Papyrus reached out to catch him, but he wasn't quite fast enough - at least the carpet Red had landed on was soft - and as soon as his concentration on the healing slipped, Fell's HP started plummeting again. 

Papyrus was not panicking! Solely for the reason that he absolutely could not afford to panic right now! He sent one desperate pulse of green magic in Red's direction before placing both hands on Fell again.

"SANS!!" There was a very small part of him that felt bad for waking his brother at one-something in the morning, but the majority of Papyrus was painfully aware that he did not have nearly enough hands to handle this situation alone. It took a few long seconds (during which Papyrus was absolutely not panicking as he tried to stabilize Fell's HP and prayed that Red wasn't about to dust in the meantime) before he heard shuffling steps upstairs.

"bro, what's-" There was a pregnant pause as Sans, thank the stars, seemed to figure out for himself what was going on. A second later, the familiar sound of a shortcut right next to Papyrus announced that his brother had foregone the stairs entirely on his way down.

Papyrus had no time to watch what exactly Sans was doing, but from the corner of his eye, he noticed him crouching down next to Red for a minute before he got up and disappeared somewhere behind Papyrus. A few moments later, the front door fell shut and the key clicked in the lock. Sans didn't say anything, for which Papyrus was grateful - he couldn't get distracted at the moment. He also didn't seem particularly panicked about Red's state, which Papyrus could only take to mean that his brother's alternate was not about to dust right there and then. 

Sans wandered off again to somewhere, and Papyrus returned his full attention to Fell. It took a few more minutes before his HP wasn't dropping any further, and Papyrus finally dared to let his magic fade out.

"don't suppose you know what happened to them?" came Sans' voice from somewhere in front of Papyrus.

"No." He checked Fell again before he dared to look up, first at his brother, then at the unconscious Red next to him. The latter had been arranged into a more comfortable position, a cushion from the couch under his head. "Is Red alright? No, forget that question, what am I saying, obviously he would not be taking an impromptu nap on our living room floor if he was-"

"he should be fine," Sans reassured him before Papyrus could work himself further into his not-panic. "he isn't hurt, just exhausted. one shortcut too many, if i had to guess." He rubbed the back of his head. "'m gonna take him upstairs so he can sleep on a mattress, but… thought you could use a hand here first." He nodded towards the unconscious Fell.

Papyrus relaxed marginally. "Thank you, brother." It was only then that he noticed the first-aid kit on the ground in front of him that Sans must have brought with unusual, but very welcome helpfulness. "And yes, actually - an additional appendage or two would certainly make things easier." He carefully inspected Fell's armor, looking for a way to take it off with the least amount of movement possible.

His caution turned out to be justified. As he and Sans started removing the armor, Papyrus got the disturbing impression that the breastplate was most of what was currently holding Fell's ribcage together. It almost seemed like a miracle when they eventually managed to get the dented pieces of metal off him without causing any further damage.

Sans was looking vaguely nauseous. 

The undershirt came off much more easily than the armor, mostly because Papyrus declared it unsalvageable after one look and had no qualms about simply cutting it apart. After his earlier struggle just to get him stabilized, Papyrus knew that what he was about to see would be… not good. He braced himself before he pulled the fabric aside, barely hearing Sans' muttered curse next to him. 

He… had not been aware of just how many scars his counterpart had. Not that Fell usually made any attempts to hide them, but it was only now that Papyrus realized that almost every bone he could see was marked in some way. But those injuries were old, and he didn't let himself linger on them when there were much more pressing matters.

The right side of Fell's torso was a mess. There was barely a rib that wasn't broken, cracked, or bruised. Where the largest dent in the armor had been, a section of his ribcage was caved in entirely, the bone fragments just barely held together by magic. At least the healing magic had served to stop the bleeding, though, so Papyrus moved on, wanting to get a full picture first. 

Fell's arms were smeared with something that could be either blood or marrow, but the cracks and cuts he found there were relatively minor by comparison. (He decided that it was not the right moment to speculate how much of the blood had belonged to someone else.) The same was true for the rest of the injuries - they were numerous but small, as if Fell had been caught in the middle of a tight bullet pattern, but aside from the ribs nothing looked immediately concerning - until Papyrus reached his legs and found one tibia snapped cleanly in half. 

Sans had gone completely silent. When Papyrus glanced over, his sockets had gone dark and he looked like he was about to throw up.

"Sans?" 

No response.

Papyrus swallowed dryly. "Brother?" he said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. 

Sans jumped slightly, blinking rapidly before his eye lights reappeared - tiny specks of light in his sockets that immediately darted over to Papyrus. "y-yeah? sorry, think i spaced out for a moment." His gaze flicked briefly to the unconscious skeletons on the floor again, then back to Papyrus. "what now?" 

"First of all -" Papyrus gently squeezed Sans' shoulder, meeting his eye. "It's going to be okay, brother. This is nothing we can't handle." He adamantly refused to believe anything else. "Okay?" 

"'kay." 

"Secondly… If you could bring some water and clean towels, that would be much appreciated."

Sans gave a nod and disappeared, returning shortly after with the requested items and a mask of calmness plastered onto his face. If Papyrus hadn't seen him just a minute ago, it might have been convincing.

"Thank you." Papyrus looked his brother over. "I believe Red has been napping on the floor for long enough," he said.

Sans paused for a second before a look of understanding passed over his face. "right." He didn't take the out that Papyrus was trying to give him. Instead of taking Red upstairs and staying there with him, he only lifted him onto the couch and loosely draped a blanket over him before returning to Papyrus' side. 

"I am quite certain that I can handle this myself, if you would rather be elsewhere," Papyrus felt the need to clarify. 

"'course you can, bro." Sans crouched down next to him. "but an extra hand would help, right? 'm fine, really. just got a bit rattled there for a sec."

Papyrus rolled his eyes, more out of habit than anything else, and Sans' permanent smile became a bit more genuine.

"just tell me what to do." He wiggled his fingers. "extra hands at your service."

Alright. Alright, he could do this. He was the Great Papyrus, he knew how to fix bones, he knew how to heal, and Fell wasn't– His HP was stable now. There was no need to panic. It was fine. And Sans was helping, so it was doubly fine.

He took a deep breath, grabbed the first-aid kit, and got to work.

[mommymooze]

Lack of Vision

Reader x Black Eagles

The smell of ancient vellum, leather, ink, paper and polished wood fills your nose before you enter the room. Some of the students have begun to clear out having finished the bookwork assigned by their professors. You prefer the library to be nearly void of others, their whispered conversations disturbing your concentration and you can feel their eyes upon you as they watch you reading and looking for the proper materials for class. You come from a well-respected family in the Empire, not a noble, however your family works with them and high level healers and mages.

None of that matters here at Garreg Mach. Teenagers are cruel creatures, judging everyone by their superficial standards. The more aesthetically appealing, the higher the regard given to the student. You are nearly invisible to most of the students, nothing of importance about you. There are thick eyeglasses on your face that warps your appearance into something strange and difficult to look at. You attract no attention, nor do you draw attention to yourself. The only person that notices you for any reason is Hubert. He took interest in you for a short period of time to confirm that you are no danger to his Lady, once cleared he ignores you like the rest.

The Professor is extremely hesitant to allow you to accompany the group into any battle. Your primary focus is Faith magic and healing, however you do cast reason spells. Targeting enemies at a distance is, extremely difficult for you. As far as healing, Linhardt keeps his fellow students alive long enough for the group to make it back to the monastery, Dorothea being his backup. When the student is brought back to the infirmary, that is where your magic becomes the most useful. Your healing skills quickly rival Manuela. Not being distracted by sparring, fighting and traipsing around the campus flirting, fighting or pranking like most of the students, you immerse yourself completely into your studies.

You constantly write home requesting additional and more advanced healing tomes and books about magical theory. Even Professor Hanneman is jealous of some of the people you correspond with regularly, discussing points of rune manipulation and theory. Professor Byleth is surprised that you pass the Gremory test before the ball. You would be upset if you had not passed, perfecting your magic skill is your obsession.

Eyeglasses are the worst in every weather. They fog in winter, get drippy with spring rain. Summer they slip and slide from sweat. Fall it is back to rain. At the academy, there is just enough space between the buildings that your glasses quickly get acclimated to the cooler temperature outside, then as soon as you step inside, they fog up immediately, rendering them useless. Useless for you means near blindness. You can tell that things moving around are other people. There is no depth perception, stairs are terrifying. As soon as you make your way inside a building you seek a wall to put your back against as you wait for the fog to clear.

Once Ferdinand had found you just inside the building containing the library. He grabbed your hand and started to drag you to the stairs. You had to stop and explain to him why you were so intimidated and refused to go with him.

He should offer his arm so that you can hold on and if anything bothers you or you do not feel comfortable you could let go and keep your balance and composure. He then starts to march forward at his normal pace, which is great if you are tall and long legged such as he is, however your height is more in the category of Edelgard’s and you would have to nearly run to keep up with him.

“Pretend you are carrying a teacup filled to the brim with hot tea. How quickly would you move with that in your hand? Do you want to spill it all over yourself and possibly burn your hand?” You ask.

“Goodness no!” Ferdinand responds. “What a terrible waste of tea!” Ferdinand thusly takes his time and you arrive at the library unscathed.

Time passes, Emperor Edelgard declares war. You join her side without hesitation. The church is indeed corrupt. The noble system is useless and only sustains power to those that should never have been entrusted to it in the first place. The Emperor also announces the Black Eagle Strike Force. Not long after this announcement you approach her, Hubert always alongside of his liege.

You reach forward placing a handful of necklaces with a Black Eagle medallion on them. “I wish to distribute these to the members of the Strike Force with your permission.”

Hubert immediately notices that the necklaces are enchanted. “What is this?” He demands an answer.

“As you know, my sight distance is limited. This will expand my abilities greatly. Should someone undergo severe injuries or become surrounded by enemies I can remove them from the situation or cast physic on them. It does not have to be visible on their person, they can wear it under their armor.” You answer.

“How do you know one from another?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Once everyone has worn them for a few days I will be able to tell the difference, who has which necklace and once in battle I will have no issue identifying the correct person to assist.”

“Hmmm.” Hubert is hesitant to agree.

“I think it is a wonderful idea. We have a long difficult road ahead of us. If it provides the opportunity to save an ally, I cannot see how this would be an issue.” Emperor Edelgard smiles.

Leaving a necklace for the two on the table, you seek out the remainder of the Strike Force handing them their necklaces, giving them instructions to try to wear it at all times, always wearing it during a battle. You then find Linhardt and discuss the intricacies of the spell with him. He is quite impressed, not impressed enough with needing to learn anything further, lest it cause him more missed naps.

Unfortunately, you are not able to give Professor Byleth theirs before the attack on Garreg Mach.

Without being amid the battle itself, you greatly aid your allies. Two clerics with minor healing skills and perfect eyes describe the battle as it unfolds. They both speak at the same time describing everything they see. You have been training them for weeks. They keep you appraised of nearly everyone on the battlefield. You cast physic and fortify on several allies, healing them, allowing them to keep fighting. Nobody must be rescued as a result, however it is always an option.

The weary warriors return to camp, the injured head to the infirmary. Once you heal all wounded there, you quietly make your way around camp. Stopping at the entrance to a tent you announce yourself.

“You are injured. Let me attend you.” You whisper to the canvas entrance flap.

“I have seen too much blood today. Let me sleep.” Linhardt moans.

You enter the tent, shuffling forward until you touch his cot. “You’ll sleep better if you are healed. Assist me if you want this completed quickly. Fight if you want this to take longer.”

“Very well.” The sleepy man turns on his side, tugging at his robes to show his right leg and the gash in his calf.

You need little light to work, most of what you do is by touch. Cleansing the wound, folding and refolding the cloth to have the clean portion removing the debris and dried blood. Healing the wound, finally rubbing the scar with light soft touches of magic until nothing is left but smooth and slightly pink skin.

You leave, heading for the next tent. It is easy to tell who is injured. Sometimes the smell of blood alerts you. Whimpers of pain, cursing, stuttered breathing, all of them involuntary tells that they are hiding their wounds. No amount of chastising them has worked thus far. You must seek them out and find them before they fall face first in the dirt, fevers burning because of infection that quickly settles in their neglected wounds.

You can tell this tent belongs to Ferdinand. He makes the smallest high pitched squeak when he moves an injured muscle the wrong way.

“Ferdie, I’m coming in.” You give him ten seconds before you enter.

“S-Sorry. I should’ve…” The redhead begins to apologize.

“Shh. Guide me to the worst first.” You instruct him. You’ve been through this many times before. You recall back at the monastery you would drag him back to the infirmary after returning from battles. He would then invite you to tea and tell you about everything that happened. He would frequently let slip about a few people that had been hurt, and those you had not seen in the infirmary would be sought out later.

His hip had a deep gouge in it from the point of a sharp lance. You wonder how me made it back to the tent with something that deep, the blood had dripped all down his leg. You cleanse it, pouring some healing potion in to soften the burn as you prepare him for the alcohol to follow, flushing out the debris and who knows what that was on the enemy lance tip. Finally, you heal the wound closed now that you are certain it will not become infected. He tells you the next injury is to his shoulder.

Completing your treatment of each and every one of his wounds you get back on your feet. “Tell me what you find in the morning. The worst infections can come from the smallest cuts.”

“I know, thank you.” He calls out to the darkness of his tent.

You know whose tent is next. You stand outside, pausing. “Don’t blast me into next week. I must do what is necessary.” You announce before entering.

“Your concern is unnecessary.” He fumes.

“You prefer necrosis?” You sass.

“To be looked after –ugh.” Hubert groans.

“Better than dead. I’m going to be here a while, aren’t I?” You kneel in front of his cot, smelling blood everywhere. You know he has a high threshold for pain but this man is ridiculous. He is a human pincushion filled with so many holes he should be classified as swiss cheese.

You begin by placing him under a magically induced sleep. This slows his heart rate, making him bleed out slower. Lighting several candles in the room you need to pick apart this man, healing every possible wound new or old, removing all signs of infection.

He cares so little for himself it is a miracle that he can remain standing on his own feet most days. Tweezers and a scalpel assist you with removing four pieces of shrapnel from his back. Two fractured ribs are also healed. His legs are battered by the fallout of spells attacking him. He can deflect them from his head and torso, however he is so tall that his legs still feel some of the impact of magic and what it carries with it. One last scan for any further untreated injuries makes you sigh in relief. You pull back on the sleep spell a bit. He remains asleep, allowing him to rest, however he should not be so deep in sleep as to not be able to be rustled awake.

Sitting on the ground in front of his cot, you rest and meditate until morning. You will not leave him unprotected. Once he begins to rustle several hours later, you stand and face the exit to the tent.

“I would ask if I missed anything, but you will never tell me if I did.” You state matter-of-factly.

“Thank you.” He mutters softly.

You nod and leave.

Camp is broken down. Everything is packed into wagons or on the back of horses. Enbarr is the next destination. Back to the capital to plan.

Most of the fights for the next few years are smaller skirmishes. The larger battles are much fewer and further between. However, this current battle is quite serious. The Empire has had control over the bridge at Myrddin since the Emperor declared war. There is word of kingdom forces approaching, threatening the bridge and surrounding territory. The entire Strike Force is called together to interfere with the invasion.

You have the bridge map memorized. The strategic meetings provide you with the locations of where everyone is to be deployed and defending their area. Your assistants inform you of the fighting and position changes as the battle unfolds. They update you as the enemy moves forward beginning their attacks. Suddenly the watcher to the right is quickly rambling, upset and excited.

“What! Tell me what is going on!” You order, having no idea what is happening due to their rambling.

“They are swarming, trying to get past Caspar and Ferdinand, many are getting through and overwhelming Hubert. He’s moving back but…”

Immediately you cast Physic at Hubert then Caspar.

“I can’t see Hubert there are so many around him!” the observer is shaking moving left to right to see.

You cannot let him fall. You cast warp and appear standing alongside his fallen body. There are a few surprised utterances by the soldiers, however they are quickly gathering their wits about them. They are not as fast as you are, you throw a series of spells. The first is your Thoron. You cannot see well enough to cast it as a normal Thoron, your modified version is closer to clusters of ball lightning emitting from around you, arcing out in a rotating pattern. You lean over Hubert, who is still alive from what you can feel. The soldiers swarming him are very very much at risk and feeling your wrath. Their bodies jolt and shake with the electricity. Just as the spell ends you cast recover on Hubert.

“Muh…more coming!” The dark mage blurts out, casting Mire at the closest one.

You call upon the hellfire from within you, casting your own special Ragnarock. The smell is horrific as all flesh in a huge circle around you is incinerated in the heat of the flames that extends around you for a 30 foot radius.

“What next?” You ask the dark mage on the ground beneath you.

“You were successful.” Hubert says as he takes your hand to assist him in getting back onto his feet.

Hubert begins to walk briskly towards the next sign of melee. You grab his elbow and are dragged along.

“Are you certain you wish to do this?” The dark mage asks.

“I’ve made it so far.” You counter, scared and excited at the same time as you are headed for the center of the battlefield.

There are a lot more sounds around you than normal. Spells going off, horses rushing in at the direction of their riders, the clashing of metal against metal. You keep turning your head at every sound. You hear the sound of boots coming closer, you cannot clearly make out a face, but the colors donned by the fighter are of the enemy, so you cast a normal Thoron spell at him. Hubert calls out and you direct your attention to him.

“Heal Ferdinand!” He orders.

You lock on the cavalier and cast Physic. A hearty Yes! is heard not too far away as you continue to be aware of your immediate surroundings.

Hubert dashes away from you, headed further toward the center of battle. You know better than to run into the thickest part of things where your clear vision extends not more than six feet ahead of you. A green coated figure comes close and you grab onto the arm of Linhardt as he walks past.

“Everyone good?” You ask as he is dragging you along with him.

“So far. I am glad this is almost over. I am so exhausted.” He groans.

You listen as the noise dies down, the sounds of spells being cast has ended. The voices are calling out more organizational orders than directing the forces to attack. Linhardt takes you to the area where they have set up camp, pointing you into the direction of the infirmary tent before he gets close enough to be dragged inside. A healer outside notices you and hauls you in, you are needed to put a few soldiers back together. Much later, as you emerge from the tent you are grabbed and warped away.

“Sit.” You are pushed backward until your calves hit a surface for you to sit upon. He stands in front of you, arms crossed.

“I know. It is a risk I had to take. You are too stubborn and so am I.” You confess before you are asked a question.

“Do you have any idea what-“ Hubert’s voice is full of venom and anger.

“Yes, I do. More than you. I did not join this war to do anything halfway.” You calmly answer. You know his bark is worse than his bite. And if he wanted to harm you, he would kill you first and ask questions later.

The dark mage turns to step away, then spins around to face you again. “And what of after the war?”

“I have no vision of what is beyond anything that I can see right now. I have bound myself to you through a blood oath that you did not participate in, so that I could help you live through this war.” You respond, quiet and rational. “You are not committed to me and owe me nothing. I knew you would not wear the necklace. I did what is necessary to keep you alive. We cannot win this without you. It is not like I will ever have a suitor clamoring at my door.”

Hubert is furious. You knew he would be. Based on ancient customs and rituals in several countries, one of them Brigid you created the spell. There is an exchange of blood between wedded parties, mixing their blood so the two could ‘become one’. However further research into the matter reveals that as a part of one’s self being with the other could be extremely useful, especially relating to magic spells to locate the other and/or to assist them.

The moment you warped to Hubert’s side, he knew what had occurred. You knew he would treat it as a betrayal of his trust in you, however this being a ‘one way’ blood passing would not bind him to you in any way. A complete exchange blood oath on his part would sever this one sided oath and cause a magical backlash to yourself. Since you had initiated this blood oath, you cannot perform this with another.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “What is done is done. Leave.” He orders.

The tents and supplies are packed away again, the long convoy is back on the road. The anniversary of the millennium festival approaches quickly. The weather has turned quite miserable, raining day and night. The roads are getting sloppier every day. Riding in the back of the supply wagon is dangerous for you, but you feel it is worse it is worse as you cannot tell where you are stepping. Just as someone announces they can see Garreg Mach in the distance, the wagon you are riding in flips onto its side due to the deep ruts in the roadway and shifting of the cargo. You are buried under multiple boxes and cargo from the wagon.

When you awaken you are dry and clean and lying on a cot in the infirmary of the academy. You sit up in the bed and recall what happened. Your left arm is wrapped up to your shoulder. You feel a bump on your head. What you don’t feel, is your glasses.

“Cleric?” You call out. You know someone was in the room with you, you had heard them with papers.

“Oh! You are awake. I will fetch Manuela.” You hear her footsteps getting further and further away down the hall.

Manuela arrives and explains the situation. Your left arm will have to be in a sling for a few days. Your glasses were crushed under the wagon. A message was written and sent today requesting a replacement pair, nothing we can do for that in the meantime. She fits you with a sling and at your insistence you walk from the infirmary down to the first floor. Alone.

You were able to slowly make it to the end of the corridor that led to a courtyard. From there you only have to cross the courtyard, find the stairs down and then the dorms in order to get to your room. Piece of cake you think to yourself. You know the layout of the monastery, where the obvious dangers are. It’s just the minor details that you can’t see. If someone leaves items out where they don’t belong or an item is in an unusual spot, that could be a problem for you.

The open courtyard is intimidating, people can come at you from all angles, and they do. You do not get run over, but you get spooked when a large something crosses your vision suddenly. You feel better when you get to the area that has bushes all along one side. You stay close to the bushes, keeping out of the way of the faster people.

Now is the dangerous part. The stone walkway in front of you, and the stairs that go down to the dorms. You must choose embarrassment or death. You choose to not die today. Sitting on the ground you scooch your behind closer and closer to where you think the edge of this level is until your feet reach the end of the stone covered walkway. You scoot until your lower legs are over the wall and feet are hanging. From here you scoot right until your feet touch the stairs leading down.

Whew. Now you can stand on the steps, hold on with your hands on the level above as you cautiously descend down the stairs. One step at a time. Your hands are now flat on the wall above the stairs. One last step and there’s no further steps. You made it! Nobody saw you or if they did they said nothing and you lived!

Cautiously you walk across the small courtyard until you knock into the porches of the dorms. You grab a post, sit on the porch, spin your legs and then stand up next to the post. No stairs, no problem you think.

You are at the last room, that belongs to Byleth. You knock.

“Come in.” Is pleasantly called from the inside.

“Byleth, can you give me a hand and get me to my room. I’ve been released by Manuela.” You request.

The former Professor walks past you, stopping so you can take her elbow. “I am happy that you are out already and didn’t have any serious injuries. Your eyeglasses were smashed beyond fixing. Are you going to be okay getting around on your own? She inquires.

“I can make it here and there. I have problems with stairs, anything that is left out of place, cats and dogs being on the paths. I perhaps should get a walking stick to help with balance. I can see a little, everything is just very very blurry. While you may see a barrel, its edges, the lines of the wood, the metal band holding it together, I see a brown almost oval blob. I can judge by the size of the blob if I am close enough to bump into it.

Byleth leads you out the door, pausing at the stairs, then through the courtyard to the next set of stairs, finally over to your room that is next to Bernadetta’s. Thanking her you go through your room, arranging your clothes and belongings. You are always quite organized in your room. Everything must be in its place or you can’t find it. You go to your desk drawer and pull out your magnifying glass. If you have plenty of light you can just make out a few letters in a row on a written page. So you can read, but it’s going to give you eye strain. You decide that maybe it’s time to do some handiwork. Heading out the door you walk to your neighbor and knock on hers.

“Bernie, can we talk a minute?” You ask pleasantly.

Bernadetta cracks her door open then shuts it quickly. “Who is it!”

“Bernie, it’s me. I don’t have my glasses, so I guess I must look different?” you question as you answer her.

“Oh! You do look much different without your glasses on.” The purple haired woman opens the door, now recognizing you, she lets you inside leading you to a chair by her desk.

“I heard they were broken when the wagon tipped over. How are you doing? I bet Bernie can help you some.” She smiles.

“Oh Bernie, that would be wonderful if you can walk with me sometimes. I don’t want to be a burden on anyone. I know you don’t like getting out much, but I do need to get to the dining hall. Honestly, the stairs scare me a lot!” You confess.

“Oh! I think they would be scary to someone that can’t see them. I will help you. Just let me know, okay?” Bernadetta offers.

“You have perfect vision, I trust you so much Bernie. Oh! I came over because I have a request. Since I can’t read much right now, I thought I would knit. Can I borrow a couple pair of needles you’re not using right now?” You request.

“Sure! I have quite a few different sizes, so you have a few to choose from.” The woman dashes to a drawer to grab her needles.

You are sitting on a bench outside the greenhouse knitting, a small rectangle grows longer below the needles.

Without turning you call out, “Hey Ferdinand, are you busy?”

“I did not see you there. You are looking quite well. Are you getting along all right? May I be of assistance in any way?” He happily answers, being the noblest of nobles, he must offer his assistance to all that could possibly require it.

“If you would have some time to escort me to the market briefly in the next few days, I would like to purchase some yarn.” You request.

Ferdinand bows low, “Of course, I would be most happy to assist. I do have somewhere I have to be, however I will return for you before dinner. I will then escort you to your room to store your purchase, and then take you to the dining hall as well. It is my duty to help all in need of aid. Please do let me know if there is anything else that I can assist you with.” He smiles brightly, you know because you can hear it in his voice. If a smile was ever loud, it would be his.

Time passes and Ferdinand returns to greet you again. “I am yours to command.” He says bowing before you.

“If you could please take me to the market and find the one selling wool and other knitting materials.” You say grabbing his elbow as he leads you past the pond.

“How are you getting along without your glasses? I see you are keeping busy.” He asks as you slowly stroll.

“I am doing fine. It’s not like I’ve suddenly lost my vision altogether. I simply cannot see clearly at the moment. The finer details are not visible. A basket of apples is varying shades of red in a brown circle. Grass is simply mottled green with no individual blades. Stairs do not show their depth, the ground does not reveal its pitch. If small thin items are on the footpath I cannot see them. Reading is difficult without a magnifying glass, and that gets tiresome after a while. I could not see very far away before, so nothing has changed there.” You reflect.

“Here we are.” Ferdinand brings you forward to the cart.

“Sir,” you ask the proprietor, “Have you any lambs wool or perhaps Angora?”

The man hands you two skeins of wool, one being a bit softer than the next. You feel some of the wool that he has on display. These two skeins are softer, but not by much, certainly not Angora wool.

“I have a project in mind for the Emperor you see…” You don’t care much for name dropping, however in this case, it is the absolute truth.

“Oh.” The merchant gasps. “I think this may be more in line with what you are looking for.” He takes the other two balls of yarn and replaces it with a different one.

This skein feels very silky and soft. There are long, soft hairs mixed in with the wool, which is much closer to the feel of the yarn you desire. “This is more like what I will need.” You answer. Haggling the price a bit you make your purchase. You also buy 8 other skeins of wool in different colors. And several pairs of knitting needles.

The merchant packages your goods and hands them to Ferdinand.

“Anything else?” the noble asks as he walks you back towards the dining hall.

“Thank you so much, it went much faster than me wandering from cart to cart, trying to identify what the merchant is selling.”

The next week you take your shifts in the infirmary, go to meetings and knit in your spare time. Bernadetta attends the meetings regularly, since she must escort you.

Guardian Moon is extremely cold to those from Enbarr. People from the Kingdom would probably walk about in their shirtsleeves. You invite Emperor Edelgard to tea in your room this day and she accepts.

You bustle about your room, gathering everything necessary for a lovely tea. The bergamot is steeping, smelling wonderful as she knocks.

“Please come in, Lady Edelgard.” You answer.

“You are as bad as Hubert! Just Edelgard, please!” She laughs.

“Please help yourself.” You offer sweet pastries with a delicious cinnamon crumble on top.

You fuss with the tea, removing the leaves now that the brew is complete. You pour for the both of you and offer sugar cubes or honey.

There is a knock on the door, “Package!” is called out in a male voice.

You are so excited you nearly knock over the tea table. You dive to the door and take the box from the delivery person, throwing coins at them and slamming the door.

You return to the table and hand it to Edelgard.

“Please open it for me. My new glasses!” You are beside yourself with excitement.

She laughs as she is handed the package and quickly removes the wrapping. Sliding the lid of the box open, she hands the box to you.

Your hands shake a little as you reach inside, taking the glasses in hand at the edge of the lenses, flipping the temples out, you slide them onto your face. You will have to adjust things a bit for the fit, but they feel like home.

“Well, how are they?” Edelgard excitedly asks.

“Perfect! You look even more beautiful than I remember you!” You grin widely, so happy to be able to see her clearly again.

“It is a shame that you have to wear them.” Edelgard comments. “They really distort your eyes. Perhaps some day they can create some type of magic to correct your eyesight.”

“Thankfully, I am not vain. I choose being ugly and able to see rather than be blind and pretty. As Dorothea says, beauty is only skin deep. It is the true beauty of the person inside that counts.”

“So true.” Edelgard nods.

You stand and scuttle over to a dresser. “I have something for you!” Reaching inside you remove a long red fluffy scarf. “It is getting colder outside, my hands need to keep busy. I made a scarf for everyone on the Strike Force.” You announce, handing her the scarf.

Edelgard takes it in hand and wraps it around her neck. “Oh my! This is the softest thing I have ever felt! It is so warm! I can feel my neck is warmer already!” She exclaims, then stands to give you a warm soft hug.

“We certainly need to keep warm through the next few battles.” You nod.

“Your perseverance is your strongest attribute.” Edelgard commends you. “We need people with that on our side. To engage the obstacles head on, finding new and different ways to get around them. I admire your strength in continuing to do your best, no matter what adversity is thrown your way. Knowing you makes me a stronger person.”

[glitteraffe-art]

How could the HEV perform a diagnostic test of the user to apply medical attention? Using sensors?

Yes, the HEV could perform diagnostic testing of the user with a variety of sensors. In my version of the HEV suit, the sensors and associated health monitoring accessories would be:

“Atmospheric contaminant sensors”

· Sensor for radiation (Geiger counter)

· Sensor for chemical waste

· Sensor for biohazards

· Sensor for acid/corrosive chemicals

· Sensor for heat damage

· Sensor for cold damage

“Vital Signs Monitoring”

· Sensor for electric damage

· Sensor for blood toxins

· Major and minor lacerations detection

· Major and minor fracture detection

· O2 Meter

· Heart Rate

· Blood Pressure (Blood loss and internal bleeding detection)

· Electronics associated with morphine injection mechanism

(Yes, this list is a little longer and differently organized than the one in the first Anatomy of a HEV suit because I’ve double checked a few things and found I was missing a few! By the way, here’s a short video that I thought was relevant: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6oPGjA5-4AM. It covers how the HEV handles status and damage conditions in the gameplay of the original Half-Life.)

Instead of having a single diagnostic test, the HEV would constantly monitor the readings from each of its sensors. Should the sensor detect something that falls outside of the threshold of ‘normal’ health, the HEV would then apply the appropriate medical treatment.

More under the cut:

In the case of the electrical, heat, cold, radiation, chemical waste, and biohazard status condition sensors listed, multiple of each kind of sensor would be placed on the outside of the HEV. If the sensors sense a level of radiation/chemicals/biological contaminants that exceeds a set amount, or exposure to electric shock or extreme heat/cold, they would signal the HEV, and the HEV would flash the appropriate status icon to the wearer (in-game the icon shows up on the lower left hand of the screen, but to the wearer it would be on the HUD (Heads Up Display) on the helmet), verbally alert the user of exposure to the substance, and potentially attempt an appropriate treatment based on the situation.

For the blood toxin sensor – there only needs to be one of those, and it would be inside the HEV, with a port into a vein (In my version of the HEV, it would likely be connected somewhere in or around the morphine injection mechanism’s port). Again, if the sensor senses that one or more toxic chemicals has risen above a certain concentration in the blood, it would signal the HEV, which would register that there are toxins in the blood, verbally alert the user, and potentially take immediate medical action.

As for major and minor laceration detection, and major and minor fracture detection, the HEV doesn’t have the opportunity of direct sensing and must infer the state of the user through the data it detects.

To detect lacerations (cuts, scratches, gashes), just off the top of my head, the suit could potentially use a web or mesh of interwoven sensors woven into or in between one of its lower layers. Should the sensor mesh be broken in an area (by a slash or other wound), the loss of a signal in the area would indicate the suit has been breached and the skin has probably been broken. It’s not 100% going to be accurate –there’s always the tiny possibility of the sensor mesh being broken, yet the wearer underneath being miraculously unharmed – but if it’s strong enough to break through all the HEV layers it probably slashed through the wearer too. However, this mesh layer would lose accuracy over time as it gets more and more slashed, so I would have to look a little deeper into the topic of laceration detection before designating a mesh of sensors as the go-to method of detecting cuts/gashes/slashes.

As for fractures (broken bones), it would likely again be more of an inference. There isn’t a way to directly detect fractures outside of X-rays, and an internal X-ray machine is out of the question. The HEV is supposed to prevent you from getting exposed to radiation, not expose you to more of it! So, instead, the HEV would have multiple accelerometers (which measure the speed something is accelerating in) in several orientations and locations, as well as force sensors (to sense if the suit got hit by a force), and potentially gyroscopes (for orientation), would be placed all over the HEV.

Should the HEV detect a force greater than a certain limit on a body part, it would assume that the wearer got a fracture there. For example, if somebody throws a bowling ball at the wearer, once the wearer was hit, the suit would detect the force of the bowling ball hitting the wearer and the location it was hit at, and determine if the force would have broken a bone there.

Alternately, should some part of the wearer suddenly accelerate and then stop suddenly it could also infer that the wearer has probably broken their bones. For example, is the wearer falls from a tower, the suit would measure sudden acceleration, then would detect the force on the suit and sudden deceleration when the wearer hits the ground and infer that the wearer got a fracture and the location of the fracture.

The O2 meter detects remaining oxygen available to the user and alerts the user of the amount left. The HEV does not have a visible oxygen tank, and the wearer does not tend to last long underwater, so it may just be measuring the amount of oxygen circulating within the suit as the wearer breathes in and out the same air. (The HEV could potentially be refreshing/recycling the air with chemical means, but I would have to look more into that.)

Heart rate sensors, of course, detect heart rate. Blood pressure sensors (think blood pressure cuffs), of course, measure blood pressure. These sensors would constantly monitor heart rate and blood pressure and help the suit determine if overall vitals are dropping –obviously, if the wearer flatlines, that’s bad, but even things like erratic heart rate could indicate issues. A sudden drop in blood pressure (especially associated with detection of a sudden force/slash/acceleration) likely indicates to the suit that the wearer has lost a significant amount of blood (both external and internal blood loss will decrease blood pressure), so should the blood pressure sensor sense that, it would alert the suit, which would trigger the suit to verbally alert the user of blood loss and (potentially, in light of the compression suit in my version of the HEV suit) activate compression at an area where the force/slash/acceleration was registered at.

Lastly, the electronics associated with the morphine injection mechanism would be necessary to determine whether or not to inject morphine into the wearer, and the time of last injection (to prevent overdose – if the wearer gets badly hurt a bunch of times in 10 minutes, there’s no point in injecting them with morphine every time they got an injury!).

[buttercup-of-kaer-morhen]

Ah yes I am completely anonymous and you totally don't know who I am. Heheheh! Anyway, here's a writing prompt: Sick fic, but Geralt, because I love making my boy suffer, but specifically Geralt basically being a very petulant and childish sick man who just wants his bard to cuddle with him because cuddles from his bf is the only thing that makes him feel better.

(Alright Completely Anonymous, this prompt was cute af so I tried my hand at it. I hope you enjoy it my dear!)

tags: Sickfic, established relationship, Sick!Geralt, Hurt/Comfort with a happy ending, Minor angst, super fluff, Jaskier loves his witcher, Touch needy witcher because it does my heart good

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The day had been utter shit if Jaskier was being perfectly honest. At first they had woken in their camp and it looked like it was going to be a lovely day to travel. The sun was shining. Birds were singing. A lovely breeze passed through but soon after they had taken off the wind blew stronger and harder until a gale fell upon them. There wasn’t even a place nearby to take shelter in until it was over so they had to trudge on. The oilskins they had did their best to keep them and their things dry but by the time they were even remotely close, at least from what Geralt had said, to the next town they were soaked through. Jaskier was sure water was even drowning in the deluge. To make matters somehow worse, there was a fresh battlefield they had to pass by and it was undoubtedly teeming with ghouls. They had hoped to creep past unnoticed but today was not their day and the ghouls descended on them. Geralt was pulling Jaskier up into the saddle in front of him in the blink of an eye before he quickly encouraged Roach into a gallop to get them out of there. Jaskier only had a glance at the hoard chasing them before suddenly Roach was rearing back and Geralt was unseated from behind him because of his haste to get them out of there. Jaskier tried to catch him but their hands missed by the barest amount and Roach was rapidly carrying him further away from his lover. Even if the bard had wanted to turn back to help, he was too busy holding on for dear life and Roach was refusing to listen to him, most likely too scared from the creatures and the storm. Eventually they reached the town Geralt had been heading for and Jaskier really wanted to go and find Geralt but he didn’t know how he would find him with how low the visibility was, so he did what he could. 

He took Roach to the stables, got her all settled in just how Geralt taught him, lugged the bags into the inn, and booked a room for the night. Before heading up, he also ordered food and a piping hot bath to be brought up for Geralt when he got there. When! It wasn’t as if because the witcher was going to die from something like this. He couldn’t. Not after they had just finally figured out what was between them. Not before they found their child surprised again. Not before they had spent as many years as they could together.  It would have broken Jaskier’s heart. So when Geralt gets to the inn, Jaskier will have everything ready!

And he did. But with every passing minute of Geralt still not arriving, Jaskier was not panicking but he may have been a teensy bit worried. He nearly had a heart attack when a young lad of the inn came in abruptly with a wooden tub and proceeded to fill it with steaming water as requested. By the time the boy was finished, Jaskier was about ready to charge out into the storm to find the witcher and drag his ass back here.That was the exact moment Geralt stumbled into the room though, wounded and bleeding, but still alive, thank Melitele! Jaskier hurried to his love’s side and helped him to a chair where he sagged heavily as the bard divested him of his armor. He needed to get a better look at the injuries. Obviously the bard had seen worse in their time traveling together, but seeing painful lacerations covering the other never got any easier. 

Jaskier made quick work of stitching wounds closed and patching the witcher up before getting him settled in the steaming water. He wanted to get all the blood and gore off so they could both just relax for a few hours in each other's company. As he scrubbed through Geralt’s hair, he rambled on, trying to make light conversation. He talked about the unexpected weather, a ballad he was working on, potential work that may be in the town, and of course he remembered to reassure the other that Jaskier had properly attended to Roach before booking their room. He knew Roache’s safety mattered a lot to the man and he didn’t want him trying to rush off to check on her. All of which, however, only received a few grunts. If Jaskier was being honest it was less than the usually sparse amount he gave and after they had finally fallen in with one another Geralt had been more open, more talkative with Jaskier. The troubadour hummed with a furrowed brow as he looked down at his lover in front of him, worried he was more injured then he had thought. 

Geralt shifted to look over his shoulder at Jaskier, his yellow eyes gleaming in the fire that lit the hearth. “Did you warm yourself properly?” The deep rumbling voice caught the bard off guard. 

“What?” He asked dumbly, still trying to process the sudden question. 

“From the rain.” The gruff voice clarified and oh, he was concerned Jaskier realized. Looking down at himself like he had forgotten what state he was in, the human realized that no. He had not in fact done anything to warm up or dry his clothes in the least other than divest himself of his doublet and footwear. He had been too worried about Geralt to think of doing anything else, so he slowly shook his head no to the witcher who had been somberly awaiting an answer. Jaskier smiled shyly, as if to convey ‘whoops my bad’, and stood, deciding he should probably change now that his love was well. Before He could get very far, his wrist was snagged by a strong calloused hand and he suddenly found himself in the Witcher’s lap in the bath. Jaskier couldn’t help sputtering and flailing for a moment before he realized what had happened and why. Geralt for some reason got the bright idea to pull the bard into the water, fully clothed! The water was still nice and warm though, which was nice. 

“Geralt you could’ve just…” He started to whine but the strong arms that had wound around his waist, pulled him tightly against that broad chest that was very distracting. “ Geralt?” The name fell from his lips in a soft breathy question before he maneuvered himself around carefully to face the other. Geralt was watching him intently but his gaze looked hazy and disoriented while his face looked paler then normal. Jaskier frowned slightly and hummed before reaching out to touch the larger man’s cheek. It felt clammy to the touch but his skin was burning under Jaskier’s gentle hold. Now, he knew witchers, well at least his witcher, was weirdly a furnace for someone with lower heart rate but this was much worse. “Geralt…” He tried again, speaking slowly and waiting for his lover to focus on him before continuing. “I think you may have gotten sick.”

Geralt scoffed, much to Jaskier’s chagrin. “Witchers don’t get sick.” He slurred slightly in a petulant tone and got as close to pouting as one who was unused to expressing themselves could. 

“Oh? Like how witchers don’t have feelings? Or how a particular someone didn’t want others to need him? Or--” He sassed back, rolling his eyes before he was cut off by Geralt grumbling irritably in acquiescence. “Well, we should get you into bed then to rest and you should eat so you can easily sleep this off. Hopefully it’s just a minor cold that will be gone by morning.” Jaskier tried to sound reassuring and confident but he couldn’t help but be worried. He had never taken care of a sick witcher before, obviously. An injured one? Yes. A grumpy one? Certainly. Never had he seen Geralt sick before. He hoped it wasn’t going to be a big problem, but luck had been striking out with them tonight so he would have to see. 

He made to stand but hands on his hips held him firmly in place. “Geralt…” He spoke sternly in warning but was met with an indigent huff. “Geralt, we can’t stay in the tub all night.” He huffed right back, frowning at the difficult individual in front of him. The displeased tone of his voice must have gotten through a little though because the grip holding him loosened. In the next couple of minutes, Jaskier managed to get them out of the water, dried off, and in their clothes usually worn for sleeping.

He settled the witcher in the bed, tucking the blankets up to his chin and snuggly around him, before turning to get the food that had been brought up earlier before Geralt’s arrival. Thankfully it was stew which was easier for a sick person to palette. Again he found himself caught by those wonderfully large hands taking hold of his wrist before he could take even one step away. What was with Geralt and manhandling him today? He turned to meet the other’s gaze but he had not expected the sad, pleading expression on his lover’s face which had his heart aching. “Dear heart, it’s ok. I’m only going to get your food, remember? You need to eat to keep your strength up.” He tried to soothe his lover as he patted the hand holding him in place. 

“Don’t need it. Just want you in my arms, Jask.” The softly rumbled words pleaded and had Jaskier’s  heart swelling in his chest. The sweet sentiment had his chest aching to breath and his eyes stinging slightly with tears. He couldn’t help but lean down and kiss his wolf’s forehead. 

“Darling, I love you dearly and want to do as you wish but I worry. I don’t want to lose you now of all times.” He spoke honestly, his voice catching in his throat a bit due to the weight of the emotions Geralt made him feel. “If you eat as much of the stew as you can stomach, I promise I will cuddle you for the rest of the night.” He promised gently, trying to find a compromise. He took Geralt releasing his wrist as a sign of consent, so he didn’t dawdle as he grabbed the food and set it on the table beside the bed. As soon as Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed, Geralt slowly sat up and accepted the awaiting bowl with no objections. The bard watched his lover eat quietly, and once he was done, the troubadour put everything to the side before sliding under the covers as promised. 

Geralt curled his arms around Jaskier’s waist and pulled him snuggly chest to chest. Tucking his nose into the wavy brunette locks, Geralt deeply breathed in Jaskier scent. Seeing the witcher so relaxed was one of the bard’s favorite sights in the world. His wolf deserved a little peace and quiet after everything he does for the world, everything he goes through, and Jaskier was delighted that he could help provide it. The bard curled into the other man and wound his arms around his neck content to lie there, combing his fingers through the snowy locks. The petting seemed to pull a pleased purr from the wolf. He was determined to provide Geralt with anything he needed throughout the night no matter what. Slowly, the witcher’s breathing evened out and he was soon fast asleep as Jaskier watched over him. He was certain Geralt would be fine by morning, but until then, the bard was there to care for the one who had so captured his heart. 

[didanawisgi]

'Their goal is to destroy everyone': Uighur camp detainees allege systematic rape

By Matthew Hill, David Campanale and Joel Gunter BBC News

“Women in China's "re-education" camps for Uighurs have been systematically raped, sexually abused, and tortured, according to detailed new accounts obtained by the BBC.

You may find some of the details in this story distressing.

The men always wore masks, Tursunay Ziawudun said, even though there was no pandemic then.

They wore suits, she said, not police uniforms.

Sometime after midnight, they came to the cells to select the women they wanted and took them down the corridor to a "black room", where there were no surveillance cameras.

Several nights, Ziawudun said, they took her.

"Perhaps this is the most unforgettable scar on me forever," she said.

"I don't even want these words to spill from my mouth."

Tursunay Ziawudun spent nine months inside China's vast and secretive system of internment camps in the Xinjiang region. According to independent estimates, more than a million men and women have been detained in the sprawling network of camps, which China says exist for the "re-education" of the Uighurs and other minorities.

Human rights groups say the Chinese government has gradually stripped away the religious and other freedoms of the Uighurs, culminating in an oppressive system of mass surveillance, detention, indoctrination, and even forced sterilisation.

The policy flows from China's President, Xi Jinping, who visited Xinjiang in 2014 in the wake of a terror attack by Uighur separatists. Shortly after, according to documents leaked to the New York Times, he directed local officials to respond with "absolutely no mercy". The US government said last month that China's actions since amounted to a genocide. China says reports of mass detention and forced sterilisation are "lies and absurd allegations".

First-hand accounts from inside the internment camps are rare, but several former detainees and a guard have told the BBC they experienced or saw evidence of an organised system of mass rape, sexual abuse and torture.

Tursunay Ziawudun, who fled Xinjiang after her release and is now in the US, said women were removed from the cells "every night" and raped by one or more masked Chinese men. She said she was tortured and later gang-raped on three occasions, each time by two or three men.

Ziawudun has spoken to the media before, but only from Kazakhstan, where she "lived in constant fear of being sent back to China", she said. She said she believed that if she revealed the extent of the sexual abuse she had experienced and seen, and was returned to Xinjiang, she would be punished more harshly than before. And she was ashamed, she said.

It is impossible to verify Ziawudun's account completely because of the severe restrictions China places on reporters in the country, but travel documents and immigration records she provided to the BBC corroborate the timeline of her story. Her descriptions of the camp in Xinyuan county - known in Uighur as Kunes county - match satellite imagery analysed by the BBC, and her descriptions of daily life inside the camp, as well as the nature and methods of the abuse, correspond with other accounts from former detainees.

Internal documents from the Kunes county justice system from 2017 and 2018, provided to the BBC by Adrian Zenz, a leading expert on China's policies in Xinjiang, detail planning and spending for "transformation through education" of "key groups" - a common euphemism in China for the indoctrination of the Uighurs. In one Kunes document, the "education" process is described as "washing brains, cleansing hearts, strengthening righteousness and eliminating evil".

The BBC also interviewed a Kazakh woman from Xinjiang who was detained for 18 months in the camp system, who said she was forced to strip Uighur women naked and handcuff them, before leaving them alone with Chinese men. Afterwards, she cleaned the rooms, she said.

"My job was to remove their clothes above the waist and handcuff them so they cannot move," said Gulzira Auelkhan, crossing her wrists behind her head to demonstrate. "Then I would leave the women in the room and a man would enter - some Chinese man from outside or policeman. I sat silently next to the door, and when the man left the room I took the woman for a shower."

The Chinese men "would pay money to have their pick of the prettiest young inmates", she said.

Some former detainees of the camps have described being forced to assist guards or face punishment. Auelkhan said she was powerless to resist or intervene.

Asked if there was a system of organised rape, she said: "Yes, rape."

"They forced me to go into that room," she said. "They forced me to take off those women's clothes and to restrain their hands and leave the room."

Some of the women who were taken away from the cells at night were never returned, Ziawudun said. Those who were brought back were threatened against telling others in the cell what had happened to them.

"You can't tell anyone what happened, you can only lie down quietly," she said. "It is designed to destroy everyone's spirit."

Mr Zenz told the BBC that the testimony gathered for this story was "some of the most horrendous evidence I have seen since the atrocity began".

"This confirms the very worst of what we have heard before," he said. "It provides authoritative and detailed evidence of sexual abuse and torture at a level clearly greater than what we had assumed."

The Uighurs are a mostly Muslim Turkic minority group that number about 11 million in Xinjiang in north-western China. The region borders Kazakhstan and is also home to ethnic Kazakhs. Ziawudun, who is 42, is Uighur. Her husband is a Kazakh.

The couple returned to Xinjiang in late 2016 after a five-year stay in Kazakhstan, and were interrogated on arrival and had their passports confiscated, Ziawudun said. A few months later, she was told by police to attend a meeting alongside other Uighurs and Kazakhs and the group was rounded up and detained.

Her first stint in detention was comparatively easy, she said, with decent food and access to her phone. After a month she developed stomach ulcers and was released. Her husband's passport was returned and he went back to Kazakhstan to work, but authorities kept Ziawudun's, trapping her in Xinjiang. Reports suggest China has purposefully kept behind and interned relatives to discourage those who leave from speaking out. On 9 March 2018, with her husband still in Kazakhstan, Ziawudun was instructed to report to a local police station, she said. She was told she needed "more education".

According to her account, Ziawudun was transported back to the same facility as her previous detention, in Kunes county, but the site had been significantly developed, she said. Buses were lined up outside offloading new detainees "non-stop".

The women had their jewellery confiscated. Ziawudun's earrings were yanked out, she said, causing her ears to bleed, and she was herded into a room with a group of women. Among them was an elderly woman who Ziawudun would later befriend.

The camp guards pulled off the woman's headscarf, Ziawudun said, and shouted at her for wearing a long dress - one of a list of religious expressions that became arrestable offences for Uighurs that year.

"They stripped everything off the elderly lady, leaving her with just her underwear. She was so embarrassed that she tried to cover herself with her arms," Ziawudun said.

"I cried so much watching the way they treated her. Her tears fell like rain."

The women were told to hand over their shoes and any clothes with elastic or buttons, Ziawudun said, then taken to cellblocks - "similar to a small Chinese neighbourhood where there are rows of buildings".

Nothing much happened for the first month or two. They were forced to watch propaganda programmes in their cells and had their hair forcibly cut short.

Then police began interrogating Ziawudun about her absent husband, she said, knocking her on the floor when she resisted and kicking her in the abdomen.

"Police boots are very hard and heavy, so at first I thought he was beating me with something," she said. "Then I realised that he was trampling on my belly. I almost passed out - I felt a hot flush go through me."

A camp doctor told her she might have a blood clot. When her cellmates drew attention to the fact that she was bleeding, the guards "replied saying it is normal for women to bleed", she said.

According to Ziawudun, each cell was home to 14 women, with bunk beds, bars on the windows, a basin and a hole-in-the-floor-style toilet. When she first saw women being taken out of the cell at night, she didn't understand why, she said. She thought they were being moved elsewhere.

Then sometime in May 2018 - "I don't remember the exact date, because you don't remember the dates inside there" - Ziawudun and a cellmate, a woman in her twenties, were taken out at night and presented to a Chinese man in a mask, she said. Her cellmate was taken into a separate room.

"As soon as she went inside she started screaming," Ziawudun said. "I don't know how to explain to you, I thought they were torturing her. I never thought about them raping."

The woman who had brought them from the cells told the men about Ziawudun's recent bleeding.

"After the woman spoke about my condition, the Chinese man swore at her. The man with the mask said 'Take her to the dark room'.

"The woman took me to the room next to where the other girl had been taken in. They had an electric stick, I didn't know what it was, and it was pushed inside my genital tract, torturing me with an electric shock."

Ziawudun's torture that first night in the dark room eventually came to an end, she said, when the woman intervened again citing her medical condition, and she was returned to the cell.

About an hour later, her cellmate was brought back.

"The girl became completely different after that, she wouldn't speak to anyone, she sat quietly staring as if in a trance," Ziawudun said. "There were many people in those cells who lost their minds."

Alongside cells, another central feature of the camps is classrooms. Teachers have been drafted in to "re-educate" the detainees - a process activists say is designed to strip the Uighurs and other minorities of their culture, language and religion, and indoctrinate them into mainstream Chinese culture.

Qelbinur Sedik, an Uzbek woman from Xinjiang, was among the Chinese language teachers brought into the camps and coerced into giving lessons to the detainees. Sedik has since fled China and spoken publicly about her experience.

The women's camp was "tightly controlled", Sedik told the BBC. But she heard stories, she said - signs and rumours of rape. One day, Sedik cautiously approached a Chinese camp policewoman she knew.

"I asked her, 'I have been hearing some terrible stories about rape, do you know about it?' She said we should talk in the courtyard during lunch.

"So I went to the courtyard, where there were not many cameras. She said, 'Yes, the rape has become a culture. It is gang rape and the Chinese police not only rape them but also electrocute them. They are subject to horrific torture.'"

That night Sedik didn't sleep at all, she said. "I was thinking about my daughter who was studying abroad and I cried all night."

In separate testimony to the Uyghur Human Rights Project, Sedik said she heard about an electrified stick being inserted into women to torture them - echoing the experience Ziawudun described.

There were "four kinds of electric shock", Sedik said - "the chair, the glove, the helmet, and anal rape with a stick".

"The screams echoed throughout the building," she said. "I could hear them during lunch and sometimes when I was in class."

Another teacher forced to work in the camps, Sayragul Sauytbay, told the BBC that "rape was common" and the guards "picked the girls and young women they wanted and took them away".

She described witnessing a harrowing public gang rape of a woman of just 20 or 21, who was brought before about 100 other detainees to make a forced confession.

"After that, in front of everyone, the police took turns to rape her," Sauytbay said.

"While carrying out this test, they watched people closely and picked out anyone who resisted, clenched their fists, closed their eyes, or looked away, and took them for punishment."

The young woman cried out for help, Sauytbay said.

"It was absolutely horrendous," she said. "I felt I had died. I was dead."

In the camp in Kunes, Ziawudun's days drifted into weeks and then months. The detainees' hair was cut, they went to class, they underwent unexplained medical tests, took pills, and were forcibly injected every 15 days with a "vaccine" that brought on nausea and numbness.

Women were forcibly fitted with IUDs or sterilised, Ziawudun said, including a woman who was just about 20 years old. ("We begged them on her behalf," she said.) Forced sterilisation of Uighurs has been widespread in Xinjiang, according to a recent investigation by the Associated Press. The Chinese government told the BBC the allegations were "completely unfounded".

As well as the medical interventions, detainees in Ziawudun's camp spent hours singing patriotic Chinese songs and watching patriotic TV programmes about Chinese President Xi Jinping, she said.

"You forget to think about life outside the camp. I don't know if they brainwashed us or if it was the side effect of the injections and pills, but you can't think of anything beyond wishing you had a full stomach. The food deprivation is so severe."

Detainees had food withheld for infractions such as failing to accurately memorise passages from books about Xi Jinping, according to a former camp guard who spoke to the BBC via video link from a country outside China.

"Once we were taking the people arrested into the concentration camp, and I saw everyone being forced to memorise those books. They sit for hours trying to memorise the text, everyone had a book in their hands," he said.

Those who failed tests were forced to wear three different colours of clothing based on whether they had failed one, two, or three times, he said, and subjected to different levels of punishment accordingly, including food deprivation and beatings.

"I entered those camps. I took detainees into those camps," he said. "I saw those sick, miserable people. They definitely experienced various types of torture. I am sure about that."

It was not possible to independently verify the guard's testimony but he provided documents that appeared to corroborate a period of employment at a known camp. He agreed to speak on condition of anonymity.

The guard said he did not know anything about rape in the cell areas. Asked if the camp guards used electrocution, he said: "Yes. They do. They use those electrocuting instruments." After being tortured, detainees were forced to make confessions to a variety of perceived offences, according to the guard. "I have those confessions in my heart," he said.

President Xi looms large over the camps. His image and slogans adorn the walls; he is a focus of the programme of "re-education". Xi is the overall architect of the policy against the Uighurs, said Charles Parton, a former British diplomat in China and now senior associate fellow at the Royal United Services Institute.

"It is very centralised and it goes to the very top," Parton said. "There is absolutely no doubt whatsoever that this is Xi Jinping's policy."

It was unlikely that Xi or other top party officials would have directed or authorised rape or torture, Parton said, but they would "certainly be aware of it".

"I think they prefer at the top just to turn a blind eye. The line has gone out to implement this policy with great sternness, and that is what is happening." That left "no real constraints", he said. "I just don't see what the perpetrators of these acts would have to hold them back."

According to Ziawudun's account, the perpetrators did not hold back.

"They don't only rape but also bite all over your body, you don't know if they are human or animal," she said, pressing a tissue to her eyes to stop her tears and pausing for a long time to collect herself.

"They didn't spare any part of the body, they bit everywhere leaving horrible marks. It was disgusting to look at.

"I've experienced that three times. And it is not just one person who torments you, not just one predator. Each time they were two or three men."

Later, a woman who slept near Ziawudun in the cell, who said she was detained for giving birth to too many children, disappeared for three days and when she returned her body was covered with the same marks, Ziawudun said.

"She couldn't say it. She wrapped her arms around my neck and sobbed continuously, but she said nothing."

The Chinese government did not respond directly to questions from the BBC about allegations of rape and torture. In a statement, a spokeswoman said the camps in Xinjiang were not detention camps but "vocational education and training centres".

"The Chinese government protects the rights and interests of all ethnic minorities equally," the spokeswoman said, adding that the government "attaches great importance to protecting women's rights".

Ziawudun was released in December 2018 along with others who had spouses or relatives in Kazakhstan - an apparent policy shift she still doesn't fully understand.

The state returned her passport and she fled to Kazakhstan and then, with the support of the Uyghur Human Rights Project, to the US. She is applying to stay. She lives in a quiet suburb not far from Washington DC with a landlady from the local Uighur community. The two women cook together and take walks in the streets around the house. It's a slow, uneventful existence. Ziawudun keeps the lights low when she is in the house, because they shone brightly and constantly in the camp. A week after she arrived in the US, she had surgery to remove her womb - a consequence of being stamped on. "I have lost the chance to become a mother," she said. She wants her husband to join her in the US. For now, he is in Kazakhstan.

For a while after her release, before she could flee, Ziawudun waited in Xinjiang. She saw others who had been churned through the system and released. She saw the effect the policy was having on her people. The birth rate in Xinjiang has plummeted in the past few years, according to independent research - an effect analysts have described as "demographic genocide".

Many in the community had turned to alcohol, Ziawudun said. Several times, she saw her former cellmate collapsed on the street - the young woman who was removed from the cell with her that first night, who she heard screaming in an adjacent room. The woman had been consumed by addiction, Ziawudun said. She was "like someone who simply existed, otherwise she was dead, completely finished by the rapes".

"They say people are released, but in my opinion everyone who leaves the camps is finished."

And that, she said, was the plan. The surveillance, the internment, the indoctrination, the dehumanisation, the sterilisation, the torture, the rape.

"Their goal is to destroy everyone," she said. "And everybody knows it."”

[severetimetravelnerd]

Hatred and Love (ft. G Dragon) Mafia AU

Part 13

You finally get to tell Jiyong what you couldn’t earlier.

(I don’t own any of the images used. All credit goes to the original owners.)

Taglist:

@unabashedturkeytreeslime​

@happiestgirlontheeastcoast​

@kwonnansi​

@aarfyie​

@suhappysuho​

If there is anyone else who would like to be tagged, you can comment or leave me a message :))

I only write on this blog on tumblr, so if you see my work on any other platform, please let me know immediately.

Now, things are coming to a close. It has appearances from Daesung, Taeyang, TOP, Mino, Hanbin and EXO (mostly Kai). This continues with the EXO storyline, but again, I have nothing against EXO :)) I love them, but I had to use someone for the plot. This chapter has a lot of Suho. Sorry, for making him kinda evil!!! I love him in real life :))) It also has a good amount of Xiumin:))

Also, I think I’m almost done with this series. There is only one chapter left after this, I think :)). Hope you enjoyed it and please do leave feedback :))) I love hearing from you!! Sorry for being a little late to upload it this time

Warnings: Violence, Death(not main character), Injury, Blood, Eventual smut, Abduction, Guns and Knives, language. Injuries to a few people here. 

————————————————————————–

God, you had missed everything about him. He was so familiar, so warm, so comforting. You could barely stop yourself from melting further into the kiss. You guys still had to get things under control. You pulled away from the kiss, equally as teary-eyed as Jiyong, looking up to beam at him, cheeks hurting from how hard you were smiling. Jiyong stared down at you, shocked. When he first felt your soft lips press against his lips, he couldn’t believe what was happening. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t think, so for once in his life, he told himself to let it be and just do what his heart told him to do, which was kiss you back. He had just wrapped his hands around you and pulled you closer when you pulled away, leaving him in shock. He stared at your smile for a second before grabbing your hands and pulling you even closer. He sounded breathless, urgent, when he said, 

“No. You don’t get to do that to me. You don’t get to kiss me like it’s the most normal thing in the world and not something that I’ve been longing for, and pull away like that.”

 He held your face, his thumb lightly brushing against your lip. He leaned in for another kiss, but you lightly pushed him away. You gave him a half overjoyed and half pained smile and said,

 “Jiyong, I promise we can talk and sort everything out in a bit, but right now, we have to focus.”

  He didn’t respond, just sighing and getting up. For a minute there, when he got up facing away from you and didn’t respond to what you said, you felt devastated. He was mad at you. Maybe the two of you didn’t want the same things. A wave of tears threatened to follow. But then he dusted his hands and extended one to you, pulling you up. He had the brightest smile on his face when he said, 

“You promised, right?"

 You had to stop yourself from staring at him, and you turned away jerkily, your eyes landing on Jongin. You felt your throat constrict a little. You looked around again. Your apartment was a mess, but you could deal with that later. Jongin, and unfortunately, the bleeding Joonmyeon on the floor were bigger worries. Voice tight, you said,

 “Jiyong, we need to get these two to a hospital.” 

Jiyong nodded. 

“You’re right, love, but we can’t take them to a hospital without people asking questions.”

 Your cheeks flushed and your heart started beating faster when you heard him call you “love”, but you managed to get your point across.

 “Call Hanbin then. He has a friend who owns a hospital. We can take them there.” 

Jiyong got out his phone to tell Hanbin to do that. You went out to your balcony and blankly stared at the city around you. You had no idea what to expect when you first got there, but whatever happened, with all its ups and downs, you didn’t regret a minute of it. You were so engrossed in just thinking back to your time with Jiyong that you didn’t even hear him follow you out. He stood next to you and leaned on the railings.

 “Hanbin will be here in 5 minutes and then, we can follow him to the hospital.” 

You nodded, turning to look at Jongin. The blood around his head dried up and it didn’t look like he lost too much blood, but seeing him in that state was just awful. You couldn’t even do anything to help him because you were scared you would make things worse. You shuddered a little and wrapped your arms around yourself a little tighter. You turned to look at Jiyong. He was also staring at Jongin, looking dismayed that he had ended up like that. He had come to care for Jongin, no matter how annoying he could be. He had become part of the family. But then again, so had most of EXO.

You stared at him, getting lost in your thoughts. The way his hair fell in his eyes, soft and floppy, sticking up cutely every now and then. The way his sinewy arms tensed glaring at Joonmyeon. The way you could see a little bit of his tattoo under both his sleeve and his collar. The way his adam’s apple bobbed when he gulped. The way his face was shining from the sweat. The intense look in his eyes. He was definitely planning something. You looked down at his hands, wanting to see that familiar smiley tattoo and those long, graceful fingers when you realised they were bleeding. His hands were bleeding. You didn’t know why. And that realisation made you tear up. You weren’t with him for all this while. He was hurt. It could have been worse. And you wouldn’t have known. He would have been in pain and you wouldn’t have known. Your hands were shaky when they reached out to hold his, gently lifting them up to your lips. So was your voice.

 “Ji, what happened to your hands?”

 His eyes softened, his anger at Joonmyeon disappearing when he saw you. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. He gently lifted your hands and brought his lips down to kiss them.

 “They got cut earlier today, when I was running here. I tripped on the concrete.”

 It really wasn’t the worst thing in the world, and you had seen him with way more injuries, but somehow, when he said that, your lower lips started trembling. You bit down on it to keep yourself from crying. You had to hold it together. Jiyong needed to sort this mess out. You couldn’t bother him with this in the middle of it all. You would have continued down that road if Jiyong didn’t pull you in even closer, so that your face was resting against his chest. He gently kissed the top of your head, patting your back comfortingly. 

“It’s okay Y/N. It’s over. You’re okay. It’s all going to be okay.” 

And he held your shaking figure in his arms like that, letting you soak through his shirt with all the tears, gently patting your back until you calmed down enough to snuggle in even closer into his arms.

 An hour later, you were at the hospital, in Jongin’s room. Hanbin was pacing up and down nervously, worried beyond measure for his new-ish hyung. Jiyong was sitting next to you. You just watched Jongin, grateful that his arm was okay and his head injury was just a light cut. Joonmyeon was in far worse shape. A bullet in his foot, a light concussion and some bruising from the punches Jiyong threw at him. Minseok was with him. He wanted to be the first person to talk to Joonmyeon, because he wanted to make him see sense. All the other EXO members except for Sehun and Yixing were outside in the waiting room. They were worried about their hyung, because they knew it was a minor miracle that Jiyong didn’t kill him. They were definitely mad at him for hurting Jongin and you, because some of them had grown close to you, but he was still their leader and their hyung. They owed him a shot at forgiveness. They needed him to agree to the merger. It was all better that way.

You stared at Jongin and slipped your hand into his, squeezing it lightly and whispering, 

“Come on Jongin. Open your eyes. Prove to me that you’re okay and then I’ll be able to rest.”

 before looking down.

 Jiyong’s grip on your other hand tightened a little, his thumb reassuringly stroking the back of your hand. Hanbin was freaking out.

 “Fuck. Something seems wrong hyung. I don’t think he’s comfortable. Should I call the nurse? You know what? I think I’m just going to go ahead and ask the doctor to check on him again. I’ll also call the head nurse. I feel like he didn’t take a proper look at hyung because-” 

All of you froze when you heard Jongin’s rather croaky voice saying, 

“Hanbin, relax. I’m fine.”

 He opened his eyes, cracking a slight smile at the rest of you before struggling to sit up. You were about to go help him, but Jiyong was quicker. He was standing by his side, helping him up with one hand and adjusting the pillows beneath him with the other. Jongin stared at him in surprise. Jiyong hyung never really does that kind of thing for other people. Jiyong caught his look, blushed a little before deciding to address it.

 “What? I was worried about you.”

 Jongin’s smile grew even wider. Hanbin leaned on the wall behind Jongin, carefully watching him for any signs of distress. He knew Jongin hyung was stupid enough to pretend like it didn’t hurt. Jiyong came and sat back down next to you while Jongin got comfy. Jongin finally looked around and cracked a proper grin.

 “Don’t worry, I swear I’m fine! I was more worried about Y/N. I knew Joonmyeon hyung was out to get her, not me, and I wasn’t sure whether she’d be able to handle an unsteady, angry Joonmyeon hyung. How did you manage to hold him off Y/N?” 

He trailed off towards the end of the sentence, not wanting to upset you. You gave him a rather shaky smile, not wanting to get into everything that happened and said, 

“I just managed.” 

Jongin got the hint and didn’t probe any further, but Jiyong just stared at you in concern. Your hands had the slightest of quivers, and your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. He clenched his fists, knuckles white. You were scared because of Joonmyeon, that fucker. His gaze turned deadly. He wasn’t going to let him get away with that. Jongin quickly changed the topic, noticing your slight signs of fear and Jiyong hyung’s obvious anger, but even through all of that, with you laughing at Jongin’s ridiculous jokes and Hanbin’s snarky comments, Jiyong couldn’t join in. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.

 Joonmyeon slowly opened his eyes, feeling unusually drowsy and looked around. It was a bright, well-lit room with an oddly distinctive smell. He sniffed. It was the smell of disinfectant. It was that damn smell. The smell of a hospital. Joonmyeon scrunched up his face in confusion. How’d he get to a hospital? EXO never took people to hospitals. And then, it all came back. You’d think he’d feel anger or rage at how Y/N shot him in the foot, and how she gave him a concussion, but more than anything else, he was filled by an overwhelming amount of guilt. Jongin. He had to be okay. Joonmyeon had been extra careful to make sure he didn’t injure him too badly. He looked around, trying to find more information about Jongin only to find Minseok hyung sitting there, staring at him. No matter how angry he was that the rest of them left to merge with Jiyong, Joonmyeon could never be angry with Minseok hyung. He could barely even look at his hyung because of how bad he felt for hurting Jongin. He knew Minseok wasn’t going to let that go. But all Minseok did was look him over once and hand him a glass of water, waiting for him to drink the whole thing before he finally spoke.

 “How are you feeling Joonmyeon?”

 Joonmeyon looked at him, a little unsure and then replied in a subdued, muted voice. 

“I feel okay. My head hurts and I can’t feel my foot because of the medication, but otherwise I’m okay.”

 Minseok nodded. 

“Okay. Get some rest Joonmyeon. Take it easy for a while.” 

Joonmyeon stared at him, unable to believe himself.

 “You’re not going to say anything about what I did? You? Who was always so vocal about hating my decisions?”

 Miseok’s eyes harden for a second and then he sighs.

 “I will. I’m just overwhelmed because you’re still alive. You know it’s a miracle Jiyong didn’t kill you, right?” 

Joonmyeon’s jaw tightened. That damn woman had stopped Jiyong from killing him, and now, he was feeling angry and guilty about it. Minseok continued. 

“We had a deal with Jiyong. He was supposed to not harm you, Yixing or Sehun. And he wouldn’t have harmed you until you decided to try to kill Y/N. And after that, honestly? We wouldn’t have been able to blame him for that.” 

Minseok’s jaw tightened a little.

 “She was nice to all of us, and you know what she means to Jongin.”

 Minseok’s eyes turned positively murderous. 

“And then there is what you did to Jongin.”

 Joonmyeon winced. The room turned silent again. Joonmyeon finally took a deep breath and said, 

“Hyung. Call for a meeting. With everyone. Now. As soon as Jongin and I can both participate. The most important part is Y/N has to be there.”

 Minseok’s eyebrows shot up, alarmed. 

“Why does she have to be there?” 

Joonmyeon looked at him, eyes determined.

 “She is going to be the deciding factor for whether we completely merge with Jiyong.”

 You sat down on the cold metal chair outside Jongin’s room, sighing. The nurse had kicked you out saying Jongin needed to rest. You subconsciously wrapped your arms around yourself a little tighter, face tense because you were worried. Jiyong had disappeared a while ago to make some calls, leaving you there, and if you were being completely honest, the moment he left the room, you became a little sadder. God, you had missed him. You wanted to talk to him. Explain things. Tell him that you loved him. That you couldn’t stand not being around him. That something was so very wrong when he wasn’t around. You hoped desperately that he still felt the same way, chewing on your lips nervously. You were so nervous that you didn’t even notice the same man you were thinking of slide into the seat beside you and watch you with loving, satisfied eyes. You only realised he was there when he offered you a cup of hot lemon tea, nonchalantly sipping on his own. He looked up from his cup with an adorable smile. 

“Your favourite.” 

You smiled and took the cup, sipping on it and letting the warmth of it spread through your tired body. Jiyong spoke up again, trying but failing to keep his tone light.

 “You said we could talk and figure things out?”

 You stared at his face. He was smiling, but you could see the small signs of nervousness. The way he couldn’t keep his legs still. The way he nervously tugged at his earrings. You missed them. You nodded as a reply to Jiyong’s question.

 “Yeah, I did say that.” 

Jiyong gave you a look that was an odd mixture of exasperation and adoration. 

“So, can we talk now Y/N?” 

You looked up at him and smiled again.

 “Yeah sure. Do you want to go first or should I?” 

You paused for Jiyong’s reply for less than a second before scratching that plan. Suddenly, all your nervous tics were visible to him. 

“Fuck it. Ji, when I left, I left because I didn’t want to be treated that way. I still don’t. but I never left because I didn’t love you. I thought I would be happier away from a place where I was being used as a tool. I wasn’t. I missed you. I missed you enough to drive me mad. I was upset. I was hurt. It was partly because I hated myself for doing what I did, because I couldn’t get your hurt face out of my mind. I felt like I had left because I wanted to prove a point even though I knew deep down that you never meant a word of what you said then. I also hated you a little, although it isn’t fair. I hated that you didn’t stop me. That you let me go so easily. I hated that you thought it was better for you to make a decision for me where you thought I would be living a better life when all I couldn’t see a life without you in it. I want you back. I want us back.” 

You looked up at him throughout your entire explanation, eyes glossy with earnest tears. Jiyong stared right back at you with an increasingly loving gaze, and after you finished, looking at him shyly, suddenly nervous, he lifted your hand and kissed the inside of your wrist, gently moulding your palm to hold his face. Taking a look at the one face that got him through anything, he gathered enough courage to tell you how he felt. Taking a deep breath, he began. 

“Y/N. I absolutely do not deserve you in my life. All I’ve done is brought you pain. I should never have spoken to you that way. I should have kept my promise. I should have made sure that you never saw the mafia side of me. It was all my fault that you went alone that night, and came back unconscious, in Hanbin’s arms. I put you in danger. And I couldn’t live with myself for it. I wanted to let you go, hoping that maybe if you got the better life you deserve, it would lessen my pain of having to let you go. Y/N, you know I’m a selfish guy, but for the first time in my life, I thought I should do the right thing and let you go. So, I did. And it was my worst regret. I should have begged. I should have apologised. But I never should have made that decision for you. Y/N, my love, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for putting you through this. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to keep you safe. I’m sorry I didn’t keep my promise to you. I’m sorry I’m not the kind of man you deserve. I’m sorry I’m not giving you the life you deserve. But I’m going to be selfish and ask you to stay with me, because I know things will be different this time. I can change. I have changed. It’s not your duty or your job to make me a better person, and neither have you ever asked me to change, but I know I’ve changed simply because I want to be someone you’re proud of. I-” 

You cut him off, with a few tears streaming down your face. 

“Jiyong, I have never not been proud of you. And please don’t say I deserve better, or a better life. I want you. I want to be a part of your life. And I want you to be a part of mine. I could never want anyone else like this, no matter how seemingly perfect they are. Kwon Jiyong, I love you.” 

You smiled a stunning, warm smile through your tears. 

“And I regret not telling you that sooner.” 

Jiyong had turned slightly glossy eyed, and as he looked down at your earnest face, cheeks flushed, eyes teary and trusting, with not an ounce of fear in them, he knew he made the right decision. He pulled you close, pressing you flush against his chest and swore under his breath.

 “God, Y/N L/N. I love you too.”

 And leaned down to kiss those beautiful, soft lips that he had missed.

The moment you felt his lips against you with that ever so familiar scent of his aftershave, cologne and something that was just essentially him, you pressed back into the kiss, deepening it. It was slow, it was sensual. It was perfect. You could feel the apologies and the love through it. You pressed yourself even closer into him and gently nuzzled up to him, slowly kissing him, relishing every second of it. His arms wrapped around your waist as he slowly pulled away, smiling at you. You leaned up and pressed a light kiss against his jaw. 

“I love you Jiyong. I love you, I love you, I love you!”

 And you laughed a laugh of pure glee, happy that you finally told him. Smiling back at you and carefully brushing the hair out of your face, Jiyong kissed the tip of your nose and said,

 “Good, cause I love you too.”

 You settled into his arms, cuddling up to him, just sinking into the familiarity of it all while he wrapped his arms around you and held you, relishing the feeling of having you back in his arms. Jiyong heard a muffled voice speak against his chest.

 “Ji, did you quit smoking?”

 He smiled, resisting the urge to pull you onto his lap and kiss you again. 

“I did. How did you know?” 

He heard your slightly sheepish voice reply saying,

 “You smell different.” 

Jiyong grinned. He missed these small beautiful moments with you. The two of you sat like that for a while before you got a call from Hanbin. You sat up, worried that something had happened.

 “What’s wrong Hanbin?”

 Hanbin’s voice decidedly tight, replied. 

“Y/N, you and hyung need to get here. We’re having a meeting with EXO, and Joonmyeon says you have to be there.”

[myfeetkeepdancing]

Judge, Jury and Peter  | AU!Peter Parker x Male!reader

Words: 4360

A/N: This is something I’ve always wanted to write. The setting and characters as a whole are something I hope to explore more in the future. But for now, this is it. I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

———-

The wooden beams creaked eerily as your leather boot rested on the last step of the staircase. Your eyes scour into the leading corridor. Vigilant of your surroundings, searching the darkness for the slightest movement. Through the red and orange tongues of fire that were consuming the floor. Crackling, as the fire hungrily fed itself on the wooden construction. Rapidly climbing up the wall, gripping every opportunity to expand.

From your point of view, you could easily sense the nefarious footprints, mismatched, and each foot of different size. The dark energies that brought forth this wicked evil radiated from the blackened wood. Its tracks leading further down the hallway. With the wide brim of your hat, you shield yourself from the dancing flames consuming the roof, casting an orange glow down the hall. The damage was insignificant compared to the innocent lives lost in previous days.

The horror was unforeseen. Slaughtering the innocent. Unnecessary bloodshed because of an incompetent Burgomeister. Your blood boils warm by the thought of the many lives there could have been saved if they acted quicker. 

Yet you need not any guidance nor clues to know where to move next. The terrified screams of a man echoed down the hall. With keen senses and sharp of mind. You cautiously stride down the hall—the flames licking at your boots and long black leather cape, hanging from your shoulders. Eyes fixated on the heavy oak door down the hall. You are aware that the heels of your boots announce your arrival. With every step, the hard leather thumped against the wood.

You let your gloved hand slide from the sheathed rapier. With such close quarters, it would only limit you. There was only one option.

One shot.

Reaching underneath your cloak, the palm of your hand meets the butt of your flintlock pistol. Carefully drawing it from its holster. With a click, the thumb of your hand cocks the hammer backward. The index finger resting on the trigger, teasing the spring of the mechanism. With the other hand, you clutch the symbol of your god, dangling around your neck. Closing your eyes for a brief moment, you mutter a quick prayer to yourself. Bolstering your courage. Heighten your awareness and quicken your reflexes. Preparing you for the worst. As for the last twelve moons, you had witnessed enough horrors. Making you even more determined to end this.

Little light came from within the room itself. And as the door creaked open on its heavy hinges. You sight the abomination. The repugnant stench catches your nostrils. Sickening you. Revolting you. Even in your studies, you had never seen such cruelties. Patches of rotten skin, bulbous heaps of flesh, pulsating, hairy outgrowths, dripping with gory substances, sewn together by the fabric of ruinous magics. In horror, you watch its pseudo-corporeal body slump away from the desk. The creature had extended its arm, contorting its limb in inhuman ways, right through the desk to snatch the man. Indicating by the splinters and books scattered across the floor. Loathsome sounds came from its jaw as it animated in unusual ways. Before gaping wide open. The screams of the men, dangling in the monster’s grasps, brings you back to your senses.

Its head snapped towards you. Forcing you to meet it otherworldly gaze. Its sockets were devout of any life. Instead, deep, menacing orbs of humanlike size started glistened with a fiery green spark as it takes you in. Insane gibbering laughter cackled from its jaw. Revealing a set of malformed serrated fangs of various sizes. Raising its other arm, you gaze as the skin rips open, protruding claw-like blades from within the flesh. Gradually growing outward. 

You could feel it’s green light seep into you through your eyes. Clouding your thoughts, weakening you. Paralyzing your every nerve. Numbing your will. But with a quick prayer, you shake the blasphemous magic from your mind. Feeling the warmth radiate through your body. The strength returning to your arms and legs. 

In that time, the creature had taken steps towards you. Bringing it’s clawed arm up in such swiftness. Before striking it downwards on you. It seemed impossible that such a voluminous abhorrent lumping creature could move with such deadly swiftness. You lunge to the side, barely escaping the sword-like talons. Shaking the floor as the claw crashed with an unstoppable force. Trapping its claws into the hardwood floor.

A thunderous boom from the pistol echoed through the room. Drowning every other sound for moments. Covering the entity in a large plume of smoke. You would not allow the creature to take advantage of the situation any longer. It’s supernatural strength and speed were no match for you. But your weaponry was unmatched. 

And as the bullet tore a gaping hole through the rotten malformed flesh of its face. You discard the smoking pistol to the floor. Not giving the creature a moment to react. With great finesse, you surge forward, drawing your rapier. Striking across its unnatural arm holding the man. A searing purple mist erupts from the cut. Sizzling and burning, giving off a horrid stench. Before it disconnects from the body. Unnatural twitches shake and shudder the creature. It’s body writhing in agony. Stinking fluids gulp from the wounds onto the floor. As the man frees itself from its decapitated arm. You bring your rapier back to guard yourself and the helpless man behind you. Slowly stepping backward, as you asses the damage. The blubbering mess stumbled back and forth, careful not to get hit by its other arm. Still swinging around, its dark magic still bound to the heap of rotten flesh. Controlling its limbs in unnatural ways.

An uneasy feeling crept over you as you watch the skin grow and stretch. The dreadful sound of bones breaking and snapping intensifying it. All over its body, swollen masses of flesh began growing, stretching the skin. Horrifying gurgling noises become louder from the gaping hole of its once intact face.

“Get up!” You order to the man scrambling to his feet behind you, the horror painted on his face. Frozen to the spot. “Move!” Sheathing the blade, you turn to the man and dragging up him to his feet. Shielding him the best you can of what came next. Storming towards the door. Only a few meters away. You take the gamble and jump with the man in your arms. A gory explosion enveloped the room. The blast pushing you both the down into the hallway.

Gathering your breath. You raise yourself onto your feet. Dusting yourself down, as you slowly begin to regain your senses. Noticing the scenery behind you. Nothing but red smear painted these walls. Everything drenched in the horrible fluids of the accursed creature. The sight was one thing, but the smell was another. Nothing but death and decay.

On closer inspection, you counted yourself lucky, seeing the countless bone splinters burrowed into the walls. The more of the scenery you observe, the more questions arise. The extensive collection of books and parchments, shattered vials of herbal equipment.

A growled groan behind you draws your attention. Coming from the man lying on the floor. Facedown to the floor, groaning. Fortunately, still alive. A minor victory in your book.

You didn’t give the man a good look in the first place once you entered. But now with him seated against the wall. You can’t help but notice the young features. Under all the blood and bruises, you see a young, lively man. A kind face, “T-Thank you…” He stammers. “Stranger.” His voice was somber and rough. Doubled over in pain. Coughing heavily. Clutching his hands to his side.

“That’s not looking good.” Observing the crimson red-stained fabric between his hands. You’ve seen enough injuries by know to know that was a fatal one. Even without a proper look. That amount of blood loss was impossible to heal even by priests. The nearest would take at least half an hour to get there. Especially without your trusty steed.

“I’ll be fine.” He coughed out the words. Slowly rising to his feet. He couldn’t be much older than you. Mid-twenties possibly. Yet, he had a refreshing, optimistic atmosphere to him. Something strange. Handing your brim hat that lay beside him. Blown from the head by the blast.

“No, you’re not.” You snap angrily, taking the hat from him. Restoring it back on your head where it belonged. Straightening your coat and cape. Tightening the belts of equipment around your torso. “Priests are up far north. Without a proper steed, it will take you an hour to get there.”

“You’re quite young for a witch hunter.” He smiles thinly. Waiting for a reaction. But your mind is occupied elsewhere. Your face painted grim and dark with anger. Losing another lead wasn’t something to report back. The Order wouldn’t tolerate such results. Especially on your first mission alone.

“I’m Peter.” Extending his hand towards you.

“I need not know a dead man’s name.” Scoffing his enthusiasm away. “I require answers. Why did that monstrosity target you? Out of all the citizens in this town. You were the one. I can hardly believe that’s a coincidence.”

“It’s a long story. Allow me to-”

“I need answers, not bedtime stories.” You growl, interrupting him mid-sentence.

“Alright, then see for yourself.” Lifting the blood-drenched garments from the wound. You were surprised by the size of the cuts. But even more so by the fact that the three large gashes on his side had stopped bleeding. The tissue was torn open pretty badly. Normally, the blood would gush from these kinds of injuries. But not in this case. Your mind raced to conclusions. Magic.

“What… How is that possible?” Taking a step backward, your hand ready on the stock of your remaining pistol. “Explain yourself.”

“It’s difficult.” Turning his side towards you. “Look…” Your eyes widen in disbelief. In all the years of study. This was unheard of.

“What the…” Your hand reaches for your mouth, drowning any remaining cursing words that wanted to spill from your lips. The torn tissue was slow but gradually growing back. “Enough! What heresy is this!?” Reaching for your shackles on your belt. “Others have been on the pyre for less!.”

But instead of the expected fight, he puts both his arms forward. Lining up his wrists. Ready to be shackled up. A moment of hesitation stops you from continuing. An uneasy feeling washed over you as you see his smile stretching.

“Go for it.” He encourages you.

In a swift motion, you shackle both his wrists up. With the key put away safely, you turn your attention to the room. Motioning him to wait.

Sharpening your senses, focussing on the details. Perhaps you were able to find some clues about the origin of the monster. Its reason for being here. Instead of listening to a lengthy story from that unusual man. And of course, recover your flintlock pistol.

The thoughts of reporting back to the Order without results send a shiver down your spine. Determined to find something. Any lead. There must be a pattern somewhere. You gather some samples here and there. Make a note in your tome. Sketch a few drawings of leftovers from the monstrosity. And gather evidence.

The witchcraft that was at work here was another level. It was a shame the person that put this thing into the world made it disintegrate. Leaving less to investigate. After careful consideration, you accept the fact you can’t recover anything noteworthy. One positive observation, the dark magic seems to have evaporated with it. You mumble a quick prayer of cleansing.

But the sound of metallic crunching, twisting and snapping, disturbed your moment of prayer.

“By the Gods!” You watch in awe as the man had freed itself from your shackles. It’s metal rings torn apart, bent and broken. No sweat on his forehead to be sighted. You look on in fear as he breaks open the shackle on his wrist with little effort.

“We can help each other.” He says calmly while undoing the other. “But in order to, you have to understand I’m your only lead on your quarry.”

“As an ordained servant of our most holy lord, and templar knight of his sovereign temple. I certainly need no-…”

“I can walk away if you want.” He interrupts you, crossing his arms. A smile curving his lips. He knew exactly what his position was.

The daunting realization hits you that no matter the banter, you had nothing to show for. You may have saved his life, but that’s all.

“I saved your life.” Crossing your arms. “So, to settle that debt and convince me, you will share information about the-…”

Meanwhile, you hear a fleet of stamping boots run upwards. Facing the stairs, you spot the embroidered tunics and shields of the local guards. “Sir?” The guardsmen ask. “Are you alright? We heard-…”

“I’m fine.” You waved him away.

The soldiers lined up behind him all look at you, before noticing the gory scene. Revolting in horror. Some run down the stairs, hearing them spill their guts downstairs.

“Make the arrangements to burn down the house. I also require any information on the owner.”

“Aye, will do, Sir.” Bowing down to you. Huffing a few orders to his guardsmen before setting his eyes on the two of you. “And who’s this?” Pointing out the mysterious man standing opposite of you. “He didn’t accompany you when you entered.” His hands reaching for the pommel of his sword.

Peter gave the guard a kind smile. But he was having none of it. The grip tightening on his sword. The tension was noticeably rising. Outweighing your every option. Peter staring at you, awaiting your response.

“He’s with me.” You grumbled annoyingly. “We’re staying at the inn.” That was further from the truth but saved you hassle from any explanation. You nudge Peter to follow you, taking the first few steps down the stairs. But halt before the guard, turning in to face him up close.

“See to it that this place is torched before nightfall.”. You snarled to the guard’s face. Before moving on.

“But… Sir?” You hear the guardsmen trying to protest.

“That’s an order!” You growl and turn onto the street. Leather boots sinking deep into the muddy ground. The rancid smell of horse shit and nearby pigpen hang poignant around the area. Navigating down the narrow streets winding up towards the town square. Lined by timber walls and plastered houses, the faces withdraw hastily. Closing shutters and doors. And the few passers avert their gaze. Its lanes became eerily quiet for the time of day. Only the sounds of nature, chirping birds, and cackling chickens.

“That man was merely doing his job.” Peter stated while following close behind you.

“So do I.” You snap back. Sucking on your teeth as you fought to contain your anger. How you wish you could give him a reprimand.

“Are you always like this?” He asked, picking up with you. From the corner of your eye, you see his kind features waiting for a reaction. But by now, you knew when to speak. And when to keep things to yourself.

In the distance, you spot a building that resembles a tavern. A low stone wall surrounding it, stables to its side, and swaying sign at the porch. Its colors faded and worn, the letters spelling ‘The Grey Goblet’. The image below the Gothic letters depicting two spilling goblets. No peasants nor traders inhabited the outdoor tables. Only a faint light coming through the small fogged up windows showed signs of life.

With hesitation, you open the heavy oak door. The common room opening up to you was spacious. A cluster of tables strewn about with an occasional group of peasants and farmers sharing there drinks and stories. To the left, a long oak topped bar ran along the wall, an older man standing behind it. The men looked up from their hushed and subdued conversations, narrow-eyed studying the newcomers with suspicion. You return their stare with a cold and expressionless look around the room. Taking in each and every individual. They know what kind of person they were dealing with. And so they return to their subdued conversation. While keeping one eye on you.

The barkeep didn’t seem pleased with your arrival. His brow furrowed while he tapped two steins of beer. “I suppose you want a drink.” He groveled.

“Not the warmest welcome I’ve had.”

“Whatcha expectin’? Shaking his head. "Your kind bring nothing but misery with ya…” He said with annoyance in his voice. “Take what ya want and leave.” Eyeing the two of you with suspicion.

“Mind your tongue…" 

"Well, need I remind ya’ of that family you lot send to the pyre four seasons ago. A whole bloody family. Ripped from our midst. Even the little girl…!” The man bursted out in anger. Clearly your kind have made their mark on the region.

“It’s the few for the many.” You turn your relentless gaze to the peasants listening in. Turning their heads to their respective table out of fear. "Heresy ran deep within this region…” Your eyes scan the crowd for any troublemakers. Making sure the fear set in. It occurred before, rebelling against the Order and their Templars. But they know by now, that such actions have dire consequences. “And yet it seems their roots haven’t been properly eradicated.” You turn to the man. “Have they…?” Its face turning pale.

“N-No… I mean Yes… I… Please… I-”

You let the words do the rest. “Now, I need your best room for the night. Serve us a good meal with your best wine, and ready a bath for this one here.” Jabbing a thumb over to Peter. “We’ll talk later.” You nudge to him, while you climb the stairs beside the bar. Intend on picking the room yourself.

“God has forsaken me…” The man muttered to himself. But loud enough for you to overhear. As he ordered the maiden to the kitchen.

“Your contribution to the Church and the Order is duly noted, my good man.” The words drip with sarcasm. “Serve my meal in my room. I do not want to be disturbed. And keep those blasphemous thoughts to yourself. Or I will see to it myself.”

As you inspect the rooms, door by door, you hear the commotion downstairs. Like in most places, you think to yourself. Peter’s voice sounded several times, followed by the rattle of coins. It takes a while before quiet and peace to return.

The room was adequately furnished. A dining table accompanied by a small seating area. The bedroom situated through a set of doors. And a large desk standing in front of the window. You relieve yourself of all equipment and brim hood. The holsters of your guns hanging on the backrest. You seat yourself down in the chair opposite the window. From your view, you could see the sunset. As the flames of the burning house reached high into the sky. You reach for a small prayer book on the inside of your coat. Beautifully lined and adorned with a gold symbol on the crest. You shut your eyes and intertwine your fingers. Resting them atop the booklet. Mumbling the words to yourself. A moment of prayer. A moment of cleansing. A moment of reflection. Asking your god to lead you. Lead you on the right path.

A knock on your door disturbs your prayer. The interruption putting in you in an even blacker mood. “Put in on the table, and leave me be.” You snarled at whoever stood at your door. The door creaks open, slow footsteps walk across the room before they halt. Your nose could tell who it was. That smell. “Peter…”

“You look troubled.” A bit of worry sounded to his words.

“I said we’ll talk later.” You look over your shoulder, seeing him stand in the doorway. “Take a bath, you reek of filth.” Pulling one gun out of the holster. You bring up one canister of bullets hanging from your belt, and the satchel with cleaning equipment. Maintaining your equipment is vital. They were your tools of the trade. A proper tool for protection. And order.

Cleaning the barrel. Weighing the gunpowder. Oiling the mechanism. Polishing the metal. It requires precision and care. And if you spend that time. Took that time. The tools will return that favor to you. All the while, Peter still stands there. Observing you.

“It’s a meal for two.” He says. From your chair, you notice the platter with what seems to be a whole goose or duck. “Will you wait for me?”

“Yes.” You say icy and cold. Pulling the other pistol from your holster. Preparing it for cleaning. “Be quick.”

For once, your nostrils were teased by the lovely odors of a roasted duck or goose. Herbs and spices richly strewn with. Whatever it was, it smelled delightful. This sure was a pleasant relief from all the horrid smells of the past few days. A bowl of cooked vegetables and potatoes to the side. Two cups of soup. A carafe of wine and two gray goblets. A lavish meal for these parts. You pour yourself a one, putting it to your lips. Letting your senses overflow by the rich pallet of flavors of the sunbathed grapes. Carrying you back to memories of a better time.

“Good wine?” Peter asks as he entered the room without noticing, ruining your moment of joy. “I thought I saw a smile there.” He chuckles softly. You open your eyes to a refreshed looking young gentlemen. Dressed in elegant red garments, embroidered with tints of gold.

“How are you feeling?” Taking a seat on the table, Peter sitting opposite you. On the stool beside you, hang your sheathed rapier. The black leather brim hood sat on the table, underneath it, a holster sticking out on your side. For those entering the room, barely to be seen. For you, at the ready in a flash.

“I’m doing good.” He smiled, doing a quick check on his injuries. “Thank you for the bath.”

"It’s the least I can do.” Pouring him his wine. “But why’d you pay the man?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because he must serve a knight of the temple at no cost. So says the law.”

“But I’m not one of yours.”

Unsettling enough, he had a point. You weren’t going to admit he was right. But this man had an answer to your every word. It didn’t feel like arguing, yet the experience of being spoken up against you was unnerving. 

“We usually don’t get these kinds of… lavish meals.”

“I know why.” He snorted. Aware that you were struggling to regain your composure.“But I hope you enjoy it. I certainly do.” Giving you a smile. “You know… I still don’t know your name.” Taking a sip from his wine, leaning back into the chair. “If we’re going to work together, that might be useful.” He joked. You kept your gaze to your plate the whole time. Questions were burning in the back of your mind that required answering. And he was your only option.  

“I’m (Y/N).” You look up, meeting his gaze. A look of kindness and grace met yours of irritation and disdain. Receiving a simple smile in return.

You don’t fancy these odds. Everything was depended on him. Even if he bluffed, even if he was lying. There was no other way. You sought to get an answer out of this man. One way or another. Not ruling out a confession of the sorts. If it wasn’t for those healing powers, then you would twist the rules to your liking. You weren’t going to end up empty-handed. Most certainly not.

“Well… nice to meet you (Y/N).” He smiled kindly, bringing you back from your scheming thoughts. “That house you ordered to burn down, could have been mine.”

“It wasn’t.” With the napkin, you wipe away the residue from your meal. Meeting his gaze again. “The lock was forced. That monster would have gone straight through the door. You were trying to sneak in. To what purpose might I ask?”

“Good eye.” He compliments you with a broad smile. Moving to the edge of his seat. “You know, I’m in the same boat as you are.”

“Just answer the question.” You snarl, gritting your teeth out of frustration. “You have a lot to answer for. And as long as you’re treading through these lands, you’re falling under my scrutiny and jurisdiction.”

“You’re angry with yourself, aren’t you?" 

The blood started boiling deep inside you. This man was driving you insane. Jaw clenched tightly and nostrils flaring. You sat there letting him roll over you. Something was holding you back. In any situation, you would have scolded the man with every possible vocabulary in the book.

"I can see it in you. You got that fury in your eyes.” He continues. “You don’t want to admit it. But deep down, you know, I’m your only shot at success. Am I right?”

In what position did he think he was in to speak up to you in such a manner?

“You’re not the one in control. That’s it! That infuriates you. You’re powerless. Something you’ve never experienced until now.”

The words he spoke came closer to the truth you ever wanted to admit. Your hands shudder from rage. That hot burning anger seeking to harm. Insulting a servant of the Order like this. This was unheard of. Your hand clamps around the wine glass, shaking as you bring it to your lips. Gulping it all down.

“This is going to be fun. (Y/N).” He smiled happily, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as he continues eating. A glint of excitement glared in his eyes as he glanced up at you. Steam was literally fuming from your ears.

You were beyond anger of these acquisitions. Yet something wholesome about him kept you from bursting out in rage. As you looked at him, there was something about him that you couldn’t get angry about. Soothing almost. Calming.

[calligraphist-artemisia]

Just Another Cinderella Story (Chapter 1)

Once upon a time, there was a boy who was left in the care of his uncaring stepmother. Raised in a life of servitude and seeing his stepbrother lavished with praise and given everything he desired, the boy knew there was only one way he would ever be free. If their dreams of marrying into a life of luxury came true, then he would be left with his childhood home and he would finally be able to turn his life around.

Of course, Fate often has other plans in mind.

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune

- - - - -

1. Saponaria officinalis

It began as all old tales did, with a child who was pure of heart and thrust into a situation beyond their control. In this case, the child was a boy whose kind father was taken from him far too early, leaving him in the clutches of his wicked stepmother.

He grew up in servitude and hoped that one day things would get better. Perhaps one day, when his stepmother's wish to marry her perfect son to a rich princess came true, they would leave his father's house and him behind. Until then, he would keep his head down and work as hard as he could.

It didn't always work. There was always something his stepmother found not to her liking and his stepbrother was even worse with his constant criticism.

His life wasn't all bad, however. Every now and then, under the guise of gathering wild berries in the woods, he could get away and visit a friend.

Keith met Takashi Shirogane purely by accident.

It happened on a hot summer day on one of the rare occasions he opened his big mouth and talked back to his stepbrother, earning himself a series of painful lashings that split the skin across his back badly enough to bleed. He was then sent out into the woods to gather wood for the stove. When he inevitably collapsed, Shiro was the one who found him.

The man was called a witch by the townsfolk and he lived in a cabin with his partner, Curtis. The two of them took Keith in, cleaned and bandaged his wounds, and fed him before allowing him to leave.

Keith couldn't go to them often, but whenever he felt his patience wearing thin he found an excuse to get away.

As always, Shiro and Curtis welcomed him to their cozy cabin with open arms. Shiro took his basket from him and gestured for Keith to take a seat, while he filled the basket with a variety of herbs and berries, giving credence to Keith's excuse.

“Thank you,” Keith said as he sat down, sinking into the soft furniture with a relieved sigh.

“How is your back?” Curtis asked from where he stood in the kitchen. There was a dusting of flour covering his hands and the front of his apron, and luckily there was none was sprinkled through his brown hair. (Keith had yet to see Curtis not looking like a mess while he was baking.)

“It feels tight sometimes, but it doesn't hurt anymore,” Keith said.

Shiro stopped filling the basket and went to a nearby cupboard, where he selected a green clay container. He uncorked it and looked inside, nodding in satisfaction at what he saw.

Knowing what was coming next, Keith stripped out of his shirt and folded it up in his lap, turning so Shiro had better access to his back. He pulled his hair forward so it was no longer in the way either.

Shiro sat down on the couch next to him and dipped his fingers into the jar, scooping out a generous amount of salve. He gently smoothed it over the scars and smiled at Keith's initial flinch, knowing it was due to the unusual coolness and mild tingle it produced on contact. “This should help with the tightness. You know if you allowed me to apply this more regularly, you wouldn't be able to tell that there are any scars.”

“You know I can't do that,” Keith murmured, relaxing under Shiro's light touch.

“They don't deserve you.”

Keith had nothing to say to that. It was a conversation they had every time he saw Shiro and it always ended with Keith returning to his personal hell.

He knew he could leave and his so-called family would presume him dead and continue on with their lives, glad to be rid of him. They weren't the reason he stayed. He stayed for the manor; it was his father's home and the place which held all of his fond memories of what little time they shared together. The thought of leaving made him feel as though he was abandoning all of that.

“How long are you staying today, Keith?” Curtis asked.

“Long enough that I no longer want to strange Lotor with his stupid hair,” Keith grumbled in response, earning a chuckle from the other two men.

“Ah, so you're moving in,” Curtis joked with a grin.

Keith tried not to smile, knowing it would only encourage them. “I might stay the night and leave before sunrise, if that's alright.”

“You won't get in trouble for being gone for so long?” Shiro replaced the cork on top of the jar and stood to put it away.

“They're entertaining for the evening and gave me specific instructions to stay out of sight. As long as I'm back to serve them breakfast, they won't care.”

Shiro stood up and headed back to the cupboard to put away the jar. “In that case, I'm going to prepare a proper bath for you. I know I just applied the salve, but there's one that will work even better after you've soaked for a while. No arguments.”

Keith made a frustrated sound, but Shiro was already heading for the back door. He watched as Shiro paused for a moment to whisper to Curtis before he walked through the door and disappeared into the sprawling garden.

He knew there was no point in arguing. Shiro would give him a sad look and Keith's resolve would crumble, unable to stand the idea of disappointing someone who genuinely cared about him.

Keith turned his attention to Curtis instead. “Who are you baking for today?”

“Well, I suppose it's for you since you'll be joining us for dinner,” Curtis said, giving him a fond smile. “Shiro suggested I make it. He does that sometimes, when he believes we'll have a visitor who could use a good meal. I hope you like blackberry cobbler.”

“That sounds incredible,” Keith said, unable to say for sure if he would like it. As long as Curtis was the one doing the cooking, he was sure it would all be delicious.

Keith struggled to properly relax while he waited for Shiro to return. He was so used to working all day that it felt unnatural to sit and do nothing. Maybe Curtis would let him clean the pots and pans?

He doubted it.

Shiro came and went, flitting about like a man on a mission. He didn't stop to talk to either of them. All of his focus was on the task he had set for himself. Just when Keith was about to beg Curtis to give him something to do, Shiro returned and herded him to a smaller room where a deep tub of steaming water was waiting for him. It smelled faintly of herbs, but Keith couldn't tell which ones.

Next to the tub was a bench that held several jars of soaps, a towel, and a fresh set of clothing.

“Shiro-”

“You deserve this,” Shiro firmly cut in, not allowing Keith to finish his sentence. “Wash up and relax. I'll knock when I think you've been in here long enough and then you can get out. I'd like to apply the new salve before you put a shirt on. After that, you're welcome to help me with a few things before dinner.”

“Don't do anything to my normal clothes,” Keith said.

Shiro sighed heavily as though he really wanted to disagree, but instead he promised he wouldn't do anything to them.

Keith waited for him to leave before removing his threadbare clothing, carefully folding each item, and setting them aside in an attempt to keep them reasonably neat. He then eased himself into the hot water, letting it soothe his aching body. The soft scents of whatever herbs Shiro put into the water lulled him into a relaxed state, clearing his mind and giving him a moment of peace that he hadn't realized he needed.

He felt incredible by the time Shiro knocked on the door and it was with some reluctance that he climbed out of the tub and began to dry himself off, leaving his hair for last. He then swiftly dressed in the undergarments and pants, marveling over how soft it was and feeling a little undeserving of such finery.

Keith carried the shirt and accompanying vest with him out to the main room, where Shiro swooped in to rub a new salve over his back, though he first ran his fingers through Keith's damp curls,  tugging free any tangles he found.

“Don't bother. I'm going to chop it off soon,” Keith said, reaching back to pull his hair from Shiro's hands.

“You shouldn't,” Shiro said in a tone that implied he knew something but wasn't ready to reveal what he knew. He uncorked a new jar and spread its contents over the scars on Keith's back, one at a time.

Unlike the first salve, it felt surprisingly warm and remained that way once Shiro was done.

“You shouldn't have any more problems with your back,” Shiro said.

“Really?” Keith twisted around to look at him in surprise. “What's the difference between this one and the one you used earlier?”

“The other one relieves pain and softens the scar tissue so it doesn't pull as tightly. It's a quick fix for anyone who needs to stay active and is normally best suited for minor aches and pains. This one heals more deeply than that, but you can't strain yourself for at least six hours so it has time to work,” Shiro explained. “I've found that it also helps to take a warm bath beforehand.”

Keith didn't fully understand how any of it worked and he doubted he ever would, so he nodded along with what Shiro said and accepted it as the truth.

“So I have to sit still even longer? I thought you wanted my help with something,” he said, crinkling his nose.

“I do want your help,” Shiro said brightly. He stood up, taking the jar with him so he could put it back. “It's nothing strenuous and a little activity won't hurt anything.”

“I'll do it,” Keith agreed without waiting to hear what he would be doing. It didn't matter, so long as he didn't have to sit still.

Shiro returned to give his back one last look over and then directed Keith to put on the shirt and jacket. Keith almost left the vest off. He took a moment to trace his fingers over the white embroidery spiraling over one of the pockets and to marvel over how soft and warm the red fabric was. It was far nicer than anything he'd ever been allowed to wear and it was only the fact that it was clearly well-worn that had him shrugging it on.

Shiro nodded in approval. “Sit and turn your back to me. I'm doing something with your hair.”

“Any reason why you're determined to dress me up today?” Keith did as his friend asked without waiting for the answer. He soon felt gentle fingers return to his curls, once again working on getting rid of the tangles.

“Do I need a reason?” Shiro asked, and though his tone was lighthearted, Keith was sure he could detect an edge of frustration.

“Well, no... I guess not.”

Shiro continued to work on his hair until he could get his fingers through without catching on a single knot and then began to gather sections as he debated how he wanted to arrange Keith's hairstyle. He muttered to himself and Keith wasn't entirely sure it was fully in English because there was so much of it he couldn't understand.

Eventually, Shiro settled on a simple, single braid.

“Now you're ready to help me,” he said as he stood up. He held out a hand for Keith to take and helped him stand.

Keith expected an evening in the garden, gathering herbs and flowers of all varieties so that Shiro could dry them or do whatever he needed, but instead he was led to a room he'd never been allowed inside. He realized why immediately.

Shelves lined the walls, filled with a variety of pots and baskets. One was specifically for hanging dried plants. Another held books of all sizes. In the very center was the room was a cauldron on a pedestal, with a fire pit beneath it that lit itself the moment the door was shut.

If Keith ever needed confirmation that maybe the stories of Shiro being a witch were true, that was it. He wasn't worried though. Shiro had never given him a reason to distrust him.

“Should I really be in here?” Keith asked.

“I don't see why not. I normally get Curtis to help me with things like this,” Shiro told him. “Healing salves require quiet and I have to do those myself, but I also make soaps. That's what you'll be helping me with today. Could you get that basket of soapwort?”

Keith took a moment to look around, crossing off a number of plants before he came across one with a few white flowers still attached. “This one?”

“That's it,” Shiro said with a nod. “Take it over to the table and start chopping one of the bundles. Try and get the pieces as evenly as you can, but don't stress if they aren't. Once you have a full bundle cut, you can put it in the cauldron and add one jar of dried soapwort so it can all boil together.” He walked over to one of the shelves and plucked up a fist-sized jar, which he took over to the table where Keith would be working.

“Do you do this a lot?” Keith asked as he got to work.

“At least once a week I make a lemon soap for Curtis to take into town and sell with his pies,” Shiro said. “The one we're making is for a friend. Nettle and rose this time, I think.”

Keith focused on what he was doing as Shiro got lost in his own musings, as he was prone to do when he was working on something he found important. He found chopping the soapwort a relaxing activity and quickly finished the single bundle he was asked to do. He swept it all up into another jar – when did that get there? - and then carried the fresh and dry soapwort to the cauldron and dumped it all in. The ladle stirred it all together on its own.

The blatant display of magic had Keith gasping in surprise.

Shiro looked over at the sound. “Ah, sorry about that. It's charmed to automatically stir. I've had one too many recipes burn while I was trying to get everything in order. The wind chimes are the same.” He pointed to the ceiling, where a few copper tubes were hanging in close proximity.

“It's fine. I just wasn't expecting it,” Keith said, backing away from the cauldron with slight weariness. He breathed in, reminding himself that he trusted Shiro and that the magic was useful and not dangerous, and then walked over to see if his friend needed any other help. “So, uh, what now?”

“Now we add the rose and nettle so it can boil along with the soapwort,” Shiro said, handing Keith one jar. “Both are good for the skin, but I use rose petals specifically for the scent.”

Keith and Shiro spent most of the evening in the little room, working first on a liquid soap for Shiro's mystery friend, and then on a smaller jar of lemon soap that he insisted Keith take home for general household cleaning. By the time they emerged, laughing and joking around, Curtis was nearly finished with dinner.

“You're taking this better than I thought. Even Curtis avoided me for two days when I first showed him my magic,” Shiro complimented.

“Hey, in my defense, you didn't exactly ease me into it,” Curtis spoke up, an amused smile on his face. “And I spent those two days calling myself an idiot for running from you.”

“I suppose I could have broken in the news a bit more gently...”

Keith couldn't help but smile as he listened to them banter back and forth. It was yet another thing that generally went unsaid in regards to Shiro's life; the exact nature of his partnership with Curtis was central to much of the town gossip, always spoken about in whisper and yet somehow without judgment. It was treated as any other talk about who liked who.

All Keith cared about was how happy they were together.

Shiro stepped into the kitchen, mischief in his expression, but before he could do whatever he was planning on, a horse whinnied outside and he turned around to go out and greet their new visitor instead.

“Keith, come with me,” he instructed.

Keith glanced over at Curtis, who only shrugged and went back to cooking. With no help forthcoming he followed after Shiro. Outside they found a cloaked rider astride a dappled gray horse and as Shiro approached the rider pushed back their hood to reveal a young woman with light brown hair.

“It's good to see you, Pidge,” Shiro greeted as he grasped one end of the reigns. He held the horse steady as the woman swung her legs over and hopped down.

“Hi, Shiro. And Shiro's new friend.” She flashed a quick smile at Keith before turning her attention back to Shiro. “I hope I'm not interrupting. I know it isn't exactly one of my scheduled visits, but I had to get away for a while.”

“You're always welcome here,” Shiro said. “Keith, would you mind helping her inside while I take Jasmine to the barn?”

Keith nodded and held out his hand for her to take, which she did with a smile that seemed amused. Keith was sure that meant he was doing something wrong or not quite appropriate, but she didn't call him out on it and let him walk her into the cabin, where she also greeted Curtis and complimented him on how good the food smelled.

“Another guest for dinner,” Curtis said, sounding delighted. “Why don't you both wash up. We'll be ready to eat once Shiro comes back inside.”

There were two pumps that Keith knew of. One was in the kitchen and the other in the washroom, which was where he and Pidge headed to clean up as Curtis asked. He let Pidge go first.

“So, how long have you known Shiro and Curtis?” she asked, curiosity coloring her tone.

Keith shrugged. “A few years, I guess. Shiro's helped me out of a few bad scrapes.”

“Me too.”

Keith glanced at her, wondering what trouble she could have possibly gotten in that would mean Shiro had to step in and help. Though she tried to hide it beneath a plain cloak, he could tell she was of noble blood and likely under heavy protection. He wouldn't be surprised if she had guards stationed out in the forest to watch for any danger.

“He saved my brother three years ago. Ever since then I try and visit with gifts to thank him for everything that he's done. Of course, it's hard to get him to accept anything so it's always something he'll find useful and not all that difficult to find...” Pidge sighed as she stepped aside to dry off her hands, letting Keith access the pump.

“He is stubborn like that,” Keith agreed. He quickly scrubbed his hands clean and then accepted the towel from Pidge so he could dry off before they went to eat.

Dinner was full of lively conversation and delicious food. Keith had to stop himself from taking second helpings of everything, knowing that the richness of it all would only disagree with his stomach. He had to slow down a few times and focus on listening to what everyone was saying instead.

Pidge was especially chatty, full of witty jokes and a tendency to ramble on when she was particularly interested in a topic. Shiro encouraged her in subtle ways; through a question or a quick statement, leading her through a wide range of subjects that were all equally fascinating to hear, even if Keith didn't understand all of what was being said.

It was by far one of the best meals Keith had ever had. He was almost sorry when it was over and Shiro and Curtis shooed him and Pidge outside while they cleaned up, ignoring all of their protests.

Keith stared at the door, his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for some sign that Shiro would let them back in. Minutes passed without any movement and Pidge grew tired of waiting.

“You know, you get a pretty good view of the stars around here,” she mentioned. “Want to stargaze with me?”

The question was unexpected. Keith was stunned for several long seconds before he found his voice long enough to agree. He followed her down the path into the garden, where there was a stone bench surrounded by tall-growing flowers, all of which were beginning to close up without the sunlight shining down on them.

Pidge sat down first, laying her cloak across the bench to provide slight warmth to the cold stone. “Sometimes I get the feeling that Shiro knows more than he lets on. He's not going to let us back in until he thinks we've made friends,” she said, patting the space next to her.

“He does always seem to know when I'm coming to visit,” Keith admitted as he took a seat. “Why stargazing though?”

“You'd rather stare at the door until he lets us go inside?” she asked with a grin.

“No. No, this is better,” Keith agreed, tilting his head back. It had been so long since he last took the time to look at the stars, but as he sat there he was brought back to a time when his dad was still alive. How many nights had they laid out under the stars, telling stories based on the legendary figures dotting the skies? What kinds of stories did Pidge know?

He didn't have to wonder for long.

Some of her stories he had heard before. Others were new. And then he was able to share the ones he knew from his dad and had the pleasure of watching her face light up in joy at hearing new stories.

When Shiro opened the door to let them in, neither of them noticed.

[magic-is-something-we-create]

Hellooo! :D happy WbW. What is a piece of worldbuilding that you haven't gotten to talk much about but that you could go on and on about for hours? Tell us about it!

Happy WBW!! thank you for the ask!!! this got super long holy hell

One of the things I haven’t gotten to talk much about on here is the various magic systems on Ehl!! I’ve talked a little bit about Elementalism, but I think that and Sorcery are the only ones I’ve really explained at all? So I’ll just do a quick list here of the different magic systems!!!!

Quick TW: blood is mentioned frequently in the RUNES and ALCHEMY/ENCHANTMENT sections behind the cut

Elementalism: Think Avatar bending, but more specific, and literally every Ehlf can do it to some capacity. Also theres no avatar, they’re all just stuck with one type from birth. The types are: Fire, Stone, Water, Air, Plant, Flesh (Healer), Metal, Electric (Light), and Mind (Dark). (Sidenote: Dark Mages have a lot of unwarranted stigma attached to them, and that in and of itself is a major factor in why the Firebreathers started.)

Sorcery: Really advanced illusion magic, that doesn’t only target sight, but literally any or all of your senses, depending on the strength of the Sorcerer. It’s legendary for fucking with your perception of reality. The main religion of Emarye (yet to be named) believes that all of reality is just an affect of Sorcery, and only in death will you get to participate in True Reality. About 1 in 30 Emaryans develop it in their teens, and probably 1 in every 1000 develop it as toddlers.

Runes: Think blood magic, but like, instead of making a deal with the devil or whatever, painting certain shapes (called Runes) can change how time and space affect the target. These Runes can also be directly carved into one’s skin, but they tend to bleed faster than normal cuts, and as such, are dangerous to invoke. Technically, every Human has blood that’s useful for Runes, but not everyone likes doing it, and it takes a pretty high pain tolerance if you want/need to do it on the fly.

Alchemy/Enchantment: Similar to Runes, but more science-y, and it makes use of lots of different kinds of blood. Say you want a potion that will stop you from getting burned; you’re gonna need some Drenn or dragon blood, blood of a Healer Elementalist, a few binding agents, and a SHIT ton of patience and creativity. Enchantments are similar in terms of ingredients, but you apply it to an object, instead of drinking it, and they usually last longer than potions.

The Forges: Basically a magical smithy in Glittergale, run and protected by Dwarves. It allows all kinds of alloys to be made that wouldn’t work, usually, and imbues the metal with magical properties, such as never dulling, if used as a blade. The Dwarves are very selective about who gets to use them, and who is allowed to learn how. This has caused some tense relations with other peoples, who want desperately to have access to such weapons and/or devices.

Calling Type M: So, there are a few types of Calling, as it’s a catch-all term for any linguistic magic. Type M is Manipulative, meaning that people who have and use it can influence others to do things they otherwise wouldn’t. Sirens are the most well-known for having a genetic tendency for this type, though about 1 in 200 people have it overall. (Sidenote: Ember has Type M Calling, but has moral qualms with using it. Yes, it comes up multiple times in F/irebreathers.)

Calling Type L: Type L Calling is Language. Essentially, when one consciously uses this form of Calling, anyone and anything can understand them, regardless of language barriers. This works verbally, with gestures, or with writing. Fairies are known to have a genetic inclination to this form, though about 1 in 50 people have it overall. (Sidenote: Ozzie has this type, but when he asks for help from Ember with it, Ember assumes he has Type M. This also comes up as a running gag for a while.)

Calling Type W: This one is Worldwide. It’s where Common Tongue came from, and any sentient species can understand and use it, without having to learn it first. However, said person has to know at least one language fluently; Common mimics one’s own language when encountered.

Lesser Shifting: So, the names for Lesser and Greater Shifting are a little confusing. Lesser Shifting is the ability to completely Shapeshift almost at-will; the only restraints are one’s pain tolerance and amount of sleep had beforehand. About 1 in every 100 people worldwide have this type.

Greater Shifting/Blending: Greater Shifting, on the other hand, is the ability to fine-tune your shapeshifting, and can be achieved through practice. However, Mikrona are naturally-occuring Greater Shifters. They call the ability Blending, and it holds HUGE religious importance for them. It’s encouraged to use it constantly, to create a closer bond with the nature around you, so lots of Mikrona have near-constant changing skin patterns and other minor features.

Botany: This one is a healing type of magic that depends on the plants of Sieril. Rather than healing physical injuries, though, a Botany ritual will cure someone of any diseases or infections they have developed. The rituals depend on specific, rare plants, and good timing with the moon + stars, and always take place at night. This magic is pretty much the entire reason only 98% of the Sharali died in the Day Plague, rather than running them to extinction.

Worldly Magic: Finally, this is the magic of Ehl itself, the Growths and Decays, and the Echoes of Prophecy. It’s basically the creator of all of the other magics, as well as almost every other living thing on Ehl, and it’s what people tap into during adrenaline rushes. The Priestesses of Nimia are able to use it to incur Prophecies for guidance, as well. In Mayhism, it is thought to be the manifestation of the goddess of magic, Venn.

--

PHEW that was a lot ;alskjfa;sldkf 

I get very excited about my magic systems, if you can’t tell 😅

Also this is v relevant to Ehl itself so:

Ehlverse Taglist:

@charles-joseph-writes : @adaparkwrites : @vioaeon

[violentviolette]

So I was on your fandom blog and I saw that you believe Bakugou (at least in assuming) to have ASPD. Is wondering if you could expand on that? I personally see him as NPD but I'd love to hear your side of things

first off anon bless u for being on my fandom blog that takes courage cause it’s a wicked hot mess over there lol and secondly to everyone else yes im about to spend an embarrassing amount of effort overanalyzing an anime man, no u shouldn’t apply this logic to diagnosing real people u don’t know or urself, no its not that deep but yes u can fuck right off if u wanna cry about me headcanoning ur favs with “shitty” illnesses. eat my dick.

But now down to the good shit! So I actually think bakugou has comorbid aspd/npd. But for this since u said u already see him as having npd I’ll just focus on the aspd criteria but im totally down to talk more about npd as well if u wanna. (the rest is under a cut because frankly mobile users would have drawn and quartered me otherwise)

So first im gonna go thru the dsm v criteria that are required for diagnosis that bakugou fits/exhibits (leaving out the few things that don’t pertain to him just for length and also because not every person has to fit every single criteria to qualify)

1. Significant impairments in personality as manifested by

a. identity (self esteem derived from power, pleasure, or personal gain), self direction (goal setting based on personal gratification, absence of prosocial standards and culturally normal ethical behavior)

katsukis entire sense of self is built upon his ability to “win” and to always be number one and come out on top. He absolutely cant stand to be viewed as less than that because if so, his entire sense of self begins to crumble. Part of the reason he’s so antagonistic towards Izuku in the early chapters is the fact that Izuku challenges that identity. He (unintentionally and intentionally) challenges katsuki and wont give way to him (which is the right thing to do, but we see how “well” katsuki handles that). He also doesn’t have a good sense of “prosocial standards.” katsuki has created his own internal sense of morals and values, he’s decided whats worth his time and effort based on his own opinions and not on what society deems worthwhile behavior. He’s constantly getting admonished that his attitude “isn’t that of a hero” because his values are different than the ones of the society around him. But he doesn’t care, as long as he “wins” then everythings good. And its not until he stops “winning” and his behavior begins to get in the way of his goals does he begin to realize that he has a problem.

b. impairments in interpersonal functioning as manifested by lack of empathy (lack of concern for feelings, needs, or suffering of others) and lack of intimacy (incapacity for mutually intimate relationships, use of dominance or intimidation to control others)

I could frankly write a whole essay about just this bit alone but I’ll try to condense my thoughts. So. Lets talk about katsukis lack of empathy. This boy wouldn’t know another person’s emotions if they walked up and punched him in the face. Which they do. On multiple occasions. But I digress. Katsuki is known for his shitty bedside manner, his lack of concern for the feelings of others is literally what cost him his provisional license, but aside from with Izuku (who we’ve established is a source of Baggage for katsuki and shouldn’t be counted among his normal behavior because at the start of the series they BOTH bring out the worst in one another and overcoming that is part of both of their character arcs and growth and a main theme of the damn story. Win and save. Save and win. Ahem. But again I digress) katsuki isn’t vindictive or cruel in an unnecessary way about other peoples emotions. He doesn’t use them against people, it just doesn’t occur to him that they exist. But as we see katsuki grow and begin to try and change his unhealthy behavior, we see that he’s not oblivious of others emotions in the same way todoroki is (who I headcanon as autistic along with izuku (who also has adhd), but that’s a whole nother post lol), he just doesn’t know what to do with them. He can handle things like kirishima feeling insecure, because he can logically talk to him about how strong he is to encourage and support him, but really struggles with more intimate and open forms of emotional support, like with Izuku.

He also struggles with forming prosocial bonds and friends. At the start of the series katsuki doesn’t have friends, he has lackeys he controls with intimidation and fear because he doesn’t know any other way to be. He has trust and intimacy issues and doesn’t like people getting too close to him because he feels displays of vulnerability are what makes someone weak (see those asocial morals and values we talked about earlier). After his time at UA, a few large helpings of some humble pie, and the diligent and hard work of a small group of fearless idiots (aka kaminari whose literally too prosocial for his own good and has zero self preservation instincts, and kirishima who has an endless supply of patience and understands empathy and other peoples emotions to a degree that’s baffling to me) he is able to start deconstructing that idea and realizing that u can be vulnerable and let people close to u and still be strong. That the mortifying ordeal of being known isn’t actually the worst things ever. Also that when confronted with people who aren’t actually afraid of him, he doesn’t know how else to deter them from getting close to him. The fact that none of the other kids in 1-A take katsukis shit and even go so far as to pick on him and mock him and call him out on his bullshit is a MAJOR turning point for his socialization skills.

2. pathological personality traits in the following catagories

a. antagonism, characterized by hostility (persistent and frequent angry feelings, anger or irritability in response to minor slights or insults, nasty mean vengeful behavior), callousness (lack of concern for the feelings and problems of others)

I mean. Do I even have to expand on this point? I feel like no

b. disinhibition, characterized by impulsivity (acting on the spur of the moment in response to immediate stimuli, acting without a plan or consideration for outcomes, difficulty establishing and following plans), risk taking (lack of concern for ones limitations and denial of the reality of personal danger, engaging in potentially risky and self-damaging activities without regard for consequences)

this is a criteria where u have to adjust for the world these characters are living in. but even then, by hero standards, katsuki is still impulsive. His teachers are constantly admonishing him in the early series for charging headfirst into a situation, loosing himself to his emotions and anger, and letting things get the better of him because hes not taking the time to properly assess the situation, this also bleeds into katsukis inability to work with others or ask for help. He charges headfirst into a situation by himself, blows up anything in his way, and then asks questions later. His teammates are often left totally in the dark to his plans, motives, or other moves and have to just play catch up to him the entire time. In the deku vs. kacchan 1 fight we see this behavior come out in full force. He has no plan, he blows up half the building with zero regard for their goals, and leaves iida completely in the dark. Momo pointing this all out and dragging him for filth during the recap is another wakeup moment for him, having to confront the realities of his impulsive and negative behavior whereas before he was only praised for it.

so if we take a look at even just that, which is still about ¾ of the diagnostic criteria, I think u can see where this really starts to explain his personality. Katsuki is hot headed, angry, impulsive, stubborn, selfish, he gets in his own way more often than not, he struggles with prosocial behavior, making friends, and relating emotionally to others. He has a hard time comforting people and usually does so in a blunt and logical way, he isn’t great at sympathy and being soft, kind, or gentle with other people. It takes a considerable amount of effort for him to realize where his world view and his morals and goals are warped and doing him more harm than good, and he absolutely cant stand to be vulnerable or honest about his feelings with others. 

All those things, imo, as someone with aspd & npd, are what make me feel like hes a good character representation of what the complexities of living with these disorders is like. Katsuki isn’t inherently a bad person, and as we see him grow and change, we see the ways in which hes becoming better, but its still hard for him. And despite what a lot of fandom thinks, if u look at the canon, the main person katsuki hurts with his behavior is himself. And I think that’s really important because people with aspd & npd are so often catagorized as abusive villians whose only goal in life is to hurt others. Whereas with katsuki we see where these things and this kind of thinking gets in the way of his goals and ultimately hurts him. and thats what I think makes him the most relatable and makes his growth all the much more satisfying. Katsuki is both fundamentally the same and an entirely different person from when we first meet him. his personality didn’t magically completely change, hes not just a tsundere whose suddenly all mushy feely and hyper empathetic, he’s just learning how to deal with his emotions and the world and getting better at being a healthy person.

So yea, those are my thoughts! There was apparently a whole 1600 words of them so my apologies for writing u a literal dissertation on this lol I just really love this fucking character

[rainbow-of-the-lord]

Where I Belong

A Destiel plot bunny that would not leave me completely inspired by this gifset, and completely inspired by my recent need for reverse!verse fiction, so we’ll see how it goes!

Read on Ao3

Something was off, Dean knew almost immediately. It wasn’t because of the lack of chatter of angel radio, since that had been dimming for a while; it wasn’t anything but a violent feeling of something searing cutting through his chest, like a hot knife. His first thought was what in the name of his Father was happening?

His second thought, upon hearing the voice that was both so faint and yet powerful enough to fill his head, answered his question.

Cas.

“Most people would say “hello” first, I’m pretty sure.” Dean looked down at his chest, the demon killing blade firmly wedged where his vessel’s heart would be. The hunter’s eyes widened but he seemed to quickly recover, backing up just enough to truly look Dean over.

The hunter was ballsy, Dean would give him that.

“What are you?”

“I did just kind of save your ass, buddy, a ‘thank you’ would be really nice right about now.” Dean gestured around the small barn that was now filled with seven or so smited demons, eyes burned out and everything.

“I assure you that you did not ‘save my ass’, I was perfectly fine where I was.”

“Heaven ain’t about ready for you yet, buddy. I should know.”

“Enough. Who- What- Are you?”

Dean sighed and pulled out the knife from his chest, wound healing instantly as the blade clattered to the ground. “Name’s Dean. I’m kind of an angel.”

“Is that a flirtation?” The remark was dry, and Dean smirked slightly.

In lieu of a verbal confirmation, he simply allowed his wings to appear on one of the edges of existence, not enough for humans to touch and see every feather, but just  enough to get the message across that oh yes, he was very serious about all this.

“Although for you, buddy, that could’ve been whatever you wanted it to be.” Dean winked, and oh he knew they were both goners at that point.

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

Dean flew into the warehouse immediately, no minor feat with the strength of some of the sigils around the area. Luckily, some of them were so poorly drawn or flaking away just enough that he was able to push through the warding.

His vessel was only meant to allow him a place on Earth, it didn’t function as a humans did. He didn’t need to eat or drink -- though those were quite fun -- or even breathe, but he felt his blood start to rush through his body. He felt his heart begin to leap into his throat. He felt an unknown fear boiling up inside himself. It was all raw and real and new and terrifying and so very human that he almost couldn’t stand it.

And then he rounded a corner and saw Castiel’s body. And everything went ice cold.

“Castiel? Hey, Cas-” Dean rushed forward, wings giving him a boost, and he dropped to his knees next to the unconscious human. “Hey, you dumbass hunter, get the fuck up now.”

This was purely so Dean could get out anger, because he knew immediately that Castiel wasn’t getting up. There were what looked like scratches on his face and hands, also on the tan military jacket torn by what could only be described as claws, and his jeans were covered in grime. Without even thinking, Dean gently laid a hand on Castiel’s scarred cheek, forcing all his willpower and Grace to bring this stubborn, infuriatingly reckless and beautiful human back from the brink.

Dean was far too selfish to allow Heaven to take him and lock him away from anyone -- from Dean --  just yet.

With a deep intake of breath, Castiel finally woke up. Dean almost stumbled backwards from the power it took, but Castiel’s wound began to heal slowly. And the first thing Castiel did was turn his head to look at Dean, relief mixed with an unknown emotion on his face.

“Dean… You came.”

“Of course I came, asshole. You think I can get a prayer and ignore it?” You think I can get a prayer from you and ignore it?

“No, I- I just thought your powers were ‘fizzing out’, so to speak.” Castiel tried sitting up, arms supporting him. He was only barely able to sit up, and probably wouldn’t be able to do much more for a while after coming back from death.

“I’m aware, thanks.” Dean couldn’t help but roll his eyes, crouching down next to Castiel. This is good , he thought. Anger and annoyance could brush off everything else. It could hide the worry and fear he felt. “What were you even doing around here?”

“I was-”

“Trying to interfere with my business, as per usual.” Came a snarky, British voice that had both angel and man immediately turn their heads  to look over at its course. Out from the shadows behind some crates was Crowley, casual as ever, hands in his long, ridiculous jacket. “Sorry, boys, you know I had to get involved somehow. Just how business is.”

“You did this to him?” Dean glared, anger taking over for an entirely different reason now. The thought of that demon even laying a hand on Castiel-

“Of course not, you daft feather-brain.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “But I did send some men. And if a human happens to get in the middle of a hellhound, well…”

“I should’ve figured it was you.” Castiel spat, but Dean barely heard anything after that, standing up slowly to fully face the crossroads demon. The air seemed to get heavier for a second, lights dimming, but for the first time in a long time he allowed his wings to unfurl fully, tawny and freckled and right on the human plain for everyone to see. It was a clear show of dominance, even possession, and he surely hoped Crowley would notice that.

“Come anywhere near him again, and I will hunt you down and end you. Slowly.” Dean stalked closer, staring down at the demon. Crowley’s eyes turned red and flicked up and down the angel’s form, a barely noticeable sneer forming on his lips. They both knew he wasn’t going to be able to do anything against a full powered angel, but a half-powered one… Dean just hoped the display and threat were enough. Evidently they were, because Crowley’s eyes went back to normal and he curtly nodded, the almost ever present “I know what you don’t” smirk returning to his face.

“Consider it noted. I’ll have my secretary jot it down. Here’s to hoping I don’t run into you again.” He purposefully looked over the span of Dean’s wings towards the almost in shock hunter, addressing him fully. “Feel better, darling. No hard feelings.” With that, he was gone. It was tensely silent for a minute as Dean’s wings folded back, but Castiel seemed to know exactly what to say.

“What the fuck was that?” He stood up, power seeming to return to him, and hesitantly but surely walked over to Dean. “Dean?”

“Are you feeling better?” He turned to take in the worry in those blue eyes, mixed with a generous amount of annoyance that was visible in the way Castiel pressed his lips together into a thin line.

“Am I feeling better? What about you? And why do I feel like I was just- Just- the witness of some fucked up display of ownership?”

“It’s nothing, alright? I feel fine.” And he did, mostly. “But you gotta be more careful. You got in front of a hellhound?”

“It was a woman, she- She had made a crossroads deal ten years ago, and the demon was coming to collect. But she was a mother, Dean, soon to be a grandmother. She wanted to see her grandchildren be born.”

“And you took the sob story and decided to go running around with a machete?”

“I wasn’t running around, I had- I had tracked it own, thought I chased it away. I was going to finish it off, but the glasses got broken once the demons showed up. I don’t even know if the woman’s soul was taken, yet. Perhaps-”

“Cas, she’s gone. We both know that.” And this is where the hunter was wonderful, but infuriatingly stubborn and reckless. “And you could’ve been gone, too! You can’t go saving people and hunting things if you’re dead.”

“I knew what I was getting into, Dean. I don’t need to be reminded by you.” Cas fixed him with a look, crossing his arms. “You, of all beings, should be the last person talking to me about self-preservation. What were you thinking? That display, healing me? You’re draining yourself, you know that. So now you’re the one being a hypocrite.”

“I’m a hypocrite? Oh, that’s great. Next time I’ll just let you bleed out, then. See you on the other side, pack everything up for you and ship it to your sister? How would Anna feel about that?”

“Don’t you dare bring her into this-”

“Don’t fucking touch me-”

“-And it shouldn’t matter to you what happens to me. Remember, Mr “Kind of an angel”? I don’t need you to look after me and coddle me.”

“You think that’s what this is? Coddling?”

“You don’t have anything better to do, so you just follow me around-”

“I said to stop touching me!” Dean shouted out as once again Castiel’s finger jabbed into his chest, and for the first time their tirades were both broken. The hunter took a step back, jaw clenched as he obviously bit back what else he wanted to say. But he looked down at the ground, arms crossing again. Dean breathed for a second before speaking again, voice low but under control. “You don’t want me looking after you, fine. I won’t. I’ll never answer another prayer from you again. I’ll see you around, Cas.” He managed to get out before turning on heel and striding out the door, away from the oppressiveness of the sigils so he could fly away. Another, more foolish -- more human -- part of him wanted Castiel to hurry after him, shout for him to stop and for him to apologize, for things to go back to how they used to be. But he knew that wouldn’t happen, and he tried not to get too disappointed.

So, he flew away instead.

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

"I never even asked, even though I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Where did you even get your vessel from? Are you possessing some poor model?” Castiel asked in between bites of his bacon cheeseburger, sitting across from Dean in a brightly colored, but uncomfortable diner booth. Dean was currently in the process of shoveling fries into his mouth, enjoying the tangy taste of something for once. He snorted a laugh.

“Close. A wannabe Hollywood actor, Jensen something. He wasn’t making it, got diagnosed with something bad, and I pretty much answered his prayers to heal him.”

“How generous.” There was an unmistakable dryness in Castiel’s tone before he continued. “And he’s okay with that?”

“From what I can tell? Yeah. He might’ve made his way up to Heaven by now, though.”

“See, I always thought if angels existed, they’d be dressed in-”

“White robes? Sandals? Flowing blonde hair to match?”

“More or less.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Not saying I’m disappointed at all.” Castiel stated, and Dean actually had to take a second to process that as Castiel popped the rest of the burger into his mouth. Everything about this was so ridiculously casual; a hunter and an angel, a practical myth, sitting in a diner and making small talk over a shared meal. But it felt right, in a way. The past few weeks getting to know the human had been quite a bit of fun; his name was Castiel Novak, he was from Illinois, he had an older sister Anna who was also a hunter, and he apparently had a grotesque love of burgers and other greasy food. He was great.

“Well that’s good. Let’s hope that keeps up for some other aspects of life.”

“Such as?” Castiel raised an eyebrow, inviting and imploring him to continue, but they were interrupted as Dean opened his mouth.

“Anything else I can get you?” The overly bubbly waitress approached the table, taking the empty plates. “Or just the check?”

“The check will be fine.” Castiel nodded his assent, and Dean sat back in his chair with a barely there, put upon sigh.

“Not even dessert?”

“Last I remembered, I was the one paying.” Castiel remarked, the playful attitude from before still slightly there but mostly disappeared now, and Dean was left in befuddlement at this hurricane of a human and his emotions.

What in the name of his Father was happening?

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

Any human would likely have blacked out at the amount Dean was drinking, but the angel was barely lightheaded as he downed another bottle of beer. He had no liver requirements to stop him, no money to worry about losing -- he could just snap his fingers and the bartender would forget his tab --, and he could stay there all day. He wasn’t quite sure anyone in Heaven was looking for him, at this point.

“Figured I’d find you here if you were feeling sorry for yourself.” A familiar voice sounded off behind him, and he came up to the barstool next to Dean. At least this presence wasn’t a heavenly one. But he didn’t want to deal with any demons right now, not really.

“And what gives you the impression that I’m feeling sorry for myself?” Dean turned his head to look over at Sam, who signaled for his own beer to be slid down the bar.

“Because you’re here, moping. And Castiel is laying in his car, moping.”

“What- You went looking for Cas?”

“Yeah, and?”

“Were you one of the fucking ones who-”

“Easy, easy, dude.” Sam held up his hands in mock surrender before Dean’s Grace could start flailing around. “Even I know Cas is off limits. I wouldn’t do that.” And Dean knew that, somewhere in him. Sam was… well, saying he was like a brother was a bit weird. But Sam was one of those ‘nice’ demons in that he didn’t constantly indulge in hedonism and murder. He just happened to be a soul who made a deal to save his girlfriend’s life and lost his humanity. They had fought together and worked together, they were close. But now Dean was just bitter and angry about demons in general at this point. Even brotherly ones. “But it’s kinda big news. Some demons caught wind of you and Crowley and your little… exchange.”

“Of course they did. You probably have the worst tabloids.”

“We get the best writers for them. But seriously; what happened?”

Dean let out a put upon sigh, staring at his peeling bottle label. “He thinks I’m too protective, that I should lay off of things and protecting him. I was literally created to protect fucking humans.”

“That’s it?”

“I… I might have said some things. Said I was… I didn’t want him dying yet, that he was gonna get himself killed. And he said I was a hypocrite ‘cause I have my own issues and I wasn’t slowing down. And if he dies, what do I do then? Just keep going?” Dean shook his head.

Sam was quiet for a moment and sipped his drink, considering the situation. “You still haven’t told him you’re basically falling for him. In every sense of the word.”

“Trust me, Cas isn’t exactly the easiest to get through to. We’ve been friends for five years. And he still just- Just won’t let me in. And it’s not fair.”

“Then force yourself in.” Sam swiveled on his barstool to stare Dean down, obviously having enough.

“I don’t think that’s exactly-”

“Not in that way, idiot. Get to the root and just tell him everything. Hell, maybe he’s waiting for that. Whatever it is, you better tell him soon. Especially since I don’t want to hear any of this any more. I’ve had enough for an afterlife.”

Once again, deep down, Dean knew Sam was right, even for a demon. But he didn’t mind being a contrarian just a bit longer. “And if he tells me to fuck off?”

“Then fuck off, I guess. We’re always looking for new recruits.” Sam lightly tapped him on the shoulder. Dean gave him a glare.

“That’s not even funny.”

“To me, it is.” Sam shrugged and took another sip of his beer.

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

Castiel had been quiet for most of the day. Not that he was exactly talkative to begin with, but this was like turning the volume to “off” on him and leaving him be. He hardly complained as Dean messed with the radio, went through the motions of researching the hunt they were both currently on, cleaned his weapons with close precision even a robot would have a hard time replicating. Dean finally had enough as he sat next to Castiel on the small twin bed he had rented for the night in another no-name motel.

“Talk to me, Cas. What’s wrong?” His voice was gentle, but the other man still flinched just barely. Dean frowned at that reaction.

“Nothing. Just… focusing.”

“You’re not just focusing, okay? I know when you’re focusing, because your tongue sticks out just a bit.” Dean ignored the protest about to spring from Castiel’s lips and continued, “And you start tapping your leg. And your soul… your soul is just in agony. Cas, please.” The angel’s hand gently brushed the top of Castiel’s, the one holding the gun, and he felt the tension in each muscle.

It was quiet for so long that he was sure that Castiel wouldn’t answer. But then, just as Dean was going to pull away, he spoke quietly. “It’s the anniversary of my family’s death.”

Now that… Dean hadn’t been expecting. “You told me about Anna, you never told me about-”

“There was a reason I never did, Dean. It…” He swallowed and continued, voice trying so hard not to break. “My father Chuck was a pulp horror writer. Little cult following, never really that successful. It was me, Anna, Michael, and… Luke. Michael was the oldest, Luke right after him, and I was the youngest. Anna was a year older than me. Our mother died when I was young. I was… We were all home, just because we happened to be in one place all at the same time. I was finishing college at the time. Anna and I were close, always have been, so we went for each other’s sake. It was just supposed to be a weekend for the five of us. But… But I woke up to shouting, a commotion in the hallway. And there was Luke, still in his pajamas, our father’s blood on his shirt. Michael tried to intervene and Anna went to call the cops, but Luke took down Michael after a struggle and almost got me. Then a hunter, Ezekiel, came in. He exorcised the demon from Luke, but whatever had happened in between the possession and the exorcism… Luke died from his wounds. And then it was just Anna and I.” Rare tears began to fall from Castiel’s eyes as Dean watched, horrified by the sight and the story.

“Anna never talks to me about this. Days like this, we don’t reunite or talk, I don’t know how she mourns, or if she even does, but…” Castiel took in a shuddering breath. “For me, the best thing is to just ignore it. Work the case. Forget all about it.”

“I’m so sorry, Cas, I don’t even have the words for it.” Dean’s hand went to hold Castiel’s, and there was a pause before a calloused, rough palm met his and their fingers intertwined.

“It’s not your fault. God, I just- Just wish I could go back and have done something. Worked quicker, stopped him, been awake, anything so that something like that never happens again.”

“I know it’s tough. I do. But… There was nothing you could do. You don’t have to blame yourself for that.”

“I could’ve been better . Now I’m a hunter, a good one.”

“You were fine then, and you’re fine now. Don’t beat yourself up. Okay? Don’t- Don’t think there was anything you could change about a demon.”

Things went quiet again, and small sniffs seemed to fill the room in place of words. Then Dean felt Castiel lean onto him, head resting on the angel’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t-”

“You should.” He didn’t know if Cas was going to comment on the situation, or the fact he was crying, or some other unknown thing in the universe that he felt he should take the blame for. But it hardly mattered, because Dean’s answer was the same regardless.

For the first time in nearly a year of knowing each other, the walls went down. And it was worth it, in a way. It really was.

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

It was almost a week after the encounter with Sam in the bar when things changed. Dean knew the best way to get away from pesky obnoxious demons and annoying, heartfelt feelings was complete isolation. He was sitting on a park bench late in the night when he heard it.

Dean.

It was Castiel. Not anywhere nearby, but he heard him as clear as if he had been sitting next to him. That was when he realized the human was praying. But it wasn’t like before, full of barely disguised terror and hurt. This was just… pain. Real pain, from deep inside his soul, so strong it almost made Dean’s Grace ache.

Dean, please. I don’t know if you can hear me, if you want to hear me. Maybe… Maybe I deserve the silent treatment. What happened at the warehouse, I’m so sorry. I never should’ve-

Things paused. Both of them took a breath. And Castiel continued.

I was scared. Scared for you, more than myself. Scared that you were… That Crowley could’ve hurt you. Could have torn your wings out, could have sent his lackeys to do the same. I was scared you were going to lose all your Grace trying to save me, that one of these days you would push yourself too far and I would never again have to listen to you complain about my music choice, or watch you smack your lips when you eat really good food, or have you beg for me to buy you some pie or a new flannel, or- Or watch you smiling in the sunlight in the passenger seat of my car. I don’t care if you’re an angel, I don’t care if you’re a human, I just need you with me, need you safe. And I can’t lose you Dean, I just can’t. I can’t lose another person I-

Dean never heard the rest because he automatically flew for the motel room Castiel was in as quickly as his wings would carry him. He found the hunter kneeling at the foot of his bed, hands clasped together hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. Tears were beginning to spring in his eyes, and Dean could feel them mirrored as Castiel quickly stood and turned to face Dean. His mouth opened to say something else but Dean made it across the room and pulled Castiel into a tight hug that was quickly returned as they held onto each other.

“Dean, I’m sorry, there’s something I have to tell you-”

“You don’t have to, I heard every word.” Dean pulled away to give him a teary, barely wavering smile. “I’m sorry, too. I can’t lose you either, Cas, I- When I lose my Grace, I don’t know if I’ll ever see you in Heaven again. And I don’t want you to leave.”

“You’re an idiot. We’re always going to find each other.” Castiel’s voice became a whisper as he seemed to gather the courage to say something, staring into Dean’s eyes. “And you never let me say it. I love you.”

“Cas-”

“I have for years. I was always terrified, because you were an angel, of all things. I didn’t know if you were even capable of returning it.  And- And when you healed me, I felt… I felt warm. I felt from you what I feel from you. And I realized… Realized I had to tell you. You deserved to know why I’m horrible at this and wanting to keep you safe. But if I was wrong, if it isn’t recipro-”

Dean responded by leaning in and kissing Castiel, nothing more than a peck but enough to shut him up. Dean could feel his heart thumping again, though, as he spoke. “I love you, too, Cas. So fucking much.”

And then Castiel launched at him and they collided, noses bumping in a kiss that likely could’ve gone a lot better, but it was real and messy and full of years of emotions and previously denied wants all in one.

Dean knew he was going to fall, any day now. He could feel his Grace beginning to ebb away like a tide from a shoreline. But he had his hunter in his arms, now. His wonderful, infuriatingly perfect hunter.

And that was worth falling for.