#my 1+ cough got worse. chest hurts

[angryscreeching]

oh my god fighting for my life

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yokai Harem x Reader (I)

This is probably my longest running dysfunctional daydream scenario, so I thought I'd share it here.

As stereotypical as it gets, you've fallen into an old well and found yourself in feudal Japan. Almost immediately, you're attacked by a yokai that calls you by a name you don't recognize. He insists you possess the soul of an ancient priest that would capture demons under a binding contract. Something isn't right, however, so your life is spared until further clues come to light. With two men unwillingly bound to you, you begin to uncover this mess as more 'collection pieces' show up. They might prefer you to their previous owner.

TW: violence, monsters

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Character Guidebook]

You vigorously cough out whatever grass you seemed to have bit into when you hit the ground. Was all this vegetation here just one moment ago? As you get up and dust your knees you're brought back into focus by the loud buzzing of insects. You look above and involuntarily squint your eyes. You didn't expect to see a full, bright sky.

"What the hell?" is all you can mutter.

You and your university friends had planned a quick trip to the neighboring Tokyo, just to visit some trending local cafes and shop around. You somehow wandered into the suburbs and found a very obvious path to a large shrine that was visible from the bottom of the stairs. Now, what's more stereotypical than finding a shrine, approaching it with shy steps, dangling the old rope of the bell and humbly clapping your hands together for a quick prayer that gives you a fake sense of meaningfulness? Then again, you love a good cliché. So you did just that, and then whipped out your phone to snap some artsy photos of the place. In your search for the perfect angle, you spotted a wooden structure among some pillars and zoomed in to realize it's an old well.

Here's where you awkwardly tiptoed away from your friends. You couldn't possibly confess to them that you're one of those anime nerds, and that you immediately thought of a certain classic title, and that this could make a very good impromptu cosplay shoot. You could smell the nostalgia as you carefully swayed your way behind the pillars and under the shade of the tiled roof. You bent over carefully (apparently not carefully enough) to asses how deep the well was. Just as you were about to exclaim its shallowness, you felt the gravity pull you inwards. Within seconds your head made contact with the moist soil and you briefly blacked out as the rest of your body arrived in proper position.

Unpleasant, but you've had migraines worse than this. Though now you're wondering whether you might've damaged some important brain parts, given the sudden change of scenery. Or has your dysfunctional daydreaming finally caught up to you?

You laugh silently and test the walls around you, feeling for some contact point that you can use to pull yourself back out. You finally crawl out, but freeze with your elbows around the frame of the well, looking ahead.

There's no building around, just tall grass and what seems to be the beginning of a forest. You remember to blink, and each time you close your eyes you hope to see the shrine once again, to no avail.

"I thought I'm past the risk age for schizophrenia", you mumble in a humorous attempt. The situation is so absurd that you need to share it with an imaginary audience.

You muster up the courage to step out and onto the ground, with extra caution as if it could vanish at any moment. After brief consideration, you slap a bunch of weeds in front of you to test their consistency. The hard stems hurt your wrist and you nod. This is a little too intense to be just a hallucination.

Alright, so you got trapped in some sort of feudal anime remake. What now? You glance around, almost hoping to see some white haired man sleeping against a tree with an arrow stuck into the chest. You check your phone. No signal, but thankfully it still works. You have a battery and its charger, but the latter is probably useless. Unless this remake comes with electricity. You chuckle at the thought. Who knows, maybe it's one of those isekai otome games instead and some timeline inconsistency or loophole will provide you with an outlet.

After trying the well one last time without success, you decide to at least find another human being. Then you can get some grasp of your whereabouts and situation. You notice a patch of grass that's been bent to the ground, probably from frequent stomping. That's a start. You follow the hints of bipedal movement and hope for the best.

The improvised path slithers downhill and around the mass of trees, and you question whether the fields ahead might have traces of houses on them. You pick up your pace in anticipation.

A sharp swish of an unknown object causes you to flinch and halt, and before you can process it, a thin blade lays inches from your nose. You follow its length and find the source: a tall, horned (???) man with silver hair.

Ironically enough, he seems to be more shocked than you. His facial expression flips from focused anger to unbelievable confusion within seconds. His eyebrows are raised and his lips part.

"Ah!" you yell as the gears begin to turn. "Christ, you almost made me question my sanity!

Now let me tell you, this is some great cosplay. I was about to beg for my life. Hah! How the hell did you pull the whole transition? Is the well a tunnel? I hope I didn't accidentally break into some event."

The man returns his sword into its sheath, still in deep disbelief.

"You're not him, are you? But then again..."

"Huh? Him? I'm sorry, were you expecting someone? If you show me the way out I'll disappear in a moment." you turn around, prepared to be led to the exit. "Who're you cosplaying, anyways? I'm a big fan of historical dramas, but I don't recognize the character design."

"I don't understand what you're saying." the man tilts his head in utter surprise.

"Alright, I get the point" you force a laugh, slightly irritated by the persistence. "You're deep in your acting, I get that. Focus and all the jazz. But my friends are around the corner and I don't have signal, can you please skip the theatre and show me the exit?"

"The exit to...where? You're outside."

You sigh, loudly, and click your tongue. "Enough of this, please. Where's the shrine?"

"Ah, I get it. You're trying to confuse me." he pulls his sword back out. "I've had enough of your tricks. You're in an early stage, aren't you? Not strong enough to fight back. I can sense it."

Oh God, it's one of those maniacs, you think to yourself. You raise your arms as a peace offering and hope you won't be featured in the 5pm news with multiple stab wounds.

"Listen man, I really don't know what you're talking about. I'll leave quietly and won't bother you again, I promise."

You gulp and await a response, but the man's mouth opens and the words are replaced by a foreign, disembodied shriek. There's a rapidly approaching heavy shuffle that sounds like the trample of many limbs. You feel your leg being hooked into something and the ground turns around at a dizzying speed.

Something just grabbed you.

Given the movements of the lips, you're assuming that the mysterious cosplaying maniac is yelling something, but your ears are ringing and throbbing as the adrenalin begins to pump. You're being thrown around by something and you can feel the skin holding your leg together creaking and tearing with every jolt.

You manage to land your eyes on the creature. The teeth are unnaturally sharp and it seems to have many arms and legs arranged in a scattered order along the scaly body. It trashes around in such a fluid, dynamic way, that you doubt it could be the result of any machine. It's a living thing and currently attacking you for whatever reason.

Once the bizarre reality settles in, panic floods your body and you scream for help. If not the maniac, then some godly intervention. You did offer a small donation at the shrine, it has to count for something.

The spectacle doesn't last long, since the silver haired man doesn't hesitate to behead the creature. You can see that he wasn't making empty threats with his sword skills. You'd prefer, however, if you weren't the next one to go under his guillotine. Your body rolls over the dirt, limp from the shock.

You tilt yourself upwards pathetically and let out a groan once you attempt to use your leg to stand. You turn around and notice the aftermath of your little air ballet. There's a deep wound and thick, red blood is oozing out, scrambling to form a protective crust.

"You... really can't fight at all, can you? You weren't lying."

The man is now standing in front of you, the same amount of disbelief he had at the beginning.

"How the hell would I have fought that...that..." you choke and can feel tears forming in your eyes. "I don't understand what's happening. I just want to go back home. I don't know what's happening." you start sobbing and angrily rub your eyes, hoping to trigger some sort of way to wake up. But your eyelids burn and you feel awake. This was never a dream.

Your sudden meltdown startles the man and he awkwardly hovers his hands over you, unsure of how to handle this.

"Sorry, if I had known, I would've stopped it earlier. I genuinely thought you're..." he sighs. "I'm really sorry. You got hurt because of me."

"Can you please tell me where I am? I feel like I'm going crazy. It's year 202X and I was out with my friends and fell into a well. I've never seen a creature like that in my life. I somehow ended up here and I can't go back. Where the hell is this?"

"I... I don't understand what's happening either. I came here because I sensed he's back. I didn't expect to see... well... you." 

You scan his face. His frown is sincere. Which, truth be told, is even less helpful. You're back to square 0, it's getting dark and your ankle is trashed. 

You just want to sleep.

You stare at the ceiling, hands locked together over your chest. The improvised hay mattress isn't exactly comfortable, but it's certainly better than nothing. You sheepishly glance at the horned man. He's sitting by the window, idly looking outside with hooded eyes. He seems to be tired, too. 

"Try to get some rest", he'd told you earlier. Easier said than done. After the monster attack, he carried you on his back until you found an abandoned hut. His way of apologizing for letting you get mauled. As you walked, he narrated his reasoning to you. 

His name is Kiritsubo. When he was a child, a human dressed like an onmyouji took him in for training. Said to be the successor of Abe no Seimei himself, the man was feared throughout the country for his supernatural powers. Most of his strength, however, came from the collection of yokai he'd gathered to work for him. None of them had agreed to it, but no one knew how to break the bond subduing them. Eventually, the old man succumbed into his eternal slumber, yet the yokai were still not freed from the contract.

Some of them suggested he wasn't truly gone. Merely reincarnated. And today, he felt it for the first time. That's how he stumbled upon you. You appear to have part of his soul within you, whether you realize it or not. But if you truly have no knowledge of it, he doesn't have the heart to slaughter an innocent. 

"What about the rest?" you blurt out, quietly.

Kiritsubo turns to you, mildly startled.

"What do you mean?"

"You said the man owned 12 legendary yokai. Are you the only one left?"

"No." He frowns. "They most likely know about you already. Let's try to send you back to your world tomorrow, because they will not be as forgiving."

A shiver runs across your spine. This one is scary enough already. You pray you'll be home before you can meet any other beast.

"This is where I found you, so the well shouldn't be far." 

The silver haired man surveys the horizon and you limp forward. 

"I'll check the area, since you can't walk much."

As soon as he says that, he vanishes. You're left with the heavy buzz of afternoon cicadas. You might as well do your own search. Keep yourself preoccupied. The idea of leaving this behind fills you with excitement and you find enough strength to push ahead. 

A few minutes later, you hear a shuffle behind you. Could it be that Kiritsubo already found the well? Enthusiasm fills your chest and a burning heat spreads out. Although it speedily pools in your left shoulder, and you notice in horror that it wasn't enthusiasm taking over your body. A blade is sticking out of your shoulder, avoiding anything vital as some sort of mockery rather than omission. 

"Found you."

The voice is deep and foreign. You barely manage to tilt your head and meet the glowing red eyes of a black haired man. Dark horns are twisting menacingly from his crown and his expression is that of pure wrath. As fresh blood drips down your chin, you wonder if this is the next yokai in line to seek his revenge.

How will you get out of this?

[ronearoundblindly]

Safety Captain (1)

lifeguard!Steve Rogers x vacationer!Reader (see series)

Summary: A very sexy man shows up at a very unsexy moment during your vacation.

Warnings for mild language, other guests being as thirsty as Reader, and a vague injury/danger. WC 1945

Written for @bigtreefest's Summer Lovin' 300 follower celebration (I'm very late tho 🥲), using the prompts “it hurts when I ___” “then stop doing that” and pool/resort/hotel. There will be a few small parts to this with eventual smut; this is just the meet-cute sorta.

If you consider drowning a peaceful and relaxing experience, then your trip’s going splendidly.

Water hitting your lungs stings much worse than sunscreen in your eyes, but the shock makes you gasp anyway. Your skin feels pressure everywhere. You don’t know which way is up. The world is bright and blue and shimmering until an arm encircles and yanks you backward by your chest—your bare chest, you realize, since the cups on your bathing suit top flipped when you hit the the pool at such a steep angle.

Once at the surface, a gift and a curse greets you, garbled hum replaced by a solid slap of screaming, the blare of whistles. Light burns, water burns, air burns.

Oh yes, this is going swimmingly.

You struggle to get enough fresh hell anyway, coughing out water, air stinging worse. Your limbs contract to fight the pain, but the wall of muscle behind you is unyielding.

“Out of the way,” a deep voice shouts close to your ear. “Buck, make me some room. Get them back.”

He—whoever he is holding you so firmly and safely—moves you to the shallow end’s stairs with heaving strokes, and just when he releases your body to lift you out of the water, he quickly flicks the front of your suit back into place.

Bless you, kind sir. You’re in love…

…or maybe that’s the hypoxia.

Unceremoniously hauled to solid ground, you continue to sputter.

“It’s alright. I got ya. Breathe for me. That’s good.”

Your sunglasses are gone, so you squint up in his shadow to see nothing but a halo of dripping gold hair. Then your eyes adjust. You see him.

Suddenly, the world is bright and blue and shimmering again, all contained in the stare of your sweet savior.

When he smiles, well, you need even more air to recover.

You’re on your side until he’s sure all the water is out of you, until his hands help you sit up, looky-lous everywhere being herded farther off by two more lifeguards and some resort security.

“The boys…” you rasp out.

“Everyone’s okay,” he rushes, rubbing your back, warm and slick against your wet skin. “You don’t have to talk yet. Take it easy.”

You still feel compelled to explain.

“The—they were teasing him—“ you point to the chubbier kid in your group, the poor thing cowering by your lounge chair headquarters for the morning “—and I tried to stop them.”

“I know, shhh, I saw. Just breathe slowly.”

“Don’t like bullies,” you cough out anyway.

The lifeguard at your side grins from ear to ear, quickly interrupted by a girl shoving your sunglasses in his face.

“I found these,” she announces, elated. “I thought it was important since you were so brave, saving someone who fell in.”

You didn’t fall; you were pushed. There’s a difference.

The lifeguard’s smile turns tight, but he gestures for the girl to hand them over to their rightful owner. She continues to stare with huge, bambi eyes.

Politely, he takes them from her and clears of his throat.

“Thank you. Now step back please.”

Her disappointment is palpable before his blue gaze returns to you. As he asks if you’re ready to move, his palm lands on your lower back and stays there supportively.

The best you can do is shift your legs beneath each other and then hiss, “it hurts when I put weight on this leg. I think I twisted my ankle on the way down.”

“Then stop doing that,” he chuckles, swooping to get his arms under you and carry you to your lounger—the right one, immediately, as if he saw the boys fighting but knew exactly where you were before then, too.

The stout little thirteen-year-old who’d been picked on steps up to you with guilty eyes. He’s one of your charges today while the other adults all drink at the swim-up bar.

“I’m sorry they—“

“It’s fine,” you croak.

“—but they wouldn’t stop, and I told them to—“

“Hey, hey,” your lifeguard whispers, deflating the boy’s panic, “she’s gonna be okay. Just a little banged up, but we got the best of the best coming to help.”

Shamefully, the boy’s eyes turn down. “Sorry they called you a ‘bitch.’”

Great. Yeah. That needed to be repeated.

“Don’t worry about it. Can you go grab your cousin and—“ a brief wheeze overtakes you “—the girls and bring everyone back here so I know where you all are? Just a real quick check-in.”

He nods and runs off, almost plowing into a woman heading straight for you.

“Ah, your nurse has arrived.” The handsome, dripping wet man sitting with a hand still on your knee beams. “The best of the best, as promised.”

The older blonde lady purses her lips and rolls her eyes, ticking her head to the side. “Scoot, Steven. Let me have a look.”

He—Steven, apparently—rambles off what happened and what you mentioned hurt, standing out of the blonde’s way, but leaning over her shoulder, hovering while she manipulates your ankle.

“Thank you, darling.” She looks up pointedly. “I’ve got it from here,” she says, turning back to you. “I’m Sarah, dear. We’ll get you fixed up in no time.”

“I’m Steve,” your lifeguard interjects as he backs away. “Glad you’re alright, Miss…?”

You introduce yourself in return. “Thanks for…um…” You glance down and tug at the front of your swim suit, remembering that this man might have already seen and touched your breasts. “Thank you,” you finish weakly, voice hoarse.

Steve beams again before Sarah swats him away.

While she wraps your ankle and anchors a bag of ice to it, you scan the guard towers to realize all three of the guys on duty are ripped, but Steve is…well, he’s something else.

“God, he’s gorgeous,” you sigh aloud without realizing.

Sarah snorts, muttering, “he gets that a lot.”

You smile, thinking it’s probably no secret that the cute guy gets around. “Bit of a man whore, is he?” you joke.

The nurse looks up at you sternly. “I should hope not! I raised him better than that.”

Shit.

Your face drops, a harsh and painful swallow globs down your throat, and you…just objectified that poor man to his mother who he so sweetly called ‘the best of the best.’

Is drowning totally off the table, or can you revisit that?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—I—I just meant—“

She squeezes your hand, putting you out of your misery.

“It’s fine, dear. He is handsome, and I suppose there’s no harm in looking.” She packs away the last of her gear only to catch Steve’s eye across the pool.

He waves in your direction.

Sarah chuckles but doesn’t wave back. You put a quick hand up and mouth ‘thank you’ even though he probably can’t see that part.

“Well,” the nurse adds, “seems you aren’t the only one looking.”

Having one foot twice the size of the other can work. You can make it work. You’ll just camp out on a beach towel farther up the shore, no problem. The whole party is together today, day three of seven, so the good news is that you aren’t responsible for anyone. Also, your foot is only that size due to bandaging and not because it’s that swollen. Still hurts though.

In addition to a wicked limp, you need a relatively hard surface to sit on or stand up from. You end up on the rim of damp sand, wriggling to get comfortable. You try laying on your side, propped up on a bent arm. You try your stomach. You’re about try your back, reaching for one of the kids’ towels to roll up as a pillow when you notice a group playing volleyball.

Must be fun to, like, walk and stuff.

You sigh.

It’s fine. You are lucky enough to be on this trip in the first place, your ticket paid for by all the parents combined (with the agreement you’ll help wrangle the younglings for periods while the moms and dads do adult activities). The ‘job’ is a wildly fair trade since the families only split so far was the pool yesterday.

Is that…is one of the volleyball players waving at you?

You look over your shoulder, but there’s only the rest of your group, splashing and running through the surf. No one is facing you or the game.

As you turn back, starting to raise your hand, you see the golden glow of the player’s hair and think that sure resembles the lifeguard, Steve, from—

The guy waving at you gets hit, hard, by a spiked ball and stumbles back. Some commotion rumbles through the group, but you can’t hear specifics.

Shit, that is definitely Steve, son of Sarah, employee of the pool, jogging toward you. Are your tits covered?

You awkwardly pull yourself upright, shielding your eyes from the partially-overcast, bright sky, and smile.

“Hey,” Steve chirps, “thought that was you.” He is, again, in naught but board shorts and beauty.

“Yup, living the dream.”

He ignores your sarcasm and asks how your ankle feels (“meh”), if it’s messed with your plans so far (“had to bow out of zip lining this morning”), and if he might be welcome to sit with you for a while.

You blink a few times in shock behind dark sunglasses. “Won’t your friends…?”

He shakes his head, hair falling into his face, and drops down to the sand.

“I don’t see why not,” you say after he’s made himself comfortable.

When the littlest girl from your group comes shrieking over, bucket and scoop in her hands, you’re about to apologize for the interruption, but Steve immediately offers to help her build the castle of a lifetime.

He is sure to warn her to be careful around your foot.

This time, when you mouth ‘thank you,’ he sees it and returns another beaming grin.

Alright, perhaps vacation is looking up.

Steve is…very, very good at strategizing the sandcastle. After the first ‘tower’ goes up, the other kids get involved. Before you know it, the parents are all behind you gushing over how good your friend is with them.

"Handsome, too."

"Lots of energy."

"‘Bout your age, isn’t he?"

They aren’t quiet enough to not be heard which is clearly the point once the mother of bucket girl shouts out that Steve should join you all for dinner.

Oh, sweet holy—

“Not sure I wanna dive into your family time, ma’am,” he says politely, encouraging some water be brought up for the moat they’ve just dug.

“Then you should take our lovely girl here out. Show her more of the island.”

You glare daggers at the other woman who just chimed in.

“I can’t walk,” you bite out. “Where am I gonna go?”

Steve clears his throat to get your attention. “They line food trucks over on the west road until late, and…” his lip pinches to the side “…I can carry you.”

One of the dads darkly drawls, “like a fucking princess,” and you hear a sharp slap from his wife in annoyance.

Steve’s gaze remains locked on yours as the parents erupt in obvious innuendo.

“Could be fun,” he admits, only loud enough for you. “How about it? Getting hungry?”

All you manage is a nod before a bucket of water is tossed on Steve, and he chases the culprit down the beach and into the clear blue sea.

You’ll have to wait until the ‘monster’ is vanquished by the ecstatic children jumping to take down the big, strong man you, apparently, have a date with.

[Next Chapter]

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

A/N: Apologies that this isn't the whole dang thing. With how long everything has been taking me to write, I was afraid it wouldn't even be summer anymore, and if there is even a small chance that posting this will light a fire under me to finish, I am willing to try.

[issdisgrace]

Hi hello, would you mind writing sa male resder x Oscar piastri fluff? Like just something really tame, like cuddling in bed, or comforting him after a bad race, or taking care of him when sick, or maybe some angst? He gets jealous cause some guy is flirting with reader, but fluff would be really nice, hope this isn't too long 😭😭 thx

MY SICK BABY

WARNINGS: None

A/N: Sorry this took so long, have been neglecting my writing and basically all other aspects in my life. But I hope you like this none the less.

Oscar didn't get sick often. In fact, the last time he was sick was almost a year. But when he did get sick he wasn't just sick, he was sick.

So when Oscar started feeling ill Friday night, dread sunk its way into his stomach. He knew that this weekend would be hell for him and god was he right.

He woke up Saturday morning with a pounding headache and a stuffy nose. He took some meds to help with it before he went out to the track, which helped some. However, he still felt quite miserable and others could see it, but despite this he had managed to qualify pretty good. Anyway, it was later that night everything just got worse, and the coughing started. He felt like he was suffocating, his chest hurt, he couldn't sleep, so he ended up calling you.

You were really concerned when you got a call from Oscar at 1 in the morning. But as soon as he started talking it was clear why he was calling you. He was sick. You felt bad as you listened to him explain everything. You suggested a couple of things that would hopefully help, which he appreciated, and you ended up staying on the phone till he fell asleep.

Then Sunday came, and despite your suggestions and some meds he still felt and now looked like hell. But he pushed himself, ignoring everything his body and others were telling him. He was going to race today even if it killed him. When he got out on the track, he felt surprisingly good and raced his ass off getting p3. Then he came in and his adrenaline came down and he felt worse than he did before. He had just made it through podium before he yacked up the contents of his stomach. He was grateful that the team didn't force him to do media after and just sent back to his hotel.

He managed to get some rest, which did him some good but before he knew it he 8pm and he needed to head to the airport for his flight home. Oscar was happy to be going home, and that flight was only 2 hours, but god those 2 hours were the absolute worse in his life. The turbulence was god awful, everyone and everything was just to loud, he had a hard time keeping whatever was left in his stomach down, and his nose just kept running.

By the time the plane landed around 11pm, he was ready to just cuddle up in bed with you and sleep for the next 24 hours. Picking Oscar up from the airport, you asked questions about how he was feeling wanting to gauge what you needed to do to help him feel better. Oscar told you and you made a mental note of everything as you headed home.

Once you guys were home, you got Oscar into pajamas and then got him some cold medicine and some soup that you had made earlier. He happily had to the soup as it was his favorite chicken noodle. But he reluctantly took the cold medicine because it tasted god awful. But he took it like the good boy he is.

You then got him all tucked into bed with the tv playing some old detective show that Oscar liked to watch. Kissed him goodnight and told him if he needed you, you would be asleep in the guest bedroom. Oscar wished you stayed with him, but he knew you didn't want to get sick as well.

Anyway, it was around 6 am when Oscar woke up. He felt hot and ill and quickly got out of bed to throw up the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Having woken up early and hearing the shuffling, then the throwing up, you quickly rushed to Oscar. Siting on the floor beside him, rubbing his back trying to soothe him.

You sit with him rubbing his back until he done throwing up. After he’s done you carefully get him back into bed. Then go and get the thermometer to take his temperature. You take his temperature and it reads 101 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s not good but it’s not as bad as it could be.

You get him some more cold medicine and water. You make sure he drinks all the water and then get a cool damp wash cloth on his forehead. You turn then turn the tv which shut off probably sometime in night. You put on some cartoons. They’re easy and you don’t got to think or follow much. Perfect for someone that is sick.

You then get everything set up for Oscar so he can take care of himself while your gone at work for the day. You’re a little reluctant to leave Oscar but you knew you had to work. You told Oscar to keep you updated in how he was doing.

When you got home from work, you immediately went and checked Oscar and found him asleep, cartoons still playing on the tv. You smile to yourself as you leave and go make dinner. When you’re almost done with dinner you hear the soft footsteps of Oscar coming down the hallway, you look up and greet him. He definitely looks better than he did this morning. You ask him how he’s feeling and he was better like you expected.

This routine of getting him set up in the morning and going to work and coming home and checking on him and then making dinner goes on for a 9 days, until Oscar feels completely better.

Oscar is really appreciative of you taking care of him while he was sick and took you out to dinner at a nice place as a thank you. Despite your insistence that he didn’t need to, that you were his partner and that taking care of him when he was sick came with that. While you were out for dinner you started sneezing a lot.

And by the next morning you were sick and it was Oscar’s turn to take care of you while you were sick.

[nerd-at-sea5]

i have a cold atm. so uh. yellowjackets when they’re sick headcanons!

jackie - will go to school if she’s coughing/sneezing a little, but the moment it gets worse than that she’s in the office asking to be taken home. does make a big deal out of it and is kinda dramatic. is aggressively helpful whenever any of her friends are sick (meds, reading articles, getting homework, telling jokes, whatever she can do to be helpful)

shauna - dislikes being sick to the point that jackie has called her mom for her to pick her up multiple times bc shauna refuses to acknowledge it. will contact teachers at 6am letting them know she’s missing school and asking for the work. hates taking care of other people when they’re sick. will sit outside jackie’s room reading to her but won’t go inside

nat - fucking hates being sick bc she feels pathetic/useless whenever she is. normally when she’s sick she goes 1-2 days ignoring it, then lottie makes her stay over and takes care of her. nat also rarely gets sick. like she’s gone years without having to stay home from school, however when she’s sick, she’s sick. is really good at taking care of people but she only does it to people she really likes (lottie, van, laura lee and akilah)

lottie - has never gotten sick in her life. likes to joke that her brain is fucked enough so her body just decided to never mess with her. is one of the most caring people when someone’s sick. she makes nat stay at her house until she’s better, she’ll bring matzah ball soup to shauna (she did accidentally give shauna salmonella once bc she fucked up making it but it’s fine), gossips with jackie, will binge movies with van, catch tai up on homework, read books to laura lee - she’s the best person to ever be sick around.

van - is a lot like nat except they don’t succumb to it after 3 days. they’ll just keep going till they physically cannot anymore. tai once forced them to stay at her house bc van threw up twice during practice and nat had to drag them to the locker room. will literally only be around tai and nat when they’re sick because they hate it so much. (they’re dysphoria skyrockets when they’re sick) nat and van once got sick together and they just watched movies for 38 hours straight until lottie showed up and made them take medicine

tai - the moment she thinks she’s even a little sick she takes medicine, contacts her teachers and coaches and then sleeps until she’s fine again. refuses to be sick for more than a day so she never is. envy’s lottie for never getting sick, will not be around any sick person aside from van. she’ll just drop off someone’s homework for them and that’s it. the only person she tolerates around her when she’s sick is her mom bc she’ll sing to tai and tai is ok with her mom taking care of her (no one else. ever)

laura lee - just burrows under blankets until she’s better, when she’s sick it almost always means throwing up sick and since she’s the oldest her parents will stay home with her (if they can’t they have the second oldest) she just gets quiet and sad and a lot of the time lottie and nat go to her house to cheer her up (it’s the only time her parents don’t judge nat). (in the case of my nb laura lee hc - i think their dysphoria also gets worse when they’re sick, bc they’re whole body hurts and they’re hyper aware of their chest)

misty - freaks out and thinks it’s WAY worse than it actually is, had taken herself to the ER for a head cold before (she was fine). normally will just hangout with her mom and listen to show tunes until she’s better

[klausinamarink]

One Kid Gone, Another Up and Vanished (part 16)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 | ao3

Lucas checks his compass again, but the needle still points north, barely jostling from his biking

“Got anything weird in yours yet?” He calls over his shoulder to where Dustin is biking behind him.

“Negative!”

Lucas looks back at the road. It’s empty with no car in sight. But he doesn’t want to twist his wheel the wrong way and splat his face against the asphalt.

His nose twinges again in reminder. Mike hadn’t punched him that hard to break it. Just hard enough that it had hurt all the way to this morning.

Lucas grips the handlebars tighter. If only Mike wasn’t so obsessed with Eleven, then he wouldn’t had punched Lucas in the face for no reason. Then maybe Mike would have been with Lucas and Dustin to see Will through that wall portal. Maybe Will would have finally come home and be not-dead.

But Mike isn’t with them. Lucas hasn’t seen him since the Wheeler house went kaput with the lights nearly exploding. Dustin had told him that he had seen Mike biking off on his own earlier and wanted to follow him.

Lucas had said no. Mike’s definitely going to find the weirdo. Who cares about her being gone when Will’s somewhere in the Upside Down?

(“And Eddie.” Dustin adds, sitting on his bed. He’d ended up sleeping over with Lucas when Mrs. Wheeler had ushered them out.

“Yeah, him too.” Lucas agrees before frowning, “Do we still have any idea who this Eddie guy even is?”

“Nope, but I know it’s not Eddie Tremblay!”)

Anyway, Mike isn’t coming back in forever. Lucas will make sure he doesn’t unless Mike gets over his stupid crush and apologizes for jeopardizing the rescue mission.

“Lucas!” Dustin yells again.

“You got something?” Lucas brakes, looking over to see Dustin had also stopped.

“Son of a bitch- No, I dropped the compass!” Dustin swears as he leans haphazardly towards the ground, reaching for the fallen object. Lucas rolls his eyes.

He looks around the street again, catching a couple posters on a nearby telephone pole. Lucas barely holds back a mourning heart when he sees Will’s missing poster, now already wrinkled and a chunk of the paper ripped off.

Will’s not dead. He reminds himself. He’s somewhere fighting demogorgons.

His gaze trails up, not really reading the other poster next to Will’s picture. But Lucas does another take.

“Dustin.” He inches closer to the pole so he can get a better look.

“Don’t worry, my compass is fine!”

“Dustin.”

“What is it?” Dustin pedals up to Lucas’ side, following his gaze.

It’s another missing poster, but it doesn’t have Will’s photo. It’s another boy, much older than them, with unruly dark hair as he grins at the camera. Printed underneath is Eddie Munson, along with a list of his important features.

Lucas sucks in a breath. He turns to Dustin, who’s wide-eyed expression stares back at him.

“You don’t think..?”

Lucas nods quickly, “There’s no other way.”

They both stare at the poster for another minute. And then they start biking again.

—

Will huffs, feeling his chest squeeze itself. Another cough starts bubbling up, but he holds it in as long as he can. He concentrates on breathing and not tripping over his feet or his bike.

Well, it’s not really his bike. Will is pretty sure that he left it on the road when the demogorgon got him. But when he had snuck back into Mike’s garage, he was awestruck to find the same one. Even down to the chipping red paint above the wheels.

He did not have time to dwell though. Will had grabbed a coil of jump rope and hurried out before any more monsters appeared.

After returning back to the current base, Will whisper-yells triumphantly, “Told you I would get it!”

Sitting on an ancient couch in the garage, Eddie gives him a shaky thumbs-up. He looks ten times worse than he did earlier with sweat and dirt sticking on his jaunt face. Even the sheets Eddie is bundled up in still makes him smaller.

Will turns and gently places the bike on the ground by the handlebars, positioning the rear to face the wagon. Then, with the salvaged rope he had found earlier, Will ties both ends to the bike and the wagon’s handle.

It takes another minute of stuffing the wagon with more blankets but Will steps back and admires his creation. Simple but perfect.

Will goes over to Eddie and pulls on his hand to stand up. Eddie does so, much slower than last time. The older boy is careful not to lean too much on Will, but he lets Eddie to do so anyway. Even though the wagon is barely five steps away, Eddie is panting like he’s just outrun the demogorgon.

“Easy, easy!” Will cries out as Eddie just flops his entire body into the wagon. Eddie doesn’t even emit a single sound. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing.

The wagon is too small for Eddie’s whole body. But after some adjustments of tucking his limbs into the space, Eddie seems to fit in better.

“You okay?” Will softly taps on Eddie’s bad ankle. Even after the cleaning it and changing the bandages, he’s not sure if it’s healing properly. The bleeding has stopped but the wound is oozing some pus. It’s also smelling bad but Will hopes it’s because of the dried blood and stuff.

Eddie moans and snuggles into the blankets around him.

Will pats Eddie on the head in comfort. “If you have to throw up, don’t swallow it. Just puke if you have to.”

Eddie snorts quietly, his eyes already closing.

Will quickly debates about keeping the spear on himself or not. He passes it over to Eddie who takes it without a word.

Will picks up the bike, pulls on the rope again to test the strength, and climbs on the seat. He stares out into the dark and desolate Maple Street.

He sucks in a shaky breath. In. Out. Ignores the ticklish sensation in his throat that’s more and more present.

Will pumps his legs on the pedals. His calves immediately spike up with the familiar burns and he welcomes it.

The bike descents down the low slope of the garage and into the street. The wagon bumps slightly but Eddie barely makes a groan.

Will stops for a moment, already winded from the effort. He looks over at Eddie, still curled up and shivering and barely holding the remaining spear. His injured leg dangles over the wagon, the shoe almost scraping the ground.

The sight almost makes Will mad. Not at Eddie, of course. But just at the circumstances of it all.

It feels like the stuff happening to them should only hurt Will, not Eddie. Eddie shouldn’t have escaped the demogorgon’s bite of death and gotten so sick that he can barely walk and eat.

It should have been Will.

Will wipes a hand under his nose and takes another deep breath.

Then he starts pedalling again.

Hopefully in the next hour, he would reach the hospital by then.

-

Taglist: @unclewaynemunson @hellion-child @steves-strapcollection @sidekick-hero @penny00dreadful @hbyrde36 @mmmmwaffles94 @princessstevemunson @sirsnacksalot @tartarusknight @lyriclight @kodaik97 @dontdrinkmylavalamp @bookbinderbitch @gutterflower77 @soaringornithopter @angeldreamsoffanfic @panicatthediaz @renaissan-vvitch @manda-panda-monium @newtstabber @little-trash-ghost @niniel-karenine @tinyplanet95 @chaosgremlinmunson

[meraki24601]

Would you be opened to writing a whump prompt for me? I'm writing a story about a Whumpee returning after having been missing for 4 months. 

If so: Could you write the scene in which caretaker (who looks for missing Whumpee every single night) stumbles across a very sick Whumpee (it's been raining, probably pneumonia) and sorry I don't know if this is too much for you but anywhoo

Caretaker takes Whumpee to their home, Whumpee who is just so feverish but caretaker can tell that Whumpee is different, the way they flinch at slight touch

Maybe during caretaking, caretaker decides that they don't care about Whumpee's flinching, and they just hug them. Whumpee is so painfully touch-starved they just start crying in caretaker's arms.

This is a bonus but only if you have time to do it or even care: caretaker's mother is a doctor, she comes down as soon as the door opens, and helps somehow

thanks if so!

For some reason, I didn't get a notification when you sent this. I found it, though! Hope you like it.

---*-***-*---

4 Months

I spent day 1 of the search stuck in the police station. The moment Whumpee didn't make it home, I made the call, but they had to wait to put in the report. I answered questions and gave evidence for hours. Their last known whereabouts were just outside the grocery store we always go to. 

On day 3, they found video evidence of Whumpee getting in Whumper's car. Their hands were tied behind their back. Whumper looked up at the camera and smiled before closing the car door. They sent out new wanted alerts within 5 minutes of finding it. 

Day 7, the police sent out search parties. They had a satellite picture of Whumpee tied to a fence just outside a town two states over. They… didn't look good. By the time they arrived at the scene, all they could find was a bloody smear. 

Day 30 came and passed. There were two more sightings. Each one was worse than the last. The FBI got involved. 

On day 61, the FBI told me they were closing the case. They had received an image of Whumpee lying dead on the ground. They couldn't find the body or Whumper. They were going to keep a file open on Whumper, but Whumpee was officially considered dead. It was a lie, though. There's no way Whumper actually killed Whumpee. 

Day 78, I moved back in with my mother. I didn't want her to disappear like Whumpee had. That same day, she opened a package in the mail containing a finger. The police didn't believe me. The package disappeared before I could turn it in. After that, I couldn't help but worry every time she left for her nursing shift at the hospital. 

Day 94, my mother held me as I cried. It was their birthday. I refuse to give up. Whumpee is still alive. I will find them, with or without the police's help.

Day 122, four months on the dot since Whumpee disappeared, I found them tied to a tree in the forest behind my mother's house. Technically, Bunny, my mom's Doberman, found them after pulling her leash out of my hands. When I caught up with her, she’d dropped her favorite ball in Whumpee's hand and was whining softly.

I froze, looking at the person I had been searching for over the past 4 months. They were soaked to the bone and covered in dirt and leaves, seemingly having been left outside through the rain storm that had just passed maybe an hour earlier. For a moment, I couldn't tell if they were dead or alive. 

A deep cough that made my own chest hurt echoed through the trees. Whumpee's hand, with one finger missing, shifted slightly to roll Bunny's ball back toward her. The dog grabbed the ball, bouncing around her found friend with reckless abandon. The soft sob that pushed its way from my throat caught Bunny's attention, and she ran back to me; the ball in her mouth displaying a dark, bloody handprint. 

Bunny dashed back toward the house in fear as I screamed Whumpee's name. They didn't respond. I crashed to my knees on the muddy forest floor in front of Whumpee. They barely had the strength left to lift their head, but they still flinched as I reached for them. 

"Don't." Whumpee's voice was hoarse as they pushed one single word at me. Their eyes were unfocused, and each breath rattled on its way in. Their whole body shivered despite the humidity after the summer rain. 

"You're safe, Whumpee. It's me." I whispered, "I'm going to cut the ropes. Just hold still for a minute longer."

Whumpee's eyes were huge as I shifted closer. When I reached out to comfort them by patting their leg, a strangled cry broke through the silence that had fallen over the forest. Whumpee pulled against the ropes already cutting into their skin. Their struggles didn't last for long. What energy they had left them as their face turned even paler. They were able to tilt their head just enough that when they threw up a mixture of stomach acid and blood dripped on the ground next to them. 

I took advantage of their distraction and quickly cut the ropes, catching Whumpee as they nearly fell into the small puddle of bile. They pulled away from my grip. I hushed them and shifted them carefully into my arms. They were light… so light in my arms. Their heart beat quickly against my chest, but even as I stood, I could feel it start to slow. 

"Mom! I need help. Get the kit!" I screamed at the top of my lungs as I sprinted back to the house. The windows to her room were open, and a twitching curtain told me she had heard me. She had probably started watching the moment Bunny came back without me. 

The back door was already open. The chairs around the table had been pushed back against the wall, a plastic tablecloth we had bought for a picnic was spread out neatly on the table with the large first aid kit open at the head, and mom was scrubbing her hands in the sink. "Lay them down carefully on the table. Did you check for injuries?" My mother asked with her work face on. 

"They're bleeding! Of course they're hurt!" I couldn't help but yell back as I spread the shaking Whumpee on the kitchen table. How many meals have we shared at this table? Game nights before my father passed away, and we suddenly didn't have enough time?

"I wasn't asking if they were hurt, Caretaker. I was asking how and where." Mother's hands, shrouded in gloves, waved me back. "You need to step out for a minute. Change into clean clothes, wash your hands, and get me water and the softest wash rags you can find. It's going to be alright. Take a moment to calm down. I need you focused and ready to help."

I couldn't leave the kitchen fast enough. Every part of my body yearned to burst back in there and demand answers I knew couldn't be answered yet. So, I did as I was told. Water sloshed out of the bucket as I stumbled back toward Whumpee, but I couldn't find it in myself to care. 

My mother's soothing voice brought me to a stop just outside the kitchen door. "There you go. You're safe now. Take a deep breath in and now out. That's alright, that's alright. You did a good job. Steady now. I'm going to turn you on your side just a bit so I can see your back, okay?"

A deep, scream broke off into a fit of barely supported coughing. I opened the door. 

Whumpee had shifted, their body pulling against my mother's hands as they tried to curl up into a tight ball. The moment they saw me, however, those weak struggles turned into something almost primal. A thin sheen of sweat now covered their body. Mom barely managed to keep Whumpee from slipping off the table. 

All at once, all of the strength dripped out of their body. With eyes half-hooded, Whumpee watched carefully as I approached. I could hear their strained whisper, tainted with tight coughs, "It's not real. It's not real. It's not real." Their body stiffened. Not a good sign. 

"I am real, Whumpee." I sighed. They flinched away from the sound of my voice, eyes popping and searching for the source. My mom's fingers prodded at an open wound and caused them to gasp which threw them into another coughing fit. 

"Most of the older injuries have been treated. Not by me, by someone else." My mother's voice cut through the steadily building fog in my mind. "Malnourished, dehydrated, severe blood loss, gashes and bruises covering their chest. I also expect they have a rather serious case of pneumonia. Coughing, confusion, fever, nausea, and seeming chest pain outside of the visible injuries. 

"I need to be able to check their back before I feel comfortable enough to move them to the hospital. Can you help me turn them over?"

Each time I approach or make as if to touch Whumpee, they whisper in panicked tones as they flinch away, pushing their body as far away from me as they can in their weakened state. Over and over. My mother cautioned me to move slowly, but nothing seemed to help. I still wasn't completely confident they knew who I actually was. Each flinch stretched Whumpee's closing wounds. 

Finally, I'd had enough dancing around it. Whumpee cried out and tried to escape as I slid my arms under them and started to lift them up so they rested against my chest. 

Whumpee's struggles grew harder, fighting to free themselves, but I whispered comforting words in their ear. As my mother checked on their back, Whumpee began to ease up, I could feel their fever as they eventually started to cling to me instead of pushing away. Tears stained my shirt as my mother finished her task and stepped out of the room to call the hospital and the police. 

"I tried so hard to find you. I want you to know I never gave up." After my quiet declaration, Whumpee went limp in my arms. As they slept, I made myself a promise. I would never lose someone like this again. 

[crystalsnow95z]

Part 2 to Namjoon with the flu. Part 1 here

J-hope didn't know when he fell asleep, but the sound of Namjoon gagging in the bathroom wakes him. Sh*t.. When did I fall asleep?

He groggily runs towards the bathroom, stumbling on the way. "Namjoon-ah.."

"Hoseok, make it stop..it hurts.." Namjoon whimpers as coughs up more bile into the toliet. His muscles ached as they tightened, burning painfully.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that, I wish I could.." J-hope apologizes softly, pulling Namjoon's bangs out of his face, unsure on if they were wet with sick or sweat. "We'll have to wash you up Joonie.."

Namjoon goes to reply, but another burp comes out instead, another round of sick spilling out into the bowl.

"Shh, don't try to talk, Namjoonie, it's okay.." J-hope rubs his hand across Namjoon's back, trying to comfort him. "Just let it out.." He could feel Namjoon trembling underneath his fingertips. His heart sank, ignoring the urge to cry. I need to stay positive for Namjoon..

Namjoon continued to heave until nothing was left, leaving him panting. Finally...

He leans against J-hope, struggling to catch his breath, each one being painful, sending pain in his abdomen. "I hate..this.." Namjoon's voice comes out raspy his throat left raw.

J-hope wraps his arm around Namjoon, using the other arm to try to rub some of his leader's pain away. "I know, I know.. Do you think you can drink some warm water? It'll help your throat. It doesn't have to be now. Just focus on your breathing.."

Namjoon closes his eyes, taking deep breaths until his heart slows. "I can try..." He speaks in a raspy whisper.

"Let's get you back to bed first." J-Hope doubted that Namjoon could walk. Not with how badly he was shaking. "I need you to hold onto my neck okay? I'll carry you."

"No.. no carrying..i..I can walk.." Namjoon tries to stand, but his legs don't hold his weight crashing hard back into J-hope's lap.

J-hope bites bite a yelp when Namjoon lands on him. "Namjoon-ah, please.. you're too weak right now, let me help you."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry.." Namjoon apologies rubbing where he fell on J-hope, tears threatening to fall.

"It's okay, you just surprised me. It didn't really hurt." J-hope lies, feeling the bruise on his thigh forming. "Just let me help you.. I'll move nice and slow so I don't shake you. Okay?"

Namjoon gives in, fearful of hurting him again. J-hope shakily makes it to his feet, Namjoon clinging to him for dear life as he coughs. "It's okay. I got you.. we'll move nice and slow.."

I really wish I worked out more.. he's heavier than I thought..

J-hope felt out of breath after carrying the muscular rapper, but he felt proud that he was able to manage. "We're at the bed, Joon. You gotta let go."

"Dizzy..." Namjoon murmurs, still clinging to J-hope. Even with his eyes closed, he could see the green hazy outline of J-hope's chest burned behind his eye lids, making him feel sick in the pit of his stomach.

J-hope sits on the bed, cradling Namjoon close. "This might be more than I can handle Namjoonie.. I think we need a hospital.."

"No, no..I want to stay with you.." Namjoon whines, pressing his throbbing head into J-hope's chest. "I'll be okay..I'm okay.." He forces himself to sit up a little, trying to open his eyes to look at J-hope tears sparkling in them.

"Joonie, please don't cry.. Alright, alright.. I'll keep trying, but if you get any worse, we're going.. okay?"

Namjoon gives the tiniest of nods, letting go of J-hope. "I'm okay.."

"You aren't okay baby, you're burning up,you can't walk without being dizzy, you can't eat, and you aren't acting like yourself.." J-hope took a deep breath to try to calm his frazzled nerves, pouring out another dosage of medicine. "Here, you need to take this Joon. Please try."

Namjoon picks up his head, trembling with effort. J-hope puts his hand on the back of his neck to steady him, tilting the cup for Namjoon’s lips. Namjoon manages to drink it, J-Hope quickly looking for the water bottle. "Here, drink baby."

Namjoon takes a few swallows, the room temperature water giving him some relief to his raw throat, but his stomach had the opposite reaction, already feeling his stomach cramping up again. "No more.." He croaks,wrapping his arm around his stomach.

"Are you going to be sick Namjoon?" J-hope starts scanning the room for a trash can, finding it at the side of the bed.

"No.." Namjoon whimpers. "It just hurts.."

"Then come here, Namjoonie.." J-hope pulls Namjoon close, rubbing his hand over his rippling belly. "You better not get sick on me..you know I'll puke too.."

Namjoon shakes his head, feeling comfort in the warmth of his fellow 94liner, his gentle touch putting him to sleep.

J-hope waits a few minutes waiting for Namjoon’s snoring before planning his escape. I need to do something about his fever.. I'm overheating just by touching him..

He wipes the sweat from his own brow before silently going into the kitchen, getting a bowl and a hand towel. J-hope's stomach growls, reminding him that he hasn't eaten yet.

I'll eat when Namjoon's cooled down..

After filling the bowl with lukewarm water, he returns to Namjoon's room. "Namjoon-ah?" J-Hope whispered when he saw Namjoon curled up in a tight ball underneath the blanket relieved when he got no reply, gently unburying his sickly friend.

Namjoon groans in complaint, but his eyes stay closed, J-hope slowly pushing his shirt up to gently wipe the sweat from his body. "I know, but I gotta cool you down.." He whispers as he continues, until he's gotten every part he could reach without making the boy move.

Namjoon shivers when J-hope lays the wet cloth at the base of his neck, eyes fluttering.

"Shh..it's okay.." J-hope whispers, humming softly as he gently caresses Namjoon's side until he starts snoring again.

J-hope's stomach growls again. "I'll be back soon.."

J-hope was only gone long enough to cook up some rice, eating as quickly as he could, but he still wasn't fast enough.

Namjoon jolts up in a panic, the water that he drank spewing out of him. The memory of his dream still lingered, leaving him shaking from both fear and the fever that still raged over his body. "Hoba.." he tried to speak, but his voice was gone, only a whisper and cough. "Hos..." Namjoon's voice is cut off by another bout of coughing.

J-hope rushes into the room when he hears him, eyes widening when he sees the sick soaking Namjoon’s shirt and his blanket. "Ah, Joonie.."

"Hobi..I'm sorry.." Namjoon apologies, but his voice doesn't reach J-hope's ears, hardly coming out louder than a breathy whisper. He tries to strip out of his shirt himself but J-hope quickly moves to help him.

"Careful, you'll get it in your hair.." j-hope warns, grimacing when he notices he's too late, his own stomach churning with nausea."You need a bath, baby.."

"I..I'm feeling a little better..I think I'll be able to walk if you help." Namjoon forces the words out feeling as if he were screaming, but it still came out soft.

"You sure? I don't want you falling." J-hope is still reluctant even after Namjoon nods, making him stand for a few seconds to be sure he was steady before walking towards the bathroom, sitting him underneath the sink. "Stay here for a moment, let me get the water ready."

Namjoon's only response is a cough, unable to get his voice to come. He watched J-hope continuously adjust the water until he'd satisfied with the temperature.

"Good, good.." J-hope smiles when he sees Namjoon is still sitting up where he left him, but the smile fades when he looks into his glossy eyes, not fully focused on him. "Come on, let's get these sweats off.." he gently lifts Namjoon, feeling his tremble with effort to help him, sliding them off. "There we go.. now into the tub baby."

J-hope helps Namjoon into the half filled tub. "Can you tilt your head back?"

Namjoon tries but as soon as he does a wave of vertigo hits, J-hope having to catch him before he falls backwards. "Woah, no. No we won't do that. It's okay, it's okay.." He holds Namjoon upright.

I think I'm gonna be sick..

Namjoon whimpers, unable to get the words out, a wet burp escaping, his mouth filling with a mix of bile and saliva, swallowing it down

"Oh no, Joon.." J-hope leans him against the tub, keeping one hand on his chest as he desperately reaches for the trashcan on the other side of the toliet. "I almost got it, please just wait another moment Namjoon-ah.." He gets it just in time for another round of sick to come, Namjoon gagging up the water.

J-hope couldn't hold back his tears any longer. He felt them welling up and tumbling down his cheeks. Right when he thinks he's made progress, he goes right back to being a trembling mess unable to hold anything down.

The sick feeling left as quickly as it came, Namjoon pushing the trashcan away. "I'm okay.." He tries to speak again, but his voice was too scratchy and hoarse, not sounding like a language at all, just sound. Namjoon heard J-hope's tears hit the water.

I made him cry.. this is too much for him to handle.. but I refused to let him get outside help..

Namjoon felt worse now than he did before. He wanted to tell J-hope that'd he go to a hospital if that's what would stop his tears. Namjoon reaches for J-hope stroking his hair with his trembling wet hand. Don't cry Hope, I'm sorry.. I'm sorry..

J-hope looks up at Namjoon, motioning for him not to cry the same way they would for Army crying in the crowd, continuing to run his hand through J-hope's hair.

J-hope smiles through the tears."Are you comforting me now? You're cute Joon..I'm sorry. I'm okay now.." J-hope sniffles, wiping the tears away. "Let's continue your bath.. I bet you're freezing.."

[mugiwara-no-toshokan]

Thrice Prophesized

CisFem Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Summary: Strap in for an isekai that doesn't involve Earth! Reader is a knight from a different world, yanked into the Grandline Metro AU against her will. Follow her as she learns about the world, the One Piece, and the Straw Hat Pirates - specifically a one-eyed green-haired "demonic" swordsman.

CW: In-Universe levels of violence, amnesia, romance, reader gets some good bad-ass moments, but shouldn't feel Overpowered if I did my job well, surprisingly no smut in this one loves, but it's book 1 of 2.

18 + only please -- 59k words - Completed - Read on Wattpad if you want or Ao3 \o/

-:-

Chapter 1: What's My Name Again?

“Heeeeeeey! Luffy!” Usopp yelled as he was coming down from the crow’s nest on the Thousand Sunny. “Luffy! There’s a person floating on a barrel!” He pointed after he was sure he had his captain’s attention. “I saw her cough so she’s still alive!”

Luffy leans over the rail and puts his hand over his eyes, scanning in the direction Usopp pointed until he saw the same thing, or enough of the same thing to know he was looking at it.

“I got it!” Luffy’s arm stretched out across the sea, and he flinches a bit. “Oh. She grabbed my hand! Chopper!”

The commotion had been enough to get the attention of the rest of the crew, as Chopper came up from the boys’ room, Sanji came out of the kitchen. Nami and Robin were coming down from the garden, while Brook, Jinbe and Franky came from the helm.

“Careful Luffy! If she’s hurt a rough landing won’t be good!” Chopper explains as Luffy’s arm begins to return.

“Eh?!” Luffy’s arm twists before he can reply to Chopper, and the person he’s reeling in slams into him.

The two go head over heels a couple of times before Luffy is pinned to the grass, his arm twisted behind his back. A woman has him pinned down, her legs over his, his arm in her grip, and a broken and jagged piece of wood in her hand. Her long hair was plastered against her from the sea water, and fierce focused eyes were fixed on Luffy.

As soon as she seemed to register him, she released her grip and dropped the jagged piece of wood.

“My… apologies.” She took a deep breath and shifted off of him, sitting on the grass. “You saved me, and I reacted poorly.”

Luffy smiles. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not like you were going to hurt our captain with a piece of wood.” Robin muses.

The extra voice causes the woman to look around and take in the crew. Her brows knit at the sight of Jinbe and Franky, and she pales when she notices Brook.

“You’re bleeding.” Chopper says, coming over to her.

“I -.” She freezes for a moment, before relaxing. “You’re a… forest spirit?”

“Eh?”

“Chopper’s our doctor.” Luffy explains.

She seems to process this information for a moment before peeling her shirt off. There’s a moment’s commotion before everyone sees the state she’s in.

There’s extra binding over the bra she’s still wearing, but her clothes, or lack thereof, are hardly noticed, even by Sanji. Bruises and small cuts litter her body, the deeper cut on her arm that Chopper noticed is hardly the worst injury among them.

“I am in need of a doctor.” She admits, holding the sopping shirt against her chest. “I am in your care, Dr. Chopper.”

She bows completely to the ground, having already been on her knees.

“Ah! Don’t do that, you could hurt yourself worse.” Chopper grows larger and gently picks up the surprised woman. “It’s okay, I’m just going to take you to the sick bay so I can tend to you.” He explains as he carries her off the deck and up through the kitchen.

“Oh, we didn’t -.” Nami starts but is interrupted by Usopp.

“MARINES!” Usopp yells pointing out across the water. He lowers his goggles and gets a better look. “Oh no… Luffy it’s your grandfather’s ship!”

“I’ll prepare a Coup de Burst!” Franky announces.

“Nami!” Jinbe yells and the navigator nods as the two head to the helm.

“The rest of us will keep the cannonballs at bay until we can take off.” Zoro says, putting Wado Ichimonji between his teeth.

“I’ll let Chopper know we’re going to burst,” Usopp says, taking off as the rest of the crew keeps their eyes to the sky.

Cutting through the kitchen, Usopp enters the sick bay and freezes in his tracks.

Chopper is on his butt, small sized again, looking in shock at the woman that he had brought in. A few feet off the bed she’s frozen in place, literally incased in ice that has taken over a section of the room, there’s a peaceful look on her face.

“What happened?!” Usopp looks back and forth from the frozen woman to Chopper.

“Aaaaahhh! Usopp! I don’t know!” Chopper’s surprise is shattered by Usopp’s question, and the small reindeer starts to panic. “I set her down to get my stuff and then it started to feel cold, and when I turned to look at her, she was coming off the bed and just – just froze in the air!”

“M-maybe she’s a devil fruit user.”

“M-maybe?”

“… Wait, Chopper, look! Is she healing?”

“EH?!” Chopper grows bigger to get a better look and gasps. “She is!”

“Oh that’s- OOF!” Usopp’s statement is cut short, and he and Chopper are tossed back as the Sunny bursts forward.

. . . . . . . .

The cold biting winds didn’t bother you. This was your country, and you took pride in that. Protecting the Archduke and the northern border of the kingdom was a great honor, and being one of the Winternight Knights was an even greater honor.

The ancient magic of the family flowed through your veins. Not only did its defensive capabilities keep you safe, but the offense capacity of the bloodline’s magic was second to none. It needed to be, in order to keep winter from consuming the world.

But you could feel the cold pulling away from you. You were too far from the Duchy, too far from the Archduke – too far away from winter to be able to call on your powers. But you shouldn’t be able to be too far away. The size of the world shouldn’t be big enough. You wouldn’t be able to travel fast enough.

Where were you?

Who are you?

Your foot lands on water. It’s warm, and clear. There’s a well-manicured man looking at you, sitting at a well-manicured table, on a well-manicured lawn. Wherever this place is, it’s clean to a point that makes you uncomfortable. The man’s hairstyle isn’t right for the kingdom, his hair is pulled up into an odd sort of tower bun, and as you look closer there’s something around his head, separating him from the world around him entirely.

“The Empty Throne shall crumble to dust, and the terrible curse of this world will be undone. The seas will swell in bounty and the ruler of the shadows will be brought to burn into the light of the Sun.” The words spill from your lips, but you don’t know that you’re saying them.

Light pours from you and you cannot even see the strange man and his strange clothes, though you can hear him screaming for guards. You repeat your words again, and again, rising higher and higher into the air.

Further from the water, further from winter.

But where are you?

Who are you?

“She prophesized the fall of the Empty Throne! Capture her!”

“Did you see that pillar of light?”

“How dare such blasphemy be uttered in the Red Line!”

“Capture her! What if she knows more? What if she knows where the One Piece is!?”

“What do you mean the light’s reverting devil fruit users? I don’t care for your excuses, get the Hero of the Marines here then! He doesn’t use a devil fruit, he can capture her!”

“Look out!”

“Is that ice?”

“She can’t have that devil fruit ability, Kuzan’s still alive!”

“She’s not turning into ice, she’s creating it – is it a new Paramecia type?”

“Don’t get distracted, stop her!”

“Don’t kill her, the power of prophecy must be contained!”

“She’s getting away!”

“Prepare the ships, Garp will need to pursue her!”

The voices fade as the comforting cold of your home country moves you forward through the air. The power is immense, beyond any application you had known it capable of prior. As though it carries a will of its own, you feel no more in control of your rampage as you did of the words that fell from your lips earlier.

You had no desire to be caught, so you had no concern for the damage you were causing. This land was not Winternight, and you had no loyalty to it. In order to figure out what was going on you needed to be free, and these people were already ready to slap you in irons. The choice was easy.

The immense power propelling you away was also draining your reserves at an alarming rate. Nothing was around you but vast open ocean. You’d only seen the ocean once before now, but you knew that this had to be it.

As your strength faded your memories faded. Falling through the air you wondered idly why you had decided to run away? Why were you in need of freedom? You had come from somewhere, but what was it called again?

Where are you?

Who are you?

. . . . . . .

Heaving in a breath you sit up in bed. It feels like you had just pulled yourself up from the bottom of the ocean and you’re panting trying to pull air into your lungs. A strange sensation tickles at you, and you look over, locking eyes with a small deer-like creature standing on two legs, and wearing a hat.

It’s looking at you in surprise as much as you’re looking at it.

“… Are you-.”

“AAAAHHHH!” You scream at the noise and scramble out of the bed, as you head out one door you can hear the small creature screaming and heading out the other door.

You come out onto the deck of a ship, and bright warm sun overhead. You skitter off to the right, only vaguely aware that you’re wearing something like night clothes, and run down a set of steps onto –

“-grass?” Your mind breaks for a second and you look around at your surroundings again. There are doors, stairs, two trees, a bench wrapped around the mast and railings on either side of you that look out into the endless ocean.

That itchy feeling pulls at you, and you look over to see a skeleton in a suit with puffy hair come down the stairs across from you. He appears to be drinking tea. He turns to look at you and speaks and you scream again, causing him to scream as well. You dart across the way and go through a door, slamming it closed behind you.

You mean to catch your breath, and gather your wits, but a heavy and oppressive air sinks into you. For the first time since you woke up you feel like you might just die.

Turning toward the feeling, you press your back to the door, eyes focused on the blade leveled at you. The man holding it has the aura of a demon, even if his appearance is certainly human. You don’t notice much else about him, except that his one good eye could melt your bones to dust if you weren’t careful.

“Stop. Screaming.” He growls, pulling the sword away from you and sheathing it. You notice there’s three swords at his waist, and the air in the room shifts back to normal as though he hadn’t just been glaring at you like that.

“I… uh. Sorry.” You manage in confusion.

He grunts, walking to you and opening the door, walking back out onto the grass and leaving the door open. You follow behind him, ready to ask him questions when there’s suddenly several people on the deck, surrounding you.

You’ve moved before you know why and you’ve pulled one of the demon-man’s swords free, holding it up in front of you and making sure your back is to a wall and not another door.

“Oi! Marimo, how could you let her do that?” A blonde man in a suit with a cigarette in his mouth was yelling in your direction, but not at you.

You look over to the demon-man and see surprise scrawled on his face before it turns to irritation.

“Give that back!” He snarls, and your body moves automatically as he reaches for you. Moving the hilt out of the path of his hand and stepping back you pivot, and tense the muscles in your legs, jumping much higher than you expected and landing half-way up the stairs next to the mast.

You can’t stop the look of surprise on your own face as you look one way and then the other, standing defensively on the stairs with the sword still in hand.

Your new vantage point, and the space between you and everyone else gave you a chance to take in the people around you more completely. There was a young boy in a straw hat with an impressive scar on his chest who seemed to be dressed like a farm hand. Two women were near the blonde man that had shouted earlier, one of them wearing a bra for a top and the other with her shirt tied in a knot just under her chest. Something about their manner of dress seemed wrong to you, but you couldn’t remember why.

The little deer creature was back, hiding behind a man with curly hair and a fisherman’s hat. He wore pants and suspenders, but no shirt, and looked like some sort of foreign appraiser. The animated Skeleton was standing next to two more people who looked just as impossible. One of them appeared to be a large fish man with white streaks in his black hair, and the other looked only vaguely human, his aqua-blue hair and a metal nose the least strange things about him.

“Shi-shi-shi-shi, Zoro, how’d she steal your sword?” The farm boy laughs, and something about his demeanor makes you feel at ease.

“I think she’s wondering the same thing, Captain.” Zoro says evenly, and you realize his eye has been fixed on you this entire time. You might’ve kept the sword earlier, but you couldn’t match the focus that was staring you down right now.

Not in your current state of confusion, at least.

“W-Where am I?” You ask finally, still hiding behind a sword that’s only yours because the demon-man hasn’t decided to take it back yet.

“You’re on our ship, the Thousand Sunny.” The young girl wearing the bikini top answers you, her orange hair framing a disarming smile on her face.

“B-But where are we? I can’t feel… can’t… what. I can’t feel what?” You shake your head; you’re forgetting something, and you only know that you’ve forgotten it. “What am I forgetting?”

Realization dawns on you as you try to run through what you do know, and you pale.

“Who am I?”

“Amnesia?” the blonde man in the suit questions.

“I… I’m…” Your legs buckle and your knees hit the stairs hard. You barely steady yourself before you nearly topple onto the sword on accident. Holding onto the rail with one hand you turn the hilt of the sword back to the demon-man. You were in no condition to defend yourself and being armed would only make things harder for you. “Done… I’m done. I don’t know who I am, where I am, or who is friend and foe. To fight in this state is dishonorable.”

The green-haired demon-man grabs the hilt and carefully takes it back from you.

“Will you let us help you?” He asks, his voice is almost as sharp as the sword.

“I pointed your own sword at you, why would you help me?”

He just looks at you in silence for a long moment. It feels like the entire crew is holding its breath waiting for you to answer the original question.

“… Yes. I have nothing else, please help me.” You say, sinking back against the stairs.

[anon911andbuddie]

Hi I was wondering if you where still taking prompts if so I had an idea for a Eddie and Buck one where it’s after the lawsuit and Bucky is back working but everyone is avoiding him and when they get a call they leave him behind to clean. All the stress gets to him and one day while everyone is out on a call Bucky had another embolism. He calls 9-1-1 and another house saves him and the 118 comes back to blood on the floor and two fire fighters waiting to tell them what happened.

This one is long overdue. It has been started in my drafts for a long time. And I finally got to finish it. Hope you guys enjoy it.

-Scarlet 📕

Content warnings: Blood, coughing, struggling to breathe, panic, fear, passing out, intubation, pulmonary embolism, ambulances, hospitals, pain, guilt, anger.

Away Team

Buck looked around the empty station and felt the pain in his chest get worse. The call had the full crew out. As the pain persisted Buck realized it wasn't the usual ache that came with working these days. No, this was a different but familiar pain. It hurt, and he felt a cough in his throat, even deep in his chest. He reached up to where his radio should be and remembered he didn't have his radio on him. Why would he? It was just another way for them to yell at him. So he grabbed his phone, and as stupid as it made him feel, he dialed 911. Coughing as he did. He did his best to explain between choking coughs and gasping breaths. He somehow managed to get his location out as he dropped to his knees in the vacant truck bay. He looked down and frowned. He'd just cleaned that floor, and now it had blood on it. Bobby was going to be so pissed. Buck could hear the dispatcher's voice through his speaker, but he was no longer able to understand her. He blacked out.

His consciousness returned with a sudden jolt. The coughing made his chest burn, and something was in his throat. It all hurt. A firm hand stopped him from pulling at the tube in his throat. 

"Easy, Buckley," an unfamiliar voice told him. "You're having a hard enough time already. No need to make it worse." How did they know his name? Where was he? Buck looked around and realized he was in an ambulance. He looked up to see a paramedic he didn't really know. The confusion must have been clear on his face because the paramedic sighed but smiled. 

"You called 911, do you remember?" He thought about it, and he remembered what had happened. He nodded as much as he could. 

"Okay, that's good," the paramedic smiled. "I'm Mel. I work with the 122."

Buck nodded again in acknowledgment.

"I have to ask, Buckley," Mel said. "Dispatch said you told her it was an embolism. You have one before?" 

Buck nodded. 

"You on blood thinners?"

He nodded again. 

"You take your meds today?"

Buck tried to remember if he did. He half shrugged, an action that didn't help his sore and exhausted body. 

"Okay," Mel nodded as she began to check his vitals again. "That is honestly more than I figured I'd get with the tube in. Just relax now, Buckley. We'll be at the hospital soon."

"You seeing this, Bobby?" Chim asked as they neared the station and saw a fire engine that didn't belong to their house in front of the bay's open doors. 

"Yeah," Bobby said as he eyes the truck as they got closer. 

"What the hell is the 122 doing here?" Eddie asked as they pulled in beside the engine. 

"Let's find out," Bobby said as he got out and approached the pair of firefighters that were blocking them from pulling into the station.

"Captain Nash?" One of the men asked.

"That's me," Bobby looked between the men. 

"Is that blood?" Eddie asked as he joined them. He looked around the empty bay. "Wait, where's-"

"Buckley will hopefully be at Good Samaritan by now," the second firefighter said.

"What happened?" Bobby asked, his heart rate picking up as he took it all in. There were discarded gloves and blood on the floor. 

"We were going to ask you the same thing," the first said.

"Who are you?" Chim asked.

"Morris and Jameson from the 122." The one named Jameson said.

"What happened to Buck?" Bobby asked.

"He called 911," Morris said bluntly. "Never had a call to another station before. Our captain said it never really happens.

"Why? Is he alright?" Eddie asked.

"He was coughing up blood," Jameson answered, gesturing to the spots on the floor. “Heard something about an embolism.”

"That can't be right," Eddie said. "He is on blood thinners." 

Morris eyed Eddie skeptically. "Diaz, is it? That's why we're here to talk to Captain Nash. Our captain has a few concerns."

"Where is your captain?" Chim asked. 

"He decided it best to go with Buckley," Jameson told him. “Said the guy sued the department once already and that he wanted to make sure he didn't have any reason to do it again. Best care and all that." 

"He dropped the suit," Hen said. 

Jameson shrugged. "They said that, but we're still confused on how an embolism risk is not only on duty but alone. That seems a bit-"

"He isn't working calls. That is why he was here," Bobby said. "A sort of light duty."

"So you're a man down on calls?"

"For now," Bobby said. 

"Riiight," Morris said. "Might be for a lot longer now."

"So he had another embolism?" Bobby tried to get the conversation back to how Buck is now. 

"It was what dispatch said he managed to say," Jameson answered. "She wasn't sure because sounded like the guy was coughing up a lung, and from how we found him, I believe it. The guy was collapsed on the ground struggling to breathe and coughing up blood. So seemed right to the medics. They got a tube in, we loaded him up and got him out of here."

"Oh, Buckaroo," Hen said as she shook her head. She reached over and gave Eddie's shoulder a squeeze. He'd gone quiet and a bit pale as they listened to them talk. 

"But honestly, we're a bit confused because Deluca used to talk about how close you guys are, but your own guy had to call for us? How does that even happen?"

"It is a long story," Bobby sighed. 

"We got until the boss calls us out, and I'm sure the chief will want to hear." With that, Bobby took the two firefighters to his office.

"You okay?" Hen asked Eddie.

"He is on the blood thinners. How could this happen?" Eddie asked, his eyes glued to the blood splatters on the ground. 

"Well, meds can fail," Hen said.

"But they usually don't-"

"He couldn't remember if he took them," they all looked up to see another member of the 122 come through the doors.

"What?" Eddie asked. 

"Or at least that was what I could figure out with just yes and no questions in the rig," she said. "He might be on them, but he had to have missed more than just one dose for this to happen." She gestured to the mess on the ground.

"He was awake? Is he okay?" Eddie asked. 

"He was conscious and as okay as someone can be with a tube shoved down his throat, though I guess his sister said he'd had a trach before, so I guess he has had worse."

"Maddie is there?" Chim said as he pulled out his phone. 

"If that is his sister, then she was on her way last I heard from my captain."

"But is he-" 

"As fun as this game of 20 questions is, where are Morris and Jameson?"

"In talking to our captain," Hen said.

"Can you take me to them?" The medic asked. 

"Sure, he'll be glad to hear Buck was awake." Hen said as she leads her toward Bobby's office. 

Chim pulled his phone from his ear. "Maddie's not answering."

Eddie rubbed at his face and looked down at the blood again. "Why wouldn't he call us?" 

"You're seriously asking that?" Chim said, causing Eddie to look up at him.

"What the hell does that mean?" Eddie said. 

"I mean, if you haven't noticed, this whole situation is a disaster. I thought that scene at the store was bad, but been more than a bit frosty around here since he came back."

"Don't you put this all on me. That’s-" Eddie said, a sharp edge to his tone.

"I'm not. I just-" Chimney started. 

"This is on all of us," Bobby said as he approached them. "But mostly me. I should have been keeping a closer eye on him." They all watched as the 122 went back to their vehicles and left. 

"Can we go see him?" Eddie asked. 

"After we get this place cleaned up."

Buck woke up to the sound of harsh whispers.

"No, this is all your fault. You had one job, to keep your team safe, including my brother. You don't get to pick and choose who on your team you care about. You are their captain, his captain-"

"Mads," Buck managed to call out. His voice sounded off to his own ears, and his throat felt like someone sandpapered it. But at least the tube was out. 

"Hey, take it easy. Your vocal cords took a bit of a beating," Maddie said as she rushed back to his side and held up a styrofoam cup with a straw. He took a drink, and it helped soothe his throat a bit, but not much. He looked up at the door and saw Bobby standing in it. Buck forced himself not to flinch but must have failed when he felt his sister squeeze his hand. 

"This is what I didn't want to happen," Maddie glared at Bobby. "You-"

"I know this is my fault," Bobby said. "I know I failed Buck. I figured he'd be fine at the station, that he-"

"He is sitting right here," Buck grumbled.

"I know, and I am so sorry Buck," Bobby said. "This should never have happened I-"

"If the 122 hadn't read you the riot act, would you even be here?" Maddie asked.

"Of course, he is still a part of the team, still one of us." Bobby nodded.

"Got a funny way of showing it," Maddie huffed.

"Maddie," Buck cautioned. 

"No, Evan," Maddie held his hand between hers. "They treated you terribly. You dropped the suit and did everything they asked, and they still let this happen."

"They didn't make me miss my meds," Buck admitted.

"About that, Buck, when did you stop taking them?" Bobby asked.

"I didn't intentionally do it. I just ran out and couldn't get to the pharmacy because I had to work."

"You should have told me. I would have-" Bobby started to say.

"Don't," Maddie cut him off. "Do not make him feel bad about this. You assigned his shifts. You assigned him every chore in the book. He could have died, and you guys would have come back and found him dead in the station. The one you are supposed to be in command of."

"I know, and that is something I have to live with,” the captain admitted, “Knowing how close we were to losing Buck, and it was absolutely preventable. If we had just paid more attention."

"Damn right you should have," Maddie said, glaring at him. 

"I know, and you can't possibly know how sorry I am." Bobby turned to look at Buck and took a few steps closer. "If you want to transfer out, I would understand, we all would, and I know nothing can change what we did, but I promise if you come back things will be better."

"Why would I transfer? What house would want the guy that sued his boss and the department?" Buck said, his face reflecting his depressive state. 

"Well, the 122 was quick to call us out. One of the old 118 crew had told them about us, and what they saw didn't mesh with that idea, and they had a lot of questions. You made quite an impression on them. I'm sure you could-"

"You promise if I come back that everyone won't hate me, and I will get to do more than grunt work, right?" Buck asked. 

"I assure you most of the team has already changed their tune," Bobby said.

"I don't know,” Buck said, his doubts clear in his tone. “Eddie was so pissed before-"

"I'm sure if Eddie was still angry he wouldn't be out in the waiting room,” Bobby informed him, “the others too."

"Unless he came to yell at him some more," Maddie grumbled.

"If his reaction when we got back to the station was anything to go by,” Bobby said to try and assure them, “I doubt he'll do much yelling, but only Eddie can really answer that."

"So you are really sure they don't hate me?" Buck asked.

"We don't hate you, Buckaroo," Hen replied. They all looked up to see Hen, Chim, and Eddie at the door. 

"Right," Buck said, not really believing her. 

"Buck," Hen started but was stopped by Eddie.

"You might not believe us now, and that's on us," Eddie said as he moved closer to Buck's bed. "And if we have to earn that back, we will.”

Buck looked up at his sister. “Is this really happening? I’m not dead, right?”

“They’re lucky you aren’t dead, or your lawsuit would look trivial compared to the hell I would have raised,” Maddie admitted without hesitation. “And as tempting as doing it anyway seems and as much as I’d love to see these 3 sweat it, I won’t do that to you.” She squeezed her brother’s hand. “You’ve been through enough.”

“I just want to go back to normal,” Buck said. 

“Evan…” Maddie started.

“We can’t go back, can’t change what is done,” Bobby admitted. “Believe me. I wish I could. But we can do better going forward.”

“And we will,” Eddie stated.

“All of us,” Hen added.

“Yeah, what they said,” Chim nodded. 

Maddie shook her head but asked, “And you’ll make sure he gets back on his feet and stays that way?”

“Of course,” Bobby agreed.

“You swear you’ll actually have his back this time?” Maddie looked at Eddie.

“On my life,” Eddie answered. 

“I will hold you to that, Diaz,” Maddie told him.

“Maddie, please, I just-” Buck started.

“I’m not going to be sorry about holding them accountable, Evan. You wouldn’t be here if they did their jobs. I’m not going to stand here and listen to them make empty promises. They don’t get to try and save their own asses just because another crew called them out.”

“We won't make the same mistake again,” Bobby assured her. 

“I’ll make sure they don’t.” They turned to see Athena standing in the doorway.  

"Good," Maddie says. She did still trust Athena.

"I just want to go back to work," Buck says.

"And you will after you're cleared for duty," Bobby says.

"But they will not be standing in your way this time," Athena says. “Their superiors have assured me.”

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that even I got a call from the fire chief and the captain of the 122. And they will be keeping an eye on things. And so will I."

Buck groans and drops back against the pillows. 

"Evan," Maddie says. "It means they are taking this as seriously as it should be. This sort of thing should never have happened." She glares at her brother's team. "The chief probably just wants to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"And it won't,” Bobby insists. “We'll take whatever punishments the department sees fit. If that's having to put up with inspections and even an investigation, that's fine. We'll do it."

"Technically, I don't think we broke any written rules," Chim points out. Earning a glare from Maddie. "But it was still wrong," he adds. "Hen and I should have stepped in when you came back." 

"We should have been checking in with you on how you were feeling and how the meds were going," Hen adds. "We're the medics on the team. Everyone's well-being is supposed to be even more important to us. And we botched that."

"We never wanted this to happen," Chim says. "No one wants you to suffer."

Buck huffs, but it turns into a cough. 

Eddie is at his side before he can even get a breath in.

"Slow breaths, as deep as you can without it hurting," Eddie tells him. He goes to put a hand on Buck's back, but the younger man flinches. And Eddie pulls away like he was burned. Maddie rubs her brother's back instead. 

"Thank you for the update, but Evan needs his rest," Maddie says sternly. Shutting down any further conversation. "Athena, you are welcome to stay, but I must ask the rest of you to leave."

"Understandable," Bobby acquiesces. "Let us know when you're feeling better, Buck. Then we can discuss your schedule." Buck nods. Bobby turns to the team. "Let's go." He can tell Eddie wants to fight him in this. "We can discuss this later."

Once back at the station, Eddie stares at the now clean spot that was the only hint that Buck had ever been in trouble. 

"Eddie," Bobby starts. "You need to give him time. Maybe we both need to start by telling him why we've been so hard on him. I know you hate seeing him hurting as much as we all do, but Maddie is right. We owe him an explanation. We owe it to him to fix this. To be better. I'm going to go call the chief. We may be in for a tough few weeks, but it's…well, it's deserved. We made this mess. I made this mess. Now it's time to face the consequences." He gave Eddie a pat on the shoulder before heading to his office. 

Bobby was right. They needed to fix it. And Eddie had a good idea of where to start. If Buck was still in the hospital in the morning, Eddie was going to bring Christopher to see him. If he was back home, then he and Christopher would bring him breakfast. Either way, starting tomorrow morning, Buck would have Christopher back. It may take Buck longer to let Eddie back in, but this would be a start. A peace offering. Yeah, that was a good plan. But first, he needed to call Carla and endure whatever lecture he was about to get. She has been Buck's friend longer than Eddie was. She would not be happy about what happened, but he was sure she would help him. She would help for Christopher's and Buck’s sake. She cares for them both. Eddie might have to work to get back in her good graces now too, but maybe a few added paid days off might help. Maybe. Either way, he had a plan.

[handicapitated]

Top Surgery Diary: Day 1

My dad mentioned that I should write about my experience with top surgery & that it might help other people, so I decided I'd do a little diary on here. It's going to get long. I'm chronically ill with pain & fatigue, and here's my overall top surgery experience:

I had it done yesterday, on the 20th, and at the last second decided to opt in for nipple grafts after seeing my surgeons results. I know personally I would look online, at google images, and see results i really did not like the look of, and so I decided I would never choose nipple grafts. After seeing the results from my surgeon specifically, I changed my mind. The point of me telling you this is to always always always look for results from YOUR surgeon before making up your mind about anything.

When I went in, I got changed into the surgical gown & the surgeon came in and marked up my chest. After that I had an IV put in. My anesthesia team came in and introduced themselves one by one, and then my dad was allowed back & picked up all of my belongings. Then the anesthesia team gave me a relaxer, my father left, and I literally do not remember anything else after that point, until waking up in the recovery center.

When I was just waking up in the recovery center, my pain was around an 8 out of 10. Personally, I believe this is because my mental walls weren't really up yet, as the more and more I became conscious the better it got. I'd say it's now like a 3-4. Dull ache. Sometimes the incisions have a burning or tingling sensation, maybe around a 7/10 on the pain scale for me. It usually only happens when I've moved "wrong" (I'm still trying to figure out my limitations, of course.)

It's important to note that the effects of anesthesia last longer than you think. After I went home, I basically slept all day and woke up only to pee or eat or take medicine. The anesthesia made it really hard to open my eyes after waking up, as if there was gunk behind my eyelids. I had the urge to pee a lot, even though not a lot would come out, but my dad said that was normal after an IV. Also, people say that your throat hurts due to the breathing tube they have to put in when you're under. When I first woke up, it didn't hurt at all - the pain gradually got worse through the day though. I'm glad I had cough drops on hand.

The emotional side of things can be rough. I woke up once extremely frustrated by how packed up I was - post op binder squeezing me, hoodie on top of that, and a mastectomy pillow on top of that. I had to sit in the bathroom with the hoodie off (hiding from my cat) and just try to breathe and calm down. It did pass and I went back to sleep.

At one point, the tightness of my chest and the post-op binder and all of the emotions going on was extremely overwhelming. I had a good cry, drank a milkshake, and laid down and just tried to breathe again. You'll never expect how good breathing feels - i know a lot of trans men get used to breathing from their stomachs as to not mess up binding. Breathing with my chest feels so nice, it doesn't feel bad on the incisions, it doesn't feel like a burn or a stretch. It almost makes the pain subside a bit. Focusing on breathing is a big one I'll recommend to anyone during recovery.

Honestly, it doesn't really feel real that I've had top surgery yet. I don't get to remove the post op binder until the 28th, so I haven't seen the results at all. I keep feeling like my boobs are just under the binder, waiting to pop out and surprise me, and because of that I don't want to get my hopes up. It's definitely weird.

I will add that, with emotions all over the place and having not actually seen the results yet, I've felt a lot of regret about getting the surgery (but I don't actually regret it, I am just in pain with a lot of weird sensations and "nothing" to show for it. I assume that this "regret" of mine is actually just frustration & pain wearing a mask)

I've not had any difficulties sitting up from a laying position, but wiping after using the bathroom has been surprisingly hard. Thankfully I bought an extended reach wiping tool, though I only really need to use it for a #2. I have a lot more mobility in my arms than I expected to have, but again, I'm still trying to find my limits.

My biggest worry was the drains. I am a very feel-based and texture-based person, so I was super concerned how it would feel to have tubes inside of me and sticking out - but so far, I literally cannot feel it at all. It's honestly kind of wicked cool to see the drains in action, but then again, I am not a squeamish person.

I did have a weird moment when I was sort of half awake, where I had some phantom-boob sensations. It was strange, but not upsetting or unnerving. It's only happened the once so far.

And that's my day one experience with top surgery. I'll keep this updated as I feel the need to. I'm happy to answer any questions as well

[fang-and-feather]

by  @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady

Day 1 - Bodyguard AU

Angsty - Warnings for blood and injury

Worth Protecting

Ikemen Vampire - Napoleon x OC (Amy)

How do you actually make a short AU? I'm not sure, my plans for most of these were too big to finish even one in time, so what I am posting are only scenes from the middle or end of bigger plans.

Why do I always finish everything so late? (nearly midnight where I live, and until I finished editing the post it was already past that) it is always a bad time to post things...

AO3 Link / IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist

Napoleon never felt much like a vampire. Of course he had already died once and lived over a century after that, but only for not needing blood to survive he already felt more human.

That illusion of humanity was shattered when he got deeply wounded during a bodyguard job. The loss of blood and the scent it left in the air were making him thirsty. The taste of his own blood did nothing to quench his desire. Instead, it burned his throat, making it worse. And it got worse when Amy ran up to him with a first-aid kit.

“That’s why I told you I didn’t need a bodyguard.” Her angry tone didn’t match the worry in her eyes.

But Napoleon’s attention strayed from them to her neck. The urge to bite her was almost unbearable. Before he could control it, Napoleon found himself grabbing her by the arms and pulling her into the hotel bed with him.

He would wonder, later, how they had gotten inside without anyone realizing he was bleeding.

“Napoleon?” She asked, with surprise and hesitation.

He had to resort to every shred of self control to stop himself. His hold on her tightened, but Amy didn’t even flinch, looking him in the eyes instead.

“What are you saying, nunuche?” Napoleon forced himself to laugh, but his voice came out weak. “I saved your life... like I was supposed to.”

“I know. I probably wouldn’t be alive if you weren’t here. But I don’t like the idea of people getting hurt because of me. Just look at you!”

“This is nothing.” Napoleon coughed up blood, his mind becoming dizzy. His hold on Amy relaxing enough for her to pull away and return to trying to stop the bleeding.

“Just because you’re alive doesn’t mean it’s nothing. I’m sure even a vampire can die from blood loss, and you aren’t even fully one.”

Her hands and voice trembled, but, Napoleon would remember later, Amy seemed to know what she was doing, with surprising calm and precision.

But Napoleon was losing the remains of control he had recovered earlier. He could barely think straight.

Nails scratched at the sheets and fangs bit on his own lip in a last attempt at keeping hold of his sanity. Of his humanity. Napoleon was afraid of the monster he could become if he gave in to his instinct.

And it was Amy, the person he was bound to protect. It was his duty, but not only that. At some point, she had become someone he wanted to protect for who she was and what she meant for him. Because at some point she had come to mean more to him than a simple charge.

“Amy… leave…” he managed to whisper.

Amy shook her head, and even with his vision getting unfocused, Napoleon could see the glint of tears in her eyes.

“I’m not leaving you here to die. You’re telling me that because you’re afraid you’ll bite me. But if it is because of your job, you don’t need to hold back. If that’s what it will take to save you, think of this as an exchange. I will save you and you keep guarding me.”

Amy adjusted her body on the bed, fully leaning over him, and Napoleon reached out to her. She caught his hand in hers, pressing both to his chest.

“What if… I kill you?”

“You won’t. You’re my bodyguard. You would never let something bad happen to me, even if you have to protect me from yourself.” She crossed the distance between them to kiss his forehead. “I trust you, and I always will.”

Napoleon gave up. Silently apologizing to her, he kissed her neck before sinking his fangs into the soft flesh, getting his first taste of blood. It was warm, sweet, and intoxicating, unlike anything he expected. Intoxicating enough for him to lose himself in it.

When Napoleon came back to his sense, Amy had gone limp into his arms. She was weak, but alive. They both were.

Hugging her to his chest, Napoleon closed his eyes, sighing. He didn’t need any proof to know he had fully become a vampire after that, something he had always feared.

But if it was his way of continuing to protect Amy, he wouldn’t regret it. And he would make sure she was never put through a similar situation ever again. That he would swear to her when she woke up.

Because Napoleon couldn’t deny he loved her anymore, and he felt like this was a love worth guarding.

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist

[mentallyillastrophelfreak]

my story pt.1

I used to have no friends at all cause I was always quiet and just watched. Now, the elders would ask me who I'm usually with or shouldn't I be with my friends that day – I either break down when I'm unwell, or just smile sheepishly knowing that I don't have any.

People would tell me that if I tried to open up more then maybe I wouldn't feel so lonely. I did try, though, once. It didn't go well. But then, I decided to try again. I said hi daily to anyone, or I try to smile even the slightest at people who actually acknowledge me. Then I tried starting a conversation with this guy who was feminine, but not gay.

Next thing I knew, I had friends. I connected with people. I enjoyed my time with them and looked forward to meeting up with them. It was nice. And I was always there to comfort them because they have crappy self esteem and have mental issues. I was their mom and therapist friend. It was nice. All was well.

Until I got sick, but I still went to school. I was so tired and I kept coughing and sniffling a lot. I was so tired that I couldn't talk to anyone, and even if I tried, it's so hard to even talk. I made an excuse to my feminine guy friend that I'm sick and that I won't be able to hang out with them properly for a while. He barely glanced at me or acknowledged me. It was fine. It's just probably my head messing with me.

The only person who ever forced a mutter out of me or even a half smile was the boy sitting next to me. I really loved him, like really loved him, but he was with someone else so I'm hopeless. He liked to annoy me and by doing that, it forces a smile out of me. But then again, I was barely talking.

Three days later, I was still sick. But I had improved cause I was actually smiling without any reason again. Until that afternoon my mood shifted and I lashed out on my friend by yelling at him to stop being a...you know. Then I made him cry. I. Made. Him. Cry. I was so freaking ashamed of myself and I tried to apologized but he didn't accept it. I hated myself so much that I went on complete silent and I didn't participate on my next class. The pain of my own words cut into every part of my body so deeply, especially my head. My head felt like it was being banged by a rock. Plus, our lesson was about self-consciousness. I hated the world and myself.

Then after that period, the boy beside me decided to annoy me again. I was staring outside, frowning, and you know what he did? He stared at me for a long time, then mirrored what I was doing; then when I looked away to look down on my hand, which I was writing on, he did the same. I noticed everything and I couldn't help but look at him, smile like a fool, and think "I love you so much dammit."

Until I noticed that I had difficulty breathing. I started rubbing on my chest cause it hurt and my breathing picked up. The boy noticed and asked if what was wrong. I told him I couldn't breathe and forced me to drink water. But it was getting worse. My head was racing with so many things I couldn't think properly. Then the pain was getting unbearable that tears started filling my eyes, and the boy had to call on our adviser, cause, gosh, I was crying.

They took both my arms, then I started hyperventilating. I gasped for breath as tears streamed down my eyes and all I could think of is holding on to the boy with me. They took me to the school clinic and was cold, stiff and numb all over. Before the boy left, I looked at him one last time and thought, 'im so glad that it's you who saw this.'

When I was alone, I left the clinic without anyone knowing then went back to the classroom. My mom found me and made me took a pill before she had to leave. I started crying again, and the boy listened to me ramble about random stuff. And this girl who's always quiet, was the only one who helped me too. And you know those other friends I talked to? Barely cared. Ignored me.

Then I start to wonder, 'was I just the second option?'

[arecaceae175]

Whumptober Day 21: Coughing Up Blood (Time)

AO3 link. Continuation of Day 18: "Take my coat" (Time & Wind).

Trigger warnings: pneumonia (never stated though), Time does in fact cough up a small bit of blood

Part 2/2. Part 1.

He was floating. 

Somewhere on his body ached with a sharp, stabbing pain, but he couldn’t tell where. He wasn’t sure why, either. He floated closer to the earth, sometimes, and caught a glimpse of life.

“...lips are still blue…”

“...too high, we need to….”

“…getting worse, we need to stop…”

Sometimes, it was quiet. A few times during the quiet, he thought he heard a sniffling sound, like someone was crying. He tried to claw his way to consciousness, those times. The closer he got, the more intense the pain. It stabbed through his chest, constricting his lungs with every breath. 

“...get it out, Sprite…”

“...wake up by now?”

“...needs water, or…”

It felt like he was choking, like the air wouldn’t reach his lungs, like his throat was full and the air couldn’t find a way around. Time was strange, he thought, it felt like each moment was strung out forever and ever. In the back of his mind, he thought there was something funny about that statement, but he couldn’t quite place it. He choked on every breath, each time it felt like it was forever but no time at all. 

“...do we do?”

“...can’t move him, he won’t…”

“...something! He’s dying…”

Time woke suddenly. He wasn’t given any time to orient to his surroundings, as he immediately fell into a violent coughing fit. His lungs screamed, his chest burned, he couldn’t catch his breath. A gentle fist pounded his back, helping him to clear whatever it was stuck in his throat. There was an uproar of noise around him, but he couldn’t make any of it out over the sound of his hacking, or the blood rushing through his ears.

A cloth appeared in front of his face, and Time grasped onto it like a lifeline. He brought it up to his mouth just in time to hack up a glob of mucus, tinged red with blood. Time blinked at it for a moment, head spinning. Someone took the cloth from his hands. 

Time fell backwards, utterly exhausted. 

“You with us, old man?” Warriors asked. 

Time cracked an eye open. He was in a forest, he realized, laying on his bedroll under a thick pile of blankets. He noticed Sky’s sailcloth and Twilight’s pelt among the horde. Warriors’ scarf was wrapped tightly around his shoulders, clutched in one hand. Twilight and Warriors were knelt on one side and Wind was sitting on the other. 

“What’s going on?” Time rasped. His throat was scratchy and sore, and even those few words left him feeling out of breath. Time brought a hand up to his chest, rubbing gently in an attempt to alleviate the pain and pressure.

“You’re a fucking moron, is what’s going on,” Warriors said. Twilight shoved him roughly with his elbow.

Time blinked up at him. Warriors’ hair was disheveled, his shirt had a few colorful stains, and he had deep bags under his eyes. Twilight and Wind looked much the same. There were dried tears on Wind’s cheeks, as well, and he was wrapped in a thick coat.

“You and Wind were stuck in an ice cave, do you remember?” Twilight said, voice considerably gentler than Warriors’. 

Time frowned, wracking his addled memories, then it all came crashing back to him. The blizzard, the cave-in, the waiting, Wind getting far too cold. Time gasped, then promptly fell into another coughing fit. 

He was raised up and leaned against someone’s chest as he coughed. It hurt, and it was hard, and it felt a bit like his body would collapse when he finally finished. He was so tired.

“Can you manage some water?” Twilight asked, his voice rumbling beneath Time’s back. Time could only nod in response. 

“Here,” Warriors said. Time felt the waterskin tip against his lips and he greedily drank.

“Not too fast,” Warriors said, and pulled it away. Time allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. 

“Wind?” Time choked out. He had to make sure Wind was okay, or this would all be for nothing.

“I’m here,” Wind said, voice small and shaking. Wind grasped onto his arm, curled up against his side. “I’m okay.”

“We got to you just in time,” Twilight said quietly. “You were both unconscious, and you were nearly frozen to death. One minute later and…”

Wind squeezed his arm tighter. “Why did you give me your coat?” He asked in a shaking voice.

“Hypothermia,” Time replied simply. Warriors huffed out an annoyed breath and ran a hand through his hair. 

“You had hypothermia too, you dipshit,” Warriors said. His voice was soft, though, and he gently grasped Time’s hand in his own. 

“Wind’s smaller, he was losing heat faster than me,” Time said. 

“But-!” Wind started.

“Stand down, sailor,” Warriors interrupted, voice resigned, and leveled Time with a harsh glare. “This isn’t a battle you’ll win.”

“C’mon, let’s go tell the others he’s awake,” Twilight said, gently nudging Warriors. Twilight gently laid Time back down on his bedroll. Time was grateful, as he was rapidly becoming more exhausted. “Wild should have some broth we can warm up.” 

Warriors nodded, and stood without a word to make his way over to the others. Twilight hesitated, watching him go, then turned back to Time.

“It’s good to see you awake,” Twilight said, voice thick with emotion. He nodded his head toward Warriors. “He was the one to find you. He’ll come around.”

“I’m quite familiar with his brand of worry,” Time muttered, grimacing. 

Twilight gave Time a pat on the shoulder then left towards the others. For a moment, only the crackling of a nearby fire broke the silence. Time focused on his breathing, keeping it light and even. His chest still ached, and he felt a sharp pain with every intake of breath.

“You could've shared,” Wind mumbled. 

“Hmm. Honestly, that didn’t occur to me. I wasn’t thinking straight,” Time said. “You wouldn’t have fit, anyway.”

“You could have tried!”

“You were getting too cold, I had to do something,” Time argued. He knew his voice was raised, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He felt terrible, he was tired of arguing, and he didn’t understand why the others couldn’t accept his actions. “If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

“You almost died,” Wind said. Tears gathered in the corner of his eyes. “You almost died, and it would have been my fault.”

“Wind, no-”

“How would you feel?” Wind asked, looking Time directly in his eye. “If it was reversed, would you have let me do the same? Or anyone else?”

Time sighed. “No,” he admitted. 

Wind shook his head and curled into Time’s side. Time wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, burying his nose in Wind’s soft hair. Wind was careful to avoid laying on his chest, and Time was grateful for that. 

“Thank you for saving my life but I’m still mad at you,” Wind mumbled. 

Time smiled. “I’ll accept that.”

[vsnotresponding]

CHAPTER 1 - THE CREATOR - IRA II

masterpost

Days pass, weeks perhaps, I don’t know. The cell is dark, and I’m unable to see or hear the guard change. I’m numb and don't even know why. My creation beats beside me, but what once gave me strength now leaves me weak and tired.

My arm hurts, my forearm constricted by a soft material where I got punctured. It stings when I flex it, pulsing at the loss of blood. I think there’s a young woman, too, just like me. When she talks, she reminds me of someone, some voices—a whisper. She changes the bandages and forces me to eat. She tries to clean the cell, too, but it’s a futile task.

I don’t help her, not that I could. I’m out of strength. I can barely remember what I’m doing here.

My head burns, yet my chest remains frozen. I dream of home, of the outskirts, of my athir and Hamza. The burned dark mud, the sun above our heads. We are doing nothing. We don’t need to flee or fight for food. We don’t need to hide from the imitators' golden capes.

But that’s not really home, because that peace never existed. It’s not real, just a mirage.

Still, I wish to stay and live in my dream.

I miss the sun. Not the sun exactly, but the sunlight. It’s dark in here. There’s no sky. On the surface, it’s still raining. I think. There’s a repetitive sound, a leak perhaps, or the blood that falls from the wounds on my wrists. If I could reach those drops, if I could touch my scarred left hand to the new blood, I could create. But my hands are too far away, chained up over my head and back.

I don’t remember hurting myself with the chains, but I do remember the nightmares. I trash around and wake up dizzy, sometimes I’m not even sure I awake, the darkness of the sea swallowing me until I'm nothing.

In my dreams, everything ends. Before this—I know there was a before, I remember a before—I see us, weak. Me more than Hamza, Níniam more than me. The headaches, the fever and the coughing, sometimes with blood. Worse with every step, every breath. The other inhabitants of the outskirts, also sick, or getting sick. The struggle to breath on the worst days, our desperate panting filling the stale air of what we called our home.

I remember, but it feels like it happened to another. I’m not sure if I’m too weak to cough, or if what they’ve been giving me is a medicine of some kind. I can't tell if the salty aftertaste in my mouth is from the nightmares where I drown or what she makes me drink.

It’s been an eternity since I was certain of anything.

I know I call, at least. I sing. To Ila. Again and again and again. My voice is rough and broken, but I don’t stop. If I focus, I can bring a little light to the cell. Weak, orange, it lets me see the white chains that hang from the ceiling around me. Even then, I don’t open my eyes often. Calling, for us, is best done with our eyes blind to the world. What really matters is what Ila lets us see when we close them, and the beating of the island in our hearts.

I ask her for my athir and Hamza’s, but there’s still only darkness.

Do I get better? I couldn’t tell. My head is full of cotton, like it’s floating, even though I know it rests against my chest. There are no pillows. Every time I awake, I know more things through the fog in my thoughts. I thread them together, more cohesive than before. I can, with difficulty, think consciously.

I focus on getting better. The cough comes back, gentler now.

Little by little I come back.

I don’t stop my calling.

The rain has stopped in the surface, but the dripping in the cell keeps going uninterrupted. The young woman makes sure I’m still alive from time to time. She tries dressing my wrists, but she can't do so without releasing me, so she can’t do much. Still, she brings me food twice a day, and changes the bandages on my arm and hand. She brings an oil lamp from the continent with her too, so I can have some light, although she always leaves it outside the cell.

Obviously, they don’t use imitations for light around me. It would be stupid to award me with such a chance, so the world stays silent around me, the void only filled by my own creation. 

I don’t try starting a conversation, and she doesn’t either, so she works in silence and then leaves. On my most lucid days, I see her sneaking glances at my left ear, but she hasn't taken my creation away yet. I’m not sure why. She's khithi too, but she's an imitator so it probably doesn't mean much to her anymore in spite of her golden eyes.

Sometimes I hear her talk to the guards. Their voices are distant and in a language I don’t speak, but they are talking about me. "Fatir", creator, is the only word I manage to decipher most of the time before falling exhausted again. 

It's harder to stay alert without the drug they've now taken away. My head is still muddled and heavy on my shoulders, and my whole body hurts. Still, I feel my strength returning.

I’m able to stay awake for more than a few minutes, of standing more or less straight instead of hanging from the chains like a rag, and of observing the cell. My skin is stark against the whiteness of the room, pale like the moon or the skin of an énna when they die—the purity surrounding the color broken by the marks past prisoners made, and the trail my blood leaves after falling from my arm to the floor.

Lately, this is how I occupy my time. I listen to the rhythmical sound—I feel how the drops fall to the floor. I imagine myself touching them, feeling the power that runs through my veins on my hand, hearing in my mind the old chants, the rituals. I took it for granted before, this connection, between my heart and the earth, the island, the Iria and somewhere deep in the mountains, the Core. Dormant, alive, and sick.

Now, the energy is only a memory, as is everything. It feels like I’ve been here for months, but realistically I know it’s been a few days at the most. Never ending, yes, but they haven’t been enough for my new wounds to heal.

I clench my bandaged hand, but it’s in vain. The woman knows how to do her job, and apparently she understands pretty well how we creators work. More than I expected, for she makes sure my skin is never in contact with my blood. I want to feel betrayed, because only one of us could know so much, but I can’t.

We do what we must to survive.

Right now, I simply await for them to make a decision on what to do with me. I debate the options in my head in an attempt to entertain myself, but I can’t come up with anything. If they wanted me for aldamus I would be in the imitators’ workshops, not here, in a cell the gods know where under the palace. They haven’t taken more blood away, so either the profane experiments they conducted have proven my blood is useless—which wouldn’t surprise me—or they’ve realized that my body’s too weak to go through a heavy blood loss.

In both cases, it's a problem of their own creation. Everything wrong with the island is: the dying Core, our sickness... all caused by their eagerness to play with the gods' gifts that never belonged to them.

I rattle the chains and try to move my shoulders when their stiffness turns to pain from the uncomfortable position my arms are kept in, but more than alleviate the pain, it strengthens it. Sighing, I look at the ceiling, feeling sleepy. The food is late today, the wick of the lamp almost out. The delay does give me more time to think, at least. I need a plan of action, but everything I can come up with is stupid, ridiculous or unrealistic. Hamza would be so much better at being a prisoner than I am. Creating? Not so much. Acuteness of mind was never one of my strengths and, until now, I never needed it to be. 

I had him.

I yank the chains in frustration—nothing happens, like the last hundreds of times. The guards don’t even come to check on me, because they know I’m not a threat. They can’t keep me in here forever, at the very least. They’ll have to get me out eventually. If I were in better shape, I could try and escape, but that’s out of the question. My creation, hanging from my left ear, is no more than a useless weight.

At least it reminds me of home.

Tiredness turns into boringness. There’s no sunlight, so I can’t tell the pass of time with sureness. Only the wick of the lamp, my regular feeding times and the visits from the golden eyed girl help bring a sensation of a routine.

I’m not used to this inactivity, much less staying still in the same position for hours, spending days without talking. My muscles ache with the desire of movement, of running across roofs until my legs give out, of climbing the ruins on the outskirts, sometimes for pleasure, and most days to escape from guards and imitators.

As the hours creep by, I feel more and more awake, and this leaves me time to think. I use it to calm myself, telling me that Níniam and Hamza are safe on the outskirts—worried about me, sure, but safe. At the very least, they can be sure I’m still alive, as I know they still are: their heartbeats echoing in my creation and my own heart.

The lamp’s light mutes my surroundings, the white turning warmer, the shadows of the little metal door on the floor moving with the rhythm of the flame in time with the sound of my blood hitting the floor.

I’m bored. And, to make matters worse, the woman is late, again. She’s later every day.

I think it’s because I make her uncomfortable. I guess it was different before, when I was half out, but now I am conscious, and more importantly, bored, so I look at her. I don’t say anything, because keeping my creation with me depends wholly on her, and I really don’t want to give her a reason for this little act of decency to be retracted. I want to treasure it, truly. It’s been almost a century since the creator hunt started, since we transformed into rats in the eyes of the people, when before we were treated almost as demigods. Because, apparently, like the rats on the continent, we are the bearers of the Core’s illness. 

Also if I were to talk to her, it would most likely be insulting.

A sudden coughing fit takes me out of my thoughts, leaving my throat sore. My stomach growls. Now I’m not only bored, I’m also hungry. I don’t know much gair, only some insults and the like, orders like stop, pay, hold and shahin and khadae, king and imitator chief. I reason with myself that I shouldn't do it, just for a fraction of a second, but at this point, my rashness wins over prudence.

I will be the most annoying prisoner they’ve ever had.

Loudly clearing my throat for dramatic effect, I shout an insult in gair in the hopes the guards will understand me, if they even hear me.

“Hello? Little pawns? Where’s my food? I’m hungry,” I stop, waiting for a reaction to my ilan. They might not understand me, but it’s annoying to have someone shouting in the background constantly. I’m also sure that, like me, they've learned a few insults in ilan in their years as jailers. “Yo, assholes! At this rate, I’ll bleed out before someone comes. It would be a tragedy if something happened to me, like, I don’t know, starving to death. It’s awful, I’ve seen it, you know? Do you know what’s awful, too? My mood when I’m bored, I’m sure you've noticed. Don’t you get tired of standing? My shoulders are paining me right now. You could untie me for a while, take me for a walk like a dog and then get me back into this cell–”

I don’t stop. The light moves in front of me and the dripping continues, but an annoyed groan joins them, closer than expected. It only takes a couple of more minutes before a bang rattles the metal door.

“Shut up!” The voice is deep. It startles me, not the interruption, that I expected, but the language. It’s not gair, it’s ilan. The man takes a deep breath, and I can imagine him rubbing his face with his hand. I smirk, making people lose their cool is my specialty. “Just—shut up. Áine will be here in a second.”

“Áine? Do you mean the girl?” Of course he means the girl. I just want to start a conversation.

“We are not supposed to talk with you.”

“Little late for that, don’t ya think?” Silence. I try again. “I was unaware the khadae’s pawns were well versed in the old tongues. Do they make you learn them to shoot back insults at your prisoners? Oh wait, no, you are not supposed to talk to them.” I shift in place, trying to find a comfortable position. “You don’t have an accent… do they now let we outskirts scum join the imitators? I thought the arbitrary arrests were to locate creators, not start a half blood guard.”

“Enough.” He doesn’t shout, but his voice is hard. He's moved in front of the metallic door, obscuring the lamp’s light, but I can still see the tone of his skin. I swallow in surprise and squirm, uncomfortable now. I might have said too much.

“You are aldamu.”

Like aldamus, the abominations made by the imitators when mixing creator blood with animal blood, aldamu are rare. Offsprings of a khithi and an énna, they are shunned by both alike. The énna because even if they crave our blood for their precious imitations, they fear the sickness in our blood. And us because of how they often come to be.

The man analyzes me, and I return the favor: skin the color of deep sand, darker in the shadow, almost khithi, black curly hair, an imitator's golden cape. He’s not wearing any imitations on him. His hands are fisted.

He is about to talk when we both hear hurried steps coming towards us. The aldamu turns, and I think I see Áine’s thick and curly hair, and her darker skin. She’s not bringing any food. She looks at us, first me in between the bars, then him. I can’t see her face, partially hidden by the white walls, but her body seems to square up.

After a quick exchange of words in gair, the aldamu opens my cell’s door, but not before sending her way a quick complaint. I look back and forth between them when she answers him, folding her arms. The young man snorts, and I look at them, confused, until he takes a step forward, and I remember I’m tied down in an imitator cell, with one of them inside, opening my chains. I close my eyes in pain when my arms fall, stretching the muscles of my shoulders and back all too suddenly after not moving them in days. He picks me up, and I find myself too confounded to react.

And just as I get used to the new discovered lightness in my arms, he ties me up again, now in shackles behind my back. He tightens them too much. I walk out of habit, the aldamu yanking me here and there every time my legs stumble from inactivity. I realize I’m still barefoot, then, of my once white tunic now broken and soiled with dirt, my pants stiff from the mud and the dried blood in them.

We are met with two more guards and a bunch of imitators at the door, all of them énna. I notice their imitations hanging from their pure white tunics–but before I can even begin thinking of a plan, I’m met with the point of a spear and what I suppose is a warning to behave. I hasten to cover my creation with my short hair as much as I can, lowering my head. Brain addled, I swallow, nauseous and disoriented. Everything is going by too quickly, my brain still thinking to the slow rhythm of my life in the cell.

The guard with the spear, a blond guy, moves behind me, two of his partners replacing the aldamu, each on one of my sides, grabbing my arms with too much strength. When one of them tightens their grip on my bandages, the pain almost makes me fall to the floor. I cough, choke, harsh and loud, throat on fire, and the guards move away from me. The imitators don’t even react. They don't even wait for me to stop to start dragging me through a labyrinth made of tunnels until we emerge into the surface, the sunlight blinding me as it bounces on the white marble walls. I’m shoved, and I find myself walking through Iria’s palace.

Everything is too white and too bright, covered with gold. At least the floor is made of a darker stone. I focus on it and on clearing my thoughts. I try to revise the conversation between the aldamu and Áine, who is still following us. They might have mentioned the shahin, but I’m not entirely sure. In any case, whatever I decide to do next is going to be crucial.

For a second, I think of making a run for it, but they are too many, and I'm still weak. I don't even have a way to orient myself on the palace. My only option is to behave. I think I’m capable of that if my life depends on it. Only I'm unsure if I'd sacrifice my faith to survive if it came to it. 

My heart twists at the thought as two huge wooden doors with golden details open in front of us. Salt and heat hit my nostrils as we walk into a tiny chamber, supported by columns directly carved into the rock of the cliff where the palace stands. I want, in spite of myself, to admire the room, but I fall face first to the floor. 

Well, I’m shoved, really, the sound of my knees hitting the rock followed by those of the chains being tied to the floor behind me, pushing me upright. I try to straighten up as much as I can without kneeling down, but the chain is not long enough for me to stand, and sitting on the floor with my arms tied back is too vulnerable of a position.

Knees on the floor in front of me, I lean backwards and raise my head, expecting to meet the cold look of the shahin, but I only see an empty throne carved in stone with an equally empty dais. I blink, and turn as much as I can to my sides. The room is flanked by soldiers and imitators, standing next to the openings on the outer walls, dark, that look into the cliffs and the sea. The contrast of the rock against the rest of the palace is almost painful, a strange irony.

A hand forces my head down, hair falling over my eyes. A soldier announces the entrance of the shahin, the princes, and the imitator chief. I don’t see them walking to the platform where the throne is, coming out of the wall in the back of the chamber, but I do hear their steps and, most of all, I feel their eyes on me. I know what they see, how they see me: scum from this cursed island, weak and dirty. What my blood can do my one redemption, what makes me worthy of their presence—or rather, what they can do with it.

Leather black boots pass through my field of vision only to disappear again. The guard grasps my hair and forces me to look up into the shahin's eyes, standing right in front of me. Too green, they go through me an instant before I realize a terrible mistake.

My creation is no longer hidden by my hair.

tag list: @my-cursed-prince @on-noon

[meraki24601]

Cliff Part 2

Whumptober day 21! 10 days left after this. Woohoo!

Prompt: “Don't move.”

Part 1

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“Hey, hey. Don’t move, Okay? You’re alright. Stay still.” Hands pushed Hero’s shoulders back on the cold, uneven surface below them. It was dark. Too dark. The air smelled of rotting seaweed, making Hero cough deep hacking coughs. To their surprise, water burst from their chest with the cough.

“There was still more in there? Gosh, Hero. Were you trying to drink the whole ocean?” A soft thunk echoed through the space followed by a low groan as the person laid down close to Hero’s side. “Thanks for saving me. I really thought Villain was going to kill me.”

“Villain?” Hero’s brain felt like it was on a boat in the middle of a storm. Every time they came close to grasping a thought, a wave of confusion tossed them in the wrong direction. They lay there for a moment before another wave tossed them against a rock of memory. “Civilian! The cliff!” 

Civilian groaned as they slapped their hand over Hero’s mouth. “Please don’t yell. I’m here, okay? We both made it. I’m alright, but… I think we should keep talking quietly or something. Neither of us needs to fall asleep with how cold and wet it is in this cave. Plus, I think I might have a concussion.”

“Might? Villain slammed you head-first into a boulder! You probably have two concussions.” Hero rolled over, trying to see Civilian through the dark of the cave. “I should probably thank you too. I wasn’t the one who got us in the cave. Pretty sure I just drowned.”

“Maybe a bit. I did too, so I guess we’re even.” Civilian’s hand brushed through Hero’s hair, then trailed around to brush their back. “You got hurt pretty bad in the process. What happened?”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re alive.” Hero’s lungs and chest burned. They expected to hurt after nearly drowning, but was the pain supposed to get worse? At least their eyes had finally adjusted and they could see the cave around them.

“We’re not too far from the shore either. I saw a way we could climb across the cliff if we can get enough strength back, or we can try to swim.”

“Swimming is probably our best option. With your concussion and my back. I can see a couple of large pieces of driftwood over there. We can use them to help us float.” 

“Good idea. Do you need to rest some more?”

“I’m fine, Civilian.” Hero stood to see if they were lying. Yeah, their back ached, and their chest felt abnormally full, but they could make it. 

“You, you can call me Friend if you want. Come on. Let’s go.”

Friend had been right. The shore wasn’t far. Even as Hero’s lungs spasmed, throwing them into a fit of coughing, they had hope. Together, Hero and Friend slipped back into the cold ocean before reaching back onto the ledge Hero had been so desperate to reach for their driftwood. Time melted. Hero knew they were swimming. They knew Friend was chattering nervously. It just didn’t mean anything until Hero’s foot kicked sand. 

Friend jumped in the air and cheered before their headwound caught up with them, and they hunched over, clinging to their forehead. “Ow, ow, ow! We did it, Hero. We’re still alive!”

Hero laughed and fell to their knees as their lungs spasmed again. They coughed and coughed and coughed. They could barely breathe. Chest on fire, they looked up at Friend, “We’re alive, but I think something is wrong.” 

“Okay. It’s okay.” Hero could see the panic in Friend’s eyes as they helped Hero lay down in the sand. “Just stay right there, okay? I’m going to go find help. You’re going to be okay.” 

When Hero opened their eyes, they were alone.