#writing challenge day 17

[noa-de-cajou]

Day 17 : Washing something / Blurry image / The ultimate horror

Dolmund belongs to @corneille-but-not-the-author

The following text contains mention of relationship abuse and trauma and just. Well. References to Leonova. Which comes with a whole lotta ptsd.

Listen. I like my things clean.

Khaliun used to tease me about it, you’re such a cleaning freak, and that never failed to get a rise out of me, I'm a surgeon, Khaliun, of course those godsforsaken instruments need to be spotless or at least sanitized do you want RUST in your RAW ASS WOUND-

She'd laugh and say Ether, I'm kidding!

Said she couldn't help herself, that I was cute when angry.

Leonova sure as hell didn't find it cute when I plunged my scissors into her eyes. She was into a whole bunch of things, seemed to really enjoy gouging my eye out, but clearly the opposite wasn't well received. Should have felt satisfying to give her a taste of her own medicine – doctor pun intended – but it didn't.

Not only did it feel gross but now the blood won’t come off.

Her blood on my scissors, his gift.

I've been scrubbing with all the products I found but it's still not back to its original color. It’s still red, brownish, incrusted, like rust, and it's. Not. Coming. Off.

It wasn’t meant to be used like this. It wasn’t… It’s scissors. Not even surgical scissors. It’s to cut hair, hair, not threads, especially not flesh –

Cut hair. Cut hair. She cut it. My hair. I rub my hand against the back of my neck. It's short. It’s okay. It's short. I cut it. I cut it myself. Nothing to grab, nothing to sell, I'm fine. I’m okay.

Alright. Back to scrubbing.

It's gonna come off eventually. It's gotta come off.

That cloth I'm using's way too dirty. Can't even be called a cloth, that's a rag at best. Those scissors deserve better.

What would have happened if he didn't give those to me? How would I have escaped? Maybe if I used the knives on the table? Who am I kidding, I could barely stand, let alone outrun her.

I would have died. Alone in that basement, killed by the woman I loved most, with no one to tell where I was, no tomb, no memory, all of those years for nothing-

I scrub harder.

Even if it’s useless.

Fuck, it's been, like, an hour, when is it gonna…

Maybe never.

It’s ruined. I ruined it. She ruined everything. Now I won't be able to even cut my hair without seeing those damn stains. And she's a vampire so she’ll regenerate while I'll have to see this constantly.

You know what, lying to me for years and tearing off my eye was already bad enough, but sure, let’s say that was fine, but trying to ruin the only things that I have left from him, to sully his memory, my memories like that, it's the last fucking straw, now it's midnight and this bitch has gotten me scrubbing blood that had three years to dry off a fucking pair of scissors and… and…

It's not coming off.

Maybe she cut my hair with it too. My memories are too hazy. I can't remember. I don't want to remember. I want to erase it.

It’s not coming off.

I want to puke.

I scrub and scrub and scrub and scrub and scrub but it's not coming off it’s still there I remember everything and my eye hurts and my chest is too damn tight and I don’t want to remember.

Everything's blurry, I can barely see anything now, come on, get it together, you shouldn't cry for this, you've been through worse and…

And the worse in question is in those stains.

It’s not coming off, it's not coming off, fuck this, fuck everything, I hate this, why do I even bother, why won't it FUCKING-

“Ether?”

Shit. Shit. I scrub harder. Harder. Come on. Come on please please please-

“Ether, I'm coming in.”

No no no it’s still there I have to get it clean before-

The door opens. I squeeze my eyes shut, a tear escapes. Dolmund’s there. I can't see him but I know he’s standing there. Shit.

“What the hell are you doing kneeling on the floor?”

Can’t he mind his own damn business for once? How do I explain this? How do I explain…

“It won't come off.”

Great. Amazing. Couldn’t have sounded more pathetic if I tried. My voice doesn’t even remotely sound like mine. Good job, Ether.

Dolmund walks up to me. I'm so hunched over it makes him taller.

“... Again?”

Yeah. Again. I guess I just never learn. He doesn't even sound mad or disappointed and that's probably the worst part. I cough, try to get my voice to work.

“I need to… I don't know. Thought I might give those bad boys a good scrub again. Never hurts to try, right?”

“Never hurts? Look at your hand before saying shit like that.”

I open my eyes.

The cloth is all stained with blood. So are the scissors.

Didn't even notice my nails breaking.

And now it’s even bloodier than it used to be. Tears well up in my eyes again. Great. Just great. Can this evening get any worse? Stay tuned to find out.

Dolmund sighs with all the weight of his chest.

“Put those away and go patch up your hand.”

“I c-can't.”

“Why?”

“How am I going to defend myself if you try to kill me?”

That's ridiculous. He wouldn't do that. Rationally, I know he wouldn't.

But I thought Leo wouldn't either.

“Ether, you have eight guns on you. Use them. Defending yourself with scissors? You still in kindergarten or something?”

Oh, he thinks he’s so funny. I’d punch him if my hand didn't hurt like a bitch.

“Yeah, yeah, you can glare at me all you want once you put those away.”

“But I need-”

“What you need is a drink, Ether. A drink, and to get the fuck out of your room and fix your hand, your only good hand, in case you forgot.”

He narrows his eyes at me.

“I can deal with an hungover doctor. Not an injured one. Put. Those fuckers. Down.”

…

I do. Put the fuckers down, that is. After washing my blood off right away with some water. I shut my drawer tight. Out of sight, out of mind, or whatever.

“That’s better. You comin’, or do you need help walking too?”

He’d help me, if I said yes. But he knows treating me like I'm sick would be ten times worse. I can pity myself just fine, thank you very much.

And we know we both need way more than what we can give each other.

“I'm good.”

Just a little wobbly on them legs. Wooooo.

“Hope you got something strong enough.”

“You bet.”

The drink is indeed strong.

It's the only thing keeping my mind right and clear lately. I’m glad Faloi and Khaliun are dead so they don’t have to see this, but it’s their fault for getting killed in the first place.

Hey, at least I did Leo one better.

Can’t sell or eat a fucked-up liver.

[fairyniceyeah]

💎🐢Day 17: Brainfog/Spaced Out

@sicktember

Summary: Hansol keeps spacing out. The 96-liners are working to help him.

CW: emeto

Sickie: Vernon/Hansol

Caretaker: Jun + Hoshi/Soonyoung + Wonwoo + Woozi/Jihoon

Tension was high with Seungcheol and Jeonghan on hiatus at the same time. The members would never admit it to the two eldest and they did try to help out Joshua, who hated his role as vice vice leader more than anything. Especially the 96line felt the pressure as they tried to keep anyone younger than themselves away from any added responsibility. With Hoshi and Woozi already used to their roles as performance leader and vocal leader respectively and Jun and Wonwoo being some of the most responsible members, they managed just fine.

That didn’t mean that they didn't feel the responsibility and the stress.

Especially during that day’s dance practice.

With nerves running high, it didn’t help that Hansol was … well, Hansol. They were used to his particular brand of awkwardness and his spatial unawareness when he was in his own world but it didn’t make the dance practice run any smoother. 

No matter how often Hoshi tried to explain the moves, Hansol couldn’t seem to grasp them. 

Normally Hansol’s spaciness would not interfere with any schedules or at least not to that degree. But that day? Hansol was all over the place.

Countless times he stopped in the middle of a movement, forgetting either what he was supposed to do or what move he had just done. Other times he stumbled over his own and once even over Dino’s feet. For Hansol’s and their own safety, Jun had even taken him aside at one point to try to teach him the dance one-on-one. It hadn’t really done anything.

Hansol was clearly having a bad day. They all had them and they tried to be careful with the member who was in need of a break and/or unwell. It wouldn’t help to pressure a member further when he was already beating himself up about it anyway and they all cared about each other too much to let things get too far if they could. It took different approaches for each member.

With Hansol it was most of the time enough to speak with him: He wouldn’t feel comfortable admitting to something out of his own accord but if somebody talked to him he wouldn’t hide whatever was going on.

It was during a water break that Wonwoo decided to speak to him, to try to see if he could find out what was happening. Joshua was on the side, talking to a manager and looking more frazzled each second, so having him talk to his fellow America-liner would not work. Hoshi was working with Mingyu and Seungkwan on their dance moves and Woozi was walking over to see if he could help out Joshua. Jun was nowhere to be seen, likely either using the bathroom or refilling his water bottle at one of the fountains.

So, for now, Hansol was his responsibility. With Seungcheol as their Hip Hop Team leader not there, Wonwoo felt especially responsible for Mingyu and their rap-maknae. 

“Hansol-ah?”, Wonwoo asked, approaching the younger rapper. Hansol was sitting on the ground, leaning back against the fogged up mirror with his eyes closed. “What’s going on with you today?”

Maybe he should have expected it but Hansol showed no signs of having heard him. To anybody outside the group he might have looked asleep but Wonwoo could easily spot the tension on his face and the way he was absently tapping an imaginary beat with his fingers against his thigh. 

Wonwoo crouched down next to him, entangling his fingers with Hansol’s to stop the nervous movement. At the touch Hansol sighed and opened his eyes, blinking blearily up at his hyung. His eyes seemed unfocused and he quickly looked down at their hands before Wonwoo could get a better look at his face.

“Hey, baby”, Wonwoo said quietly, moving into a crosslegged position next to the younger without letting go of him. “What’s going on with you today?”

Hansol shrugged, gripping Wonwoo’s hand more tightly. 

“You don’t know?”, Wonwoo questioned, a bit lost and unable to interpret what exactly Hansol wanted to tell him. Maybe the maknae didn’t know himself.

Hansol swallowed and licked his dry lips. “I don’t know”, he echoed, “I feel weird. Floaty. Everything is so hard today.”

Wonwoo hummed, lifting his other hand to feel Hansol’s forehead. He wasn’t particularly warm, just sweaty. A fever would have explained the symptoms easily enough but it seemed like that wasn’t the issue. 

“Everybody has hard days”, Wonwoo settled on saying, “do you think you might need to sit out of practice? Dancing while so distracted isn’t safe.”

He didn’t receive an answer. He wasn’t even sure if Hansol had heard him. Yeah, no more dancing for him. 

“Sit here, okay? Rest”, Wonwoo said, tapping Hansol’s wrist to get his attention again, “after practice I’m gonna have Jun take you home, okay?”

Technically they had a Hip Hop Team meeting after but Hansol desperately needed rest and he wouldn’t be helpful in his state. Mingyu and Wonwoo would be able to do it as two. They had to. The performance team was free after, hence Jun taking Hansol home to their dorm. Maybe they could get Dino to help them with their rap lyrics.

Hansol nodded.

When Wonwoo got up, he found the rest of the group staring at him in expectation. He just shook his head and walked over to his spot.

“From the top”, Hoshi announced, looking worried but determined to go on. 

💎

An hour later, they were taking another much-needed break. They were all running on fumes. This time, Seungkwan went over to check on Hansol, sitting down against the mirror next to him. Hansol, as soon as he noticed his best friend, leaned his head on the older’s shoulder. Seungkwan laid his cheek on top of Hansol’s head and closed his eyes too. They both looked exhausted and, yet, it was a sweet sight.

Wonwoo had sat down by the couch, eyes closed and leaning back against Mingyu’s legs, and Dino sprawled over his lap. Even Hoshi with his endless energy was laying down with his head against Woozi’s thigh, and Minghao, Jun and DK seemed to be trying to become one person, laying on top of one another. Joshua was on his back in the middle of the room, seemingly asleep.

It was quiet in the room, all of them just taking a moment to breathe and relax. So they all heard the small gasp echoing in the room, and the following stunned mumbling: “Shit, oh, oh, okay. It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Wonwoo opened his eyes in time to see Woozi and Hoshi jumping up at the same time, colliding against one another and falling back down, and Jun pushing DK and Minghao off of himself. It was then that Wonwoo noticed where exactly the commotion had come from.

Seungkwan’s eyes, full of panic, locked onto Wonwoo’s. The vocalist’s shirt and sweatpants were covered in vomit, he himself looking stunned. Hansol, looking just as shocked as him, was crying and there was saliva and strands of throw up dangling from his lips. 

“Oh, Nonie”, Hoshi broke the shocked silence engulfing the room and rushed over to the maknaes, Wonwoo hot on his heels. He should have noticed earlier that Hansol’s spaciness wasn’t just Hansol having an off-day but sickness. However, the blame-game would have to wait.

“I don’t feel good”, Hansol sobbed as soon as Hoshi pulled him into his arms, away from Seungkwan who looked equal parts disgusted and worried. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay”, Hoshi comforted, rocking Hansol in his arms, “you’re just sick. It happens.”

He looked up at Wonwoo with wide eyes. Normally this would be the part where Seungcheol would take charge and Jeonghan would help out the sick member. Now…

“Junnie? Why don’t you take Seungkwan to the shower and help him get cleaned up?”, Woozi suggested loudly, coming over to them as well and placing a soft hand on Hansol’s shoulder. “Wonwoo, can you go wake Shua-hyung and get him and the other kids a ride home? They all need rest. Soonyoung and I got Hansollie.”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea”, Jun said, reaching out his hands to help Seungkwan up. It was probably smart to have Seungkwan go with Jun. The dancer wasn’t phased by vomit and he would be able to keep Seungkwan distracted from his own worry.

“Yeah, let’s do that”, Wonwoo agreed.

💎

“Come on, love”, Hoshi mumbled into Hansol’s ear, “let’s go to the bathroom, okay?”

The shaking maknae in his arms whimpered a bit but nodded. Woozi sighed, feeling awful for him. Hansol was so ill and it hurt to see his whole body trembling. Yet he made no move to get up.

Woozi rubbed Hansol’s shoulder and asked: “Sollie, do you want me to carry you?”

There was definitely a risk of getting thrown up on and there was probably already puke on Hansol that would end up on Woozi's clothes but at that moment he couldn't care less.

Hansol turned to look at the producer with teary eyes and nodded. He looked so young, engulfed in Hoshi’s arms. 

Woozi turned around and soon he felt Hansol wrap his arms around his shoulders and his legs around his waist. The producer hooked his elbows under Hansol’s knees and with Hoshi helping him he stood up, Hansol snug on his back. When the maknae rested his head against Woozi’s neck, he felt unnaturally warm. He had seen Wonwoo feel the younger’s forehead earlier and realized that between then and now Hansol must have developed a fever after all. 

The poor young rapper really wasn’t doing well.

As they walked past the other members, all with worry written over their features, Hoshi just said: “Don’t worry about him. Take your time to rest too. You did well.”

They managed to make their way to the closest bathroom without any incidents but as soon as they sat Hansol down next to the toilet he leaned over and opened his mouth. Instantly more vomit poured into the toilet, dirtying the water. Woozi and Hoshi exchanged worried glances over the maknae’s head before Hoshi scooted closer to their miserable maknae and half-hugged him, whispering reassurances. Woozi noticed the way Hansol’s fingers seemed to seek purchase against the cold tiles, clearly in need of holding onto something. He took the younger’s hand in his, smoothing out the curled digits and rubbing soft circles on the back of Hansol’s hand with his thumb.

“Breathe”, Hoshi whispered, “you’re okay. Breathe.”

Luckily this round didn’t take long and soon enough Hansol was able to lean away from the toilet, basically slumping into Hoshi’s arms. 

“Do you want to … Hansollie, can you look at me for a moment?” Woozi interrupted himself half-way through his own question as he realized that the maknae was staring at something only he could see. His eyes were glazed with fever and it took Woozi gently tapping his cheek to get his attention. “Can you try to drink something?”

Woozi held up a water bottle that Hoshi had taken with them. Hansol blinked but didn’t react otherwise. 

“He’s really burning up”, Hoshi commented, feeling the younger’s forehead, cheeks and neck, “no wonder he is so spacey.”

“Should we … should we take him to the hospital?”, Woozi asked reluctantly. He was incredibly worried over the younger and he wasn’t sure that they could help him with the limited resources they had on the floor of a random bathroom at their company building.

“Not yet, I think.” Hoshi pressed a kiss to Hansol’s sweaty hair. “He hates hospitals and strangers prodding him nearly as much as you do. If he doesn’t get better with some fever reducers and antiemetics at the dorm, we can reevaluate.”

A knock on the bathroom door startled both of them, yet Hansol didn’t even seem to have heard.

“Hi, it’s me”, Wonwoo said, “I got some fresh clothes for Sollie and orders from the managers to get us back to the dorms asap.”

Woozi reached up and opened the door, revealing Wonwoo with his glasses a bit askew but a soft smile on his lips. It was a tight fit in the stall with already three fully grown men and there was no way Wonwoo would even fit half of his body in there with them. 

“Let’s get you into fresh clothes”, Woozi said to Hansol, though he was pretty sure that the younger didn’t really hear him. They managed to get him up and into the open space by the sinks where they had more room to help him.

With Hoshi supporting Hansol and Woozi and Wonwoo working on redressing Hansol, it was surprisingly easy to remove the stained clothing. Though Hansol had mostly thrown up on poor Seungkwan, there was a bit of vomit on his clothes as well. 

Some of it had indeed ended up on Woozi's clothes but Hoshi made quick work of wiping the stains away with a wet paper towel. It would suffice for now.

They had a van for themselves back to the dorms, the rest of the team having gone home with Joshua. Hansol fell asleep on Woozi’s shoulder basically the moment they had settled down. They were grateful for it, especially since the younger rapper normally had a tendency to get motion sick. Luckily he slept through the whole drive.

💎

Jun had just managed to get Seungkwan and Joshua to one couch and himself to the other when the door opened again, revealing Woozi, Wonwoo carrying Hansol, and Hoshi. 

The dancer had been incredibly worried about the young rapper all day, only momentarily distracted by his worry for Seungkwan. The youngest vocalist had really tried his best, feeling worried for his best friend, but when they had taken off his clothes he had given into his own nausea from being covered in vomit. Jun was glad he was asleep with Joshua now and they could focus on the sick maknae.

“Gimme”, he said without greeting, holding out his arms towards Wonwoo, who laughed softly and deposited Hansol on top of Jun, who instantly wrapped the younger into his arms. Having a half-asleep, sick maknae in his arms was always worrisome but it was cute really, the way Hansol nuzzled his face into Jun’s neck, sighing softly.

“How are you feeling?”, he asked, rubbing the younger’s back.

“Floaty”, Hansol mumbled. The next sound coming from him was a soft snore. 

“We need to keep an eye on his temperature”, Wonwoo said, sitting down on the TV table beside them. “Manager-noona says to call if his fever gets over 39.5°C, they’ll take him to the hospital.”

Jun hummed in agreement. Hospitals were never fun but he couldn’t deny that Hansol was like a furnace on him. 

“Where is the rest?”, Woozi asked, entering the living room again, trailed by Hoshi. Jun hadn’t even noticed them leaving.

“Spread over the different dorms”, Jun explained, watching in wonder as Woozi pulled various medications as well as a thermometer, fever patches and even a damp washcloth from his pockets. Hoshi placed an old towel on the floor - handing another one to Jun, who placed it under Hansol’s head on his shoulder just in case - and the designated puke bucket on the floor.

“Tea should be ready soon”, he said.

“Looks like we got ourselves sleepy maknaes and hyungs”, Wonwoo commented, raising an eyebrow.

Woozi shrugged. “Could be worse.”

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Sicktember 2024

[topsyturvy-turtely]

turtely's OTP challenge

now on ao3! (tumblr link)

read part 17 here: (prompt: washing something)

summary:

"I don't get it!", a very grumpy John Watson stomped through the flat. Almost aggressively searching for the one jumper.

Out of a sudden spur, John marched into Sherlock's room without knocking. Sherlock looked at him, startled. With John's jumper in his hands.

"Is that... my jumper?" John asked surprised.

Sherlock - looking caught - stared up at John. Looked at the jumper in his hands... looked at John again. "It... might be?"

Gen, 1.068 words, Getting Together, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, John Watson is Perfect

☝︎john watson looking for his favorite jumper be like (lmao i feel so unhinged for adding this gif to that fic , especially since he is fucking wearing it 🤣)

tags under the cut ✨

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed please 💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @catlock-holmes @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @jawnscoffee @raenchaosandcozyadashofmurder @lisbeth-kk @quickslvxrr @compact-and-beautiful @kabubsmagga @sunshineinyourmind

[that-dreaming-dragon]

Archetropy

In some way, I see archetropy as embodying one's own symbolism. Or is it perhaps becoming a symbol yourself? To take on a role, to be in the framework, to embody or identify in some way with a archetype, trope. Compare to being something monstrous, or mythical, or celestial, to have a archetrope feels like to wholly embrace and live being something, and a bit more. It gets a bit fuzzy and there has been discussion of how having archetropal identity can share similarity to having conceptual identity. Yet, the distinction is there, for one is a solid identity, being it, or existing alongside it (conceptual alterhumanity), and the other is something more like symbolic or metaphorical relationship (archetropal alterhumanity).

If I were to say I have a solid relationship with orange or dream, I'd call those conceptual alterhumanity. For me, Mew, ninja, and Affinity Weaver (name pending) are the roles, archetype that I have, took on, or is already. They are not solid identity, but almost like a lifestyle, something that has a shape, a hole which I myself fill in.

In the case of Mew, it's the mythical, whimsical, cryptid nature of Mew. But it's also a sort of special side character in a game that isn't all powerful like the big L Legendary pokemon, yet it fills its own niche. The little mischievousness are also tied in, and a flavor of chaos. I am not a Mew, or identify with mew, but because of all these attribute that I have, my impression of what Mew is, the role Mew filled, which I myself have, Mew is a paratype-archetrope (or, paratrope) to me.

I feel like ninja is self-explanatory. This is definitely one of those chicken-or-egg situation. Is it because of my Naruto hearttype being a potential past life that I have this something with the archetype of being a ninja? Or is it something more generic, a past life outside of Naruto, which I'd suspect to be some sort of Japanese warrior, potentially a shinobi. And it's not just ninja, I have a penchant for stealth genre game, sometimes you are some sort of assassin, sometimes you are some thief. I guess ninja wrap those two up neatly into a single package.

What is Affinity Weaver?

It is something I already embody and live by. I have a self-made title, 糸編むの夢化竜, Thread-weaving Dream Dragon. The thread in question, currently English translation is much lacking and doesn't translate well at all, possibly due to not having such a cultural concept. I'm talking about yuanfen, Wikipedia translate it as "fateful coincidence", a concept in Chinese (and other Asian culture that has Chinese root, potentially Buddhist root) that talks of one's potential connection in life that was due to past lives, like a seed that's planted, a web that had been woven over centuries. I like to talk about it a lot in my earlier alterhuman community life, and I really wish to introduce the concept more in a more official setting, it is such a wonderful concept. Some may thought of only "fate" or "destiny", or even "soulmate", and they are all kinda touching a bit on the concept that is yuanfen. It's like trying to translate certain Chinese word into English, the complexity within a single or two characters is so difficult to express, even with a dozen English word used, it still can't really encompass the whole thing. Yuanfen is like that. I had wrote a bit on my view of how it is very prominant within alterhumanity, and just in general what it could be. I will transcribe it over to tumblr and dreamwidth at a later date, or write up a new one.

What I do on the regular, is that I connect others. If someone express a need for specific sub-communities, and I happen to know or are in them, I try to get them a invite into those spaces. Or if some folks share similarity, if not identical experience, I try to connect them to each other. Sometimes it is me learning niche word and to toss them at people should they need it, but that's something the community already do. Sometimes it's simply me sitting down with someone, and help them figure out their alterhumanity, in their appearance, or any possible way they connect to something. These all seem like something any community member does, but I'd like to think that I especially embody the role of being someone that Connects others. In a punny sort of way, perhaps that's why I enjoy and like Othercon and Otherconnect so much. Maybe I can jokingly call it a Otherconnect archetrope.

Really though, if English weren't the community's primary language, or if it were to be more accessible, I'd probably call myself a Yuan Connector archetroper. Or just have my title directly used, ("Fate") Thread-Weaver archetroper.

[missazurerose]

"In this and every life / I choose us every time"

(I have a wildly unhealthy amount of AUs going on in my head. They will get written one day.)

[hashioki7]

Their nightmare

Travis woke up to the cries coming from beside him.

"Laura!"

"Don't come near me!"

Trembling with fear, Laura tossed the sheets aside and flailed her arms and legs aimlessly with vacant eyes.

"It's okay, Laura! It's me! Everything's fine!"

Wrapping his arms around her thrashing form, he repeated those words in her ear over and over again.

"There are no more werewolves here. It's all over. There's nothing to attack you or blame you anymore. Everything's okay, it's all okay."

The hands that had been wildly striking out suddenly stopped. Her breathing, which had been as intense as a storm, gradually became regular, and her chest, which had been tumultuous, began to calm like gentle waves.

"Are you feeling calmer now?"

"…Sorry, Travis."

Wrapped in the sheets, Laura turned around in his arms, shyly smiled, and then looked down.

"You had another nightmare, didn't you?"

She silently nodded. Travis gently embraced her trembling form, holding her hand tightly from behind.

"Don't worry, I'm here."

"Thank you…"

With each shaky breath she took, Travis hugged Laura's body tighter and tighter.

--------------------------

"…Travis?"

Laura woke up to the groans coming from beside her.

She couldn't see Travis's face as he lay facing away from her. Only his white shoulder, peeking out from the sheet, seemed to be trembling slightly, at least that's how it appeared to Laura.

"Travis?"

She asked again. There was no response. She heard the sound of sighs being squeezed out, as if sobbing softly.

"You're having another nightmare."

Once again, She didn't expect a response. It was just like always.

The moonlight filtering through the curtain cast a glow on his back, making it seem like he was crying. No, he might actually be crying, Laura thought.

"It's okay, Travis."

She wrapped her arms around his sturdy neck and hugged him gently from behind.

"I'm here for you. It's okay, so relax."

As she whispered gently in his ear, she ran her hand through his straight, black hair. His labored breaths gradually calmed, turning into peaceful snores.

"Good boy."

With that final whisper, she placed a soft kiss on his neck, being careful not to make a sound. Feeling the gentle rhythm of his back against her chest as she held him close, Laura softly closed her eyes.

[bilightningwhumper]

@angstober 2024- Day 17; “Shhh…”

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"Weary Rest" Masterlist --- TNEI Tumblr Masterlist

Summary:

Excerpt for "Weary Rest" (Sleeping Beauty retelling) Tired... So tired... But Petal doesn't want to sleep yet. Master has another idea.

Notes:

Characters: Petal- Sleeping Beauty Master/Dr. Valer- Evil Fairy/Maleficent Warnings: Noncon drugging (with needles), possessive+intimate whumper

Ao3 link

Word count: 286

Petal PoV

They could feel it. The fatigue. It was settling heavy in their bones. But they didn’t want to sleep. Not yet. Their body needed rest. It had only been a week since their last deep sleep spell.

Concentrating too hard on trying to pass by Master without notice, Petal stumbled over the carpet and into the wall.

“Oh, Peter, my love, are you tired?”

They stiffened, but turned to Master, keeping their smile light. “A little, Master. But I’m okay. Promise!”

Staying as still as possible, they shivered as Master walked up to them, as he took their jaw in his hand, forcing eye contact. “I don’t like it when you lie to me, sweetheart.” His voice was soothing, his eyes hardened daggers. “Your bloodshot eyes tell me the truth better than you do.”

Shit, shit, shit. They let out a pleading whimper, instinctively trying to pull away as Master pulled out the injector pen from his vest. As their arm was grabbed, they fell to their knees, keening softly. “Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for lying. I just don’t want to sleep yet. Please, don’t do this, please!”

“Shhh…” Master hushed them, rolling the sleeve up their arm and lined up the pen with their veins. “Master knows best, remember? You don’t have to be afraid of sleep here. I will take good care of you. Isn’t that right?”

They fought not to close their eyes as their pleading reduced to incoherent mumbling. They fought as their body sagged further to the floor. They fought, they fought, they… It was hopeless. Why did they even try?

Master was their world now. Their will wasn’t theirs. Only Master’s.

So they let go. Into nothing. Nothing. Noth-

TNEI Taglist:

@scoundrelwithboba

[tobi-the-minnow]

17.) Pane - a single sheet of glass in a window or door.

Looking in from the outside feeling the cold bite at their skin they shiver as they keep watching. Starveing for the warmth on the other side watching as what seems like friends and family chat idlely. It's starting to get to cold to sleep at night they need warmth. Being stuck in this cold is makeing them crazy. They're cold, they're tired, they're hungry; they start to slip open the pane and crawl inside and once in they find its just as cold as the crule world on tne out side. Theres no warmth here. Theres no nourishment here. Theres no rest here. Theres nobody to lean on here. The perceived family and friends are all faceless strangers standing stiffly as if they all froze at once. Nothing but lies on this side of the pane.

[psychologeek]

Wild heart (pt 1)

Part 2 part 3 part 4

Dani travel alone.

That's how it is.

Dani travel alone, and she visits from time to time, and then she goes away again.

There's nothing Jazz can do about it. Or want, honestly. She never really got to know that girl who looks like her brother. And that suits her just fine.

But one thing that Dani does - one thing she keeps - is calling them.

No matter where she's going, she calls at least once a week. At first she used to ask strangers to let her call her sister, saying that she's lost. But at her first visit, Jazz and Danny got her a smartphone.

It wasn't new, or branded. But it was ecto-resistant, and could connect to any WiFi network, and that was enough.

So Jazz wasn't especially worried the first week they heard nothing from Dani. At the second week, she started chewing her lips. But it wasn't unknown from Dani to go out in the woods and miss a call because she forgot about the days.

But during the third week, Tucker's bug at the GIW network got something about a new subject. An on-going experiment. A deeper investigation earned them a photo of a familiar child.

A photo and a name. A subject name. Because "it" wasn't a child. "It" wasn't a person.

"it" was a creature, and therefore free for the taking.

(Looking for the subject's name brought more information. And videos. A glowing figure in heavy shackles. A small figure, green slowly dripping as a clinical voice talks about findings.

But after all, it was enough to get them a location, and coordinates. Enough to know where to go.)

(Like it? I have more mini-fics in this au. And full size fics on ao3. please vote in my update poll! And the one for next week! Bc I try to work ahead LMAO)

This mini-fic takes place in "We're not broken (just bent)" and a sequel for "to love and protect", both will be posted as part of the Lost&Found series

[aydann-runs]

This one is set between Season 3 and Season 4.

Alex is just about to walk away from–or throw into the wall–the Project Shepherd artifact he’s been researching when his phone rings. It’s Michael’s ringtone, so he swallows down his frustration before answering.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Is this a bad time? I can call back?” Michael says, sounding hesitant. Apparently, Alex hadn’t concealed his frustration as well as he’d thought.

“No, it’s probably good that you called,” Alex reassures him. “I was just about to break something, but I’ve been told that isn’t a constructive way to deal with strong emotions.”

“I’m here to help,” Michael chuckles. “So, uh, I wanted to take you out tonight. Nothing fancy, just burgers at the Crashdown and a drive out into the desert. But if you’re not up for it…”

“Yes, please,” Alex says as Michael trails off. “Honestly, that sounds perfect.”

By the time he hangs up with Michael, Alex’s frustration has faded to a manageable level and he makes it through the rest of the project without tossing the artifact at the wall. He suspects that the flirting he and Michael had done on the phone, along with the upcoming date, may be responsible for his greatly improved mood.

They flirt some more throughout dinner, and by the time they take their milkshakes to go, Alex feels pleasantly warm and happy. It’s a similar feeling to being a couple beers in, buzzed but not drunk, except it’s all because of Michael. He climbs into the passenger side of the old Chevy, and after a moment’s hesitation, slides across the bench seat so he’s pressed up against Michael. Michael grins and starts the engine, and once they’ve pulled out into the sparse traffic, he slings his arm around Alex’s shoulders and tugs him that little bit closer.

They’ve got the windows down, so they don’t talk much, content to sip their milkshakes and unwind in comfortable silence. The late spring air flows through the cab, and Alex closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He's always loved the smell of the desert, clean and pure. He picks up on earthy sage and the sweeter agave. Maybe a bit of creosote, too. When he opens his eyes, Michael is watching him, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Eyes on the road, cowboy,” Alex teases, and Michael spares him one last look before turning his attention to the highway.

Before long, Michael takes an unmarked dirt road. It should be a rough ride, but the truck’s suspension is good, absorbing the worst of the bumps. Alex isn't surprised. It may be old, but Michael's always taken good care of the Chevy.

At some marker Alex doesn't see, Michael leaves the road–such as it is–and heads out across the desert floor. They gently coast to a stop and Michael cuts the engine. He spins the keys around his finger once before pocketing them.

“Wanna watch the sunset and then make out for a bit?” he asks. “I tossed some blankets into the back before I picked you up. Should be comfortable enough.”

When Michael finally drops Alex at home, it's late, and he's exhausted in the best possible way. The whole date with Michael–dinner, the drive, kissing in the desert under the stars–had been exactly what he’d needed.

[lunarcartoonist]

Day 17 - Journal

Self-explanatory.

Decided to do the Inktober Challenge this month, doing my Simple Things drawings - which I haven't done in a few years!

Feels nice to do traditional ink drawings again.

At some point I'll upload these drawings as cards on my Etsy store.

[failedmitosis]

"How do you have negative two purple coins? Um. Uh. You've gotta spend money to make money, honey."

[fairyniceyeah]

🧭🐥Day 17: "You don't want to do that"

Struggle/Black Mail/Desperate Measures

@juneofdoom

Day 16: "At least it can't get any worse"

Summary: Felix is asked to perform a dangerous stunt and the choreographer doesn’t take a no.

CW: idol mistreatment, self-confidence issues

Whumpee: Felix

Caretaker: /

“Felix-ssi, stay behind for a moment, please”, the choreographer called as the day’s dance practice ended. “I want to discuss something with you.”

Felix nodded hesitantly and walked towards him, while the rest of the group went to gather their stuff and leave. He hadn’t really warmed up the older man, finding him very intimidating and scary. Chan, Minho and Huynjin seemed to sense his reluctance and came over to them. It was sweet if a bit (more than a bit) overbearing.

“What’s the matter?”, Chan asked pointedly, but also seemingly in a hurry. Right, he had a meeting with JYP now. 

“Channie-hyung, don’t you have that meeting?”, Felix said pointedly, not wanting to be the reason for the older to be late and get scolded for it. Chan grimaced and nodded, patting Felix on the back and leaving them with a hurried goodbye. Feix didn’t miss the worried glance he exchanged with Minho though and he felt himself flush.  

While he was the youngest of dance-racha, part of the maknae-line and everybody described him as sweet, innocent sunshine - he was not. Parts of him liked the babying and he trusted his hyungs with everything but he also wanted to be seen as somebody who wasn’t helpless, a damsel in distress. He had come far from being the scared seventeen-year-old on the survival show.

Felix did want to be treated like an adult. He’d seen the babyfication of idols on the internet and it did make him uncomfortable. Especially since he was a popular target. Sometimes his hyungs and even the two maknaes also seemed to forget that he was an adult and had seen the darkness of the industry like they had, experienced it first hand.

He couldn’t deny it felt good when his Minho-hyung slung an arm around his shoulder and Huynjin stood like a tower on his other side. But he also felt smothered and a bit embarrassed. They treated him like a helpless kid.

“Whatever you want to discuss with Felix, I’m sure it concerns all of dance-racha”, Minho said smoothly. 

“It does - in fact - not”, the choreographer said, raising his eyebrow in judgment. His eyes seemed to bore into Felix’s soul - as if mocking: Do you need your hyungs for just a talk? 

“Yeah, what’s up?”, Hyunjin asked. 

Will you let them treat you like a baby?

“Guys, please”, Felix said, pushing Minho’s arm away, “seriously. Choreographer-nim asked to speak with me. There is no reason for you to stay behind when you can go home. I’ll be there soon too.”

“Lixie”, Minho started but Felix cut him off: “Lixie will be fine, hyung.” He groaned and pushed the two towards the door. “Go home, really.”

Reluctantly the two nodded and walked away. Out of the corner of his eye, Felix saw the choreographer grin for a moment, but his focus pulled to Hyunjin who gave a tentative wave and called: “I’ll wait for you in the lobby. You promised cookies and a movie tonight.”

“Alright”, Felix said. It was true and he didn’t want to argue with Hyunjin or make him feel unappreciated.

The door closed behind the two and Felix turned to the choreographer.

“What did you want to talk about, choreographer-nim?”, he asked pleasantly. 

“I wanted to talk with you about a stunt, Felix-ssi”, the older man said, “I saw your Kingdom performance and I think you have great potential. I brought a reference video and I think you and Changbin-ssi could do it.”

“Thank you”, Felix said happily, feeling more relaxed now. “Please show me.”

Whatever Felix had expected, was not what he saw. The video looked like it was done by professional stuntmen or maybe circus dancers. He watched in awe as a dancer in a red leotard was thrown by other dancers onto the shoulders of a dancer in blue, stayed standing there for a moment and then do a back-flip down. It was impressive really and Felix sometimes wished he had that kind of talent or confidence. Impatiently he waited for the video to go on and what the choreographer would point out as his idea but the video cut off.

“I don’t understand”, Felix said, furrowing his brows and looking up. “What do you want us to do?” Surely the choreographer didn’t think they could pull that off - it looked too dangerous.

“Well, exactly that. You have great balance and you can keep standing on Changbin’s shoulder’s for your deep line, then do the backflip down. You do know how to do a back-flip, do you?”, the choreographer said, smiling.

Felix felt himself freeze. He did not and he didn’t really feel comfortable trying that kind of stunt - especially with his back issues. 

“I … I don’t know what to say”, he said clumsily, mentally cursing himself, “I don’t think we can do that?” It came out more as a question than a statement.

“No?”, the choreographer asked, raising one eyebrow. “I had expected more from you, Felix. You are Stray Kids’s dancer after all.”

Felix flushed, ashamed. It did hurt hearing that.

“Minho-hyung and Hyunjin-hyung are dancers too”, Felix stuttered, “but neither of us are stuntmen. That looks really dangerous.”

“So you don’t want to do that? Show yourself off to Stay and the world? Should I maybe tell JYP that his dancer can’t do his job? He’ll be delighted to be proven right that he eliminated you.”

It was casual how he said it, careless even. 

And it broke Felix’s whole world. He found himself trembling, hands shaking badly. The choreographer couldn’t mean that? Hadn’t Felix proven over and over again that he deserved to be in Stray Kids? Hadn’t he worked hard enough? Did people still think he should have stayed eliminated?

“No, of course not. I’m sorry. I … I was just surprised. We’ll do it, of course”, Felix stuttered out. 

“Good, I’m glad”, the choreographer said. His grin reminded Felix of a shark. “I’d hate for you to get kicked out. Again.”

“Yeah.” Felix breathed out shakily. Suddenly he wished he hadn’t sent his hyungs away. Both Minho and Hyunjin would have never allowed the choreographer to speak to him like that. It was his own fault though, that he couldn’t stand up to himself.

“Well, run along now. You don’t want Hyunjin-ssi to wait for you. I trust you don’t tell him what he spoke about? It will be a nice surprise for your hyungs to see you dare do such a daring stunt. It will bring so much attention to you and Stray Kids once you perfected it.”

“Yes, thank you”, Felix said and bowed. “Goodbye.”

“See you tomorrow, Felix.”

As Felix stumbled into the entrance hall, he nearly collided with Hyunjin who was braiding his own hair in an attempt to not be bored. 

“Are you okay, Lixie?”, he asked, wrapping his arms around Felix and holding tightly. 

“Yeah.”

Hyunjin's perspective: Day 2: "It didn't have to be this way."

Day 18: "I'm fine."

Masterlist link: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's June of Doom 2024

[topsyturvy-turtely]

OTP challenge - day 17

[link to day 16]

17: washing something

"Sherlock?", the name sounded from the laundry room, formed as a question by John Watson.

Sherlock hummed, doubting his flatmate would hear him but not caring. But said man kept going anyways, "Do you have any idea where my jumper is?"

"The hideous one?"

"You find all my jumpers hideous, I mean the grey one! I need to wash it!"

Sherlock eyed his bedroom door. "No idea."

*one week later*

"Where the hell is it?", John asked, kneeling on the floor, looking under the couch. Sherlock rather enjoyed the view.

"Where's what?", Sherlock asked, while continuing to eye John's arse.

"My jumper!", with that John stood up and flapped his arms, frustrated.

"I'm sure it's somewhere, you just gotta look better."

John grunted. "Thanks for your help, Sherlock." Annoyed sarcasm was floating from his voice.

*two weeks later*

"I don't get it!", a very grumpy John Watson stomped through the flat. Almost aggressively searching for the one jumper. The jumper! The John Watson jumper! He had to find it!

Out of a sudden spur, John marched into Sherlock's room without knocking. Sherlock, who was sitting on his bed, looked at him, startled. With John's jumper in his hands.

"Is that... my jumper?", John asked surprised.

Sherlock - looking caught - stared up at John. Looked at the jumper in his hands... and at John again. "It... might?"

"I'm... confused... Did you... keep it?"

"I... might have.", Sherlock said, visibly uncomfortable.

"But, why?"

"It doesn't matter!", Sherlock said, suddenly all of the awkwardness gone. He stood up and moved as if to exit the room.

"Oh, no. You're not leaving-" John stood in front of the door. "-until you've told me why you kept my favorite jumper for over three weeks!"

"It's for-", the smallest pause, almost unnoticeable, but John did notice. "-an experiment."

"Yeah? What kinda experiment is that? Why would you need a sheep wool jumper for it? Hell, the last time I had it I spilled freaking tomatoe-sauce on it!"

"I washed it out."

"You washed what out?"

"The tomato stain, obviously, John. Do keep up. Now will you let me-", Sherlock wanted to push by John, but the doctor wasn't having it.

"The whole reason why I was looking for my jumper in the first place, was, because I needed to wash it, so-", a realization hit John. "For god's sake- did you wash it by hand?"

With two big steps he was at his jumper. The red-brown stain still faintly visible. With an incredulous look he held the jumper up towards- nothing.

Sherlock was gone.

He had fled the scene.

When John quickly walked into the living room, he faintly heard the outside door close.

With an exhausted sigh, his jumper in his hands, John sat down in his armchair. What has Sherlock's mission been? Confused, John glared at his jumper. Then he picked it up, grabbed more laundry and turned the washing machine on. He had missed this piece of clothing. A lot. Maybe... if he looked into Sherlock's room...?

***

Sherlock called a cab as soon as he was outside of the flat.

He couldn't believe he had been caught like that. John is suspecting something for sure. He didn't lie however - he actually had needed the jumper for an experiment. He wouldn't waste his thoughts on this right now, though. He was dropped off at Bart's and immediately started working on some poor guy that had already been half-eaten by chrysalises before Scotland Yard had found him. The murderer was the husband of course - it is always the husband.

Sherlock lost himself in documenting the stage of decay of the corpse and for an hour or two he almost forgot about John Watson and his jumper. Almost, never all the way.

When Sherlock returned home, he found John in his armchair calmly typing away on his laptop. A relieved sigh escaped- and immediately got stuck in his throat when he saw his journal on the coffee table next to his flatmate. It was where he had kept track of all the different smells of John, and how it had been impacted by keeping it in his room. (He would never admit he sometimes would sleep with it. Well- It was for the experiment!) The jumper was the John-est thing he could find. John wore this article of clothing the most. Therefore it was the best sample for his research.

"Why are you still standing there like you've seen a ghost? Sit down!", John asked him. Slowly, like he was approaching a wild animal, Sherlock did as he was told.

The doctor then looked up, smiled, put his laptop away, leaned forward. Sherlock gulped and considered running away again. He was not ready for the conversation that was about to be held.

"So." John started, and Sherlock eyed the door. "Don't run away I am not mad, I promise.", John saw through his flatmate immediately.

Sherlock nodded.

But when he saw, John still had that assuring, patient smile on his face, it somehow put Sherlock off. He was just considering jumping up and running away again when John spoke up, "I'm gonna make a deduction."

Sherlock opened his mouth but John continued before Sherlock could say anything.

"You love-", John began too loudly. He cleared his throat. "You love... my jumper."

Alarmed, Sherlock immediately started to find an excuse. "Look, John. The only reason I took that-"

"Actually, I think you love... me."

Sherlock was dumbfounded. "No. No, John, you're misinterpreting this. I-"

"And I...", John took a deep breath. "...love you, too." John apparently wasn't gonna let Sherlock finish one sentence.

"-never meant to make our friendship... Wait. what did you just say?"

John looked at him, eyes intense. "You love me. And I love you, too.", he said matter-of-factly. A statement - a deduction - in John-Watson-style: Not a long monologue, only the hard facts.

"Did I seduce you, Mr. Holmes?"

"I'm certain you meant 'dedu-'" an abrupt ending. "Oh.", Sherlock said.

A smirk crept on John's face. Slowly, he inched closer towards Sherlock. He was sitting on the edge of his armchair now.

"I'm gonna kiss you now, are you okay with that?"

"John, what-"

"That was a simple yes-no question. So, what is your answer? Yes or no?"

Sherlock gulped and looked at John. "Y-Yes."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

And just like that, something, Sherlock never even dared to dream of, came true.

---

hi!

i, originally, wanted to update Human Urges but i have the biggest fucking writer's block with that fic. every time i open that doc i am immediately mad because i dislike it SO MUCH and do not know how to fix it. and then i just close it, because WHAT. if any of you are reading it - i apologize for the extremely slow updates. please know i will manage eventually and i hope it will be worth the wait!

anygays. decided to finally publish this silly little thing at least. hope you like it! lmk! thanks for reading and reblogging, babes! -🐢

btw i will probably join @fluffbruary - sounds like a cool challenge. maybe i can actually pull through with it :D

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @7arantellgrrl @ssmeowl123 @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @psychosociogentleman

[elismor]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-2224 | Cody Additional Tags: Community: writers_choice, Drabble, Drabble Collection, 100 Drabble Challenge Series: Part 33 of Ten Thousand Words is a Drop in the Bucket, Part 1 of Jupiter's Living Room

This is not Codywan, but it is Cody and Obi-Wan (with a teeny slice of Wooley, as a treat). 

Written for the 7/24 @writers-choice prompt: altitude

[cozycompositions]

Hello, Lovelies! This is a little leftover from @juneofdoom Day 17: "Don't Lie To Me". Happy late 4th of July to all my fellow Americans! Little special fic for that coming out soon!

“Don’t lie to me, mon ami,” Lafayette practically begged. “You are not fine,” He looked around the clearing, almost trying to manifest a savior to help them. 

Alexander groaned, either from annoyance or pain, and tried to push Lafayette away from him. Lafayette gave a gentle push to Alexander’s shoulder, effectively pinning him back against the tree. The fact that he allowed it was a testament to how hurt he must be. 

“Just let me see.”

Alexander just stared at his friend for a moment before sighing. He pulled open his overcoat to reveal the deep gash in his gut, still oozing blood. Lafayette gasped, rushing to lower Alexander to the ground and put pressure on the wound. Alexander yelped in pain. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he tried to assure the frenchman. Lafayette only shushed him, looking around the area again helplessly. Laurens should have been there by now.

“It’s not that bad,” Alex yelped again, cutting himself on, “I got a few good hits in, too,” he laughed humorlessly. 

“Now is not the time for jokes, Alexandre,” Lafayette chastised. Alex sobered, groaning as Lafayette applied a bit more pressure to his abdomen. Russling came from the leaves behind the pair. Lafayette threw his head around, helpless to do anything to protect them without allowing his friend to bleed out. 

Instead of an enemy soldier, however, John Laurens appeared from the woods. 

“Oh God, what’s happened?” He almost shouted as he ran to his comrades and dropped to his knees next to Alexander. 

“We got into a little run in with the enemy, when we were trying to escape the canonfire,”

“Do they know our location? The General will be here-”

“No, it was mere luck. They shouldn’t have been this far to our side.”

A cough from Hamilton drew the two men’s attention back to what was important. They looked down and tried to assess the situation. 

“You’ve got to stop getting yourself into these situations, Dear Boy,” Laurens huffed, caressing Alex’s pained face. Alex smiled up at his best friend, but all humor between the two was washed away when he coughed once more, but this time blood poured out from the corners of his mouth. 

“Oh God,” Laurens repeated. “No, no no-”

“Merde,” Lafayette exclaimed, pressing nearly all his body weight onto Alexander’s body. The noise that tore itself from Hamilton’s throat wasn’t quite a scream (there was too much blood and not enough air for that), but it was heartbreaking nonetheless. Lafayette closed his eyes, praying to the Lord to save his friend.

“We need a medic, Laf, he needs help,” John was crying. Alex wrapped a weak hand around Lafayette’s, uselessly trying to pull it away. His head tossed in pain that was drowning him and clouding his mind. 

Laurens moved his hands to cradle Alex’s head. Tears were falling down his cheeks as he gasped, yet a smile that didn’t meet his eyes still graced his face. 

“You’re going to be okay, we’ll get someone for you, Alex,”  he comforted. He turned to Lafayette, the smile gone. “We need to get someone for him. He needs help.”

Obviously, Lafayette knew this. He was quickly beginning to panic. Laurens was hysterical and Alexander was bleeding out in his arms. They were only two miles or so from camp, they might be able to make it. 

“We have to run,” he said to Laurens. “It might be the only way to help him.”

John sobbed. “If we move him he may die faster! We can’t-”

“Merde! Get it together, Laurens!”

Without any more words, Lafayette secured his arms around Alexander and lifted him up, trying to ignore the cry of pain that erupted from the boy. Later he would regret snapping. Laurens rose with them, wiping the tears from his face. They ignored how they were quickly replaced by new streams. He took out his pistol and rushed ahead. 

“I’ll make sure it’s clear.”

They walked, and after Alexander went limp in Lafayette’s arms, they ran. After sprinting for a while, the camp started to come into view. Lafayette could have cried. Laurens already was. 

When they entered the camp, there was an ambush of voices and hands trying to take Hamilton away from Lafayette. He barely noticed Laurens taking him away, handing him off to the medics' outstretched arms. 

“Gilbert,” Lauren’s voice cut through his thoughts. He wiped the tears from his own face. 

“Will he be okay?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t know,” Lafayette admitted. 

When Alexander awoke, he didn’t immediately recognize the room he was in. He sat up quickly, only to be stopped by a firework of pain in his abdomen. He gasped, crashing back down onto the sheets beneath him.

“Alex,” a voice said suddenly from his right. A figure came into his line of sight, hands touching his forehead and the voice shushing him gently. 

“John,” Alex recognized the voice. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them the world was a little bit clearer. 

“Don’t try to move too much, you’re injured.” 

That much Alexander could tell. The pain in his gut was burning, it was difficult to think of anything except the pain. He faintly remembered a flash of a red coat, the initial shock of the blade slicing through his stomach. He had called out for Lafayette.

“John,” Alex croaked. He brought his hand to clutch at Laurens’ which still rested on his forehead. “John, where’s Gilbert? Is he alright?”

John shushed him again, taking a seat in the rickety old chair next to the bed. 

“He’s fine. I told him to take a rest. He didn’t want to leave your side.”

Alex nodded, closing his eyes again and focusing on his breathing. He was alive. They were all alive.

The pair fell into a comfortable silence, both just basking in the fact that they were alive. John suddenly broke it.

“Be grateful for that pain, Dear Boy.” 

Alexander opened his eyes and tossed his head to face his friend, “Excuse me?”.

“Be grateful for the pain,” John repeated unapologetically. “For it is only proof that you survived.”