#had a minor eye infection recently but she's doing well!

[clamorybus]

i know a lot of people find it corny or overplayed but ngl the "two headed calf" poem makes me cry everytime

#(usually in the 'brings tears to my eyes' kind of way but sometimes more lol) #like!!! his life was short but he was still loved and had a beautiful unique experience!!!!! who could ask for more!!! #sorry i was looking up updates for deux-face and naturally i came across the poem again ajdjsksk #as of a few days ago she seems to doing well! #she still can't fully stand on her own but she's been jumping around in her sling #so she's very active and cognizant #had a minor eye infection recently but she's doing well! #mickey.txt

[lol-im-done]

killer queen | joel miller x fem!reader

'Your baseball bat looked like a flash of quicksilver in the air, lethal and swift. Blood splattered across its surface like a Jackson Pollock painting, and you the artist.'

'Joel watched as a wide harlequin smile stretched across your plump lips and it made his stomach drop. The fingers that would gently brush through his curls now pushed into the man’s eye sockets.'

His Killer Queen

tags: smut, unprotected sex, PiV, overprotectiveness, falling in love, comfort & fluff, soft!Joel, intense & explicit descriptions of violence, angst, death/murder, talks of child/infant death, trauma, mention/reference to sexual assault, memory loss, ptsd, age gap, badass reader, swearing, jealousy, limited use of (Y/N), 18+ Minors Do Not Interact!

author's note: hello! i was heavily inspired by this great quote- ‘I don’t believe in the glorification of murder, I do believe in the empowerment of women’ . this is my interpretation of a multifaceted traumatized character in the last of us world. reader is in late her twenties. please read the tags, this is a mature story with upsetting themes!

word count: 6k & AO3 link

Boston QZ

“We can’t make it that far out without-,”

“Tess.”

“Joel.”

The old man watched the standoff with little interest as he puffed away at his cigar, the pair of smugglers before him both equally determined to make each other see reason. They had been going back and forth in a fiery manner, deciding if they could do this job. Tess huffed in annoyance, sometimes she wondered how she put up with Joel Miller. They had only recently decided to take up smuggling after Tommy ran off to join the Fireflies. This run and subsequent trade would help establish them as smugglers in Boston and make the necessary connections. 

“You guys scared or something?” Rick, their new contact, chuckled as he exhaled smoke.

Tess shot him a glare, sharp as a knife. “Sorry if I’m not excited to go into what’s been called the most densely populated area of infected asshole.” 

Rick put his hands up in mock surrender, “If you’re so worried about the infected, I got someone who can help,” he offered.

“We don’t need help,” Joel snapped, eyebrows furrowing over his eyes at the thought of even having to interact with another person. The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with someone who he didn’t know. No one could be trusted.

“If you want to make it back to the QZ alive you will.”

The finality of Rick’s tone made Tess lean in closer to Joel, speaking in a hushed tone. “We don’t know the area well enough, if this person is going to get us through alive we need that.” Joel, exhausted as he was, had no argument with that so he gave a terse nod in agreement. 

“I’ll let her know you’re on your way. She can be a bit of a character, but she’s a nice one....just don’t get on her bad side,” Rick warned before pushing a card with a small map of the QZ drawn in the middle. 

That’s how they found themselves waiting for their so-called ‘backup’, faces stoic and eyes narrowed to ensure they showed no signs of weakness. But on the inside Joel’s stomach twisted in nervous knots, anxiety making his fingers tingle as he thought about all the ways this could go wrong. His racing thoughts were interrupted by incoming footsteps, Joel’s hand going to his gun instinctively but it went slack the moment he laid eyes on you. 

Today was going to be a good day, you had decided. The water from the shower had actually reached a warm temperature, you had eaten a fresh peach this morning, a gift from your neighbor. The sweet taste had made nostalgia wash over you but you couldn’t quite place the memory which wasn’t much of a surprise. There were no clear memories of your life from before the Outbreak. Occasional flashes accompanied by migraines, a vague concept that you had indeed had a life but no names, locations, only blurred faces. There were only the days and years afterwards. Hoping today would only bring you good fortune and not another injury or scar to add to your collection you hummed under your breath looking forward to the prospect of going outside of the QZ, an opportunity for a new book or knick knack.

Joel wasn’t sure who he was expecting but it wasn’t a woman holding a metal baseball bat, an array of rings adorning your fingers. The early morning sun made you almost glow, the relaxed smile on your face curving the lightning shaped scar that ran from your cheek down to your soft jaw. The first thing you noticed about the man in front of you was his handsome features- proud nose and wild curls that kissed his ears. The plaid shirt he wore stretched across his broad shoulders and his stance exuded power. Then your eyes met his and the sounds of the QZ went quiet around you, the pounding of Joel’s heart no longer from anxiety. 

“Rick send you?” 

Tess’ interruption was intentional as she stepped in front of Joel, her voice taking a territorial edge. Both you and Joel blinked harshly, snapping back to reality and to the matter at hand.

“Yup,” your eyes flitted over to the woman who looked at you with only suspicion. 

“You got a name?” Tess asked. “I’m Tess and this is Joel,” she jerked her thumb over towards where he stood. Joel watched as you twirled your bat in your hand, bouncing it off the ground like a little game before answering- “People call me a lot of things- but I’m mostly known as Quinn. Something about some old comic book character.”

Tess was not impressed by your nonchalant manner, crossing her arms with a grimace. Joel on the other hand saw something different, a quiet confidence in your stance and by the way you held that bat he had a feeling you knew how to use it. It only took you a few seconds to assess them, satisfied by your intuition and the knowledge that you had the upper hand out there you beckoned them forward.

“We don’t want to waste time, let’s get going.”

“Wait, we're going now? We need to plan out the route-,” Tess tried to say. 

“You must have looked at the map Rick showed you, right?” you turned to face them, eyebrows quirked upwards. 

“We did,” Joel replied. You weren’t prepared for the sound of his rich Southern accent, it threatened to make you blush. 

“Then you know where you’re supposed to go. I’m simply the tour guide,” you turned to continue walking, leaving them no choice but to follow. As they made it to what seemed like their main exit out of the QZ they encountered their first obstacle. 

A man with a scraggly beard emerged from behind some plywood that covered one of the exits. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Just helping some friends through,” you replied easily. 

“You don’t have any friends,” he retorted.

“Haha. You got funnier since the last time I broke your nose,” you grinned and Joel felt his lips twitch in amusement against his will. 

“Watch yourself Quinn, you’re lucky Rick gives me a cut or I’d bash your pretty little face in.”

Immediately Joel felt his fists clench up unwittingly at the man’s words and Tess shifted uneasily. In a strangely calm manner you simply pointed your bat at his face- “Do it then.” 

Joel felt his heart start to race at the suddenly dangerous tone of your voice, a flash of fear going through the man's eyes. Visibly deflating in defeat he stepped aside, “Keep moving.”

“You’re the best!” 

“Fuck you.”

Turning back to Joel and Tess you gave them an enthusiastic thumbs up and they scrambled to follow you, keen to avoid conflict. Tess looked at you a little differently after that interaction, perhaps she had underestimated you. As they continued on Joel found himself trying to memorize every turn, crawl space and opening in fences that you led them through. It took them a while but the three of you had finally made it out into the ruins of the city. 

“FEDRA guards won’t usually come past here,” you pointed at two collapsed buildings that leaned against one another. “After this point we’ll find a variety of infected,” you continued to explain before the expression on your face turned serious. “Out here and in the city outskirts there’s bound to be gangs, raiders, people who won’t hesitate to kill you. You guys probably know that by now.” 

Even speaking those words you had to force yourself to take a deep breath. Infected you could handle...other people not so much. Joel stiffened at your words, guilt simmering in his stomach so he turned away. “So it's very important that you follow my lead from here on out. I don’t enjoy having to leave people out here.” Tess and Joel shared an uneasy stare at that.  

Joel tried his best to mimic your footsteps as you jumped over cordyceps vines, crouching and crawling in a graceful, practiced manner. Soon after that they had found the abandoned pharmacy which had been obviously picked though, but Rick had insisted there were goods to be found. 

“Not gonna give us a clue where we can find the stash?” Tess asked, pushing a desk over. Joel looked over at you as you sat on the counter munching on what seemed to be a piece of chocolate. 

“I’m just the tour guide,” you reminded them. Joel was actually surprised to see a flicker of mirth on Tess’ face before it became impassive again. It seemed everything was going to plan, the stash of medications was found and they were quietly making their way through a warehouse when an all too familiar click and sound of screeches met their ears- runners and two clickers closing in from either side. 

“I’ll leave you two to handle the clickers,” was all you said before you ran head on towards the runners with a determined glint in your eye. Joel and Tess had no chance to protest, guns and hunting knives coming out for the kill. 

Joel couldn’t help but stare in wonder once he had finished off the clicker, his heart pounding under his flannel both from the adrenaline and what he was witnessing. Your baseball bat looked like a flash of quicksilver in the air, lethal and swift. Blood splattered across its surface like a Jackson Pollock painting, and you the artist. It wasn’t just the force behind each swing but the agility you seemed to use to bring down each one. The infected that surrounded you didn’t stand a chance as you swung your bat into their knees making them crumple in half before you bashed their heads in with a grunt. He found himself wondering where you had learned how to fight like that while simultaneously entranced by your hair swirling around you like a halo. 

It was moments like these that you were transported back to the dark past that haunted you, where you had been forced to fight to the death against other prisoners. Those fighting cages where your captors would toss a few of you into the ring to see who would get bit or torn to bits by the infected that chased after you. Here though, you could fight those memories with every swing of your bat. Screams, blood, screeches, sound of tearing flesh, more blood- you were knocked out of these flashbacks when you rolled backwards, sending your bat clattering to the side. Much to Joel’s surprise he felt a surge of panic for you but with an ease few had, you rolled onto one knee, hand flashing with a knife you procured from a fold in your jacket. The knife went flying through the air and hit the runner dead in the eye sending it crashing to the ground. 

Once you regained your balance with a deep breath, you reached where its limp body had landed moving to grab your knife but something else caught your eye. “Nice,” you grinned. “Score!” you waved the copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire in the air, before running over to an out of breath Joel and shaken Tess. 

“You two good?” you tilted your head, concern evident in your tone. They exchanged a disbelieving look before letting out laughs of relief. 

“Yeah we’re good,” Joel sighed wiping the sweat off his forehead. 

“Alright then, keep up old man,” you winked at Joel, missing the glare Tess sent you. 

That should have been the end of it, they had secured a connection into the smuggling sector of Boston and made it back alive thanks to you. Tess had offered you a few ration cards upon your return but you simply waved your book insisting it was payment enough. You were a character alright, Joel thought. As the weeks went on the image of you fighting wouldn’t leave his mind. The juxtaposition of your soft smile, playful smirk, and violent display of skill replayed in his mind as he repeated the mindless tasks at his job site. There was a small sense of disappointment he desperately tried to ignore when you hadn’t joined them on another run but to his luck he began to encounter you on the occasional work assignment and daily life. He wasn’t sure what to make of you at first. He noticed that you tended to isolate yourself from the majority of the population, but everytime you approached him you seemed to genuinely want to engage in conversation. Had it been anyone else he would have told them to fuck off or sent them running with his signature glare. It had been your never ending supply of smiles and tangents on the most random of topics that began to soften his attitude towards you. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to his quiet nature, there were so many emotions lurking in his eyes and old smile lines that made you feel at ease. Somewhere in between your lively chatter and his occasional grunts of acknowledgement you had become friends. It wasn’t a partnership based on trades or acquaintanceship by sheer happenstance, you enjoyed spending time with him and Joel actually liked you. 

Joel knew he was treading dangerous ground when he felt an unfamiliar sensation of warmth in his chest when you’d call him ‘cowboy’ once he revealed he was from Texas. He would never voice these feelings, especially to Tess who he felt himself becoming more distant with. While the terms of their relationship were clear, sex between them had once been quite regular but ever since meeting you he couldn’t bring himself to think about that with Tess and it quickly tapered off. She voiced no opinion or objection on the matter even though she knew precisely why, both of them now focusing solely on smuggling. Joel thought that the no strings attached type of relationship was the only thing he would ever allow himself but every minute spent with you made his heart yearn for more. It terrified him and thrilled him in equal measure. 

Against his better judgment he found himself asking others about you, discreetly of course and under the guise that he needed to know more about a potential smuggling partner. Joel Miller understood loss; painful, world shattering loss that left one roaming the earth like a tortured soul. He also understood that in this new world, everyone would be forced to do things they’d never imagine doing, unimaginable things. None of this prepared him for what he learned. It was undisputed that you were a successful smuggler, that you were a force to be reckoned with inside and out of the QZ.  While many would say you had a penchant for violence, they could concede that you had some semblance of a moral code. This was clouded by the stories that followed behind you like a trail of smoke. Someone swore they had seen you fight your way through more than a dozen infected with just your silver bat and sheer will to survive, bathed in blood and gore. Others claimed you were prone to bouts of hysteria, going into blind rampages that had resulted in you killing some people in the last QZ you lived in. Some even claimed to know of stories of you as far back as the start of the Outbreak - “Heard she started to lose it after having to kill her own sister and brother when they got bit. Then she got captured by some slavers…you know how that went. Must have been enough since she sliced all their guts open. Left them out like some deranged warning.”  The stories only became more callous after that- “Got pregnant…not by choice of course. She killed it after it was born.” 

Joel never gave these stories much merit, people liked to make up stories since they had nothing better to do. The only one he could believe was you taking on all those infected, he had seen it himself. That all began to change after one night. Side by side you walked through the busy street, stifling back a yawn. You leaned closer to him as you told him about your day but something made you freeze mid sentence. Joel stumbled into you with an apology on the tip of his tongue until he followed your gaze. The soft babble of the baby, a flash of a memory- Sarah swaddled in his arms the night she was born, made his heart lurch. Babies were a rarity these days, not many were born in the QZ and even fewer survived. When he regained his senses he looked around to find you but you had disappeared. Following his instinct he found himself in a dark alleyway around the corner where he heard heaving sobs. There you were, arms wrapped around yourself and leaning against the wall as you shook from the panic that overtook your body. Before he could stop himself Joel had you in his arms, his strong arms anchoring your body. 

“I- I- my baby--,” you choked out incoherently, hands clutching your stomach as phantom pain engulfed your body and flashbacks made your head pound. It was a curse that your mind could not wash away the terrible memories of her loss like it had washed away the memories of your past life. Her birth was your biggest joy and her death was your greatest sorrow, one that had left you on the brink of madness. Slowly the drag of Joel’s calloused hands along your back began to bring you out of it, the flow of tears slowing and breathes returning to normal. 

“I know darlin’ I know,” Joel sighed against your temple, the term of endearment coming out naturally. He didn’t need to know exactly what had happened but now he understood. Tears gathered in his own eyes at the thought that you had gone through the same pain he felt after losing Sarah. Tethered by this shared loss, you stood there wrapped together in a blanket of grief. Burrowing yourself deeper into his arms you felt real comfort for the first time in years. 

The following day he spotted you in front of your apartment building, your eyes still red rimmed and vulnerable. He was uncertain of the way to approach you and when you caught his eye you bit your lip overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. Eventually you tilted your heads towards a small bench nearby. After last night it was clear that something shifted in your relationship, what was a friendship was now on the precipice of becoming something else entirely. Something the two of you were not entirely sure how to approach.

“Quinn-,”

“(Y/N). My name is (Y/N).”

Joel felt his heart skip a beat, emotion filling his chest and in return for the precious gift of your name, he grasped your cheek not caring who saw. He audibly gulped, struggling to put together these newfound feelings into words, so utterly terrified of messing it all up. 

“I don’t know how this will go. I can’t promise you that the QZ will always be safe, but I will be by your side and do everything I can to protect you,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Fuck. I realize I can’t control anything and that’s why I’ve been so scared of getting closer to you but I want to try, try for us,” Joel finished. 

“I’m by your side, always,” you whispered back. A press of your forehead against his sealed this promise. There was no denying it, you were truly, madly and deeply in love with Joel Miller. 

The next few weeks went by as normal as normal could be for you and Joel. Days spent on trade runs, evenings wrapped in each other's arms or swaying to the sound of your eclectic record collection. He had even introduced you to Bill and Frank one weekend, wanting you to experience the delicacy of their cooking and the soft cotton sheets even if for one night. But normalcy never lasted forever. Not for you. Joel waited at your usual table at DeMarco’s bar, Tess shuffling cards beside him with a cigarette dangling from her lips. She didn’t even bother to start a conversation, saving her gossip for your impending arrival. Joel was beginning to get restless, wanting nothing more than to have you close to his side with a hand gripping your waist like a dragon coveting his treasure. He knew you enjoyed this, a smirk always gracing your features as he stared down anyone he caught eyeing you. The bell above the door let out its usual jingle but there was no dazzling smile or off kilter attempt at a joke. Tempestuous was the only way to properly describe the tight frown of your mouth, emotionless eyes and aura of danger. Anyone in your vicinity scattered hoping they were not the object of your ire. Joel managed to intercept you as you made your way towards the back of the bar, trying to whisper your name but it didn’t seem to register. 

“I know what they say about me,” you whispered, not able to meet his eyes. “They say I’m a monster, that I’m demented, but there’s worse out there…the ones who made me into this.” 

“Sweetheart what’s going on-.”

“I have to finish this.”

As if in a trance you slipped from his grasp, grabbing an empty beer bottle from a table, cracks beginning to stretch across its neck. There was only one thought in your mind, one purpose- to make him pay. Joel watched as you walked towards a man whose face morphed into sheer terror once he saw the bottle swinging towards his head. People jumped at the sound of shattering glass and the pained cries from the man made the hairs on Joel’s arm stand straight up. Joel tried to reach you but your words- I have to finish this and Tess’ grip on him kept him at bay. Taking advantage of your target’s shock you swung your fist at his face, relishing in the resounding crack. He cursed before sending a punch to your cheek that made your face whip sideways resulting in a violent struggle on top of one of the tables. Eventually you both rolled to the ground ignoring the sting of glass that pressed into your knees. You clutched his shirt in your hands to ground yourself for a moment. There was no doubt it was him, the man who haunted your dreams, the only one that had escaped you. 

“I thought- ugh- you were dead,” he choked out as blood spilled out of his mouth and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you. 

“I wish I was Travis but yet here I am,” you leaned closer. “I knew you were out there somewhere surviving like some roach. After I finished off your little friends-,”

“You slaughtered them-,” he tried to protest, another punch to his face shutting him up. In this moment all you felt was unbridled rage, all you could see before you was the man that had imprisoned and tortured you for years. Here was one of the men that had robbed you of any chance at a normal existence. 

“Do you understand what you put me through?” you hissed, digging your fingers into his neck feeling the muscles constrict as he desperately tried to suck in oxygen. “You and those fucking slavers destroyed the person I was. Made me kill other fucking people for your sick entertainment,” you pressed harder into his neck. A sudden flashback made you shudder- the contractions, all the blood, your screams of pain before her first breaths. 

“Then you took her from me, you made me kill my daughter. You thought you were a fucking saint for that, that it was a mercy letting me smother her instead of leaving her out in the blizzard.” Joel had managed to inch closer and it gave him the ability to hear every detail, his heart shattered at your words. It all became clear, the pieces of your tragic past falling together.

“Stupid crazy bitch,” Travis managed to choke out.

“I’m not fucking stupid!” you roared, giving him a rough shake. Travis’ pathetic whimpers were like music to your ears, satisfaction filled you as you watched tears pool in his eyes before cascading over his pale skin. 

“No- no don’t cry,” you cooed, smoothing your fingers across his eyelids. Joel watched as a wide harlequin smile stretched across your plump lips and it made his stomach drop. The fingers that would gently brush through his curls now pushed into the man’s eye sockets. A buzzing sound rang in your ears, drowning out the ear splitting scream of your abuser as you squeezed tighter and tighter. This went on and on until his body went limp beneath you, hands now soaked in crimson blood. Distantly you could hear the sound of someone vomiting, chairs screeching as people ran out of the bar in case FEDRA showed up. You didn’t even seem to register Joel as you stood up with a sigh. Tess pushed past the nausea she felt, gripping Joel’s arm trying to get them out of there but his eyes were latched onto you unable to look away. Taking a seat at a nearby table you took a demure sip of water, hand relaxed at your side with blood pooling down onto the ground. As if nothing had ever happened you began to hum along to the song that came from the jukebox. 

She’s a killer queen

Gunpowder, gelatine

Dynamite with a laser beam

Guaranteed to blow your mind

Motherfucker got his mind blown alright.

“Go, we’ll handle this and get her home,” the owner, Mr. DeMarco frantically pushed Joel and Tess out of the door before locking it tightly behind them. 

“Let’s go!” Tess cried and left with no choice; he let her drag him off. 

Back at Tess’ apartment, they sat at the table, statuesque in their silence as they processed what they had witnessed. 

“I don’t get it,” Tess finally spoke, running a hand through her hair. 

“What don’t you get?” 

“How you can want her,” Tess replied coldly. Joel’s head snapped towards her, indignation filling him to the brim. “Look I get it we’re not perfect, no one is. We’re all fucked up, but she’s-,”.

“Don’t say another fucking word-” Joel growled, pointing his finger at her in warning.  

“She’s twisted. Broken and twisted back into something barely human.”

Joel felt anger surge through his body at Tess’ words, the same ones so many others had said about you. None of them truly knew you or what you had been through, none of them had any right to judge you. 

“I'm sorry to say it Joel but someone has to.”

“You ain’t sorry about shit. You’re just like everyone else, thinking she’s crazy-,”

“She is! She’s not even afraid of dying! She practically welcomes it with open arms,” Tess slammed her hand on the table. 

“I’m not going to keep listening to this bullshit Tess. You don’t know her like I do. I know who she is,” Joel growled. 

“Does she even know what she is? At least I know what I am. I don’t put on this mask of sweet smiles before I go off and squish a man’s head in,” she snapped. 

“That is who she is, Tess. Don’t you get it? You think it’s some mask? A way to deceive people? You’re more blind than I thought,” Joel hissed. How could he explain to Tess that there was humanity in your hands that were bathed in blood? How could he put into words that for the first time since he had lost everything, he had found someone who truly saw him. Sending her a final glare he stood up and went out to find you hoping he hadn’t lost you. 

True to his word, Mr. DeMarco had somehow gotten you to your apartment. Guilt constricted Joel’s chest, he felt like a coward for allowing them to push him out and then running away from the bar, from you. Using the spare key you had gifted him he entered and there you lay limp on your bed, the blood from your hands staining the sheets beneath you. He knew there was no use in trying to get a word out of you, your eyes were open but there was nothing behind them. With care he didn’t know he still possessed he spent the next hour cleaning you up and tending to your wounds. Diligently he fished out the pieces of glass from your knees with a practiced hand. Joel made sure to ply you with plenty of water before getting you under the spray of the shower, careful to avert his eyes from your naked form. As he finished wrapping your bruised hands, the light slowly returned to your eyes as you lay swaddled in a blanket next to, pressing closer to him. 

“I’ll tell you that story one day. Not tonight but soon. I’ll tell you about the people who took me, what they did to me, what I did to them. Then I’ll tell you about her.”

Joel jumped in surprise not expecting to hear your voice tonight. There was no evidence in your tone that you were upset with him but a knot formed in his throat regardless. 

“Darling I’m so fucking sorry-,”.

“Don’t- Joel you have nothing to be sorry for,” you stopped him, getting up on your knees so that you were eye level with him. “I had to do that, there was no choice for me. The best thing you could have done was to let me do it and you did,” you whispered. The blanket that was once wrapped around you was beginning to slip from your shoulders.

“I shouldn’t have left you there alone,” he hung his head. 

“It was safer for you to leave if FEDRA had shown up. The DeMarco’s handled it though so I think we owe them,” you tilted his chin up. “Probably need to replace Manny DeMarco’s jacket, left a bunch of blood on him when he carried me back here,” you whispered, relishing in the flash of surprise in Joel’s eyes. His hands traveled up to your hips, squeezing the flesh there. 

“He carried you?”

Joel knew that Manny, Mr. DeMarco’s son, had harbored a crush on you for as long as they had frequented the bar and the thought of another man carrying you made jealousy churn in his stomach. 

“I know what you’re thinking Joel, but my act of vengeance probably scared him off for good poor kid,” you chuckled before your eyes filled with uncertainty. “Did I scare you off?” you whispered. Joel gripped you tighter, eyebrows furrowing in incredulity. 

“Scare me off? Baby no, fuck I was scared shitless watching you fight but I ain’t ever leaving your side. I promised you that and nothing you did changes that,” Joel presses you closer to him, your breasts pressing against his chest. The blanket was now slipping into dangerous territory and something began to simmer low in your stomach at his voice. The emotional weight of his words and reassurance of his love made you certain of this next step. 

“Joel,” you beg, hands clutching at his shoulders. 

The breathlessness of your voice, the way you shimmy the blanket off revealing yourself to him makes Joel’s mind go blank. He had always been intentional in making sure he never pushed your boundaries, the furthest thing you had welcomed was a deep kiss. Now his eyes roam over your body appreciating every curve, freckle, birthmark he can spot. Carefully his fingers trace the old scars, evidence of everything you battled in your life. He kisses a particularly rough one, an old brand mark over your rib making your eyes glisten with tears. 

“I haven’t- not since-,” you stammered, shaking those memories from your head.  

“I know,” Joel whispered, wishing he could find all those men who had hurt you and make them pay but he knew that you had already finished the job. You, his beautiful brave girl. 

“We don’t have to do any of this you know,” Joel whispered, hand coming to your cheek, stroking your lightning mark as he calls it. 

“I never had a choice with them and before the outbreak…I don’t remember if I even had any of this. But I want this, I want you. Please,” you assured him. That’s all Joel needed, hands coming to roam across your ass before rocking your soaked core across his clothed cock. The act made your head spin, wetness gushing out of you and nipples hardening. Before you could plead for more, Joel had carefully maneuvered you onto your back careful not to aggravate your wounds. Your mouth opened in wonder as he quickly removed his clothes before coming to hover over you. Joel hoped you weren’t disappointed in him but by the way you licked your lips hungrily any self consciousness disappeared. He wanted nothing more than to take his time with you, but you were making it clear you did not have the patience for that today. 

“Darlin’ let me at least open you up,” Joel kissed down your neck and you squirmed before nodding quickly. His thick fingers prodded at your entrance, your hips coming down to grind down on them. Joel cursed under his breath as he slipped one in before your greedy cunt practically begged for another finger, your cries mingling with his ragged breaths. Finally he felt you were prepared enough so he withdrew his fingers and aligned his hips to yours making you whine. 

“Inside me please.”

Joel moaned loudly into your ear as his cock pressed into you, giving you time to adjust as your cunt stretched to fit him in. He grasped the base of his length to keep himself from finishing too quickly at the sight of your head thrown back in pleasure, a keening cry escaping your swollen lips. 

“Fuckin hell baby,” Joel groaned before you pull him down for a bruising kiss. This was the most intimate you had ever been with someone, his forehead pressed against yours with every roll of his hips as he pushes deeper and deeper. The bed is thumping rhythmically against the wall, the lewd sound of your wetness and combined moans filling the air. Joel felt himself nearing his climax, so his thumb goes to rub your clit in tight motions making your back arch. It only takes a few more minutes of this before you gasp as if dunked into icy water. With a cry of his name your walls flutter around him practically choking his cock, delicious heat spreading across your body as your orgasm overtakes you. Joel barely has time to pull out, groaning as his come spills across your stomach making you moan at the eroticism of the act. You don’t think you’ve seen Joel so relaxed a smile overtaking his features which makes you blush.

“I love you (Y/N).”

“I love you Joel.”

Joel is dutiful as he cleans you, peppering your skin in soft kisses, and soon he is back in bed behind you. As your heartbeats settle there is a peaceful silence in the room, even the apartment building was void of its usual distractions. Moonlight washes over your naked bodies like a blanket, illuminating your sweaty skin. You thought you were imagining it at first but then the soft rumble behind you turned into words. It was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, Joel was singing to you. His voice was like velvet tickling against your ears, the warmth of his hands relaxing your body until you drifted off into the ocean of dreams. 

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x y/n

[hearts4namra]

okay this is more recent but i wrote it pre-gekko release based off leaks because i was excited to write a spanish speaking reader :3 don’t mind if it seems rushed or if gekko is a bit ooc. i only went back in to fill in the names of wingman and mateo.

fluff/minor character death (they’re watching all of us are dead)

SOMEONE TEACH ME HOW TO ADD A CONTINUE READING BAR 😭😭

there wasn’t much to do around the headquarters today.

usually you spent your time helping the tinkerers with their inventions, slaving away over killjoys lab table or convincing cypher to let you into his own so you could get a peek at his tech. today was a break day, however, and while you doubted it stopped anyone from working, you were pretty down to sit in your room and chill the whole day.

you blew up neons phone for a bit but came to the conclusion she was sleeping in, and eventually settled for watching youtube on your phone until you got the energy to get up and queue some league with the girls. (kj and raze, of course.) however your lazy plans were thwarted by a knock at your door, you groaned at the prospect of putting on pants and called to the door, praying it was someone you could remain indecent in-front of.

“who is it?”

“delivery-man!”

you smiled softly at the sound of mateos voice, beckoning him into the room.

“come in, then! why’d you even knock?” he opened the door and raised a teasing eyebrow at you. “you got something going on with the delivery man?” he closed it behind wings, who waddled in with a few quacks as he carried two takeout trays above his head. “how can i not? i mean, look at you.” you squeezed his cheeks and he chuckled, pulling your hands away and dragging you into sitting up. “come on, let’s eat.” you yawned and stood, ignoring the tint of his face as he realized you had no pants on. you dragged him over to the couch with you and wingman hopped onto the arm of it, planting the takeout into your lap and leaning against you in favor of his owner. he received a glare in response, to which you snickered and pat wings on the head.

you passed the box on top to mateo and put yours down in your lap, sitting criss cross as he searched around for the remote. you reached in-between the couch cushions and passed it to him before patting the open space between you two. “you know i don’t bite~” he scooted closer and turned on the tv. “mentirosilla..” you snickered and popped the styrofoam box open. gasping in excitement. “empanadas! thank you, teo.” you turned to face him and he met your eyes, planting a peck on your lips as he grinned. “of course, hermosa. they’re from that chilean place you liked.” you leaned against him and pulled the empanada apart to start eating. “you’re the best.. what are we gonna watch? you brought the food, so you pick.” he leaned his head on top of yours and opened netflix.

“what about that k-drama you wanted to watch?”

“well, then it doesn’t count as you picking.”

he pinched your thigh and you swatted his hand.

“burro.. fine.”

he laughed softly and rubbed the place he pinched.

“don’t be like that, i want to watch it because you suggested it. what was it called?”

“it’s in my list, there.”

you pointed and he played the show as you finally started eating. a few episodes passed and you nearly cried only two episodes in, then a particularly sad scene played where one of your favorites died. he avoided looking at you as he felt his nose grow stuffy, tears welling in his eyes.

don’t cry in front of her, that’s embarrassing..

but when he finally spared you a glance, he noticed your hand pressed against your lips as tears streamed down your face. the main character led his infected friend out the window and you blinked, more tears falling.

“duuuddee, what the fuck??”

you complained, clearly unashamed of your tears. the episode ended and you stared at the screen astonished before looking up at him. “did you cry? this shit has me fucked up, no way you’re this stone cold.” he shook his head, smiling softly at your demeanor. it was a stupid thought, to think you’d find him uncool for crying. he should remember how cool you actually are. “yeah, i cried.” you shook your head and faced the screen as the next episode began.

“he was literally just like you i’m so pissed. he should’ve been endgame, fuck this show.” he smirked and pointed at a girl in the show crying, who had been particularly useless the entire time. “she reminds me of you.” you smacked his arm and pushed off of him, waking up poor wingman who cuddled into your side. “mentiroso! that’s not even funny, fuck you!” he laughed and rubbed his arm dramatically. “i’m kidding, i’m kidding. you’re more like the class prez.”

“i am not that cool, but yeah i see it.” you nudged his arm with a teasing look. “hey, she’s hot right?” he blushed and pushed you playfully. “don’t ask me that!” you snickered and grabbed his arm, holding it in yours. “hey man, it’s fiiine, no harm in calling a pretty girl pretty.” he rolled his eyes. “she’s.. come se dice, bonita. not hermosa, though.” you turned to look up at him. “i think she’s hermosa.”

he shook his head, looking back at you.

“no, that’s you.” you blushed and pinched his arm softly. “ay! jesus..” you pecked his lips and turned to face the tv again.

“hey, i think we need to go back.”

he turned to face the tv as well, noticing now that two of the cast members were completely missing from the room and people were crying again.

“oh shit, we talked through like ten minutes of that..”

#gekko x reader #gekko valorant #valorant x you #valorant x reader #valorant fic

[fangirleaconmigo]

Both Unwanted Daughters

Yennefer x Renfri. Rated mature for references to Renfri’s past.

Here is what I imagine would have happened if Yen came to Blaviken instead of Geralt.

—-

Yennefer pretends she does not sense the wild woman in the smoky tavern approaching her. But she does. She has no choice.

The woman’s chaos is like frenzied sparks broken free of a wildfire. The warmth skitters across Yennefer’s skin. She has to focus to prevent herself from visibly reacting to it.

When she raises her eyes and gets a real, proper look at the woman, she reacts anyways, with a sharp intake of breath.

Yennefer has grown inured to beauty. In her world, beauty is an object created for display. It is one tool among many, used to impress and manipulate people. After decades of attending lavish parties with caviar illusions, false white smiles, and finery created with the burnished skin of endangered species, she has forgotten what it feels like to be awestruck by beauty.

Actual beauty.

Beauty that does not exist to be observed. Beauty that roars to life, streaked with dirt and clad in audacity, and sinks its claws into your flesh.

The woman swaggers closer still, her scabbard slapping softly against her hips. The way she moves suggests that her slight, gently curvaceous body is far more powerful than it looks. The table full of craven thugs she has just left in the corner studiously avert their eyes.

“Madam Yennefer of Vengerberg.” Her eyes glitter with a mocking humor. She bows so low that her honey brown curls tumble forward, momentarily obscuring her face.

“What do you want?” Yennefer demands sharply, pretending to be very interested in her cup of wine.

It isn’t true that Yennefer feels nothing in the face of beauty. Dangerous beauty. Ungovernable beauty.

She feels plenty. She feels irritated.

“Well.” The woman smirks and leans rakishly against the bar. “I love a girl who gets right to the point. My name is—“

“Princess Renfri of Creyden.”

Princess Renfri’s eyebrows shoot up. She is surprised, but pleased. “How did you know?”

“I know about every political intrigue that happens in the North.”

Bitterness briefly clouds Renfri’s face. “Is that what it is called in your world when a man rapes you and tries to kill you?” She aims a scornful glance at the sorceress. “Political intrigue?”

Yennefer cannot help it. She snorts. She is not given to snorting. But it is so childishly naive and stupid.

“Just barely.”

“What the shit is that supposed to mean?”

Yennefer shrugs. “You are not a proper heir. So, I would call it minor political intrigue.” She waves her hand casually. “And you only qualify as that much because in recent years, the exploits of Meve and Calanthe have convinced a few powerful men to pay more attention to disaffected little girls.”

Renfri does not like disaffected little girls and her eyes blaze. But Yennefer pretends not to notice.

“Your situation is worth, at most, a mention near the end of a meeting, just when things are wrapping up and people try to cram in the smaller matters that do not actually warrant conversation.”

Renfri’s face hardens. Her body bunches up and her anger is raw. It infects the flavor, there is no better way to describe it, of her chaos. It tastes exactly like the thing that she is—-an unwanted daughter with a weeping infected wound. It is too familiar. Yennefer feels it like a stab to her soft fleshy underbelly and she has to harden herself to mirror the anger she sees in the princess.

“And who the fuck are you to speak that way about me?” Renfri demands.

Yennefer spins on her stool and looks at her defiantly. “Even less. If you are minor political intrigue, then I am what minor political intrigue shits out. Unlike you, I have never had a throne to lose. Unlike you, I have nothing to reclaim. There is no greatness awaiting me with open arms. I was born into pig shit and thrown out with the refuse. How dare you ask me for anything?”

Yennefer can feel heat creeping into her voice, so she stops abruptly and turns back towards the bar again.

Renfri blinks, clearly taken aback. Clearly considering the twist the conversation has taken. Yennefer drinks her wine. She nods at the bartender to indicate that she is finished with her plate.

“I misjudged you.”

Yennefer ignores her. She is still trying to stifle the emotion that sent the heat into her voice.

Renfri stands and watches her in silence. It should feel awkward. Dishware clinks and men sit at tables telling foul jokes. And Renfri is silent.

Yet it isn’t awkward. Once Yen is calmer she feels a tinge of regret. Her anger is misplaced. Misdirected. Renfri hasn’t done anything wrong.

“Wait,” Renfri says, breaking the silence. She has just thought to ask something. “How did you know I was her? You’ve heard the stories. But how did you connect them to me?”

Yennefer glances over and looks her up and down. “Only a Princess would be so utterly, comically shit at tailoring the clothes she stole off an oversized thug.”

Renfri chuckles. Her shoulders have loosened now. She thinks they are on the same side. That is dangerous. They are not on the same side.

“You lie like a fox, Lady Yennefer. I look dashing.” She pulls down her vest and pats her hips as though to make sure everything is still there.

Despite her best efforts, Yennefer’s eyes follow the movement of her hands, lingering just a precious beat too long on her waist. On the spot where it swells elegantly into her hips. Renfri’s lips curl into a smug smile.

Yennefer yanks her eyes away but Renfri has smelled the blood in the water. She leans against the bar, sliding closer, until Yennefer is forced to look directly at her again.

“So that is how you knew I was a princess? I look like utter shit?” Her voice is sing song and mocking.

Yennefer rolls her eyes. “That and the squad of goons at the table who obviously defer to you. What other wild woman roams the countryside looking deranged and commanding an assortment of idiots with clubs and daggers?”

Renfri laughs again. It is throaty and self assured. There is nothing calculated about it. No wonder they fucking hated her at court.

“Now that you have confirmation that I am a princess, are you intrigued, Lady Yennefer?” Her eyes slide from Yennefer’s face down her neck. She wets her lower lip. “Tell me. Have you ever wanted to bed a princess? In your very long life?”

Yennefer purses her lips and ignores Renfri’s attempt to goad her about her age. “Just tell me what you want. I don’t have time for games.”

The smile does not leave Renfri’s lips but she grows serious. “Alright. I need your help.”

“That’s better. I prefer honesty.”

Renfri laughs. “I was being honest. I would kill to make those enchanting violet eyes flutter closed in ecstasy-“

Yennefer holds up her hand. “Stop. Just tell me what you want so I can tell you no, and so you can leave me in peace, disgraced, feral, exiled Princess Renfri of Creyden.”

Just as she did not respond to Renfri’s attempt to goad her, Renfri manages not to take the bait.

“Fine,” she responds. She lowers her voice and scoots closer still. Yennefer can no longer see her cup of wine because her entire view of the bar is blocked by Renfri. She turns the full force of her doe eyes on Yennefer. They are light honey brown like her hair, shot through with green.

“You are in town to meet with Stregobor. And I want to kill him.”

Yennefer blanches.

“That frightens you?”

Yen carefully returns her expression neutral. She thinks quickly.

She is there to meet Stregobor because after twenty years of clawing and scraping and scheming, she is finally on the precipice of being appointed to the Council. Stregobor, who has always disdained her, but who she has thoroughly outmaneuvered, is her final hurdle to being seated on the council.

It is a done deal. A formality. But Yennefer is wise enough to know that done deals can unravel at the last possible moment.

She cannot afford to go into this meeting ignorant of a crime Stregobor has committed. She must know what his vulnerabilities are. Who his enemies are.

Whatever the contemptible, awful little toad has done to Renfri, Yen can use that information to curry favor with him. Or to manipulate him. Or to blackmail him. She doesn’t know yet. But information is power. And the fact that she doesn’t know why Renfri of Creyden wants to kill him is an unacceptable, even shocking, lapse in information and power.

She must get the princess to share. To speak freely. She must make sure her appointment goes off without a hitch. So, Yen goads her again, but hopefully in a less obvious way this time.

“Not frightened. Just surprised. Stregobor is so respectable. So highly regarded. It simply surprises me that he could have done something to deserve death.”

“Liar.”

She speaks the word as though it is real. But she seems amused. Like Yen’s lie is a joke they are both in on.

“What did he do?” Yen repeats.

Renfri casts her eyes down, then looks up fetchingly.“I will tell you, but it will take some time.”

Yen leans forward as though she is telling her a secret. They are so close now that she can feel Renfri’s breath on her. “I have time. I don’t meet him until tomorrow.”

Renfri considers for a moment. “May I join you for dinner? In the private luxury suite you have no doubt rented for the week?”

It is both the worst and the best idea that Yennefer has heard in ages. It is a dangerous game being seen with a woman who wants to kill the man with final approval for her appointment to the council. But she can use any information she gains to her advantage.

Any desire, any deep burning want she feels for the princess is entirely incidental.

“Shall I change into court attire?” she teases. I have never had a private dinner with a princess.

Renfri smiles and drags a finger down a lock of Yennefer’s hair. She watches the soft, shiny lock slide between her fingers. “Actually, the less attire the better.”

She barely has to move. It is just a subtle lean.

And they are kissing.

——

I have been dreaming of writing this fic for probably the past year and a half. Then I heard The Calling, off of The Amazing Devil’s Ruin album. And I thought oh. This is Yen and Renfri. And I started writing.

I will probably work on it here and there until it is done. But since I know it is really almost exclusively for me (not many Yenfri readers) I will take my time. But I’m putting my whole heart into it.

#the witcher #yennefer of vengerberg #renfri of creyden #descarada writes #descarada writes yenfri #the amazing devil lyrics as fic titles #yenfri #the calling #the amazing devil #yennefer x renfri #Renfri

[autonomousbosch]

Resolve

My older brother was in a motorcycle accident recently. We have a special relationship even outside of being brothers, as I’ve never met another man who truly understands what life is like as a miscreant, but for some reason our relationship always feels more important whenever one of us has been hurt. He got in an accident before I left the American southeast for New Jersey. Aside from the shock of a near fatal accident, it also caused a minor uproar with the town police as well as EMS workers. Just as if it were some black comedy, there was a second accident after his own which definitely did kill and maim. In fact, I cannot recall a moment in time more close to my own flesh were such baroque gore spiraled forth from a single accident. We have had our skulls split open, knees torn apart, lips lopped off, shoulders ripped from the socket, bodies thrown from windshields, life in general has been a very bloody affair at points in a way that we secretly find satisfying. I love my older brother because every time we talk, things seem to come back to how horrible it is when dying is truly difficult; how deranged life becomes when your pain is funny. 

Not to sound too bleak or brooding, just to say that it is nice to have a comrade to share this with in a way that matters. They have him doing physical therapy and we are once again discussing pain, as well as our experience with it. Like two philosophers, we come to an agreement that the worst pain can possibly get is when you’re afraid of it. For him, it’s trying to maintain symmetry while strength training with nerve damage. For me, it was the pain of having wisdom teeth, long since broken in a mosh pit, finally become infected. He says that he’s never experienced pain before where he is crying. Not sobbing I say, recalling being doubled over in an emergency room bed with tears streaming from my eyes and drool pooling on the only mattress you envision an emergency room having. “Perfectly lucid, responsive, just endless tears.” 

“That’s right,” he says. “I can think clearly, and i can feel clearly. It hurts so bad I’m finally afraid of pain.”

Then he goes on to talk about how sad it is that our friends are dying. They are dying indeed. I’m entering my mid thirties soon, he is nearing his forties. Eventually he moves on to a new woman he’s dating. Her name is Adrian, though I might be spelling it incorrectly. She’s a schoolteacher, an orphan from an adopted family. She refuses to date him at all until he’s divorced which we both agree is good, because my older brother is an odd kind of misogynist. Some of it justifiable, some of it not so justifiable because he’s a womanizer; if not the root of his material problems then a significant contributor to them. Though I fear for this relationship with a new woman the way I always fear for his relationship with new women–some for him and some for her, enough to go around to be clear–I do the brotherly thing to do and wish him well regardless. Of course I hope my brother finds love, and I’m pleased to hear that it seems like he might. Again.

Lord have mercy, he is talking about butterflies in his stomach, giggling whenever she says and does things. Behaving as if ordered to by some divinity to be enslaved, perennially acting in service to the thought of another. I don’t know why I got this, it just reminded me of you. Lots of things remind me of you. I could be inside the pipe section of Home Depot and think, you know what she would love? Sharing some ice cream with me. It’s bittersweet to say but of course I know that feeling, I have a complicated relationship with it in that I either wish I had it again or had no knowledge of it at all. There’s bliss in being defiled, it’s hard to tell whether the tragedy is no longer having bliss or forever being defiled afterward. Of course there’s no need to say that to him, so I’ll just keep it to myself and wish him well.

Unfortunately, the longer I talk to him about it the more I feel a grave being upturned. The longer I think about it, the more I realize I less and less like to talk to Adam, my older brother, about the women in my life anywhere near as much as I enjoy him talking about the women in his. Maybe it’s because he’s an odd strain of misogynist that complications with women simply never arise; he’s either unpalatable outright or an intriguing specimen. I imagine some women have experience with this confusing judgment call to make, evidenced by his success. I find women endlessly complicating people. I hate how fiercely my heart responds to them when I admire them, I hate the feeling of being bewitched by something which exists outside the comprehension of my savage mind. I’m sick to death of subtext, of reading between lines. Sick of independently redeveloping academic ideas of psychology simply because I need them to make some kind of sense to me.

“How are ya’ll doing?” he asks. I don’t know what he means by “ya’ll,” because it’s her and I, not us. We’re thinking about starting a business. “That’s all?” Well Adam, it’s confusing but we’re pretty convinced about this part of things. “I mean I’m happy for ya’ll and I know ya’ll will do well.” I don’t know how to answer him because I’m sick of thinking about it.

I told him that eventually you just kind of learn to make peace with confusion. Sometimes famous people die and their letters are released posthumously, Julia and Paul Child come to mind. Sometimes people of no regard at all die and their letters wind up at post card conventions; corridors of anonymous hearts to wander through and consider that many people have wonderful handwriting, lots of people like to farm, correspondence has been a near sacred act of communication for millennia now. Sometimes a whole lot is said when a farmer puts his pen to paper and tells an odd woman, someone you could never possibly hope to understand, how hopeful he is for his yam harvest and how much their blushing orange flesh reminds him of her. They wrote back and forth quite a few times, all his postcards were beautiful hand-drawn pictures of wildlife. Do they intend to hide this all? Or is it that private language is just inherently obscure? 

I talked to him about private language, about how we need to agree on what “cold” feels like because if it feels so cold you “die”, another thing it is very important for us collectively to agree about. Then I also told him that sometimes we don’t want everyone to agree, sometimes we want the right people to agree and no one else. Because of this, when communication is so psychologically sophisticated that someone actually does understand, it feels like a standard human feature that sometimes a nuclear bomb is dropped on your psychology in a way you couldn’t consent to, and thusly that you never would’ve asked for. In a situation like this, it’s going to be painfully confusing until it is either nothing at all or inseparable from who you are. It has not ended and will never end any other way. 

Luckily he seemed to understand; confusion as a liminal space as everyone likes to call it. Purgatory between heaven and hell. It’s clear that we care about each other, I’m telling him. She has the flu while she’s starting a new job, so I make sure she has soup to come home to, decaffeinated tea to drink at night–lavender, good aroma to open up the chest I tell him–and then how I have it in my mind to make her a very red dinner with very red ingredients and a very red tablecloth with red wine. She knew I needed a winter coat, so she got one for me that fits perfectly. I told him I was going to build her a footstool that only she could use because she’s just so short, holistically so. To build something just for her, using the measurements of her hip width and gait. 

But she’s in a relationship, maybe I should think about that stuff. Think about the things that I’m saying, because I’m sure she’d love them. I’d love to do them. There’d be a whole lot of love in the air. These are not the things you do for a taken woman.

Anyway, that evening I’m rifling through esoteric ingredients in New York City, on the lookout for esoteric black olives which have been cured and then soaked in oil. The idea is that we–and by that I mean her and I–are going to bake bread with a whole host of ingredients, a recipe we were reading about in a book that looked quite nice. I found tea for her there and put it into my satchel, hanging loosely from the winter coat that she gave me. Inside of that satchel are a handful of notebooks, a copy of short stories by Nathaniel Hawthorne (Twice-Told Tales), and my phone which delivered me a message that a party was going to be taking place in New York City that evening, asking if I would come. I was not invited I say, they let me know I am invited now. 

I hop on a train that connects to another train that connects to another train and manage to only get partially lost once while infants move about with an expert adeptness at navigating an impossibly sprawling city. I would feel ashamed if I didn’t enjoy getting lost so much here and there, if I didn’t enjoy riding trains even if they were stinky from time to time. 

I get to this party and it’s thankfully not as bad as the others I’ve been to. Parties in New York City are diverse with the conspicuous exception of black people. Jews, second generation immigrants who think the American experience is having a drug problem, and Catholic converts. I’m telling our host that I’m also Jewish, a little bit of a lie, but at least a cute one–the theory being that when a Jewish girl offers you wine and prays for you, you no longer have a choice in the matter.

Anyway there’s another demographic. Effective Altruists, rationalists, call them whatever you like. I find them an odd bunch in that I don’t think rationalism is a compelling cognitive mode to move about life, but that they also respond very well to talking when they come across the right mix of good faith and disagreeableness. I think that, or would at least like to think, that the common man has in him a sophisticated ability to model others in a way that he might feel but can’t truly know. In that sense, some people are marvelous fencing partners, but sometimes one man uses a falchion and the other an epee. I meet someone I’ve seen around a few times, a nice fellow who stands in sharp contrast to me in a cartoonish manner that I enjoy. He’s a jazz pianist, I was a death metal bassist. He practices self care, I say men ought not engage in such things. Both of us enjoy synthesizing a common ground and laughing while we do it, good spirits are generally worth their weight in gold. There were a few things he said, protestations generally, that stuck with me.

He said that he’d been getting in touch with his feminine side, meanwhile I don’t think women can be understood such that a man’s “feminine side” can be known. I know what I’m attracted to, I enjoy it when an otherwise sweet girl is just a little creepy, the same way that a large pot of simmering bolognese has an undetectable dash of nutmeg sunken deep within beef, mirepoix, and wine (and milk but that’s for some other entry I’m sure). He asks me if I’m a masculinity guy, of course the answer is no. I told him I was just annoyed with how confused things are after such a large cultural focus on gender. I am in the process of understanding myself, part of that self is male–a man. I think the most charitable thing I could do for women, people I desire, is understand that they are people apart from me with interiority, darkness, compulsions, whole hosts of things I should get comfortable not understanding and certainly not trying to pry open, but rather letting them reveal it to me when they are want to do so. 

People aren’t rational actors, I say. You can’t believe them! You can’t trust anyone to tell you who they are, they don’t know. It’s not because they’re liars, I say, but it’s more that the exact, high resolution contours of what they want hasn’t been revealed yet, meaning that they don’t have the language to describe it. He tells me that language can be useful and I agree, we have to have some agreement of what a door is to successfully make it home. When it comes to interiority, the value of truth changes. What we agree upon as a door no longer exists for us to leave the building, it exists as a symbol our minds are constantly repurposing for a meaning only the atomized individual can truly understand, and even that understanding is asymptotic. Imagine how much less anyone would know of themselves, I say, if they had to compromise what it meant with something as low resolution as language.

He tells me that’s cynical. I told him that I don’t think it is, it’s more likely to be projection. I didn’t tell him this, but when I was a child, my parents brought me to a speech therapist fearing some learning disability. It was because I didn’t talk. When the doctors brought me back to my crumbling family, they announced I was fine, I just didn’t like to talk. What would a toddler even have talked about?

I don’t think language can solve communication because I have never figured words to be the best way to communicate what it is that I feel. In a way, I pity the poet for not knowing what the postcard author does. The context that the latter’s sparse words exist in carry a romanticism that the former could never develop, his words are ultimately divorced from such a narrative. Indeed, the most effective poets would be known should they be treated like the Victorians treated a woman’s exposed ankles–public indecency, lurid perversion, the best it could possibly get for a poet.

I ask him if he’s ever written a letter by hand, and to my surprise he said that he had. His ex sent him one, and he felt compelled to respond in like kind. Why would he do such a thing when he could’ve emailed her, I asked. Because it wouldn’t have been as meaningful, he answers. Even though she wasn’t in the room, all three of us agreed about that. The words are important, sure, but they aren’t anywhere near as important as the context of being written by hand in a person’s manuscript form, marked with a stamp that was wet with the same tongue he used to taste, delivered to the post office box in a hand with touch slowly growing more alien to him as time goes on, delivered to his eyes which used to behold her, before finally residing in a mind that, at one point, behaved as if ordered by some divinity to be enslaved, perennially acting in service to the thought of another. 

No one can suggest that rationalists are descriptively, objectively wrong, I tell him. That’s not my issue with them, and I would never try to state such a thing. What I will say that is that rationalists are tasteless in the worst way, in that they make no consideration for taste itself as the ultimate prejudice. We can accept that people exercise it when picking out the right lemon from the produce market for a lemon tart, but we don’t accept that cognitive modes are subject to value judgments as well, subject to prejudice. Yes, it is true that curing malaria is an unequivocal common good, yes I could donate tomorrow, but I’d rather donate my time and resources to precisely what is I am doing–I aim to impart all that I know and have to the world I have isolated through these very prejudices. I brought olives and tea from Manhattan to Queens with this very ideal in mind, and I’m confident in my heuristic. My world, anyone’s world, is ultimate the sum total of what they understand of it and what limited amount others in it understand of them. Malaria could be gone tomorrow and it ultimately would not be as meaningful as mine and her hands working over mini-boules until we get perfectly slipper-sized loaves of bread. Is this an objectively correct value judgment? No. Is it wrong? No.

We then talk about music as musicians are oft to do, and he tells me that lately he has been learning to lean in to the expressions he improvises on piano. I say I have the opposite problem, that I have picked up a neglected Fender Precision Bass after realizing one night at a club that I was the only person afraid of my hips, and could no longer suffer being a white boy with no rhythm. I told him that I picked the Spanish phrygian scale to practice, because it makes no sense without a flamenco rhythm, and that I practice alone, standing up, shaking my hips as I desire in time with the meter. He said that solving rhythm doesn’t seem like that big a deal, and I say that figuring out rhythm on a bass guitar is itself a revelation that I want to solve my fear of being in a place where I might avoid dancing with someone I like.

He said, “You seem to think of yourself as something to resolve.”

Of course I do. I’m willing to concede that when I say I suspect that I think people are largely nonverbal, I mean that I am largely nonverbal. There’s a broad chasm between music and noise. Music has structure, clearly defined articulation that, with enough study, everything makes sense. The world of noise is infinite, its breadth of expression is so vast as to be a paralyzing struggle to shape and control it, the stuff precision requires. I’d say that it’s absolutely appropriate to spend an incredible amount of time resolving exactly what it is I am trying to say. 

At that point, people begin doing drugs and I get the urge to leave. As I make for the door, I meet my room-mates boyfriend. A perfectly nice man whom I have both shockingly little and surprisingly much in common with. I attempt to exchange pleasantries and he lets me know that they’ve broken up. I check my phone and it’s dead. I grab my new winter-coat and satchel full of olives, jot down the expression “M -> Marcy Street -> J -> Fulton”, and head for the subway. When I sit down on the train, for a bit of time I practice cursive hand after having been so touched at the postcard convention, thinking that the book I in which I write solely about love would be a lot more attractive, suitably so, were it in cursive. Then, I pull out Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “Twice-Told Tales” and read “The Prophetic Pictures.”

A newlywed couple conscripts a painter who has the uncanny ability to extract onto canvas the soul of his subjects. It scares me, the idea that an observer could plainly see on my face how I felt about something, someone, someone in particular, before I had even said anything at all. 

#Saturday

[s-brant]

The Endless Summer (2/?)

(gif: @beccs) (PART ONE) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: A day out on the water goes awry and puts JJ, John B, and Y/N in danger. With tensions rising and the stakes higher than ever, JJ finds it difficult to control his feelings.

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, graphic violence, and JJ being an emotionally confused asshat.

A/N: Welcome back! Thanks for the love on this series, I’m so glad you guys like it and I hope this part is just as good. Things get a little heated in this chapter, so buckle up. Let me know if you enjoyed this. Have fun!

JJ isn't sure why she did it.

He wasn't sure then and he isn't sure now, but he knows one thing for certain: there isn't any going back to how things once were now that the barrier between them came crashing down.

Sweat drips off of his skin from the relentless heat of the Caribbean that has made their recent lives hell with the painful tinge of sunburn atop their tans and heat exhaustion they must be careful to avoid at all costs. They were educated on both topics by Pope, their godsend of a survival encyclopedia in human form, who advised them to spend most of their day outside of necessary tasks like fishing and constructing stable shelter under the shady cover of the treetops.

The sole reason he and John B aren't hiding in the safety of the shade is that it's their day to fish, but he's not thinking about the sun. In fact, neither of them is. They're both wondering where their third fishing buddy is.

It took roughly ten minutes of spearfishing with him in comfortable silence for JJ to finally break and spill his guts about what happened last night. Though there was an unspoken agreement to never tell anyone that their hatred has turned into desire, he couldn't help it. He was going mad trying to unravel it in his head.

After all, he already had a conversation with JB about the recent shift in their behavior with each other by the ocean last night, so it seems fitting to pick up where they left off with the calm and clear blue water in front of them again.

He walks on the jagged outcropping of rock that serves as their perch to observe the fish without disturbing the pattern of the current they swim through with John B closely behind.

"One second she's pissed at me, the next she's all over me. It makes no sense. Then, she didn’t say anything to me after it happened," JJ says with his face hardened into a look of concentration at the fish he squints against the sun to aim at, "Not even "Fuck you, Maybank" or one of her weirdly creative threats. She just sat there all night and talked to everyone but me."

His gaze slips away from the water as his chosen fish disappears from sight before he can bother to throw the spear, eyeing up his friend's reaction to the news.

John B doesn't seem that surprised by it, because who else, aside from everyone else in Kildare who knows of their "hatred" for one another, could've seen it coming as much as he did? He considers it for a second, then props his arm up on the handle side of the spear he digs into the rock to lean against.

"I'm pretty sure that means she likes you."

JJ retorts, "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say."

Why would anyone ignore a person they like? It makes no sense to him. Every time he wanted a person, he'd simply walk over and make it happen. It's never been difficult for him to pursue the people he finds himself attracted to...Well, except for her. For a guy that also ignored her for the rest of the night and pretended their moment in the woods didn't happen, he has some balls of steel to be chastising her for the same things he did.

John B shrugs and says, "I'm being serious, dude. Sarah wouldn't even acknowledge my existence when I worked on the Druthers, and I thought it was some stuck-up rich person thing but it wasn't."

They shouldn't be talking at all right now as to not scare away the fish, but they do it anyway. They both know he won't let it go until it's out of his system for good. He wouldn't allow himself to forget it if he wanted to, so its better to talk it out than turn stir crazy from ruminating over it 24/7.

Though it's, as he worded it yesterday, hot as balls out, being by the sea lessens the feeling of it by a landslide.

The breeze they crave whenever they work on their huts or forage through the forest for wild berries, coconuts, or potential building supplies blows on them without pause for the time they spend here, which almost makes it more dangerous. They stand under the direct harm of the UV rays frying them without truly feeling it burn yet, and he dreads the next few days in anticipation of the returning sunburn he just peeled off of his shoulders the other day.

JJ walks down the side to get a better view of the water, balancing precariously on the sharpened edge with the spear clenched tightly in one hand. The breeze is strong enough to threaten his balance, but he holds firm and digs his toes into the sedimentary rock for traction. His body sways in the midday sun with the struggle for stability, or, at least he suspects its midday.

Since being stranded here, time is a foreign concept to them. With no phones, clocks, or any guide to go off of other that the position of the sun above to display the hours that pass, they've lost complete track of what day it is, let alone how long minutes or hours truly are in comparison to the endless summer they live within. They suspect it's been a month since they were left here, but, in all honesty, it could be two. None of them had the sense to mark the days in a tally until it was too late.

He says, lifting his arm to throw the spear, "Well, she is a stuck up rich person, so maybe it's just—"

"You know I'm right here, don't you?"

The sound of her voice from a few feet behind them startles JJ into turning around to look at her right when he lets go of the spear.

Unfortunately for him, the jerking movement throws off his carefully distributed weight and skews his balance, making the feet placed on the edge slip from underneath him and send him slipping down into the water. His calf is the first body part to hit the rocks, and the groan of pain he lets out at the feeling of the jagged rock slicing through his skin could make her heart stop mid-beat. But what truly scares her is seeing the back of his head hit the ground too.

Before he can slide the rest of the way into the water, two pairs of hands are grabbing onto his arms and heaving him up with all of their strength. She and John B grit their teeth with the effort it takes to pull him back up, their muscles burning from the strain, and once his feet are over the ledge, he pushes off the rock to help them the rest of the way. Drops of his blood disperse into the water off the edge from where he cut himself, dripping until there's hardly any left.

Once he's safely laid back down a few feet from where he slipped, Y/N is kneeling in front of him in a matter of seconds. The rock beneath her knees opens small cuts into her skin, but she doesn't pay it any heed. She sits on her heels to lessen the minor pain and lean forward to inspect the damage he took with nothing on her mind other than worry.

Soon enough, John B joins her to kneel at his feet as he sits up and watches them eye up his injury as though it’s some sort of ghastly, life threatening thing instead of a gash that won't need stitches. He watches them against the glittering ocean, waves washing up on the rocks around them to sting his wound with saltwater.

"It's a scratch, not an amputation," JJ says.

She ignores him with a frown lining her pretty features and twists his leg by the ankle to get a better view of the wound in the sunlight. It extends up the entire length of his calf, almost from ankle to knee, and dribbles fresh blood onto her hands as well as the ground beneath them. From what he can tell, it doesn't look all too severe. No muscle or bone can be seen, so it's a simple, superficial scratch.

When he doesn't get a response from either her or John B while they're too busy checking out his leg, he says again, "Guys, I'm serious, it's fine."

This time, she doesn't hesitate to answer.

"Yeah, well you may not need stitches but you still have infection to worry about. This wilderness isn't exactly the cleanliest place," she says retorts with as much snark as usual, and he quietly rejoices in the fact that she's finally acting normal after what happened last night, "Not to mention, you hit your head pretty hard. There's no need to act all tough."

He shrugs.

"It's not an act, it really doesn't hurt that bad."

John B stands and smears the blood on his hands off on the front of his shorts.

"I'll be right back, guys, I'm gonna go get stuff to patch him up."

Just like that, they are left plunging into silence as he is running away down the peninsula back to the beach they've claimed as their own.

Silence has always been her least favorite thing to share with JJ. She'd rather anything over it—screaming, fighting, joking, friendly conversation, or even what they did together yesterday night. Anything is preferable over the tense and insufferable feeling of silence when they're alone together with none of their friends, or their playful hatred, between them as a barrier between them.

Instead of seeing the same pestering jerk she always used to when she looks at him, she sees the memory of how he looked at her in the woods. He didn't look at her like she was the worst person to ever walk the planet, or like she was his least favorite Kook "Princess", he looked at her like she meant something to him.

They sit together in uncomfortable silence in the time it takes John B to rush to the beach and back, careful not to slip on the rocks the way JJ did, with the supplies from the dinghy in his arms. It isn't much to work with, but at least it's something to keep the nasty wound on his leg protected from dirt and germs. She's sure he'd leave it uncovered and up to fate if he had it his way.

Before he can set them down on the wet rocks, thus ruining the gauze and bandages in craters filled with ocean water, she gestures at JJ with a stern command, "Take off your shirt."

His brows raise.

"Shit, Princess, take me out to dinner first."

She groans in frustration, "Can you be quiet for a second and actually listen to me for once?"

He catches John B's gaze with wide eyes, but complies nonetheless, reaching down to tug the tank off of his torso by the frayed hem until it's balled up in his closed fist to hand off to her. Her eyes only linger on his body for a quick second on accident before snatching it from him.

Her bloodstained palms lay the shirt out on the flattest stretch of rock she can find to act as a barrier from the small puddles of water to protect the supplies. One nod at John B has him setting them down atop the navy fabric as she glances up at JJ with a smug smile.

"Believe it or not," she taunts, unscrewing the cap to the disinfectant, "I didn't ask for it so you could sit there and look pretty."

The words throw him back in time to their conversation on the beach while they thatched the roof to their hut, and he wonders how long she's been waiting to throw that back in his face since he first said it.

He grins at her as he asks, "You think I'm pretty?" but before he can say more, she's pouring a generous amount of the hydrogen peroxide along the length of his cut without a warning for him to prepare himself. His leg jerks away on instinct to save himself from the burning sensation, but she grips his ankle tightly enough to force him to stay still.

His nose scrunches up with the urge to groan in pain, and he does a little. Through grinding teeth, he winces in response to the peroxide slipping into every cell of open skin and bubbling up like the white water of the waves as it kills the bacteria lingering in the gash.

"Does it hurt now?" Y/N asks.

She's looking up at him through her lashes with her lips curled into a smirk as she packs gauze onto the wound until it's covered to her satisfaction. And it should be the last thing he's thinking about right now after cutting up his leg and hitting his head hard enough to worry her about concussions, but he can't help it. Looking down at her like this, it's impossible for him to not think about the unfinished business they have.

Everything is the same as it was yesterday—the tattered white top, the red panties in place of a bikini, sunburnt cheeks, and a taunting look that he'll never get tired of seeing. But that's precisely why he's reminded of it. She's wearing the same clothes and looking at him the way she did on the beach before any of last night's antics occurred, and he can't keep himself from wondering if it'll happen again.

"Yeah," he finally responds.

Her smirk grows for a second before she gets back to work.

"Good."

JJ subtly eyes her up from where she shifts on her knees to set the open gauze wrappers under the peroxide bottle in exchange for the bandage wrap, but he isn't as subtle as he thinks. She can feel his stare no matter how sneaky he attempts to be. He may be able to evade John B's attention, since he dove into the ocean to retrieve the wooden spear that began to float out in the tide, but she never misses a thing. Not when it comes to him.

When he looks at her, he finds memories.

Her legs folded up beneath her bring him back to how smooth they felt on his palms when he lifted them up around his hips. Her rosy lips pressing into a line in concentration bring him back to the coconut flavor he tasted on them. Her nipples poking against the fabric of her shirt bring him back to when he lifted it up over her breasts to suck at the sensitive skin until he got a moan from her—There isn't a place he can stare without going back to last night.

Part of him hates that.

He can't stand that a girl who he spent the last five years hating has found a way into his daydreams. Why couldn't it have been anyone else? Why did she have to lure him into her trap? He supposes there's nothing he can do about it now, though. After hours of stewing over it, he's reached the conclusion that it was likely a one-time thing, a mistake made in the heat of the moment that she won't make again, and he should get the idea of it out of his head.

When she has to adjust her grip to hold the gauze in place while she wraps the bandage around his leg, he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and jerks away again. She glances up at him with her best, "Are you kidding me?" face. Didn't he say he was tough?

"I'm starting to think you're a sadist, 'cause it's like you're trying to make it hurt," he says.

She gasps, feigning offense.

"Me? Enjoying this? It's not like we've hated each other for years or anything."

And though he may not realize it, this is her way of distracting him from the pain of having her apply added pressure to his cut while she wraps the bandage into place. It has to be tight enough to keep water and sand out, but not so tight that it cuts off circulation, and while it may have been tolerable without her touching it, the contact is enough to make it worse for him.

He asks, "Uh, speaking of, why are you the one doing this? Isn't it some kind of HIPAA thing to treat patients you've threatened to violate with tree branches before?"

The sound of her laughter makes his stomach flutter with butterflies, and he wonders what the hell is wrong with him.

"That's not what HIPAA is, genius"—her eyes crinkle at the sides with her wide smile while she wraps his leg—"and I'm the one doing this because I know way more medical shit than the rest of you."

Even Pope.

"Ohhh right, I forgot. Your dad is this hotshot surgeon and that makes you think you know everything," he taunts.

The casual mention of her father makes her chest ache with something not many of the Pogues, excluding Pope, have felt since being stranded on this island. With their parents either disowning them, absent, abusive, or dead, they have no reason to resist the allure of living here for the months or years it may take to be rescued, but she does.

She misses him.

For the longest time since her mom died, it was her and her dad versus the world. In everything they did, they did it together, and before she met Sarah, he was the closest she had to a best friend. Since they had no other family to help watch her as a child, she grew up in the hospital with him, drawing with crayons on his office’s printer paper with her babysitter and picking up small things along the way from watching him for so long.

He could've chosen to leave her at home, sure, but he didn't want to miss out on seeing her more than he already did, so she spent the majority of her childhood in offices, waiting rooms, and the indoor playground of the PEDs wing.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself after the sucker punch of being reminded of her dad and says, "Well, I know enough and, thankfully for you, I'm the one doing this instead of John B."

From far away, twenty or so feet offshore where their friend is paddling through the water with the lost spear held in one hand, they hear John B shouting an offended, "I heard that!" back at her. It draws a soft chuckle from them both, and she silently thanks him for distracting JJ one last time as she finishes and secures the bandage so it won't unravel.

She wipes her hands off on her water-soaked thighs one more time to get as much of his blood off of her fingers as possible before she reaches out with both arms extended to offer him help to stand. He takes them with a murmured, "Thanks," as they both try not to show how affected they are by the casual touch.

It makes them feel pathetic that something as small as holding each other's hands makes them remember what they did and desperately wish to continue it. Her throat bobs with how she must swallow the lump in her throat at their close proximity, barely breathing now that he's standing close to her with less than a few inches between them.

For a second, they don't move away. They stay face to face, and all she can think of is how badly she wants to kiss him again. But she can't do anything yet, not when she hears someone screaming from the water.

"There's a shark!" John B screams as he paddles back faster than he's ever swam in his life, already close enough to the peninsula that they can see the terror in his eyes when they turn to look.

Surely enough, there a tip of a fin too pointed to pass off as a dolphin cutting through the surface of the water to alert them of the fish's presence, but if that weren't enough, the water is clear enough for them to see its outline.

Thankfully for him, it isn't huge. It looks about as long as he is tall, but that doesn't change the degree of danger. Just because it isn't as big as other sharks doesn't make a bite any less lethal, especially when their only form of medical attention rests on her knowledgeable yet inexperienced shoulders.

For once in his life, JJ is frozen with no clue of what to do.

He's always the man with the plan, the one who jumps into action when others choke up and sit on the sidelines, but this makes him falter. What can he do to help other than stand here and pray John B can out-swim a shark? He's helpless, and now that he's faced with the prospect of losing his best friend for a second time, he doesn't know what to do.

It was his blood in the water that must have attracted the shark, and he was so caught up in his own drama with her and the pain of his cut that he didn't consider the danger of John B jumping in to retrieve the spear he dropped. It's his fault. His best friend is about to be eaten by a shark and it's his fault—

The blurred image of her rushing past in his peripheral vision rips him from his stormy thoughts, and right when he thought it couldn't get worse, it does. Water splashes up around her body and swallows her under the surface after she leaps off the edge of the rock with the aluminum spear from the dinghy raised in her dominant arm.

"Y/N!"

Before he even realizes what he's doing, JJ is screaming out her name, screaming it like he cares, and damns the consequences to dive in after her.

While he was frozen, she sprung into action without thinking of her own life first. She knew he was close to the rock, but not close enough to swim faster than a predator designed for the conditions of the ocean. It took one glance at the spear resting to the side for her to lean down, scoop it up, and get a running start to jump out as far as humanly possible. Various joints and muscles ached from how she strained to push herself far off the rock, taking flight with nothing but their survival in mind.

She sucks in a heaving breath upon breaking the surface, but she doesn't take a second to pause with John B paddling up to her so soon.

"Go back!"

The only answer she gives him is, "Use your spear!" before she brings hers out of the water in anticipation of the grey figure bolting straight for them.

It's a stupid plan, but it's the only one she has, and if one of them is in danger, they'd all risk everything they have to protect them. After all, they're already trapped here with the threat of death every day. Is there anything more worthy of dying for than your friends?

Neither of them is necessarily trying to kill it yet either, they're trying to keep it at a safe distance or hurt it enough so it swims away from them, but she puts all of her strength into spearing the fish between the eyes anyway. Her legs kick tirelessly to keep her afloat while she and John B stab as accurately as they can, choking down a mouthful of salty ocean water from how her head sinks at the surface without the help of her arms to keep her up.

Blood stains the water with a crimson hue spreading out around their bodies—whether it's theirs or the shark's, she doesn't know—and she must keep her lips clamped shut to prevent it from spilling into her mouth, breathing solely through her nose. She can tell her legs are soon to give out on her, but then a pair of hands latch onto her body. Call her irrational or stupid, but even with the clear distinction of human hands on her waist, her mind reacts in instinctual fear.

The touch makes her jolt mid-stab and sobers her feral mind back to reality for a moment until she realizes it's a human touching her, not the shark.

It's JJ.

His arms wrap around her thighs and hoist her up out of the water as much as he can while still swimming, effectively pushing himself underwater with one last gasp for air.

The sudden shift in view has her gaze shifting around to take in the new sights with a gush of red water rushing off of her onto the splashing surface: a light grey tail whips around in the chaos, the shark's head oozes blood from the multiple puncture wounds that didn't push quite deep enough, and its jaws snap right where John B's arm is before he yanks it back.

After a fraction of a second, it clicks with her that there's no time to waste watching her friend almost get his arm chomped off while she takes in the unbelievable sight. Her slippery grip on the handle remains as firm as possible, and she raises the spear over her head with an improved accuracy she never could've had from where she previously aimed it before. All of their shots landed well enough, but with the height advantage, she won't allow herself to fuck it up this time with her friend's life hanging in the balance.

She hardly recognizes her own frantic voice shouting at him, "Spear it in the gills!"

Her hands bring the razor-sharp tip of the spear down into its head repeatedly, and she isn't sure whether it's the splashing water or tears wetting her face when she buries the weapon down into it for a final time right when John B lodges his wooden spear in its gills.

Whatever she did, it must've hit its brain, because the animal halts its thrashing. Its teeth no longer snap at her friend, nor does its tail whip around in the water as violently as it did a moment ago.

As quickly as it started, it drops off into a sickening calm that leaves the white bubbles dissolving into a puddle of bloody water surrounding the trio and the fish that dies with no small amount of guilt on her part. There was no choice but to kill it. It makes her ache on the inside, but how could she regret it if she knows it saved them? The guilt might ravage her for the upcoming days, but she can't bring herself to regret jumping in after him.

She hardly has the chance to process it before she's being pulled away by both of the boys, her view of the scene shifting drastically once more with the abrupt drop of JJ letting her down in favor of guiding her through the gentle waves. His calloused hand squeezes her arm enough to cut circulation off on their journey back.

Time rushes past her in the next thirty seconds or so it takes them to reach the peninsula again in a paranoid sprint away from where the dead fish floats. One of them, John B she thinks, tosses the aluminum spear he dislodged from the shark's head up onto the rocks and clambers his way back up on his own. The waves closer to land grow rougher than the tender current out where they killed the shark, and she grunts in pain as one sends her and JJ straight into the rocks. His body hits her back with a solid ‘thump’ and forces her to wheeze with the wind getting knocked from her lungs upon impact, nails cracking on the black rock from the desperate grip she uses in an attempt to lift herself.

Meanwhile, JJ can't seem to catch his breath either, nor can he think of anything other than her once he sees that John B isn’t injured.

As soon as he sees his friend is unmarked from the teeth of the shark after he's out of the water, he positions himself behind Y/N to help her out first. He places his hands on her backside to push her up as quickly as he can. Knowing that the carcass in the water will soon attract more sharks in the surrounding area into a feeding frenzy, he'd rather it be him than her. It's a thought that shoots by too fast for him to fully acknowledge the meaning or weight of it at a time like this.

Somehow within his adrenaline-crazed mind, he is careful not to push her onto the jagged edge that sliced his leg open earlier, then climbs after her with little space left between them.

She's coughing up saltwater onto the rocks as he scrambles over to her, eyes wild with the petrifying worry of anything bad happening to her. They scan over her arms, legs, stomach, and back, and he doesn't even realize his hands are reaching out to inspect her as frantically as she had with him when he got hurt.

His hands cup her face, petting over her dripping hair and forcing her to look up so he can see if she somehow got hit in the face. Never has his mind been so void of rational thought, and, knowing him and his impulsive tendencies, that's saying a lot. The confusion of his contradictory feelings for her muddle his mind. Worry and hatred, attraction and anger—they battle it out, but only two manage to reach him externally.

Worry and anger it is. Worry for obvious reasons. Anger because—

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

She has never heard him sound so vicious since the start of whatever odd relationship/friendship/enemy-ship they have. With his worried expression and how he checked her entire body for injury after helping her out of the water, the last thing she would've anticipated from him was anger. Especially not after she saved his best friend's life. Considering what she just did for him, she thinks he should be thanking her, not chastising her.

Behind her back, she can hear a collection of yelling voices and splashing footsteps over the water dripping from them. It can only be the rest of their friends racing up the peninsula to them, but she can't turn around.

She stares at him with utter confusion flooding her at his unexpected outburst. Speechless.

"What was I thinking?" she asks incredulously with her face still cradled between his hands, "I was saving John B's life!"

Their emotional distance and disagreement are made up for in abundance by how physically entangled they've become. It wasn't intentional. It was a result of him needing to get close enough to scour her exposed skin for any bites, but now that they're sitting so near to each other, they forget to back away.

John B is too busy to engage with them.

He's doubled over on the ground with the compulsion to vomit the contents of his stomach into the ocean, but he doesn't dare get close to the edge again after what they went through. Instead, he positions himself away from them and their approaching friends until the half-digested food is forced back through his mouth. The acidic bile scorches his throat and nostrils on the way out.

JJ doesn't have the opportunity to retort back something about her being stupid, because Pope is the first person to reach them and ask, "What the hell happened?"

The rest of the group isn't far behind. It's Kie who asks the next question, then Sarah, then Cleo. They all pop off in rapid succession before either of the three of them can answer.

"Are any of you hurt?"

"Why is he throwing up?"

"Is that a shark?"

The last question draws everyone's attention over to the half-sunken mass of fish bobbing up and down on the breaths of the sea with a wooden spear sticking straight out of its gills. Though it isn't the biggest, most intimidating shark to roam the ocean, its presence doesn't fail to make everyone who looks at it shudder with the realization of what must have happened.

John B wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and points over at her with his trembling arm outstretched.

"She killed it."

The four of them whip their heads in her direction, jaws nearly falling off their faces in disbelief, but she doesn't say anything yet. Because as soon as they feel the eyes of their friends burning into them, she and JJ realize, as though they're returning to reality from the hazy layers of a dreamscape, that they're still holding each other.

She's slumped halfway onto him from when he hauled her body closer to inspect her, so she's essentially sitting on top of him at this point. Her legs, bruised and scratched up from when the waves crested to send them crashing into the rocks, are entangled around his enough that they look back and forth between them and where his hands cup her face in surprise.

JJ doesn't know what came over him.

Now that he snaps out of it at the same time as her, both of them separating and nudging each other away until their bodies are no longer entwined, he feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

When he saw her leaping past him to jump into the water, his mind shut off. He wasn't thinking about himself, or the possibility of getting killed, or anything at all. He was only thinking of the danger she put herself in, then he dove in and the rest of his conscious mind faded away into pure survival instinct. Yet, even after he knew the immediate danger was gone, the adrenaline kept him on edge, desperate to get her back to land and pray none of them were hurt.

"It was trying to attack him," she rasps. Her throat is raw from the saltwater she choked on, and every word burns. "But we did it together."

She pushes herself off the ground with an exhausted sigh.

Muscles spent from the struggle in the water, her legs wobble beneath the weight of her upper body as she takes a few steps to help John B up from his position on his hands and knees. From what she heard, he has thrown up all he has left in his stomach and hasn't gagged again in a minute or so, so attempting to stand again shouldn't be too strenuous for him.

His hand is cold in her grasp from the water soaking their bodies, but it holds firmly enough for her to help him into his feet without their palms slipping apart. No patches of blood are visible on his shorts, nor are there any puncture wounds on him from the sharp teeth that snapped at his arm in the quick but vigorous fight.

They were very, very fortunate to have made it out alive, and when he looks down at her face, he feels nothing but gratitude for the girl he previously saw as nothing more than his girlfriend's best friend. They went into the water as casual acquaintances, companions of convenience and the happenstance of being forced onto this island together, but they've come out of it differently. Now, they're friends.

Now, she's a Pogue.

He smiles at her, glancing up at their friends as their questions die down at the sight of his crazy grin, and says, "That was some real Pogue shit right there, Y/N." His eyes come back to meet hers. "I think it's about time we officially make you one of us. What do you think?"

She's opening her mouth to respond when Kiara cuts her off. The rest of them are staring at the trio as if they have ten heads sprouting from their bodies for not immediately surrendering more details of their near-death encounter other than saying she killed it.

"I'm sorry, can we please rewind to the part where you got attacked by a shark first?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, can I get a drumroll please for..."

The campfire is roaring with the abundance of sticks, leaves, and branches thrown onto the pile to fuel it as she feels a strong pair of arms looping around her thighs to lift her into the expansive, star-flecked sky.

In a flash of haunting memory, she relives the moment where JJ dove into the water after her and lifted her body above the surface to give her the high ground over the shark. She relives its thrashing hunger, the water splashing on her, and the cloudy hue of blood around them that she hoped wasn't either of the boys. For a second, as the world grows taller with her new perspective, she is brought back to the sudden shift she felt then and feels her stomach drop in panic, anticipating the danger.

But then the sound of her friends laughing, as well as the surging fire and crashing waves, comes back to her and forces the frightful flashback away. Her hip fits perfectly in the curve of John B's shoulder, and she lets her head fall back in giggling laughter at how he hoists her up in the air as though she's a holy figure of worship for the Pogues to kneel to.

His voice can likely be heard across the entire island when he shouts, "The Shark Conqueror!"

The group erupts into a triumphant mixture of cheers and laughter that fills the beach, everyone celebrating in their narrow escape earlier today...everyone except JJ.

After John B divulged the gory details of what happened, from JJ's fall to her picking up the spear and jumping in to save him from the shark, they made their way back with enough conversation to last the month. They all asked questions and took peeks back at where it happened in morbid curiosity, wondering how on earth they managed to come out of the situation without a scratch.

The rest of the afternoon continued on with the same buzzing energy that can only be created from the thrill of being alive. She's felt it many times since joining Sarah's group of friends that seem to find trouble wherever they go, but she has never felt it as vehemently as she does tonight. It's a mixture of euphoria, shock, and soul-crushing guilt for having to hurt another living creature, even one that was intending to make a meal of her friend.

No matter how much she grows up or discovers more about herself as a person, feelings never stop being as frustrating as they were to her as a child. You can get better at processing and hindering explosive reactions to them, but they never simplify. She doesn't know why she feels so much at once. She doesn't know why she feels simultaneously on top of the world and thrown off the edge of a cliff, but she thinks it has to do with him.

Since they walked back to the beach and talked about what happened until the day withered into night, which led them here to the “official” ceremony of her being named a Pogue for life, JJ hasn't spoken to her once.

Suddenly, the shoe is on the other foot.

Much like how she avoided him all night last night leading into this morning, he doesn't talk to her. He tries not to look at her too from where he sits on the log of driftwood across the fire, but it's somewhat inevitable with the spectacle John B is making of her at the moment.

Painted in the warm tones of the firelight like a goddess in her own right, Y/N is impossible to look away from, and it makes him angrier than he already is. A handwoven circlet crafted from the hibiscus and hippeastrum flowers growing in the forest around their camp sits atop her head. It doesn't fall to the ground with the movement of her throwing her head back in laughter. It stays in its rightful place against the rule of gravity until her face comes back into view for him to quickly look away from.

It dampers her laughter to see him avoiding her gaze so adamantly, taking a swig of water from one of the small cups they carved from wood and turning to talk to Kie to keep himself busy. The distinct sensation of being on top of the world slips away with the feeling of his cold avoidance and John B lowering her back to the ground until her bare feet sink into the soft sand.

Before she can start sulking about it for the foreseeable future, Sarah steps up beside her.

The familiar touch of a hand on her shoulder brings her comfort amidst her confusion and hurt over the way JJ is acting, and when she turns to see a pretty face looking fondly at her, a warm smile finds her lips.

"Pogue for life?" Sarah asks.

The three words bring make her smile grow the same way it had when she was talking to JJ on the peninsula. It crinkles the skin around her eyes with its unrestrained happiness to hear them because, as much as she pretends to let JJ's comments roll off of her, tonight marks one of the first times she's felt at home with them.

That's not to say they haven't made her feel welcome in the past, they did, but this isn’t the same. This is closer, this is the type of bond that's forged in situations like these where people have no choice but to rely on each other or let their worlds collectively fall apart, and she thinks, for the first time, that she could live here with them forever if she must.

None of them know how much time has passed since they arrived here, least of all her, but it sure as hell feels like an eternity. At first, she could barely withstand the idea of living here for months with the intention of being rescued as soon as possible, but now...

She brings Sarah into an embrace tight enough to force the air from their lungs.

"Pogue for life," she echoes back with her face buried into the salt-scented tresses of dirty blonde hair cascading over her tan shoulders.

Would it be crazy of her to think that this is where they're meant to be? That they're her family and this place she has fantasized about escaping is now their home?

After all, the lush island provides everything they need to sustain themselves with the rationing, scavenging, and hunting routines they adhere themselves to. Freshwater runs down the land in a stream from a water source uphill, plenty of different edible plants grow in the forest, and there's so much left of the expansive land to explore; it's perfect. Everything here is perfect for them, calling out to them to make it their home, but there's one little problem as of right now, and he's sitting across the fire behind her back.

Sarah's arms squeeze around her shoulders once to bring her in even closer.

"Thank you for saving him," her voice is so hushed, Y/N can hardly hear it with her lips brushing the shell of her ear to whisper into it, "I'm not gonna get all mushy with you right now, but I don't know what I would've done if"—Sarah's breath hitches in her throat, and she shakes her head—"I just wanted to thank you."

When they pull apart, Y/N is looking back at her with a knowing expression, one that says everything she can't in the presence of the others, and Sarah can't help but mirror it.

It isn't long before the blonde-haired beauty is whisked away by her boyfriend to help him cook the crabs they caught closer to shore after their encounter with the shark. Not wanting to swim out or risk slipping off the rocks again with the dead fish promising to lure more predators to their area for the next week or so, they settled for hunting for shellfish and making good use of the fruits they find growing in wild abundance in the forest.

The night ticks away in swiftly passing minutes thanks to the humorous company of the people around her.

She nearly chokes on a mouthful of banana as Cleo tells a story from before she met them, when she used to live in Nassau and work jobs with Terence and Stubbs on ships. For such new additions to the group, they both fit surprisingly well with the lifelong childhood friends that sit around and banter with such ease together.

They talk, laugh, dance, and eat together, and there are moments when she feels happier than ever. There are moments exactly like when John B lifted her up and made her giggle at how their friends cheered on her behalf in indulgence of the silly "ceremony" they did, half out of boredom and half out of gratitude for what she did. But then she is reminded of the man sitting on the outskirts of the group with his features hardened into an expression of contemplation she wishes she could decode.

The night breeze feels heavenly on her perpetually overexposed skin. It blows into the fire and allows it to swell from the oxygen supply, crackling and popping embers out every so often like the spark of the zippo lighter JJ fidgets with in his restless hands. The movement attracts her wandering eyes while they should be focused on Cleo and Kie dancing around the fire with boisterous laughter while Sarah and Pope sing for them.

She keeps herself honed in on the opening and closing of the lighter under the guidance of his ring-clad fingers for the next minute or so.

They may have been pitting themselves against each other since they met, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know him well. If anything, the keen attention that her old hatred for him forced her to keep on him made her memorize everything there is to know. And she surely has picked up on the nervous habit of him playing with the lighter whenever he's thinking, whenever there's something crawling under his skin that he can't piece together.

He sits with his back to her, facing out toward the ocean so all she can see is the hand he uses to flick the lighter open and shut with. With a quick glance at the rest of their friends to see if any of them are watching or wanting to speak with her, she pushes herself up from the log and dusts her sandy palms on her shirt.

The tracks of her footsteps lead around the corner of the driftwood he rests against until her feet appear, sunken into the sand in front of him. It takes a lot of control to not allow himself to follow up the length of her body, panning up along her legs until he sees that infuriatingly tenderhearted set of eyes looking down at him.

However, he doesn't have a choice in looking when her hand outstretches in a silent invitation. His first glimpse of her in the last half-hour shows her jerking her chin in the direction of the beach curving around the bend of the island.

This morning, he probably would've taken her up on the offer. He would've done anything to get a few minutes alone with her, but now he can't see past his anger and doesn't know why. He doesn't know why it hasn't calmed yet, but, in truth, it has more to do with him than it does her idiotic yet brave decision to fight off a shark today. Trust him, it still has a lot to do with the idiotic shark thing, but the rest is lost in translation for him.

"Not in the mood," he dismisses her.

Her brows furrow and form a crease between them as she tries to find something to say but comes up with nothing. At least not until it clicks with her what he thought she was trying to do by inviting him to walk with her.

The last time they went off on their own together, it ended in an explosive encounter they have yet to erase from their minds. It's what greets them whenever they close their eyes for a second too long, existing in their wildest daydreams and fantasies whenever they have a spare moment to themselves. Hell, he can't stop thinking about it even when he's already occupied. It was the reason why he didn't catch any fish this morning before the incident that made him pissed at her in the first place. He couldn't stop thinking of her.

"Oh," she murmurs and starts to kneel down until her knees are sinking into the sand the same way she did when patching up his leg. Her eyes peek over his shoulder to ensure the others didn't hear them—"That wasn't what I meant...I was just wondering if you wanted to talk about today. It must have been a lot to process, since he's your best friend and all, and—"

JJ snaps, unable to tolerate it anymore, and stands up from his spot on the sand to move away from her.

"You don't need act all therapist with me, okay? I'm fine, and I don't need you to fix me if that's what you wanted. Today was fine. Everything's fine, so let it go."

Her mouth opens and closes like a fish with a loss for words. For the second time in the span of a minute, she is grasping blindly for something to say in the wake of him shocking her to silence. He's starting to walk past her but she doesn't let him. Her hand shoots out to stop him and holds onto his arm to turn him back despite his rudeness.

Underneath it all, her concern touches him deeply. It shouldn't trigger a reaction like this in him, so why does it? What about today set him off? He hasn't been this genuinely angry with her since before the hunt for the gold began, before she started to blend into their friend group and establish herself as one of them.

"Woah, woah, woah," she says, "I never said that. I thought that you needed someone to talk to. You know, as a friend."

Their friends start to notice their interaction tensing up now. Before, they didn't pick up on her stepping away for a second to check on him. Now, it's impossible to ignore what unfolds hardly six steps from where they watch as slyly as they can. The two of them haven't had a conversation as cold as this one in months, and what he says next takes it to a place that freezes over the connection they made last night and shatters the warm place it held in her heart.

He scoffs.

"We're not friends. If you think you gotta act different 'cause you threw yourself at me last night, don't bother. You hate me and I hate you. That's how it is."

No nicknames, jokes, or anything to act as a buffer, just cruelty. Rejection.

Though they truly were trying to pretend like they weren't paying attention, every single one of their friends stops and stares. A chorus of hushed reactions sound off from across the fire, and the faint sound of Kie muttering, "Oh shit," is the first thing to reach their ears. It's needless to say that none of them could've expected something so callous to come from him, not after what they saw when they ran up to them on the peninsula this morning.

With the way he was holding her then, doting on her and cradling her face between his hands even in the midst of his anger at what she did, they sooner expected the pair to admit they're dating than have a blowout like this.

In the delayed seconds it takes for her to realize what the fuck he just said to her, he watches her face shift from a look of concern to sadness, to flush-faced embarrassment, then finally to anger. Her teeth grind together, nostrils flaring on her inhale, and in one quick moment, she comes to a conclusion within herself.

She reaches up to rip the handmade crown of vibrant flowers off her head with flames to match the camp fire flaring up in her eyes for him. Before she can do anything, he already knows he crossed a line, if not multiple lines. It's evident in everything he sees, from the hurt look on her face to the force with which she shoves the crown into the center of his chest to send him stumbling back a few steps. Just like yesterday, except it couldn't be any more different.

"Fuck. You." She spits the words as though they're venomous, and he almost shrinks away under the intensity of her stare, “Go find somewhere else to sleep tonight, 'cause it sure as hell isn't gonna be with me."

Petals flutter out upon impact against his solid chest and float peacefully to the sand around his feet as he watches her turn on her heels and storm off toward their hut. Though, after what he did and what she said to him as a goodbye, it isn't really theirs anymore, is it? At least not for tonight, tomorrow, or the next day until he finds a way to make her hear him out for an apology.

He stands there, frozen, the entire time he watches her leave. Nothing can move him from the spot, not even Sarah knocking her shoulder against his with a pointed glare on her way past to follow her into the moonlit darkness.

He doesn't even resist the disappointed looks he gets, or the shoulder check from Sarah. This time, he deserves it. He deserves every ounce of their judgment. All she was trying to do was make sure he was okay and he was too consumed in his unreleased frustration from today to see it. And, in a way, he's still frustrated over it, but it's greatly overshadowed by the guilt seeping through him.

The shadowy shapes of the two girls disappear into the small hut further down the beach, and JJ is left with nothing to do but look down at the flower crown clutched to his chest in regret.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx #fanfiction #obx2 #this fic is so over the top and silly but I love it 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

[arvinsescape]

Free

A/N: I finally got my new laptop and was able to write again so I wrote an idea that’s been in my head for a while, it’s loosely inspired by Luther, a series that I’ve re watched recently, I hope you all enjoy.

Summary: Tom just knows you had something to do with your husbands murder. His problem? He can’t prove it.

Warnings: Swearing. Smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up, condoms are a barrier from many things), oral (Fem receiving), mentions of murder, talks of an abusive relationship. (Minors do not engage). I think that’s all.

This is purely a work of fiction. I accept constructive criticism. 

W/C: 3.6K

You were driving Tom insane, he knew, in his gut, he was so sure that you had something to do with your husband’s disappearance. The case had landed itself on his desk when missing persons had deemed it a murder case, even without a body. Could he find the hard evidence that linked you to the murder? No. Was he sure it was you? A thousand per cent. Your case had been dropped months ago but he couldn’t get it or you out of his head.

“Tell me what happened?” Tom asked as he sat opposite you for the first time.

“I’ve already answered all of these questions.” You replied, Tom could tell you were nervous, you had a hard expression, but he saw straight through it.

“I don’t believe some of the answers that you gave.” He said as interlocked his hands on the desk, leaning slightly closer to you.

“I’m not really bothered what you believe, it’s what happened.” You fired back.

“People don’t just disappear.”

“Sure, they do. That’s what missing person’s is for, right?” You said as you cocked an eyebrow at him and he almost smiled, slightly enamored by the way you were handling his questioning. He’d gained a reputation for getting people to crack, but you? You seemed unfazed by his line of questioning.

Ultimately Tom had had to let you go because he couldn’t find the evidence, he needed to convict you. It drove him mad, it had him stumped for months just trying to figure out how you’d done it. How you’d evaded his thorough analysis of your property and workplace. You were smart, that was glaringly obvious to him, every time he thought he’d found something, he came up short.

A week ago, he’d found himself with a similar case on his desk, only this time the body was found. Again, there wasn’t much evidence but there were so many similarities between your case and this one. He found himself up for hours cross referencing your case file and this one, although the woman they suspected this time wasn’t as intelligent as you were, she’d lied about her alibi. Unlike you she’d said she was with a friend who denied it. You on the other hand had said you were at home all day and he couldn’t confirm that as truth and so this evidence became inadmissible in court.

He’d found himself on your doorstep, almost wanting to beg for your help, it was strange, he’d never felt like he needed anyone else’s help before yet here he was outside your door.

“Detective Holland. A man I thought I’d never seen again.” You said once you opened your door. He couldn’t help but note how beautiful you looked, he shook the thought away as he showed his badge and entered your home.

“Mrs. Leigh, I need your help.” He said in a matter-of-fact manner, he noted the small smile that had appeared on your lips and fought his own back, yours was so contagious.

“It’s Miss L/N now.” You politely corrected him.

“My apologies.”

“What could you possibly need my help with?”

“A case I’m trying to solve.”

“Forgive me but I’m not sure how I could be of help to you.” You said with furrowed brows.

“I think you could.”

He talked you through the case and his theories, all the holes in stories and suspicious behavior and you just drank it all in, nodding in certain places but ultimately you kept quiet. It wasn’t until e was done that you spoke.

“I mean, and this is all hypothetical, you’d hide the weapon in plain sight.” You answered as you made your way over to your fridge.

“That would be stupid though.” Tom said confidently, there was no way he’d missed something that was in plain sight. He watched as you pulled the bottle of wine from the fridge with a sigh. What had urged you to help him was beyond you, but a part of you knew that your case still haunted him, and you somehow felt guilty for it.

“People like you will always overlook stupid.” You said with a confidence he couldn’t quite place.

“So, you’re saying if someone wanted to hide evidence, they’d do it in plain sight because we’d overlook it?” Tom was bewildered, there was no way that this could be true, he’d spent hours going over the case files, there’s no way he missed such major evidence such as the murder weapon. He watched as you nodded mindlessly before digging through the drawer for a bottle opener.

“The autopsy report indicates a stab wound to the neck.” He continued. “They bled out. I’ve searched that house and I couldn’t find a single knife small enough to fit that wound.” He spoke. He knew the evidence for this case was in the house, the timing of everything would not have given the perpetrator any time to hide evidence away from the house.

He watched as you took the cork out of the bottle, once you’d removed the cork you placed the bottle opener on the counter, the tiny blade used for taking the paper lining off the bottle top was shining at him, almost mocking him.

“I could think of a few.” You hummed as you filled a wine glass. Tom was filled with excitement as he realized you were right, the small knife was easily concealed within the opener, he had overlooked it, not thought for a second that such a small knife was in the most basic household item.

“All I need to do is tie the murder weapon to her and case closed.” He beamed and you smiled, genuinely smiled for the first time since Tom had met you and he couldn’t help but return it, he really was enamored with you.

“Case closed.” You smiled as you sipped from your wine glass.

You had started to infect the young detective’s thoughts in a different way. He used to obsess over how you’d done it and now he was more obsessed as to why. He couldn’t understand how a woman like you, who was so quiet, kind and charismatic could have harmed another person. He started to wonder if he was wrong, if you’d had anything to do with it at all but his gut told him you did.

All the evidence for his current case came together and the victim’s wife had gone to prison for his murder, pleading guilty. She’d killed him because she wanted his money. He thought back to your case, your husband had had a lot of money, but he couldn’t see that being your motive, he couldn’t think of anything that would motivate you to murder someone. Over the time it took him to gather the evidence, he’d sought out your help more than once and he’d become enchanted by you, he found you intriguing, he wanted to get to know you better.

He wondered if that was what had brought him to your doorstep yet again. He should have been out celebrating the win, but he found himself outside your door. He knocked and wondered if you’d answer, it was late, he noted but he found himself hoping you’d open your door for him. When he heard the lock click his heart raced with excitement, he hoped you’d have that lovely smile on your face that you always had.

“Detective.” You smiled and he laughed.

“Tom.” He corrected and you smiled wider at him.

“What brings you to my doorstep Tom?”

“I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“I’m not sure I’d have found that evidence had it not been for our chat, so thank you.”

“Well, you’re welcome. Did you want to come in? I’ve just opened a bottle of red.” You asked with that oh so contagious smile.

“How could I refuse?” He said as he made his way passed you and into the living room that he’d become so familiar with.

A bottle of red wine shared between the two later had them both feeling slightly tipsy. Tom knew he should probably make a move, but he didn’t want to, not unless you wanted him to. He found he very much enjoyed your company and wanted to stay in it as long as possible.

“Thank you for helping me finish the wine.” You smiled.

“Favor returned?” He smirked and you laughed.

“Sure. I suppose I won’t see you now.” You thought aloud.

“I suppose not.” He said, you’d moved closer to each other now, faces inches apart. “Unless you want to help me solve more cases.” He continued.

“I don’t think you’ll need my help again.” You said quietly, eyes flicking from each other’s eyes to each other’s lips.

“You never know.” He answered as quietly as you had. Tom licked his lips in anticipation, he probably shouldn’t be entertaining the idea of kissing you, but he couldn’t help it. You hummed in response as your noses brushed one an other’s. He couldn’t stop himself as he closed the small distance between you.

Your lips met in a desperate kiss, his hands finding your hair as you fisted his shirt in a desperate attempt to pull him closer to you. His mind felt blank as he became completely consumed by thoughts of you and what he wanted to do to you. He’d found you attractive the second he’d brought you in for questioning all those months ago but the more he’d gotten to know you the more he found you attractive. The rational part of his brain that was telling him this might be dangerous shut off as bit your bottom lip and you moaned slightly.

Your lips disconnected as you both needed air, both as breathless as each other. You looked at him and the look in your eyes drove him wild, your beautiful eyes were looking back at him completely list blown. He reconnected your lips as you straddled him, his hands finding your waist, lifting your shirt slightly to feel your skin.

“Bedroom?” He asked through a breath as your lips briefly disconnected.

“Upstairs, third door on the right.” You said quickly before reconnecting your lips, the kiss was hot and heavy as Tom stood, carrying you effortlessly to your bedroom, not breaking the kiss for a second. As soon as he found himself in your room, you both fell onto the bed, Tom’s back hitting the mattress. He almost moaned as you rocked your hips into his, the friction causing him to stiffen even more than he thought possible.

“You’re so fucking hot.” He said as he sat up, his lips connecting with your neck. You rolled your head back to give him more access and he took the opportunity to trail kisses down your throat, listening to the small gasps you were exhaling. He was more aroused than he’d ever been in his life, he felt completely drunk off you.

“Tom, I really want you to fuck me.” You spoke and Tom groaned at the filthy words that left your mouth, he wasn’t expecting it.

“Wanna taste you first.” He spoke as he flipped you both over, your back easily hitting the mattress as your lips reconnected. He trailed kisses down your neck as his hands went to the hem of your shirt, pulling it from you effortlessly. He unclipped your bra and threw both your shirt and bra onto the floor. Kissing down your chest as he took a nipple into his mouth, slightly grazing it with his teeth before licking and sucking at it.

Your moans grew louder, and Tom found himself entranced by the sounds you were making, he doesn’t recall ever being with anyone who sounded as pretty as you did. He continued his attention on your nipples, switching from one to the other.

“Tom, please.” You begged and he smirked against your skin.

“What?” He asked as he made eye contact with you, his fingers moving to roll your nipple.

“I need you to move lower.” You moaned.

“Whatever you want baby.” He spoke as he placed a final kiss to your breast before moving down your body.  

He quickly removed your shorts and groaned when he realized you didn’t have underwear on. He looked at your glistening heat and almost moaned at how wet you were for him.

“So wet, look at this.” He said as he ran a finger through your folds. “I’ve barely touched you and your soaked.” He smirked as you rolled your head back into the pillow.

“Please.” You begged as he let out a breath over your heat, watched as you jolted slightly from the sensation. “Tom.” You moaned as he ran his tongue through your heat.

“You taste fucking amazing.” He said before practically diving in, sucking your clit as he listened to your moans. He continued to lick and suck at your clit as he heard your moans grow louder, you must have been close he thought to himself as he sucked your clit and listened to the high-pitched moan you released.

He felt as your hand moved to his hair, almost keeping him still as he continued to lick and suck at your clit, your hips bucking up to meet his movements and e found it so incredibly hot, the way you’d started to use his face to almost get yourself off was driving him wild.

You let out a moan of his name as your orgasm crashed through you, Tom felt your legs shake and helped you through your intense orgasm, feeling proud of himself for not disappointing you. Once you’d come down from your high, he pulled away, moving back up your body, your legs continuing to shake through your aftershocks.

“So perfect.” He mumbled as he gave you a quick kiss, taking in the blissful expression on your face. “Did so well for me. Fucking hot.” He said again as you removed his shirt, placing a kiss onto his chest. You continued pressing kisses to his chest as he fumbled with his belt, almost getting frustrated as it got caught.

“Here.” you said as your hands took over, taking his belt into your own hands, undoing it almost like it was second nature to you. He found it all the more of a turn on. You made short work of his pants; they found their place with the rest of the clothes on the floor of your bedroom.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” He asked.

“Yes. I want you to fuck me Tom.”

It was all the confirmation he needed as he slipped into you, both of you moaning at the contact. Fuck, you felt good, almost perfect for him. You were both a moaning mess as he thrusted into you over and over again. His hand gripping your thigh to hoist it higher around his waist. You almost screamed as he found your g spot from his new angle, your nails clawing at his back which only made him thrust into you harder.

“Fuck, that feels good, you feel so fucking amazing.” He said as he felt you clench around him. He shifted your leg higher to get an even better angle on your g spot as he continuously pounded into you, listening to your moans of his name. he felt his own orgasm approach as you tightened around him, he knew you were close, and he watched in awe as you reached your own hand to your clit and started to rub it.

“That’s it baby.” He said and after a few more thrusts he felt you come around him which brought on his own orgasm, he removed himself from your tight heat and released his load all over your stomach with a moan of your name.

It took you both a good few minutes to recover, he was collapsed on top of you as you ran your fingers through his hair. He kissed your shoulder every few minutes and found himself more happy and content than he’d been in a long time. He removed himself from the top of you and went into the bathroom to find a warm cloth to wash the two of you off.

Once you were both cleaned up he laid in your bed with your head on hi chest as you slept soundly, and he ran his hands through your hair. He was deep in thought as he thought about your case and what had happened and now he was dying to know what had driven you to commit such an act. He was so sure in his gut you’d done it but having you here in the state you were he wondered how you could harm an insect, let alone another person.

“I wish you’d tell me what happened. Just be honest, everything’s different now. I’d want you to confide in me as your partner not see me as a detective who’s looking to lock you away. Fuck Princess, I think I’d move the Earth if you asked me to.” He whispered and he meant it, he didn’t want this time with you to end, he was so infatuated with you by this point. He fell asleep after a while, thoughts of you completely on his mind.

**

“I need to know how you did it.” He spoke after a while of you both being awake, you were spooning now as his hand rubbed your bare skin, he pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder.

“You’ve read the file.” You spoke.

“That says you didn’t do it, but I know you did Princess.”

“My case is closed, why don’t you leave it at that?”

“I can’t. I’m obsessing over it.”

“I’ve already told you.” You said after a while and Tom furrowed his brows as he turned you onto your back so he could look at you.

“No. You haven’t.” He spoke carefully, maybe he’d missed something, a confession maybe.

“For a Detective Inspector, you can be pretty stupid.” You laughed and he thought on your words for a second. Thought about how much help you’d been and what you’d said, of course you knew how this woman had done it, it was how you’d done it. The only difference was that you’d managed to dispose of the body.

“So, you did do it?” He said quietly, a small part of him was proud he was right, his gut was never wrong, but the bigger part of him wondered why.

“You just need to prove it.” You said as a tear made its way down your cheek. Of all the things Tom expected, this wasn’t one of them, he wasn’t expecting you to cry.

“Hey,” he said as he swiped the tear away with his thumb. “Tell me what happened.” He urged in the most comforting manner he could, he needed you to know you could trust him with this.

“Have you ever felt trapped? That’s how he made me feel, like I had no way out. I tried to leave him so many times, but he wouldn’t let me, he had me by the throat and it felt like he was squeezing the life out of me.” You said through your tears and Tom’s heart dropped, this wasn’t a usual case where the wife murders the husband for a payout. “He wasn’t the nice rich guy everyone thought he was, he hit me, took all his anger out on me but I could never prove it, if I had bruises I wasn’t allowed to leave the house until they weren’t visible, which wasn’t often. I snapped.” You spoke and he pulled you into a hug.

“Y/N…” He said and you interrupted him.

“But it never matters to people like you. You don’t give leeway for the small amount of people who had no other choice. That’s why I never came clean, never admitted to what I’d done, I didn’t want him to trap me any more than he had, I didn’t want to go to prison because of him.” You said as you finally let the tears out that you’d kept in for so many months.

You hadn’t intended to kill him; it was an accident. You cried for ten minutes as Tom held you, placing comforting kisses to your temple. Something about finally telling the truth was freeing, you knew he could and would probably arrest you for this, but it felt good to finally tell someone the truth that was eating away at you.

“I’m not going to do anything.” Tom spoke after a while.

“What?” You asked through sniffles as your tears ceased.

“I understand now. You’ve been punished enough. Your secret is safe with me.” He said sincerely and you believed him, but you didn’t want to drag him down with you.

“You could lose your job, go to prison if anyone found out.” You said and he kissed your cheek.

“They won’t, your case has become a cold one. There’s still no body, I doubt they’ll reopen the case.” He said through a small smile. He didn’t want to ask what you’d done with the body, he assumed you were clever enough to make sure it was never found and if it was he would make sure none of the evidence led to you, he would make sure that all the evidence ran dry, he felt like he would do anything for you.

“So, I’m free?” You spoke, hope lacing every word.

“You’re free baby.”

#tom holland one shot #tom holland imagine #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland smut

[uwingdispatch]

Taking Care

Notes: Bodhi Rook/Reader, everyone lives au, post-rebellion, hurt/comfort, chronically ill/disabled reader, fluff

**CW: **hospital setting, medical emergency, chronic illness, chronic anxiety/PTSD

Ao3 Link

★★★★★★★★

With your particular health issues, you knew you were likely to end up spending the night in the med center every now and then. This, however, was not one of the reasons you thought it might happen.

To start, you’re not even the patient. You’re not here too often, but it’s often enough that even being in this building has your anxiety spiking. But you’re not going to leave him here by himself. Even if you’re furious with him for letting things get to this point. But Bodhi Rook has always been reticent to burden you with his discomfort.

And somehow he has the nerve to try and comfort you as he recovers from what should have been a routine surgery but has turned into a minor emergency because this stubborn, beautiful man didn’t even tell his droid about the abdominal pain he’d been experiencing, leading to this overnight stay for observation.

“It’s going to be all right, love,” He tells you. He’s sitting upright in the bed, wearing a med gown, white blankets pulled up to his chest, his dark hair in a messy bun, his big eyes sleepy but smiling. “The doctor just wants to keep me because of the shrapnel I took to the gut on Scarif. Honestly, I think the med droid is malfunctioning.”

The med droid was functioning perfectly, if sarcastically. And when Bodhi had tried to get up and go home rather than stay the night, she’d offered to remove his left leg—a prosthetic that had recently been upgraded courtesy of the New Republic—and shut it in the contraband locker to keep him from leaving. Droid humor.

This particular med droid had seen you both many times over the years, so she not only knew that this inappropriate joke would make Bodhi laugh, but she was also aware of his tendency to avoid medical care—even though usually when the two of you here, you were the one who was sick, and it was Bodhi refusing to leave your side as droids and doctors tried to figure out what was wrong.

But now, alone in this room with Bodhi, you could feel your chest tighten. The idiot you married had almost died rather than tell you he was in pain. A lot of pain.

“You’d still have your gallbladder if you were all right,” you say, doing your best to keep your voice calm. “They would have left it right where it was. They’re keeping you because it ruptured and they’re watching for infection.” You put down your datapad, just now finishing a message to Baze and Chirrut to let them know Bodhi was out of surgery and recovering.

“Come here,” Bodhi says, shifting his body and patting a spot on the small bed. “Let me hold you.”

“I’m so mad at you right now,” you say.

“I know.”

You get up and join him in bed anyway. It’s a tight fit, clinic beds being what they are, but he wraps you in the thin, white blankets and pulls you close, your back up against his chest, your head tucked under his chin.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” Bodhi says. “I promise, everything is fine.”

“You keep saying that,” you say. “But you didn’t even tell me you were hurting. What if this had been an organ that can’t be replaced or regrown? What if there had been a serious infection? I know how painful an inflamed gallbladder is and yours ruptured before you told anyone. What if Baze hadn’t bullied you into seeing a doctor?”

“I don’t know,” Bodhi admits. “But I’m here. And I’m all right.”

Many displaced rebels had relocated to Chandrila after the war, including Baze and Chirrut. They’d become a lifeline for not just Bodhi, but for you as well. While Bodhi had lost most of his family in the Imperial occupation and eventual destruction of Jedha, your family was estranged. The rebellion became your family, Baze and Chirrut most of all. Now you’re thanking the stars that Bodhi had been with them when the rupture happened—you certainly wouldn’t have been able to pick him up and put him in the back of a landspeeder. Baze, on the other hand? That wasn’t a problem for him.

“You’re lucky Red is charging. He’d have some crass epithets for you right now.”

“I’m sure he would. That droid has quite a colorful vocabulary.”

You turn over in the flimsy bed to face Bodhi, your noses nearly touching. There are tears in your eyes when you tell him “I can’t lose you. Not again.”

It had only been for two hours but, years ago, Bodhi’s ship had ben shot down over Endor, and he’d been reported dead. Only for two hours. Those two hours had felt like months. And when his coms came back on and he reported back in—it was the most surreal, precious dream.

It didn’t feel right until he made it back to base. He found you in your quarters with a couple of friends, both of whom quickly cleared out when he came in. He looked, well, like he’d been in a crash. Flight suit covered in grease and dirt, bruise on his chin barely concealed by his short beard, left arm in a sling, hair wild. The fabric of his flight suit had been torn open and rolled up on his right leg to reveal a large bacta patch. You wanted to take him into your arms—but you didn’t want to hurt him.

He reached out with his good arm and pulled you close anyway. And he told you how he felt, asked if he could kiss you. When you nodded, he brushed away your tears with his thumbs and pressed his lips tenderly to yours.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” he said. “I wanted to wait for this to be over. But I should have told you.”

You hushed him with another kiss and when you fell into bed, both of you too exhausted to even undress, it was the first time in years that you’d felt even a little bit safe.

And all of these years between then and now hadn’t been perfect—you’d had plenty of hiccups and stumbles. But every day you had with Bodhi felt like a gift. And now you were here, realizing how tightly you still cling to that gift.

“I’ll tell you next time, love,” he says. “If anything like this happens. I’ll tell you.”

The tears you’d been holding back begin to fall and Bodhi brushes them away. “Promise me,” you say.

“I promise,” he says. “I just hate to worry you. You have so much you’re dealing with. But I didn’t realize—”

“I know.”

He kisses you then, first tenderly, then with a bit of hunger, then remembering that you are indeed in a public space. You tuck a wayward lock of hair behind his ear, pausing to caress his stubbled cheek with your thumb.

“I’ve brought the evening medications.” The med droid has returned, ever so quietly, and she gestures at the two of you. “I suppose this is a sufficient way to keep Mr. Rook from leaving.”

Droid humor.

Bodhi thanks her and she leaves as quietly as she’d entered.

You wrap your arms around the idiot you married and press your cheek to his chest as a wave exhaustion washes over you.

“You don’t have to stay,” Bodhi says. “I know it’s late, but I can call Baze, he’ll come get you and bring you home. I’m sure you’d be more comfortable.”

“I wouldn’t be comfortable at home knowing you were here by yourself.”

“Okay, love,” Bodhi says. He kisses the top of your head and gives your arm a squeeze.

There’s a series of beeps in the corner of the room—Red has finished charging, and he wants an update. You fill him in. The little droid is as unimpressed with Bodhi as you have been, but asks if you’ve eaten. Which you haven’t. So he’s now unimpressed with you as well.

“Do you have credits, Red?” Bodhi asks. “There should be some in my pants, if you can find them. Maybe you could see if the cafeteria is open, get us a sandwich?”

You hear the droid going through Bodhi’s pockets and after a series of beeps and whistles, Red is rolling out of the room. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. So much tension leaves your body

“We’ll be home by tomorrow afternoon, love,” Bodhi says in a low voice. He presses a quick kiss to your lips and you can’t help but kiss him back. He’s probably right. Everything will be fine. “And I’ll be sure to make this up to you. All this extra stress.”

“You can make it up to me by taking care of yourself,” You say. “And maybe another kiss.”

There aren’t many places less romantic than the sterile solitude of a med center room, but you close your eyes to accept his kiss, run your fingertips softly along the sharp line of his jaw, finally feeling like you might be able to sleep tonight, like you and Bodhi are both safe. As you rest your forehead against his, you feel like this dream is once again something you can hold in your hands.

★★★★★★★★

Thank you so much for reading! I hope this makes you feel seen and loved.

Tagging a few folks who I think might enjoy this: @princessxkenobi @operation-spot @waterpancakeao3 @zinzinina

If you’d like to be tagged (or not tagged) in the future, please let me know!

#bodhi #bodhi rook #bodhi rook/reader #bodhi rook x reader #bodhi rook x you #rogue one #rogue one fanfic #rogue one fanfiction #rogue one au #everyone lives au #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #starwars #vingette #hurt/comfort #hospital #medical trauma #rebellion era #disabled reader #ptsd #anxiety #mental illness #fluff #chronic illness #uwingwriting #fanfiction #uwingwrites

[fanficsandfluff]

That Damned Laugh

To the anon who informed me of Rainbow Rowell's RACISM, i am writing this for my love of the characters, not the author's writing skill or fame. fuck her. i am still very much aware of what she wrote about and how she portrayed a character, but i cannot stop this inspiration when it comes to me. (wait to be clear to everyone reading this who hadn't seen the anons and my discussion, carry on wasnt the accused racist book. that was something else.)

If you, anon, end up seeing this and maybe don't like what I'm doing or whatnot, I'd love to hear from you again.

For those of you who maybe do practice Death of the Author, I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Carry On

Characters: Simon Snow, Baz Pitch

Words: 1,905

~~~~~

BAZ

Simon Snow does not laugh, full stop.

(Well, to be fair I'm not a cackler much myself, but I do at least guffaw from time to time.)

Snow spent so much of his youth being weighed down by the 'Chosen One' moniker and being tormented by yours truly. Still, I know of that little list he kept of things he liked about Watford and all its experiences and people. It seemed he did take joy in most of it all. After all, I'm sure he had fun at Bunce's house on many an occasion.

But just being around him and in this way for a while now, you start to notice. He's seen me laugh. A few times, in fact. And hard. I'm not very proud of it; what that man can do to me and make me do. He doesn't like when I cover my hand over my smile. It's habit, though, I've reminded him countless times. The fangs and all. We're working on it.

But Simon may just smile or huff. I've giggled with him on our particularly soft nights or togethertimes.

All this to say... I've found a new hobby/goal/obsession recently.

Make Simon Snow laugh.

My cheekiness all these years has kept my humor to cruel, lowbrow tones. Maybe it makes me less funny, I don't know. But once or twice I'd nail a comeback or snarky one-liner (of course with a bit of flirt thrown in) and Snow will giggle and shake his head. But that's all I've achieved! A small, pandering, boring -- though still admirably adorable -- (Damn that Snow) giggle.

I've moved on to physical humor. I tried throwing myself dramatically over him when he's in bed, but he just seems to think it's all part of my Pitch flair.

Today I made a minor breakthrough.

I was in the kitchen trying to mix myself a smoothie. Bunce has been gushing about a smoothie craze for weeks now, so I finally figured why not. The damn lid wasn't on tight enough. Not-yet-smooth smoothie shot everywhere. There was a pause as it happened, my one hand on the Liquify button, my other resting nonchalantly atop the lid that didn't do any lidding, dammit.

Snow looked up at me from his seat by the kitchen counter, eyes drawn from his phone. A beat. He barked out a laugh. A much louder one than I think I'd ever heard him make.

"Put a sock in it, Snow," I growled, to keep with my facade, though inside I was jittery with glee. I wanted to hear more.

Snow convinced me to binge a new show. Crime Minds. Something like that. No, criminal. It's Criminal Minds.

You wouldn't expect this to be a series fit enough for a cuddle, but Snow and I are an unexpected couple. So it works.

A few dumb jokes are littered throughout the show, in between corpses and the same police station set being reorganized and shot from different angles every episode. One such joke was so inconspicuous and so nothing that I cannot even recall it now. But both Snow and I chuckled at it. Then Snow made an additional comment to it, making me laugh. And soon we were both giggling together like schoolboys, like we had early on when we were maybe still a bit bashful with each other.

He shoved his face into my ribs and snorted when I whispered the new inside joke much later on in the episode. I was also grinning like a madman, but the soft tickle his action gave me didn't exactly---

Oh.

In bed. Perfect. Lovers fool around all the time in bed. Not fool around as in sex--well, no, of course sex, but I mean they also play around-- never mind.

SIMON

Baz has been acting off lately. I can't quite put my finger on what it is. He seems distracted. More like how I act. I'm always thinking of something else, not able to stay focused on one thing for long. He's like that, but trying to act like he isn't.

We're doing something odd today. We're in bed at sunset. It's hardly sunset, as a matter of fact. The sun isn't seeping orange and red into the flat yet. Penelope took us out on a hike today. It tuckered the both of us out. Baz drained a buck when we got home.

I'm laying perpendicular to Baz (or is it parallel? composite? I could never remember mathematics), my legs resting over his stomach. He's reading and I'm playing a puzzle app on my phone.

BAZ

Now's the time, Baz. Just do it, don't think.

His socked feet are right in front of me. There's only been a handful of times we've sat in this position, half of them being my lower half resting on Simon's sturdier upper half. It's now or never.

I stare at his feet for too long, zoning out and forgetting that I was left staring at them, so it definitely looked like I have a fetish for feet. Which I don't. Focus, Basilton.

I take a finger-- no, two fingers. I scratch quickly at his heel. His leg jerks, foot being pulled back.

"What?" he asks me, as if I hadn't been plotting this for weeks. As if I just did it to get his attention.

"Something on the bottom of your sock, love."

Simon went right back to his head hanging upside down off the side of the bed, phone held out in front of his eyes.

Well, that proved one thing. He's ticklish.

He places his ankles right back where they originally were, crossed, atop my stomach. I try again, this time on his arch. I apply more pressure.

"Bahaz!" Simon shakes his foot out, "Is that how you start a foot massage?"

"Would you like a foot massage?"

"No. Not if it's going to tickle like that."

My cheeks heat up. Damn that buck. I'm rosier than I usually am.

"You're ticklish?" I ask, coolly. I barely stuttered.

"I wouldn't try it," he's back to looking at his phone again, "Penny did once and I nearly broke her elbow or something. She wouldn't stop talking about it for days."

"So you're very ticklish, then."

"Don't," this is the first time Snow seems to tense up.

There's a moment of quiet between us. A tense quiet. I lunge for his ankles and he shoots up into a sitting position. I scratch at his arch with four fingers now and he screams.

"Baz!" Simon whines a bit and he somehow yanks his legs free, not without losing one of his socks in my grip.

SIMON

He's grinning at me. No. Sneering.

I still hate when he does that. Reminds me of back when I wanted to throttle him. Sometimes I still do.

"Baz," I warn. His whole posture changes into a predator's, like he's the lion and I'm his fresh zebra. The new stance sends a shiver down my spine, with his shoulders hunched and all, ready to pounce.

"Baz... Baz, Baz, Baz..." I say over and over again because he's smiling at me, and then I start to smile, too, "Bahaz!" I try once more, but his name is all that's coming out, and now I'm giggling. I'm nervous. He did this to me.

BAZ

He's already giggling and I haven't even laid a hand on him.

"Yes, Snow?" I respond to his many calls of my name before I lurch forward, sending my whole body crashing on top of his and trying to pin him. I dig my fingers into his sides and don't stop for as long as I can maintain contact through his squirming.

"Gehehet off!" he's already crumbling, words being broken up with short laughs.

I slide my fingertips to his stomach and scratch there; Snow bucks. It gets even better when my cold fingers make contact with his warm skin beneath the shirt he's wearing. He yelps like I've never heard him yelp (like he's burnt his finger, but he's also 11-years-old again), and he dissolves into loud, beautiful laughter.

"St-Stohohop! Baz! I'm going to end you!"

"Isn't that how we always said it would end? Snuffing each other out? I'm perfectly happy that it's now going to end in my favor. You should've told me you were this easy to defeat earlier on, Snow."

"Shut up!" he cackles, legs kicking wildly behind me, as my body is thrown over his torso. Now I have both my hands buried into his sides, squeezing and squeezing. I get curious, my cheeks still burning with blood, and I lean down to his neck and... (no, I don't bite) I start nibbling. Snow loses it.

His whole face scrunches up, as I watch when I pull my head back. His smile is huge and bright. And the laughs bubble up from his stomach, releasing softer into the air like he sucked a little of the joy from it before releasing to keep for himself.

"Dohon't do that!"

"I thought you love my kisses."

"Not tha-HAAT!"

He shrieks again, hands too slow to stop my face from moving in. I nibble and even lick a few times, careful not to touch him with my fangs.

Did I mention that my hands are still tickling at his sides and ribs while I'm nibbling? Oh yes, I've waited so long for this sound. I wasn't going to make it come out lightly.

I blow a raspberry and that's when Snow's laughter catches and turns all hiccuppy. The noises are infecting me, starting to make me giggle. I shift, and my face now descends towards his stomach, which is bared after I rucked the shirt up.

SIMON

"TYRANNUS BASILTON G-GRIMM FUCKING PITCH-- OR WHATEVER YOUR LONG STUPID ARSEHOLE NAME IS--"

He's laughing at me. I keep laughing even without him tickling me.

"I swehehear I'm going to fucking kill you and your whole family if you do that dohown thehere--" I'm hiccuping. Crowley, how embarrassing.

BAZ

He's got me. I can hardly breathe from laughter. I keel over into him or he into me, but soon we're a laughing pile together on top of the mussed up sheets on the bed.

I make a loud snort and that reels us both back in again, laughing til we're red in the face and til my cheeks hurt.

Simon is giggling away, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself, but he just keeps on giggling. I'm able to sit up a little more and Snow's head is in my lap. He's beaming and looking up at me through squinted, teary eyes.

"That was fun," I say, and I don't think it's the brightest or smartest thing to say. But I say it.

"I love you," Snow's smile is still wide, like he's drunk from it. There's a moment where I feel like I've died again, color drained from me.

It doesn't seem to bother him, that he's said that. For the first time. I run my fingers through his reddish curls once, letting them tangle in the locks towards the back of his head. I hunch myself down so I can kiss him.

"I've wanted to hear that for so long," I whisper.

"That I love you? You haven't figured it out by now?"

"No, you idiot," I say with nothing but fondness, brushing my nose along Simon's jaw, "Your laugh."

#carry on #carry on: the rise and fall of simon snow #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #snowbaz #simon/baz #simon and baz #fanfiction #carry on fanfiction #carry on fanfic #fanfic #ticklish!simon #ticklish!simonsnow #lee!simon #ler!baz

[madam-mademoiselle]

Starlight

It was slowly getting dark one spring day. MC was dusting the entrance to the mansion when the front door slammed open, revealing the Van Gogh brothers. Before MC turned fully on them, she caught their appearance in the mirror. Both of them looked worse for wear with Theo slightly more scuffed up while he was carrying scraps of painted canvas and splintered wood that was once a painting.

Dropping her dusting cloth, she ran up to Vincent as he was closer to MC when they came through the door. Her hands gently cupped his face as she checked him over. A bruise painted on one of his cheeks. Ever the angelic vampire, he smiled gently, taking her hand in his. "We are alright MC. Just a couple of scrapes. We'll both be fine tomorrow."

She shook her head, "I won't be able to sleep tonight knowing that you both got hurt. You can tell me what happened in the kitchen." She told him softly, squeezing his hand. Hearing a step on one of the stairs, she whipped her head towards it. "Theo that means you too!" She chastised over her shoulder. He huffed angrily, "Hondje, I can take care of it myself!"

"Hondje wants to know what happened to the two of you and is concerned! Please just cooperate with me on this." Hurt bled in her voice, the thought that he didn't trust her to at least take care of him. Vincent placed a hand on MC's shoulder, "she should know Theo. She has been with us when you sold paintings or with me when painting. I don't think either of us could forgive ourselves if something happened to her."

That caught her attention, "fine. I'll let the hondje lick my wounds." Theo stormed past them, heading towards the kitchen. "Theo!" Her cheeks turned red and then pouted as Vincent grasped her hand and pulled her towards the kitchen. Along the way, she picked up any scraps that may have fallen from the bundle in Theo's arms. When she saw the colors of one of the canvas pieces, she knew it had been a recent painting Vincent had done for an upcoming exhibition.

Sebastian was just pulling a pan out of the oven as the trio walked into the kitchen. His eyes widened when he saw the rough shape of the brothers' clothing. Before he could say anything, MC walked by him to pull out a clean dish rag from a cabinet and to wet it, "I don't know either, they were about to tell me." Wringing it out, she started to gently dab at Vincent’s face. Sebastian had taken Theo's bundle from him to place on one of the counters.

"Who wants to go first?" Satisfied with how much cleaner his face, she took the rag and placed it in his hand, gesturing to his cheek while getting one for Theo. Annoyed, he sighed, the younger brother started off first. "We were both heading home after checking out a venue for a possible exhibition. Vincent had one of his paintings to place with the others to be stored. We were almost out of the business district when the L'Academie de Beaux Arts came out and jumped us. They were closer to- watch it hondje!" He growled.

The cold rag met a deep gash on the side of his head. "Sorry, getting the dirt and grime out. You don't want that healing over it, that sets it up for infection. Go on, I didn't mean to interrupt." Vincent decided to take up the other half the story, "they grabbed the painting I was carrying out of my hands. Theo tried to take it back, only to get punched. I told them they could take it if they left us alone."

"Broer, they smashed and stomped on your work! You worked so hard on it!" Theo snarled and nearly pulled away from MC before she pulled on Theo's ear to bring him back to her. There was a saddened look in Vincent’s eyes for a second then he gave Theo a small smile. "I would rather have a painting destroyed than to see my younger broer hurt." He paused for a moment, Sebastian had taken his rag to put fresh, cold water on it, and handed it back to Vincent.

"As Theo said, they destroyed the painting. Even after that, one of them took a swing at Theo again and there was a small scuffle. After they were satisfied, they warned us that if anyone were caught associating with us, it would be worse for that person. We picked up the pieces of what was left and came home." There was a pregnant pause, Sebastian spoke up, "you could have it in the park again. Lots of eyes would be on them if they decided to cause trouble again."

"We could, the problem is they would see those who can't defend themselves and go after them once they leave the venue is my guess. I don't want anyone harmed or uncomfortable when looking at the art. I want the paintings to speak, fully appreciated." Theo sighed tiredly as MC was done wiping his face and pulled the rag away, some of the wounds healing a little.

"Sebas, I'm heading up to my room. I'll just take some Rouge with me. I need to think about this." Leaving the kitchen, he did pause at the entrance to the hall. "Thank you." It was faint, but she caught it. Following the other brother's lead, Vincent hugged MC in thanks, grabbing a bottle as well. When both brothers left, the butler and the housekeeper were studying the destroyed painting. She jerked back as an idea hit her.

"Sebastian, I know my day off is next week, but can it be tomorrow? I need to get something ready." He placed one of wooden rods that stretched out the painting back in the pile. "May I ask what you are preparing? I don't need a surprise outcome that causes a mess." She laughed and shook her head, "nothing like that. I think I have an idea to cheer those two up." Sighing, she continued, "they have been having rotten luck this week and I know they have been through worse; I just want to do something at least to make them see it's okay."

Sebastian was studying his colleague, her eyes bright with determination. Her finger clutching tightly to a piece of the painting in her hand. Since she had arrived, she has been close with both brothers, they had both welcomed her in their own way. He gave her nod, "very well. You have it. May I ask for even a preview of what you have up your sleeve?" She giggled and shook her head again, "sorry Sebas, I'm pretty sure you'll figure it out."

She started to leave the kitchen in a rush, he called out to her again but had already left, running up the stairs to a certain wordsmith who could help and hopefully not reveal what she had in mind. Making sure Theo and Vincent weren't around or listening, she knocked lightly on the door.

Sapphire eyes behind tortoise shell glasses looked to see the resident housekeeper in his doorway. Before he could greet her, she raised a finger to her lips to stop him. Opening the door further, he offered to let her inside his room. She shut the door behind her, casting a glance at Arthur. He had made himself comfortable in his chair and she sat on his couch. "Arthur, I need your expertise." Her hands clasped in front of her. "It's in regards of Theo and Vincent."

Trademark smile, he leaned forward a bit, "and how can I be of help luv? I would have guessed you would have known them better than me, Theo especially." He winked teasingly. Her face flushed, "it's not that. I need you to buy me some time tomorrow by getting them out of the mansion." That got him to pause, his eyebrow raising on why she would ask. Reaching for his hand, she placed a piece of the canvas in it. Arthur examined it, "another row with the L'Academie?"

She nodded, "this time they both came home bruised up and looked so defeated… Vincent lost a painting and Theo his pride, but both brothers are worried about each other and their friends." Leveling her gaze to his, showing him she meant this, "Arthur, I would be ever grateful. Not only would you be doing it for me, but Theo as well. As much as you two give each other grief, he is your best mate."

He took a look at the scrap in his hand before catching her gaze, nodding. "I can do that luv, how long do you need them out?" She smiled, leaving her seat to capture him in a hug. "Thank you so much Arthur! You're the best!" He chuckled, accepting it before pulling back, "if you say so. Now what is the plan you have set?"

Quickly explaining to him that he could bring them back when the sun had set and make sure they didn't know. Especially Theo, knowing he could pick up on the suspension. They talked about the possibilities of why Arthur was tagging along before agreeing on the story. She did give him a peck on the cheek for thanks and left his room for hers.

As she got ready for bed, she went over to her purse. Pulling out a black rectangular object that had been sitting idle. She flipped the cover open to reveal a tablet. Her finger pushed the power button on, flashing a certain fruit on the screen. Entering her password, her wallpaper of home presented itself. The picture of it gave her a twinge of homesickness, but shook it off. Checking the battery status, she saw it was enough to do what she wanted. Turning it off once more, she placed it on the vanity table and headed to bed.

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

She woke up a bit later than her usual time and put on her normal attire. Making her way down to the kitchen, she saw Arthur with the brothers leaving out the front door. Catching the door, Arthur shot her a wink before calling out to them to hold the carriage. Waiting a minute or two, she held her place at the top of the staircase.

Once the coast was clear, she headed towards the kitchen to reach the cellar. First thing she needed was a crate wide enough to place her tablet in it and make some minor adjustments to it. She hated going down there by herself, but would do anything for them, and she had a feeling it would ruin the surprise if she asked Sebastian to go down with her.

Her hand flapped desperately to find the light switch for the cellar, sighing in relief when she found it. Quickly going down the staircase, she saw the crates used for delivering the Blanc and Rouge neatly stacked in the corner. She went to grab a crate and she felt something prick her finger tips. Pulling them back and hissing, relieved no blood was drawn, Harry had huddled into it. The sleeping hedgehog relaxed when he saw it was her.

"Hey Harry, I hope I didn't scare you badly. If you are down here, I'm sure a certain someone will be searching for you shortly. Maybe I could trade you for something I need." Placing the hedgehog in her pocket once his spines relaxed. A white object caught her eye. Is that…? Walking closer and tugging on the corner, she saw it was an off white tarp, large enough to what she needed it to do. It was folded and placed in the crate to be carried easily. She ran back up the cellar stairs with the crate cradled under her arm. 

Panting and heading towards the 2nd floor stairs, she caught Napoleon by his sleeve as he headed down them. Eyeing him up and down, she nodded, "I'll need your help later. Need your height to hang something. Going to rope in Leonardo too, not a one person job." It caught him off guard. She was going on the move again when he caught her elbow before she got too far. "Hold on, where are you going? Can you explain what you want me to help hang up?"

She smiled before gesturing to the tarp in the crate. "This. As for what it will serve, that is a surprise." Winking at him, another idea came across her. "You and the others can come see what it is once the sun sets. It will be in the library. Also… if you happen to see Sebastian, tell him about it and if he wants to help, simple finger foods would help or snacks." Confusion still painted Napoleon's face as he nodded going towards the kitchen.

Finding Issac was easy. Once her foot hit the top landing, she saw him. Coming out of his room with a worried look, she startled him when she called out to him. "Sorry! Didn't mean to scare you! Everything okay?" His fingers reached for a pink lock, embarrassed to not be more aware of his surroundings. 

"Ah MC. I was about to go look for Harry. He must have gotten out of my room and I don't want him in King's mouth again." The memory of the upset hedgehog being toted around in the retriever's mouth was enough for Issac to chase the dog all across the grounds until Theo got home. Needless to say, King's mouth was tender for a few days and Harry was given a bath to rid himself of dog breath.

She scooped the tiny creature from her pocket with one hand and presented him to Issac. Harry squealed happily as he was removed from her hand into Issac's. "Harry! King is going to find you again if you keep escaping! Thank you MC!" Before he could return to his room, she tugged his sleeve. "Hey Issac? I wanted to ask you if I could borrow something of yours. Just for tonight."

He looked at her confused. "What do you need? I don't know of anything I have that could be of use." Knowing this would probably be harder than she thought, she shyly scratched neck. "Well, I kind of need to borrow your lenses that you use for your telescope… they'll be in a safe space I promise!"

Stunned, he blinked a few times. "I can't let you borrow those. They are still being tinkered with and currently in the telescope." Noticing the crestfallen look, she was going to let it go until he started to backtrack. Face blushing slightly, he started to play with a lock of his hair again. "I have some that I can't use, let me go get them." He went back into his room to place Harry back into his enclosure and retrieve the glass pieces.

Giving him her best smile, she placed the crate on the floor, and hugged him tightly when she saw the satin bag that had the pieces. "Oh thank you, thank you Issac!" When she let go of him after hearing his protest, his face was red as an apple. "Careful! You'll shatter them if you aren't! Can I ask why you need them?" She carefully tucked it into the folds of the tarp inside the crate. "You'll have to come to the library! I'll see you later! Burning daylight!" The crate was back cradled under arm once again.

Scampering down the hall, she caught the scent of cigarillos. Following her nose, she was outside of the Comte's room. Adjusting the crate on her hip, she knocked lightly on the door. Hearing the permission to enter, she opened the door softly. The stack of letters on the Comte's desk had her guessing they were from Leonardo's family. Both vampires turned towards the door at her, both offering her a smile.

"Ma chérie, Sebastian told me you had taken today off to work on something for Vincent and Theo." MC's eyes widened as he continued, "he told me this morning after they had left." The unlit cigarillo hung from Leonardo's fingers, halting his hand as he turned towards her. "'Scusa, but we can ask what you are up to? You've been running around the mansion a good part of the day and right now…" The tip of the cigarillo pointed towards the crate.

"Well, I sorta need your help with this next part. Your tool box and your height. I promised Jean I wouldn't go climbing ladders for a little while after missing a rung last time." Her hands started making a placating gesture before they could interject. "Not to worry! Didn't bruise or break! Jean may or may not have caught me before I hit the floor." She sheepishly cleared her throat. "I need to ask if you have anything small enough to make a circular hole here, big enough for a lens."

Handing him the box, he studied the wood on the crate. Tapping here and there, she showed him where she wanted it. Taking the box, he placed a hand on her head. "You'll need to meet Napoleon in the library. I'll be there shortly. Just need the tarp hung up and the box done, then I'll be able to show everyone what I have been up to." Ruffling her hair and chuckling, he walked out of the Comte's room.

Papers shuffled as he moved the letter pile in the desk drawer. "Seems you came to his rescue. Telling me that I moan too much about all these letters." He smiled as he stood up, "I have a feeling about what you are working on and I have to ask because I don't know if it could influence time here." 

Timeless gold eyes stared into MC's as she felt like she had been caught. Her face started to flush, almost feeling like a naughty child. She should have asked the Comte if this was okay to begin with but when she had her mind focused... "It's Vincent’s artwork and the letters they sent back to each other. I want to show them that they continue to inspire, even as far as my time. I just… just…" She was wringing her hands.

Giving him the best puppy dog look, he sighed and relented. "Ma chérie, that is being naughty. You know you have everyone wrapped around these little fingers of yours." He took one of her hands to place a chaste kiss on the back of it. "Theo is fortunate that you came his way. I'll see you in the library. I can't wait to see what you have planned." He let go of her hand and escorted her to the door.

Glancing out the window, she realized how close it was until the sun was fully gone. She walked to her room to grab the tablet and headed down to the library, knowing chaos would happen if she kept everyone waiting.

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

The tablet had come alive fully, displaying a different wallpaper of home. As it turned out, all the residents had come into the library. Leonardo and Napoleon were rigging the tarp above the fireplace. Couches and chairs were in a horseshoe shape, Sebastian had brought in finger foods and snacks along with an extra serving cart that had the crate with Issac's lenses.

"Aishiko-san we were wondering what happened to you. Your footfalls got quiet." Noticing the tablet in her hands, his sight fell on it. "Hmm? What is that in your hands?" Dazai had stepped close to MC, looking at the bright screen that illuminated her face. She met his gaze and showed it to him, smiling. "Last piece of my puzzle. Now I just need Arthur to bring-"

There was a crashing noise followed with Dutch curses. She set it on the cart and rushed out to the foyer to see Theo fisting some of Arthur's shirt in one hand and Vincent trying to pull him away with his other arm pinned. With a squeal, MC ran between Theo and Arthur, her fingers entwined in his shirt. "Hey hey hey! Theo! Theo! Let him go!" Stormy cerulean eyes looked down at the housekeeper and she kept her gaze steady on his. Sighing, he let go of Arthur, "hondje don't you know better than get in the middle of a fight?"

"Broer I don't think you would hurt MC. It's been a long day and all Arthur wanted to do was to help." Vincent loosened his grip and pulled away from his sibling. Arthur dusted himself off and straightened his outfit. "Alright MC, the sun has set and they are back here. Everything set?" He cheerfully asked as he walked past her into the library.

"Set? What is set? What is he talking about?" Grabbing hold of Vincent’s hand in her other one, she started to tug both brothers to the library. "Well if I told you, it wouldn't be much of a surprise. Take a seat, grab a bite, and maybe some Rouge, just have to finish this last bit since you are both here." Making sure they were sitting, she closed the curtains before picking up the tablet and pulling up her playlist of videos she had.

Standing the tablet in the box and blocking the light from escaping. She cleared her throat. Everyone had quieted down and turned their attention to her. Not used to having this many eyes on her, she cleared her throat. "First off, I want to thank those who went with my fly by the seat of my pants plan. Without that, I wouldn't be able to do this tonight. Second, Vincent and Theo, I hope you had a better day. And thirdly, I thought I would share this with you."

Moving out of the way, the light went through the lens of the crate and onto the tarp. Turning off the lights, the video on the tablet was displayed. Hearing some soft gasps and sounds of glee. Making sure the volume was as high as it would go, she hit play. The picture started to move and the woman in the video started speaking. Nudging herself between the brothers, she sat comfortably.

The woman was MC's sister, questioning her about the area they were in and if this was the right place. The buildings were a bit dilapidated and there was construction. MC had laughed when she heard her sister that she was leading them somewhere they would be possibly killed. Pointing ahead, MC directed her sister and the camera towards a large two story sign on the side of a new building that said Van Gogh Immersive Experience.

The next video buffered a few moments, she heard Theo mutter in confusion about immersive. When it was playing, they were both inside with a young man explaining what to expect once inside the room. Before MC could step inside, her sister gave her one of the high quality cameras she used in her photography business. It was small and was able to be placed on MC's hat that she was wearing. The video ended there.

"I don't understand. What are you-" taking her hand out of Theo's, she covered his mouth with it and nodded towards the screen. His eyes followed and widened when he saw the portraits Vincent had painted. The next video was from the point of view of MC. The room MC and her sister were in, the paintings had completely covered the walls from the projections. Music accompanied the pieces as it transitioned to more artwork.

From the starkness, groaning could be heard as the flooring began to take root, the projections had changed to irises, sunflowers, and trees as they grew up the wall. "Theo, they are moving! They are swaying like they are in the wind! Do you see that broer?" The excitement in Vincent’s voice was apparent. Theo had removed MC's hand from his mouth, watching in amazement as well. For the first time, Theo had been stunned.

Some pieces had their sweet somber music while others had more upbeat to dissipate it. The movement, the sounds had brought the art to life. While everyone's eyes were on the screen, she was watching the room. Everyone was enamored with the videos. Food, Rouge, and Blanc forgotten. The pressure from holding hands with Vincent had tightened. She gave it a squeeze, smiling at the wonder in his eyes.

It went on for twenty-five minutes, displaying any paintings that had been done and when it reached her favorite part of the video. Dark blues and yellows danced on the floor and walls, the sound of water echoed. Starry Night Over the Rhône had encased the entirety of the room. The stars swirling or glowing slightly as they reflected in the water of the painting. Morphing into a piece that was well known, Starry Night made the final appearance before the walls turned black and the video seemed to end.

There was silence before white lettering started appearing on the wall. Praises for Vincent’s artwork in different languages were played while handwritten letters with signatures from both brothers were shown. MC's sister spoke up quietly, "I can read the signatures, but I don't know what's being said or displayed."

MC from the video started to speak, "basically a guy by the name of Theodorus, who was Vincent’s brother and personal art dealer, was constantly encouraging him. That letter right there is saying those idiots don't know art if it came up and bit them right up… yeah not going to finish that bit. He also said Starry Night will not be forgotten, how could anyone say that?" MC sighed, "I don't think anyone could forget any of these. Everything is so beautiful."

Letters started to filter on the wall as MC started translating them. People listened to what she said, crowding closer. When the letters faded from the wall and the exhibition ended, the crowd had left and leaving the siblings the last two in there, the sister turned towards MC. "I'm sorry, when did you actually start learning Dutch? Did you read the letters before we came here?"

"I'm not fully fluent in it, I just know enough to get the gist of it. I probably would butcher some, if not all, of the pronunciations. And I didn't read any of the letters before we got here either. Besides, it's not something you whip out in everyday conversations." Changing the subject, she nudged her sister. "C'mon, I'm getting hungry. I want to try that restaurant downtown before traffic gets bad and it gets dark. You're buying." The video ended there as MC's sister looked at MC and with the tablet now dead, the room was thrown into pitch black.

Hopping up from her position from between the brothers, she flipped on the lights. There was a sound of soft applause. She was confused, her gaze focused on the brothers now stiff on the sofa. Hoping she didn't overwhelm them, she walked back over and kneeled in front of them. 

"You both had sprung a movement that art doesn't have to follow a certain formula. That art is subjective and can be awe inspiring. That your emotions are what brings living, breathing life in a still life painting. You don't have to hide it! There will always be support! Don't let this storm extinguish your light. The inspiration and hope that you both lead forward with is what helps magnify it!" 

Tears were gathering in her eyes, before she could stand back up, Vincent had lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her. Squeezing her tightly in a hug, feeling his tears start to splash in her neck, and soft thank yous echoing in her ears. She returned the hug with the same amount of pressure and gently patted his back. Theo hadn't said a word as he got up from his seat. He left the library without glancing towards MC.

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

The clean up had been relatively easy and promises had been made of explaining more about her DIY projector box in the morning. She had carefully given Issac back his lenses before he retired for the night in his room. Vincent had rushed off to his easel, a new found of energy to start a new painting.

She helped Sebastian finish the last of the nightly chores before she returned to her room. The dead tablet now resting in the crook of her elbow. When she got to her door however, Theo was leaning against the wall beside it. He had an expression on his face she couldn't read while he was deep in thought.

"Theo? Is everything okay? I didn't mean to upset you or anything when I was showing the uh, projections." That is what Comte and Arthur told her to describe it as to avoid confusion. He was still silent when she asked her next question. "Why don't you come in?" She opened the door and gestured to him to go first.

He sat on her bed while placing the tablet next to her purse. It was awkward silence before he spoke up, "is that the last time you'll get to see your sister?" The question took her off guard, taking the spot next to him on the bed. "On that? It is. I don't have many of them where it is just me and my sister. She had been busy for the past 6 months with her business. The only time I saw her was on Sundays and that was her day off." She laughed sadly, "we had planned so hard to have one day where it could be the two of us having the time to spend as sisters. The tickets to the exhibition were even harder to come by due to everyone snatching them up before I could pay for ours. But we managed to get them and have fun that day. I was so happy to spend time with her."

"And now you can't hear your sister speak again? Why would you show us what you have as a happy memory to us when you knew the risk of never hearing her again?" She pondered the question before answering him. She slipped her hand into his softly. Meeting his gaze she replied, "because you and everyone here are my family too. No matter how eccentric the others are here, they all come together to help one another. I wanted to show you and Vincent that all that effort you put into showing his work had reaped an abundance of love by bringing people from different worlds together by art." 

Leaning into his arm, he had stiffened slightly as she added tenderly. "Last night when you came home, it hurt to see the frustration and anger cloud your eyes. It looked like you lost some hope that night. You do so much for everyone, even though you put on that mean mug look at times. You care for the people that are in your circle and Vincent happens to the one closer to you than anyone else. I didn't have much to offer other than what I had tonight. I wanted to show you in my own way I care for you, even if you call me a hopeless puppy at times."

Theo's arm had come up behind her back to brush her hair strands through his fingers. He sighed, "MC… you mentioned to your sister that your Dutch wasn't up to par. Any reason why you were learning it?" She made a low groaning noise in her throat. "It's silly to be honest… I may have picked the wrong class you could say. I was wanting to take Deutsche and had selected Dutch instead. I couldn't exactly back out because I had paid for the course and there was another fee to pay if I backed out of it."

He was silent before the fingers that were in her hair left to pinch her cheek teasingly. "You learned a language you had no interest in because you didn't read which course you wanted? But that sounds like you hjonde." His fingers let go of the abused skin to let his thumb rub the red area. "Just like you did tonight, you were telling those people in the projections, who couldn't read what Vincent and I wrote to really sell the exhibition. You say you don't have much to give, but you do it daily. You give yourself to everyone here, especially me and my broer."

Tilting her head so their gazes met, he continued, "do you know what sterrenlicht means?" She wracked her brain and was taking the word apart mentally, "licht means light I know that much." His sky blue eyes softened along with a small smile, "starlight. Even when things seem dark, one look in your eyes and I see light. Moonless nights are brightened by the stars. The stars that Vincent paints remind me of yours. Bright. Inspirational. They guide me back to be the man I want to be in your eyes."

MC's heart started to beat faster as they were a breath away from both of their lips meeting. Face flushing further after that pinch, she decided to take the risk and place her lips on his. He seemed shocked, before returning it with more pressure than she did. She pulled away to breathe and rest her forehead against his. Both basking in the afterglow of it and the unspoken affection. "You are just as important to me as my broer. I may not show it openly, but you are." Pulling away from her, his normal sadistic smirk replaced the tender look on his face.

"Get some rest hjonde. I'll need some help moving paintings in a two story building. Need you bright eyed in the morning. Welterusten." He placed a hand on her head before getting up from the bed and leaving her room. When the door shut, she had a dopey smile from the euphoria from the kiss. That night when she went to bed, she dreamt of a starry night along the river with a certain Dutchman walking by her side.

Thank you @aeoncryptic for proof reading some and let me ramble about this idea!

#ikemen vampire #ikemen vamp #ikemen vincent #ikemen theo #ikemen vampire vincent #ikemen vampire theo #Theodorus x reader #Theodorus x MC

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO,  “Post Apocalyptic Utopia.”

I was actually able to write something today, which I didn’t expect. So I hope you all enjoy!” 

A small delegation of Vrul scientists were waiting for them when the shuttle landed. Dr. krill looked around the city and noted the increased security from the last time he had been here, though that had been almost a year ago, so he couldn’t have said if that was a recent development or not. Behind him, Admiral Vir, Doctor Katie, and their resident microbiologist stepped out of the shuttle, followed closely by their select group of marines.

The marines had been ordered to keep a close eye on Krill, as it was a well known fact that the Vrul council had put a termination order on his head. They had said the termination order had been dissolved, but to say that he didn’t exactly trust their word, was a bit of an understatement.

Admiral Vir stayed close at his shoulder eyeing up anyone who got to close.

They had brought the marines for a reason, but a single human would have been enough to scare of the Vrul if they were to try, and Admiral Vir, as important as he was in intergalactic government, was even more of a deterrent.

They were met a few feet later by the council members, no one that Krill recognized, so they must have been council assistants.

“Dr. Krill, we were not sure you would answer our call.”

“Is that because of the termination order on my head, or because the Vrul council seems to have a disdain for my work?”

They stepped back a little shying away from his bluntness, but he stood his ground. Perhaps it was a little mean to behave so human-like in front of them, but he had to admit, it gave him no end of pleasure to see the squirm, all except for one.

One of the Vrul scuttled forward and his movements were familiar.

Together both Krill and the Admiral recognized him as the psychologist who had stood up for krill the last time he had brought in on a termination evaluation.

‘I am pleased to see you have answered our call Dr. krill, I was worried the past issues with the council might drive you away.” he looked up and raised a hand to the human, “As well as you Admiral, I am always pleased to see the man who saved my life.”

The admiral saluted, “The pleasure is all ours.”

Krill nodded pleased to see at least one sensible Vrul in this entire place, “I am sure we are all very happy to see one another, but I doubt you would ave called us here for a simple visit?”

The psychologist nodded his head, “Yes, yes of course. Please follow me.”

They did as ordered, the humans sauntering along behind them as the Vrul walked and talked. Around them, the city was surprisingly deserted with few workers and even fewer pedestrians. 

“Something strange has happened, something we are not sure what to make of.” 

They turned a corner down the middle streat, heading towards the outskirts of the city.

“The morning before last, a…. Minor beta geologist by the name of Dr. Kell was allowed permission outside the city walls.”

“Beta scientist?” Dr Krill wondered 

“He was one of those hard cases. His original tests showed promise, but it was later determined that he was closer to a beta than an alpha, though the council let him keep his teaching position at the institute as long as it was only the entry level classes, regardless, that is not the point. The point is, he was allowed outside the city on request to study surrounding soil samples. He was gone for maybe two or three hours before returning, dazed and catatonic. His helium sack had been ruptured, and shortly after being contained within an isolation chamber, he began to develop large yellow soars across his body. Those who came in close contact with him, including myself, have been put into isolation for a days duration, longer than it took for him to be infected.” 

They stepped onto a small elevating platform which rose them high into the air along the wall. There were no rails, as Vrul didn’t fear falling, butthe humans clustered at the center to avoid the drop.

They made it to the top of the wall and were motioned over by the psychologist to peer over the edge.

“That of course is not even mentioning these creatures.”

Together they looked over the edge of the wall. The humans muttered in surprise, and Krill Felt his antenna vibrate slightly in unease and burgeoning horror. The creatures below him looked awful like deltas, with their six limbs and thickened bodies, but the way they moved was just so rong. They clambered over each other hauling themselves up against the wall as if they were trying to climb it.

There were no more than seven of them in total and their eyes glowed a glassy white. All over their bodies, he could just make out the sickly yellow pustules. One of the creatures attempted to climb over his brethren, and in so doing stepped on one of the bulging sacks causing it to rupture and spew a thick spray of a pollen like substance. The cloud expanded shortly but was too thick to spread properly and slowly dropped to the ground coating the others in the layer of yellow.

The human grimaced, “Do you smell that?”

The Vrul looked up at him in surprise, “You smell something.”

All the humans nodded. Adam shook his head and sneezed rather violently taking a step back from the edge before wiping his face, “Smells like…. I don’t even know how to describe it, organic but…. rotting .”

Ramirez peered over the edge, “Tree zombies.”

The little vrul psychologist looked up at them, “What is a zombie?’

Krill sighed, “here we go.”

“Its an old legend or folktale I guess. There have been a lot of iterations of it over the centuries, but the general idea is that some kind of virus infects a human and the symptoms cause them to become aggressive and violent. A bite causes them to spread the Virus, and so they become cannibalistic. The disease rapidly spreads through population centers and the entire world shuts down in an apocalyptic event while small pockets of humans attempt to survive. Of course, its not exactly scientifically possible with the diseases we know of, but.” Adam glanced back over the wall, “Obviously not the same thing, but…. A similar principal I suppose. Twenty bucks says that those sores are what make it contagious.”

Krill nodded slowly, “it would make sense why none of you who came in contact with Dr. kell were ever infected, because you were never exposed to the pathogen. I am assuming he was not showing signs of those yellow pustules by the time he showed up?”

The psychologist nodded. “No, he developed those late last night and is still under observation. That happened about the same time he started showing signs of aggression towards the staff.”

“Let me see the patient.” krill said and the psychologist nodded, motioning them forward and back down the wall to where they were keeping their observation room.

It had been set up away and secured from the other buildings, and as they walked in most everyone was dressed in hazmat equipment.

They were brought forward, to an outside observation room where they could see through two sets of thick paned glass to where dr Kell, or who they supposed used to be Dr, Kell, paced around the room scuttling this way and that towards anyone who moved outside of his enclosure. The entire inside of the room was coated in a delicate layer of yellow pollen.”

Krill ordered someone to give him a hazmat suit and he hurried into the crowd to take a look for himself.

Dr, Katie was able to bring her hazmat equipment from the ship and followed after him, walking around with Krill as they examined the subject.

Adam didn’t know much about Vrul related illnesses, but he still found the behavior of the vrul inside the enclosure to be rather unsettling.

He walked around the outside examining the creature as Dr. krill and Katie spoke with each other.

He tapped his fingers against his arms nervously. This was very strange as far as he knew no vrul had lived outside their cities in centuries if not millennia. So how could there be infection outside of the city…. Of course…. That was unless…

A sudden scuttling could be heard outside the door, and he turned around to watch as a small alpha Vrul stepped into the room. It hurried forward and stood at the edge of he room looking unsure and nervous. On occasion it glanced over at him with a wary expression, to the point where he thought it was going to get whiplash.

He nodded, “Do you need something?”

It jumped as he spoke clutching some files on its chest, “i uh… uh I wanted to speak with the doctors about…. About something I found.”

Obviously Vrul only had one gender, but there was just something about it that made him think female, so he went with it.

Usually Vrul chose based on convenience when working with species of more than one gender, but until she said otherwise she was going to have to do.

“You can tell me.”

She looked up at him with a skeptical expression.

Most vrul had a sense of intellectual superiority when it came to other species. It made them insufferable sometimes as humans had IQs closer to their betas than their alphas. Difference was your average human could handle abstract concepts where a beta could not. Though the vrul tended to forget this.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, “I think I can keep up, just humor me.”

She looked at him long and hard for a moment before moving closer, “I am Dr. Vess, head historian at the Vrul institute here in the city, and I have been examining some ancient documents which I think might shed some light on what is happening here.” She paused.

He nodded for her to go on.

“About four thousand years ago, there is a sudden drought of historical documentation. We don’t know much of what happened before then. We think before that time we had light travel expeditions to other planets which gave us the shoot-off species, the Gibb, but there is no historical information to back this theory. I did, however, find architectural blueprints for the wall. The most dangerous predator on our planet is only ten feet tall and can only jump two feet, but our wall is forty feet high and twenty feet thick with no doors. This is also the time when we began to develop our force field technology, which is why we are so ahead of the times. The force field that can surround this city goes as a dome into the air, and even penetrates underground. Based on everything we know, the structure of the wall is far too dramatic to have been built by those who live in the world that we do, unless there was something that happened to prompt the construction.”

Adam nodded slowly, “You think that these creatures…. Whatever they are, were an issue before the wall was built, but you have lived so long behind the wall that it was forgotten with the historical records because no vrul has bothered to go outside the city for the past four thousand years, and by the time they did they were leaving by way of spaceship.”

Her antenna vibrated, in what he had come to know as the Vrul version of a nod.

“It makes sense, as I said before there is no reason for them to have built the walls so high and so thick. Furthermore, I have been analyzing satellite patterns of the surrounding area.” She opened a map before him and he crouched down on the floor with her to take a look as she spread it out on the ground, “Circular clusters of trees, everywhere, at first I thought they were just the natural way in which our trees grow, but you can see patches of them in others places that do not follow this pattern, but looking over here in this book that I found on etymology, they seem to be similar circles made by certain types of hibernating creatures that live on this planet.”

He stared at the evidence eyes wide, “So you are saying you believe that these creatures, whatever they are have been hibernating for a couple thousand years and were only distrurbed when the doctor made his way outside the city, probably due to vibrations in the ground.”

She nodded her head, “That was another thing I had been meaning to point out. The city walls are set on a series of inertial dampeners. Now when we do construction inside the city, the foundation rattles a little bit but the housing around it does not meaning that the city does not disturb the ground around it. This includes when spaceships take off and land despite their engines generally being powerful enough to cause shock waves.”

“Well I’ll be damned.” Adam muttered, “You guys may very well be living in a post apocalyptic utopian hellscape and no one knew because the historical records beforehand were lost.” He lifted his head and turned towards where krill and katie were still working, “Doctor! Wou will want to come and hear this.”

***

He could hear the others speaking in sharp tones behind him, though he wasn’t really paying attention. His eyes were focused mostly on the creature inside the tank. Some of the actual council members had deigned to descend from their council chambers as this was actually turning into a more serious matter than they thought. The history of the vrul was apparently a little more complicated than the “Brave new world” hellscape utopia in which they lived. In fact, it appeared as if they were some kind of post zombie apocalypse.

It was both cool and rather frightening at the same time especially when you considered the fact that these creatures were still hibernating beneath the ground, and could rise at the slightest provocation.

Inside the room, the zombie Vrul bashed it’s head against the wall causing another one of it’s yellow sores to pop spreading its pollenthick against the glass.

He moved forward to where one of the doctors was standing and asked, “Is there an intercom into the room?”

The Vrul turned to look at him and then nodded slowly, “There is, why?”

“I want to try something.”

The doctor stared at him as if he had been audaciou enough to pull off his pants and start pissing on the floor.

“What!”

“Humor me doc, if it works then I might know a way to defeat these things.”

The doctor looked about ready to argue with him but Adam gave hima look and he quickly backed off.

Adam knelt down and had the doctor show him how to transmit something into the room. He scolded quickly through his music library before picking something he thought had a nice complex beat.

The doctor watched him curiously as he turned on the song.

The glass was too thick for much sound to penetrate back through, but as soon as the beat started the reaction was almost immediate, and rather violent.

What had once been Dr. Kell jerked in it’s spot, then agitatedly began to run in a circle before falling to the ground where it twitched and convulsed. He stopped the song before the doctor could order him otherwise, and he turned to look at the little creature staring up at him in confusion, “Rhythmic induced cataplexy, just like the rest of you.”

He turned to look back at where Dr. krill was standing an idea beginning to form in his head.

It was a very extreme idea. He doubted anyone would be willing to try it.

But he had to admit, it did sound pretty tempting. 

Very tempting indeed.

[slutsofren]

Danger Days Chapter 7: I Never Told You What I Do For A Living

summary:  Joel isn't looking good after the recent run-in at the university. Ellie and you have to do everything you can to stop the bleeding and save his sorry ass.

word count: 2,648

content warnings: gore, hurt/comfort, cursing, unconscious Joel, general canon-typical violence, you know the drill.

note: this was so exhausting to write lol

read on ao3 here / masterlist

“I think we're safe.”

You look over your shoulder, back to the stone walls that lined the university. The three of you narrowly escaping it and you wanted to scream, yell, throw a fucking tantrum at the situation but you held it in. “For now,” you replied spitefully. “C’mon, kiddo, we should put more distance between us and them.”

“How is he holding up,” Ellie asks you tensely,

“If I’m being honest, I won’t know until we find somewhere safe.”

“You gotta tell me what to do,” she was beginning to sound more and more scared as your back got coated with Joel’s blood. What little patching up you did on Joel wasn't holding up, and wouldn't for much longer.

“Keep an eye out for where we can hold down for a couple nights. I gotta watch Texas here and make sure he doesn't fucking die on me.” Literally.

Ellie looks over at Joel, “Let's go.”

The two of you took off, Whiskey sensing your agitation and being the gentle beast he is, didn't jolt around too much. Speeding as best you could've in the situation you were tied down in, you suggested to Ellie that it would be nice to find somewhere rather far away from the university, far from trouble. She agreed, not wanting to run into whatever group that was again.

After a couple miles, safety seemed within grasp.

“Look, over there,” Ellie points off to the distance. You can see it, just barely. A shopping mall.

Like everything else in the area, it looks abandoned. Even by infected standards. It’s quiet and private, therefore it’s perfect.

Upon further gazing at the storefront, you recognize the banner. “Is that Swirls? The yogurt place?”

It takes you a bit off guard, recognizing something familiar from the time before, but for some reason it brings you a tiny bit of hope. Maybe.

“It says ‘Colorado Mountain Plaza’ over there,” Ellie points out.

“Looks safe enough.”

“Thank fuck.”

“Language.”

“Sorry,” she apologizes. Then sarcastically adds on, “Mom.”

You snort at her, shaking your head. Although she teased, you’ve come to enjoy the way she called you mom, but those were thoughts for another day.

Approaching the yogurt bar, Ellie jumps off Callus and reaches for the garage type door and lifts it. It creaks loudly which puts the two of you on edge but no signs of infected ring out. Joel does grumble a bit over your shoulder, likely at the sound of metal grinding on metal.

“Careful, Ellie.”

She waves you off then ducks beneath the door, disappearing from your sight. You hear a muffled ‘it’s clear’ from the other side as she lifts it up again to its full height. She leads Callus in by his bit and you follow with Whiskey. 

“I’m gonna need your help, El.”

You try not to jostle around too much as Ellie comes close to your side, “What do you want me to do?”

After taking a couple moments explaining how to safely pull him down, you adjust yourself on Whiskey. Side-saddling him, you put your arms around Joel, “He is not gonna like this one bit.”

“Damn straight he’s not,” Ellie mumbles.

“On three.”

Sliding down Whiskey, you pulled Joel with you and with her help, the two of you managed to get him down with potentially only minor bruising. Laying Joel on the ground as gently as possible, he groaned harshly at the adjustment. “I know, cowboy, I know,” you said to him softly.

Checking over him one last time, Ellie looks up at you. “Now what?”

“Now,” you sighed. “We try to stave off an infection. The bar itself wasn't clean by any means. And you see this,” you pointed to where the puncture wound was. “This is where his large intestine is.”

“Okay,” she shrugs. “What does that mean?”

You hesitate for a moment, mouth agape. “It's where food gets absorbed and gets-,” you trail off.

Ellie looks at you for you to continue.

You sigh, “The biggest problem is his poop okay? Basically if the bacteria from his intestines, specifically his colon leaks out into his body then we're going to have much bigger problems than the wound itself.”

“Gross.”

Chuckling, “Yeah. Imagine how he's gonna feel if his own shit kills him.”

Ellie lightens up just a little at your off-colored joke. “He would be really pissed.”

“I'd argue maybe even a tiny bit of embarrassment.”

The two of you lightly laugh, both just as drained as the other. “How do you know all this stuff anyways?”

“I was a field medic with FEDRA, remember? Didn't last long there, after I lost my finger but I picked up a thing or two from the other nurses.” You shrug, you never found out much about the soldiers you aided, if they survived or not but maybe that wasn’t the best thing to tell her right now. 

You point towards the metal garage door, “Go lock that up for me will ya?”

She gets up and does it, using a padlock to secure it shut. “Think there's anything out in the mall?”

“Possibly,” you groan as you get up off the ground. “I'll have a look around.”

“No, you stay with him, I can go,” Ellie offers. For a moment you want to argue with her, you know what you're looking for, but you see it in her eyes. Just a hint. A hint of uncertainty and fear. “You know how to keep him alive.”

It takes you a second but it clicks, Ellie doesn't want to see Joel like this. “Okay,” you relent. “I saw a map on the way in, I think there's a pharmacy on the second floor.”

“What do you need,” she asks, shifting on her feet.

You rapidly tell her everything within reason - needles, thread, alcohol, gloves, anything and everything that could possibly help the situation within reason to help the fucking dying man laying in front of you. “I'd be grateful if you found a saline bag or a IV or, fuck, even a staple gun but that’s bein’ too damn hopeful. Whatever you find, just bring it back alive. Take your bow.”

She nods as she picks it up along with her backpack and you give her a tight hug. “There and back, Ellie.”

“There and back, promise,” she says, her words slightly muffled by the embrace.

She backs away and opens her mouth to say something but decides against it. Instead mumbling a couple words of encouragement to herself as she leaves. Turning on her heels and lifting the gate separating the shop from the mall with little to no hesitation, Ellie is gone before you know it.

As the metal slams behind her you sigh, listening to the sounds of her locking the gate behind her. Faintly hear her talking to herself. You chew on your bottom lip, thinking of what to do next.

Well, for starters, it would be awfully nice if the man of the hour didn't fucking bleed to death before Ellie comes back, you thought.

Taking off to your left, you scoured behind the bar looking for something, anything, that would help. The shop itself looks picked over so whatever is here isn’t going to be much. Finding nothing but nearly empty drawers until you find a roll of duct tape. Nice.

You walked back to Joel and dropped to your knees, taking off your backpack. Lifting his shirt up to see the poorly done bandages you had applied earlier were thoroughly soaked in sickly copper tinged blood. “Shit,” you whispered.

“Okay, Texas, this shit is gonna hurt like a bitch but you're just gonna have to suck it up and deal with it.”

You took a moment listening to Joel’s uneven breathing, the moans of pain. Hoping to hear some kind of response from him but received nothing from the man. Nodding to yourself, you went to work. “Okay, I can do this,” you mumble to yourself. “Nothin’ you haven’t done before.”

Reaching into your backpack you pulled out some fresh gauze, water, and the bottle of alcohol you were genuinely hoping to drink one day but it is what it is. Next, you grabbed the duct tape and pulled off some strips and lined them up, making a square patch. 

Lifting his shirt, you removed the front bandage from his stomach. A slight gag came up from the smell but you suppressed it, allowing yourself to dissociate from the situation and work mindlessly. Grabbing the water bottle, you rinsed your hands then his stomach, repeating the same motion with alcohol, and used one of the extra shirts you had in your backpack to dry him off. Blood still seeped from the wound but you used the gauze to seal the puncture then covering it with the duct tape square.

One side down, now the other.

“Hold tight,” you told him as you pushed him onto his side. His back looked just as bad as his front but you grabbed another spare shirt and shoved it under his head, adjusting him to make him lay on his stomach in an indirect way to put some pressure on the front.

Joel groaned in pain at the movement, you tried to be gentle but he was not being a rather good patient. “I know, I know, I'm sorry,” you whispered.

You got to working on his wound, doing the same as what you did on his stomach. Rinse, disinfect, gauze, patch. Once the duct tape square went on, you sighed heavily looking down at yourself.

Truly a sight of horror. Your hands and clothes were soaked in Joel's blood. Blinking once, then twice, turning your hands over, seeing the glistening and the flakes peeling off from long since dried blood, you rose and reached for more clothes to change into. 

Discarding the stained ones save for your coat. It was going to get colder, winter was soon. Shit, winter was already fucking here, you recalled the first hints of it when snow started falling earlier. It would be best to not throw away the only thing that would give you warmth in the coming days.

After you changed, you thought you should also change Joel. His dirtied clothes would only worsen his situation if any germs or bacteria got into his injury. You approached Callus and got Joel's pack, scouring around until you found a suitable shirt, flannel, and coat for him.

“This is going to embarrass me more than you,” you told the unconscious Joel.

If you were being honest with yourself, this was not the way you wanted to undress him but those were thoughts for another day. One where he survives this whole fuckin’ ordeal.

You got to work on him, doing everything humanly possible to be careful. Once the bloodied clothes were off and fresh new ones were on, you were going to take one hell of a break.

Adjusting the coat back onto his body, you laid him down gently as before, resting his head on a makeshift pillow. Now the only thing you could do is wait for Ellie.

She’d been gone for an hour tops, nothing to worry about just yet. Maybe the pharmacy was a bust and she’s looking around for first aid kits, you think. It wouldn’t do you any good to worry just yet.

The two horses start chittering behind you. “Looks like we got a couple of chatty birds over here,” you raise a brow at them.

Callus neighs a bit loudly at you and before you say anything you hear a very loud voice. “Hey! I hear the fuckin’ horse behind here! Help me get this open,” then the locked gate started rattling. Those fucking people must have followed you all through the fucking snow.

“Oh, shit,” you curse and immediately start rummaging through your things to reload your empty guns. Your hands were shaking, making the reloading just that much more difficult. You looked up once you heard another voice.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get the door. You guys keep searchin’, I don’t wanna get ambushed.”

No shit, I don’t either, you think.

You try to make haste and get your shit together. After you top off with whatever remaining bullets you have available, you corral the horses against the wall and drag Joel behind the bar to shield him from any debris or accidental fire.

Just as you finish you hear a loud bang, someone kicking the door in frustration. “Fuckin’ door!”

You couldn’t help but smile. Good door.

“Get the kid, take the woman, and find the old man. I’ll go for the door,” the same voice shouts.

Then another voice further away, “Shit! There’s someone out here.”

Ellie.

“Wait, shit, I think it’s starting to give,” the first one shouts as the metal door begins to creak and whine.

You decide to do something incredibly stupid but before you could talk yourself out of it, you dive and lay down next to the door. It begins to lift and you hear how the men start to cheer. Just as it gets high enough you take aim and shoot at them, unloading a healthy mix of lead, anger, and frustration into them.

Just as the door slams back down with a loud clang, you hear two soft thuds as their bodies drop.

“Oh fuck this, I’m comin’ Ellie,” you say as you get up and begin lifting the metal door. Just as it slides high enough for you to get under, you slam it shut behind you as you run forward and take cover behind some metal crates that were conveniently positioned just outside the yogurt place. As you do, you see a flash of pink and white to your left as Ellie comes running next to you.

“It’s the same guys from the university,” she says breathlessly. Her freckled face is etched with frustration, matching yours. It’s like none of you could catch a break, catch a breath.

You put a hand on hers, “We got this, sweetheart.”

Her hand squeezes yours and the two of you start fighting back. Fighting for survival, each other, for Joel, fighting for the sake of seeing another sunrise together.

A bullet whizzes overhead and hits the wall, “We got them pinned down over there! Finish them!”

You smile at the men’s clear underestimation of the two of you. Chuckling, “You go left, I’ll go right. Meet here in say ten with dinner?”

“Sounds good to me,” she bumps her fist with yours. With a nod, she’s off. You, the same.

Trying to take it easy, you found yourself trying to be stealthy by using the hunting knife Gustavo had gifted you months ago. It was hard between the harsh winter wind and lowering visibility with the ongoing snowstorm outside that was leaking through the broken roof of the mall. It possibly hurt more than helped.

Two gunshots rang out on the opposite side of the mall than a shout, “Shit! Infected!”

“I’ll take that as a no for dinner,” you mumble to yourself.

You pick up a couple bottles and throw them at the men who were hunting you, screams and clicks followed the noise until you heard more gunshots until silence. Figuring it would save you on ammunition if they just fought and killed each other. You followed this same sequence until there was complete silence, only for it to be broken by Ellie.

“That’s it! If anyone is alive don’t even think about surprising me! You’ll end up like your friends. You hear me? Yeah? Yeah.”

You laugh a little loudly, tears welling up. Just for a moment you let yourself reel in the moment that the two of you fucked up those people on your own. “C’mon kid, let’s save that old bastard of ours,” you shout at her.

#joel (the last of us) #joel miller x reader #joel miller #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel tlou x reader insert #joel tlou x reader #joel tlou x you #joel miller x you #joel miller / reader #pedro pascal joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #danger days fic #posted on ao3 #asher's writing

[merryfortune]

You give me flowers of love

Written for 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt #39 - Pink

Ship: Nodoka/Hinata

Fandom: Healin’ Good PreCure

Word Count: 3,757

Rating: M

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

AN: title comes from Bloodflowers by The Cure and is recommended listening for this fic.

Tags:  Alternate Universe - Hanahaki, Horror, Gore, Emetophobia/Emetophilia, Angst and Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Past/Referenced Eriko/Hinata, Minor Blood

   Hinata was not the type of girl who could handle horror stories, urban legends, or anything spookier than a rom-com set against the background of a popular coffee shop. However, there was something about this creepypasta that caught her attention. Maybe she read it to prove that she wasn’t a scaredy-cat or maybe she read it because something about it was almost too real.

   It came across her Curestagram feed, screenshots reposted from another site with long form text functions rather than the optimized for photos aesthetic of Curestagram. It wasn’t late at night, quite the opposite, Hinata had just been scrolling as she was half nibbling on a banana muffin for morning tea. So she was kind of bored and not already unsettled by a vague anxiety sort of mindset so she stopped her scroll to read this totally true story from a friend of a friend that had happened upon her timeline.

   The story involved a sickness. A lovesickness, hooking Hinata immediately since she was a hopeless romantic and leaving her vulnerable to what was hiding down below a few paragraphs after and Hinata realised she was reading a surreal medical horror story.

   Supposedly, some girl from a high school in the next town over had been hospitalized due to damage to her stomach and esophagus but ultimately culminated in her passing away from brain damage due to suffocation. The suffocation that was the outcome of the damage she had taken to her stomach and esophagus had, supposedly, been caused by the growing of flowers inside of her. Doctors couldn’t explain it. They were baffled by the impossibility of it. Yet where they failed to posit theories at all, their patient had her own she desperately desired to reveal. 

   The nameless girl, as weak as she was in her final moments of speech and cognition, was certain with the most crystal clear clarity that she could muster said that reason for the flowers growing inside of her was due to a crush that she had been fostering for quite some time. A crush that was so powerful and deep that it had manifested as literal and impossible distress in the form of tiger lily flowers. Though her claims were dismissed as nonsense, despite the very given evidence that she had been vomiting exotic flowers, except by the narrator who was sharing her story online on her behalf.

   Hinata got to the bottom line of the final screenshot and she dropped her phone on the table. She shivered and flinched as her phone clattered. Nyatoran looked up, alarmed, from the milk that he had been sipping.

   “Heh? Are you okay Hinata?” he asked.

   “Y-Yeah, I just lost my grip.” Hinata replied. It wasn’t a lie.

   “Really? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Nyatoran pointed out.

   Hinata made an expression that was both guilty and embarrassed, “Er, sort of… I read a ghost story online and I haven’t the stomach for them.”

   “Oh, well, no worries then. I’ll keep ya safe from all the ghoulies then.” Nyatoran boasted.

   Hinata laughed, “Thanks, Nyatoran.” she replied.

   And that was more or less enough to keep her mind off what she had read for the rest of the day as she did her Sunday homework and such. At least until well after lights out. 

   Hinata cursed herself. She knew endless walls of text in screenshots never bore good news but it was under her skin now. It wasn’t even that scary, she tried to convince herself. It just so happened to play off something she had been thinking about in ways that cut deep and yes, even scary. 

   Hinata had a crush of her own. One she didn’t think she ought to act on. Or didn’t know how to act on. 

   Hinata had a crush on Nodoka. She was sweet and gentle yet so motivated. Hinata felt like she learned something new about either herself or Nodoka after every time they hung out. Things never felt old between them despite how natural their companionship was between them.

   Catching feelings for Nodoka was inevitable, Hinata felt regarding their dynamic as close friends and their friendship was relatively intense due to their bond as comrades being Pretty Cures but that made Hinata sick to her stomach with fear. This wasn’t her first crush that she had on another girl. 

   In the not so recent past, Hinata had been wrong reading other girls’ opinions and feelings regarding her before. She and Eriko had been so close, childhood friends with a pact that seemed fit to stand the test of time when they had made it, and Hinata didn’t think it was a coincidence that already scarce contact between them after Eriko moved was when Hinata had confessed her feelings to Eriko. 

   The rejection had been crushing and Hinata had never told a soul about it. The wound was older now but it still hurt so, as lovely as Nodoka was, Hinata didn’t want to gamble their friendship due to that prior rejection. Yet her feelings crackled like electricity near a lightning rod whenever she was around Nodoka anyway. She could only hope that Nodoka was oblivious since she was so inexperienced socially due to her childhood spent mostly in the hospital.

    (And that Chiyu never brought up the blatantly obvious which she would hopefully never do since she knew there was a place and a time and it wasn’t her place).

   Thus, for all these different and entangling reasons, that horror story Hinata had read this morning really resonated. The thought of her unrequited feelings becoming literal, even in the form of pretty and seemingly harmless flowers, and suffocating. It was a very real fear to Hinata despite that fantastical execution that it was captured inside.

   All because she was a magical girl infused with the power of light and thunder. She fought villains who caused infections in nature and created monsters. To her, it didn’t seem too far outside of her sphere of tried and true reality that such a floral disease of the body could exist. Heck, maybe it did exist and was tied to the war that she and her friends were fighting in secret on behalf of the Healing Animals. It was entirely possible this flower vomit disease was another agent or power of the Byougens. 

   Hinata groaned and the more she scolded herself for thinking about these horrible possibilities, the more she thought about them. She tossed and turned all night, in the dark and under the covers of her doona. She knew Nyatoran would live up to his boasting over morning tea if she asked but he was totally conked out in his little room. Hinata couldn’t bring herself to wake him, to unnecessarily burden him, so she just hid from her fears as best as she could in her blankets.

   The following morning, Hinata was a wreck. She had bags under her eyes and was generally a drag. She hasn’t slept a wink last night but just like she was hiding from the horror story in her head, she decided to hide from the aftermath too. She touched up her eyes with concealer and finished off her make-up with a nice little kiss of lip balm, too. She chose a nice tropical flavour: pineapple with vanilla undertones and wore nude in practice. With that, she was ready for what was no doubt going to be a long, long day of school.

   A prediction that she was very right in having. Just making it to lunch felt like an eternity and a half on low energy. Worst still, despite the precautions that Hinata had taken, both Chiyu and Nodoka had noticed that she wasn’t exactly her bouncy self today. Even with her favourite lunch box in her lap with fried chicken and a fruit drink, too.

   “Are you okay, Hinata?” Nodoka asked and she batted her long eyelashes in concern.

   Hinata knew she couldn’t lie or deflect around Nodoka, at least for the most part, and deflated, “No…” she moaned. “I slept awfully last night.”

   “I expect that it wasn’t due to over studying?” Chiyu asked, sniping. 

   “No, I just. Couldn’t sleep.” Hinata shrugged.

   “Well, be sure to put yourself early to bed tonight then. There’s nothing worse than being tired.” Nodoka said.

   “Will do.” Hinata sighed.

   “Also?” Nodoka prompted her.

   “Yeah?” Hinata glanced at Nodoka was she tried a spoonful of rice from her side dishes.

   “Your lip balm has a very strong smell today, I can smell it from here.” Nodoka laughed.

   “Oh, joy…” Hinata hung her head in misery. She didn’t think it was so pungent in the tube.

   “I didn’t mean that in a mean way.” Nodoka panicked whilst Chiyu had a discrete giggle at Hinata’s misfortune. “I really like it. I think it smells nice. Like cherries. I love the smell of cherries best.”

   “Huh?” Hinata mumbled and she stared straight at Nodoka in confusion.

   Nodoka stared back. Also in confusion. “Is something the matter?”

   “Er, no,” Hinata awkwardly began and she forced herself to laugh and she flapped a hand about too to disguise her weirdness, “I must have been so tired this morning that I though I used one lip balm and instead used another.”

   “That is a little odd…” Chiyu murmured.

   But Nodoka seemed to buy it, she gasped, “Fwow, you must have been really tired this morning to make such a mistake. Promise me to get a good night’s rest tonight then.” Nodoka fussed for her.

   “I promise, I promise.” Hinata replied.

   Just as Hinata spoke, the end of lunch bell rang. She moaned with the utmost misery as she hadn’t finished her lunch even slightly and roused much sympathy from both Nodoka and Chiyu. So, Hinata crammed what she could into her mouth and swallowed before returning with her friends indoors to their classroom.

   She plopped down in her chair and desk, her stomach growling almost immediately. Were it not for the teacher at the front of the classroom, Hinata would have flopped down and keeled over right there and then. She would have killed for a nap. Not even a luxurious nanna nap at this point, she would take a horrid power nap. Anything would have been better than nothing. Instead, the best she could muster was some daydreaming whilst scribbling in her work book so she could at least pretend to be paying attention.

   Her mind strayed to Nodoka. She couldn’t help it. A silly little pining schoolgirl was exactly what she was after all. She doodled Nodoka’s name in her margins, surrounded with love-hearts, paw prints, and even flowers. It was a little bit childish but Hinata was a lot childish so she didn’t mind, she was more or less on cloud nine since Nodoka had shown her care for her over lunch, fussing for her like that.

   It was such a small act but it was more than enough to launch Hinata’s heart in a million miles an hour race. So much so, she began to taste something at the back of her throat. It was a sweet taste accompanied by a fizzy sensation. Hinata liked it and it seemed to get stronger the more she daydreamed about Nodoka. Even though it was the middle of class, Hinata was letting her mind completely run away from the contents of what the teacher was attempting to educate on them.

   Finally, after what felt like a day of self torment because of reading some stupid horror story about puking flowers, Hinata felt free of that gnawing anxiety. But just as she revelled in this, her stomach wretched. She dry gagged with the searing taste of bile at the back of her throat and her hand automatically clamped over her mouth, pen and all. The prior anxiety might have dissipated but a new one had spiked in its place.

   Hinata frowned. Was it because she hadn’t eaten all her lunch that she suddenly felt nauseous? Or was it something else? She begged that it wasn’t her period, she was still quite irregular so this felt off or early to her.

   Then she gagged again. She swallowed it back down. Hard. Whatever she swallowed was thick and sweet. It wasn’t vomit, Hinata had the startling realisation. She tried hard to keep it down but she failed. She vomited into her hand, or at least something similar. The motions were awful, worse than anything else she had ever had to eject from her body orally before.

   Hinata felt sick to the very bottom of her stomach. Her hands shook as she slowly removed the one over her mouth and… and she couldn’t believe her eyes. They widened in shock as she saw the head of a flower in the palm of her hand. It was a cherry blossom, she realised. The pale pink petals were frayed at the edges, burnt by stomach acid and wet with her saliva; the anthers of its centre drooped and dragged, splayed across the petals. Her skin crawled as she marveled at the insane gravity of the situation. She quickly paled.

   And the teacher noticed, “Hiramitsu, are you okay?” he asked from in front of the chalkboard, looking up concerned from the book he was reciting from.

   “I-I, um, I need to go. To the nurse.” Hinata eked out her words with strained difficulty.

   Her stomach flipped and she could feel another one coming up. It slithered up her throat and she hated the slow, dreadful sensation of it, the way it made her mouth taste of bile and cherries in horrible combination. Hinata bolted to her feet, afraid, alarming the whole class. She hid her mouth behind her hand again, holding tight that first flower that she had vomited.

   “I need to go.” Hinata mumbled and she fled.

   The feeling of her classmates' eyes on her felt like broken glass digging. She knew, deep down, they didn’t mean harm but their gazes only served to amplify the terror she felt as she fled. She was fast at first, escaping from the classroom but her stomach lurched and she vomited another flower and then again but two at once this time.

   Hinata stopped in the hallway, she had to rest her shoulder against the wall just to stand as she looked down into the palm of her hand. The flowers were accumulating against her skin, wet and heavy, and accelerating in pace of production. Already she felt another lurch and this one was dire, Hinata didn’t think she would be so lucky to only vomit one or two this next time.

   She had to get to the sick bay. She wasn’t sure what she would do there but anything had to be better than nothing, so she hobbled on in immense pain. By nothing less than a miracle, Hinata managed to get to the nurse’s suite without collapsing. Or with leaving too many flowers in her meagre wake.

   The school nurse panicked almost immediately when she saw Hinata in this state. Hinata sputtered out a thank you whilst she was put to bed. Hinata curled up under the sheets, her stomach lurching and mangled petals dripped out of her mouth. She had to hide her ailment from the nurse. She just had to. She didn’t know how to explain it or anything else pertaining to it but fortunately, the nurse bought her some time by going to use administration’s phone to let her father know that Hinata was in immediate medical distress.

   Hinata held her scrawny belly with one hand and her mouth the other. No matter how hard she tried, these flowers kept dredging up from inside of her and it was worsening. There was distention building inside of her, it was as if she could feel the bushels of cherry blossom flowers forming inside of her and something else too. It was raw and firm and poking up through her like a stick. Hinata moaned in utter agony as she tasted not just sweetness and bile in her mouth, but the cutting, metallic taste of blood too.

   She whimpered as she tried to swallow it down. Attempting so, just made the nicks and cuts to her throat worsen and the petals to clog. Her lungs ached sharply as she struggled to breathe. Her eyes squeezed tight and she begged every deity she could think of for a saviour.

   The door to the sick bay opened again. Hinata murmured to herself and the curtain was pulled aside, “Hinata?” a sweet voice greeted her.

   “Huh?” Hinata slurred.

   She rolled over, still holding herself but even a simple and slow motion like that was enough to rouse her illness violently. Her grimace was deep on her face as she tried to look at Nodoka, even feebly.

   “A-Are you okay, Hinata?” she asked. “I couldn’t sit by and worry when I saw you ill you were, what’s wrong?”

   Hinata opened her mouth. Mostly to reply, but that’s not what happened. She threw up in front of Nodoka and Nodoka couldn’t believe her eyes. Hinata was throwing up bushels upon bushels of flowers. Cherry blossoms. Nodoka blinked. She couldn’t believe the sights - or the smell. The smell was disconcerting with how almost pleasantly fragrant it was, heightening Nodoka’s realisation that this wasn’t Hinata pulling pranks.

   “H-How on Earth did this happen…?” Nodoka asked.

   She was horrified yet found herself unable to resist the impulse. She picked a blossom out of the pile that Hinata had vomited up. It was soft in her hand, even if it was grotesquely wet.

   “I - I don’t-” Hinata tried to speak but she cut herself off when she felt something jut out of her mouth. An entire branch of cherry blossoms began to spike out of her mouth.

   Her eyes began to roll back on themselves as Nodoka watched, in abject and frozen horror, as Hinata contended with this stick inside of her. It emerged slowly from the depths of her throat and made her chest convulse. Her fingers spasmed as she choked around it, flowers blooming along the thin and coarse branch.

   “H-Help me.” Hinata sputtered out.

   Nodoka nodded. She was scared, her heart was pounding, but she was first and foremost a helper of most empathetic ends. She had been on the receiving end of a strange and bizarre illness that had rendered most her childhood for naught. She couldn’t just let Hinata struggle. Suffocate.

   So, she got onto the bed with Hinata. She straddled her so she could best approach the foreign object inside of Hinata. She focused her eyes and was as ready as she could ever be for an amateur operation quite like this one. Nodoka reached out and pinched the end of the branch delicately. It was entirely unsafe, Nodoka knew that, but she began to pull. She peered into Hinata’s pink mouth was clogged with twigs and petals, and tried her best to dislodge what she could.

   Hinata gagged. Tears in her eyes and she plead, silently and afraid, that Nodoka could handle this. Nodoka’s hands shook but she did, in fact, manage. She tried her hardest and she did succeed even if it felt pyrrhic as Hinata screamed out as the last, and thickest, part of the cherry blossom branch was removed. 

   Nodoka flinched hearing the scream, dropping the cherry blossom branch between them. Hinata spat out blood and petals but the cherry blossom branch had been removed. She caressed her neck and it was raw with what it had been through. Her touches did little to soothe or quell her pain, she looked up at Nodoka with pathetic, red rimmed eyes.

   “What was that?” Nodoka asked, her heart quaking. “How could any of this be possibly real?”

   “I - I don’t know.” Hinata mumbled but that was a lie. She choked on her words all the same as she had choked on those cherry blossoms. Her hands squeezed tight. “No. I’m sorry. I do know.”

   “Pardon?” Nodoka quietly exclaimed.

   “There’s a very rare disease,” Hinata began, hasty, “that causes flowers to grow inside of someone suffering with a crush that they just can’t handle.”

   “That’s horrible…” Nodoka murmured.

   It was now or never, Hinata realised. Or she was going to end up exactly like the girl from the story that she had read yesterday. She knew it. She just knew it.

   “Nodoka, it’s you.” Hinata confessed, half a sob in her voice. “I’m crushing on you.”

   Nodoka was stunned by Hinata’s admission. 

   Hinata panted, her face was going bright red whilst her heart pounded like a hammer at her rib cage. She couldn’t believe it. She had done it. But it felt like a weight off, she had to admit, she didn’t realise her crush had been such a burden until right now. She felt herself lighten with the confession, from the very pit of her stomach, upwards and outwards.

   Nodoka averted her gaze and Hinata was reminded once more why a crush was called a crush. That borderline feel good feeling from before popped. Burst. Nodoka played with her hair, fidgeting, and then managed to speak in a very calm and very quiet voice.

   “I have a crush on you, too, Hinata.” Nodoka replied. “I admire so much how you sparkle and shine. It’s very refreshing to be around. I like you too. A lot.”

   Nodoka reached out to Hinata’s hand and held it. She was so warm and she was still trembling but Nodoka’s caress of it did soothe her. Hinata hazarded a smile, like she couldn’t believe her ears, through her scarlet expression. Nodoka leaned in and kissed Hinata.

   Hinata was unable to kiss back, afraid of her own breath but Nodoka didn’t mind. It was pungent with cherry blossoms and wet but she found the kiss sufficiently sweet, kissing Hinata’s soft, balmy lips. They were tinged with pineapple and vanilla beneath that overwhelming sensation of cherry blossoms.

   “Thank you, Nodoka…” Hinata murmured and somehow, she didn’t know or understand how but she wasn’t going to complain, she was cured, prettily, of her affliction. 

   The cherry blossom flowers on the bed or in her gut, disappeared. All with seemingly little aplomb. Even the branch that had to have been removed from her throat, all with a soft, fizzling noise that Hinata could hardly hear over the sound of her pounding heart. She still had the cuts and scrapes, but she was no longer growing flowers inside of her stomach. Hinata was cured and Nodoka was her blessed, angelic cure.

#100ships challenge #femslash #nodohina #healin good precure #healin good #precure #nodoka hanadera #hanadera nodoka #cure grace #cure sparkle #hiramitsu hinata #hinata hiramitsu #writing tag #i really like this fic so i hope you guys enjoy

[gumnut-logic]

Repercussions (Bit 1)

This one is @the-lady-razorsharp​ ‘s fault because she pointed out this post. Of course, she is probably why it took a sharp turn at Thunderbird Five and landed in John’s lap while on it’s way to Scott. :P

We have Em Harris in this one. My OC from Gentle Rain. This occurs sometime after that fic, before Em becomes part of IR, and apparently appears to be documenting part of that joining IR bit ::eyes muse:: This was just supposed to be a scene.

But anyway, I hope you like it. About 1500 words or so with more to come. My writing has been slowed lately due to busy and more recently, not being well and it is very annoying. Holidays are coming at the end of the week, so yay!

-o-o-o-

She knew it had been a bad one. Even if she hadn’t had a direct line to Thunderbird Five, the news nets had grabbed the action and thrown it across every available device.

International Rescue had been called into an incident with a space freighter and a civilian residential Earth orbiter. Hundreds of people, most in the higher economic bracket, were endangered.

Thunderbird Three had been deployed.

And Thunderbird Five.

Em and Eos had an understanding and the AI kept her updated on the status of the rescue. Her concise reports slipped in between clients and the bustle of the day. Most were reassuring. Scott was up there with Alan. John was out with his exosuit. Numbers of persons saved, the stark numbers of injured and lost.

It was those numbers that had her itching at her desk. The questions of her patients regarding how much weight they should lose versus how much candy they were allowed was in stark contrast to what those poor people were going through.

She had to speak to Scott. He was against her letting her practise go and getting too tied up in IR, but how could she not? How could she stand by when she could help?

She knew he meant well. Protection of those he loved was as vital a part of him as any limb, but how could she sit here knowing the man she loved was putting his life and the lives of the rest of his family on the line for so much.

She had determined that she was going to broach the subject yet again when Eos’ interrupted her thoughts.

“John has been injured.”

“What?” The tablet in her hand slipped and clattered on the desk.

“The Commander has him.” But there was something in Eos’ voice that said far more.

Her own voice snapped back as she straightened up. Her current patient stared at her from the chair beside her desk.

She ignored him and, with a flick of her wrist controls, darted from the room. A hand signal to Elvis, her receptionist and he would know she was needed elsewhere and take care of her neglected patient.

Another reason to give up her practice. Poor customer service during rescues.

She slipped into an empty office and closed the door. “Eos, I need detail.”

“Please hold.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. Eos was an artificial intelligence, she was able to deploy her consciousness across multiple focusses. The fact that she wasn’t doing that currently was far from encouraging.

Em spent the time running John’s medical history through her head, identifying anything that could be of concern if she needed to treat the man.

Damnit, why wasn’t she up there?!

“Eos!”

“My apologies, Doctor Harris.”

And she was left hanging again.

This was so frustrating! She wasn’t known to be indecisive, but she hesitated to intrude further. It was an active rescue, after all.

But her heart worried for the tall and quiet man who always had a gentle smile, a calm word and never seemed to stop working.

She lasted two minutes before her hand twitched towards her comms again, but before she could call Thunderbird Five, a familiar rich baritone cut in. “Thunderbird Two to Doctor Harris. Em, I am en route to Tracy Island, do you need a pick up?”

Before she could answer the sky outside the room’s window began to vibrate with a roar.

“God, thank you, Virgil.” And she was moving, giving notes to the relevant people, grabbing her bag and heading to the roof of the hospital. This was it, she was quitting her job and reorganising her life so she could be where she needed to be!

Scott had to understand.

The downdraft of hovering Thunderbird messed with her hair as she opened the door to the roof. The massive green machine shifted and lowered over the edge of the building, her front hatch lining up with the parapet. A helmeted version of the second eldest Tracy reached out a hand to help her aboard and she was swallowed by the Thunderbird.

Then followed a dash to Tracy Island. Virgil’s tone was clipped and business like as he relayed the situation.

A spacesuit and a large, jagged chunk of metal with momentum was not a good combination.

Sitting in Thunderbird Two was a vastly different experience to sitting in her office. Here she had an ear to the communication between brothers. here she could hear the love of her life’s sharp commands, the desperation in his voice as medical procedures were enacted. Mrs Tracy’s calm instructions showed exactly how these men had survived for so long.

Her own medical mind was supplying what John would need and the effects beyond the damage to his leg. Abrupt re-entry into gravity would suck. Fortunately, John had his suit, but with an injury like this, at least his leg would not be receiving that support.

Worry swirled in her stomach.

But there was no time for worry.

As Two approached Tracy Island, she was joined by the roar of the massive red rocket as she returned to Earth bearing her injured passenger.

She had never seen Three in flight quite like this. Awe dented the worry just a little until she could no longer see the rocket as Virgil brought his ‘bird into land.

And then it was all just emergency.

She had worked with Mrs Tracy before. The older woman knew her medicine and as Em slipped into the well-stocked infirmary, the tension was as calm as it could be.

“Em, dear, thank you for coming. We will be needing your steady hands, I’m afraid.” There followed the medical jargon that basically listed the issues with John’s lower right leg including the need for a little suturing and debriding. There was a damaged vein and frostbite.

She barely noticed as the house shook with the launch of Thunderbird Three returning to the danger zone. Only acknowledging where Scott likely was as he sped away from her.

John was conscious and fielding a frantic Eos.

As Em prepped she listened to what was essentially a frightened child being reassured by a parent. John was calm and it was obviously keeping him distracted, so Em allowed the interaction, but kept an eye on the monitors.

“Eos, I am going to be okay.”

“John, you are bleeding. This is not recommended. This is far from optimal.”

“Access medical reference. It is a minor wound. Grandma, Doctor Harris and Virgil are here. They will fix it.”

“I have accessed medical reference and the complications are alarming. What if it gets infected? What if you can’t walk? What if you can’t return to Thunderbird Five?”

Mrs Tracy cut across the AI’s anxiety. “Eos, dear, John is hurt, but he will mend. He just needs a little time.”

“How do you know? How can you guarantee when the probabilities still allow for devastation?”

The pain in Eos’ obviously terrified voice cut into Em’s heart.

“Eos, the danger of infection is very small. John received good care and the wound was attended to immediately. I predict no lasting damage. He will be back with you in a few weeks.”

“Are you sure, Doctor Harris?”

“It’s Em, honey, and yes, John is going to be fine.” Virgil rolled over a surgical cart with all her tools and she prepped a local. “You can watch if you like and I will tell you exactly what I am doing.”

“Can I help? I have access to multiple texts and visual recordings of similar procedures. Where were you planning to start your incision?”

John interrupted. “Eos, Doctor Harris will perform the procedure. I trust her. Could you give me an update on Thunderbird Five’s systems? At level three?”

“Certainly, John.” And there followed an extremely detailed verbal run down on every system aboard the orbital Thunderbird from sensors through to toiletries supplies.

After biting back a smile, Em attended to the task at hand and it wasn’t long before the wound was cleared, clean and stitched. Virgil wrapped up his brother’s leg as Em shed her gloves and washed up. Mrs Tracy was murmuring words to an obviously exhausted John while Eos chanted out the solar power feed numbers from Five’s panels.

“Thank you, Em.” The voice on her comms was quiet and an odd echo of the voice still listing numbers from the ceiling. “Are you sure you removed all the damaged skin.”

Em bit back a smile. “I’m sure, Eos. John is going to be okay. We will be monitoring him, as I know you will be, too.” A pause. “You should probably let him sleep now. He needs his rest.”

Immediately the voice from the ceiling started to dip in volume. It wasn’t long before it faded completely.

John’s eyes were closed and he was breathing evenly.

Good.

Em slipped away.

TBC

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #John Tracy #em harris #Virgil Tracy #Grandma Tracy #Sally Tracy #Gentle Rain

[eurodynesass-moved]

Oh, What Could It Be?

A little bit of a montage/monologue within Viktor while he tries to understand his feelings toward V.

Ao3

— — — — —

At first, he was certain that it was just the way she behaved. This wildfire of a person that Jackie had introduced him to had walked into the clinic, nose busted and chin red as a cherry, taking him completely by surprise. He thought that it was just another kid from the city streets, another ne'er-do-well that Jackie had met on a job that would end up in a gang or a ditch. Maybe she was some rocker that was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Then she smiled.

A girl with blood coating half her face and the collar of her shirt, bruised badly and dirtied all over, and she was smiling—laughing as though the world did not scare her. She and Jackie spoke of returning to the streets, to the jobs that awaited them, and he saw no fear in her eyes.

They met and shook hands, her grasp being so gentle, fighting against his first impression of her. She was polite, kept a friendly distance from him and his things and kept her hands to herself. Not to say she seemed helpless. No, he was certain almost right away that she wasn't.

Perhaps it was when she sat still and pushed through the pain of him cleaning up her blood and checking on the state of her nose. The way she held her breath then cursed quietly at the aching. She treated it like a minor nuisance, something she was used to and would soon forget. She was from the streets, alright.

Over the next few weeks, she returned. No broken nose, but a few wounds left unattended that could otherwise get infected. He said as much, baffled when she disregarded them as small cuts. Still, he plopped her down into the chair and treated them, determined to keep her healthy. No one walked out of Viktor's clinic untreated.

That's all it was.

The weeks became months as Jackie and V became Vik's most regular clients. He still wasn't certain whether that was a good thing or not, but they were alive. That was all that mattered. It did not entirely register to him that they trusted him the most, or that they considered him a friend, or that he cared more about their lives than the lives of his other clients. The only difference was that with others, it was strictly business. With them—Jackie, Misty, V—they cared about him, too.

Perhaps it was V walking into his clinic every now and then just to say hello—without any expectations or treatments required. Perhaps it was that sometimes, when she and Jackie would drop by and leave, she'd stay a few moments longer at the end for the same reason. Perhaps it was the occasional pat on the shoulder or kiss on the cheek, telling him he's the best, as a way of thanking him. Perhaps it was the way in which her face lit up and expression brightened when she found out he used to be a professional boxer.

Something caused the questions to eventually bubble up in his mind. What could it be? What was that feeling inside his chest every time he saw her come in and every time she'd flash that smile of hers before waving goodbye? What was causing him to feel so excited to see her?

Of course, he did not see the way in which she'd hype herself up before coming into his clinic every time, especially in the recent weeks. He did not know about the little inner monologue she'd have about him whenever she'd catch him carrying something far heavier than himself, or working so hard that he broke a sweat. He did not even know about the ways she watched his body when he and Jackie trained together in the corner of his clinic. They apparently trained often, but the first time she had actually watched, she was completely mesmerized and he had no idea.

All he knew was that since then, she'd asked him if she could hear about his boxing stories, that if he could tell her all about his days in training and days in the ring, how it felt, how excited he'd get, how broken he'd feel after a defeat. She seemed to want to know every little detail that he'd have brought up in passing with anyone else. V asked for them. Yet again, he did not notice the look she gave him when he obliged her request.

It wasn't until one night that they had all found themselves in Misty's shop, V and Jackie perched in the chairs while Vik and Misty stood. The couple spoke of wanting to have a night for all four of them. A dinner, a club, a party, at home—it did not matter, but they wanted to gather with their two friends and have a good evening together.

They'd agreed to do it that very night, and they gathered at some cosy restaurant near the Esoterica. Each of them were out of their street clothes, wearing something they liked, something comfortable, something that wasn't meant for work or fighting or anything formal.

It was seeing V dressed the way she was, standing from the empty table just to greet him when they were the first ones there. It was how she wore that long-sleeved dress of hers that cut short halfway down her thigh, and those high boots to go with it. It was how her hair flowed freely and vibrant in the golden lights of the restaurant, cascading around her shoulders effortlessly. It was how her eyes glistened with pure joy when she gave him that smile again. The smile he first saw when he met her, but now so full of adoration, and only meant for him.

He took her hand then, felt that powerful thrumming in his chest that dared to ruin him forever, and he smiled back.

He knew right then what he was feeling.

He knew.

He was in deep, deep trouble.

#cyberpunk 2077 #viktor vector #v/viktor #viktor x v #female v x viktor #v x viktor #female v #v #i think i got all my bases covered jfc #fluff

[twstlotus]

Hi there! 👋 Nice to see our fandom growing, more writers joining and trying their pens out with twst boy~ I'm here to wish you a nice day and leave a request, if I may. How would Epel, Malleus, Trey and Rook react to their s/o being well versed in a sword fighting? Seeing her(or them, I don't mind) in an act, maybe even protecting the boys? The s/o haven't disclosed it to them before and took a stance only because she had no other choice. Thank you very much💓

Before we begin, I apologize if I had written Epel a bit ‘off’, for lack of a better word. I have not played through Pomefiore’s chapter thoroughly let alone get to the important bits of said chapter (I’m only on 5-9..)

If I did mischaracterize Epel, please inform me! I will try to perfect how I write him as soon as possible.

Now, onto the headcanons.

Epel Felmier

Epel is astounded to see you swordfight. Perhaps his amazement is a bit inappropriate considering the context being that you were fighting off a few Savanaclaw boys for teasing and mocking Epel about the rumors that he wanted to join the Savanaclaw dormitory—but they did it right in front of your face. Saying how “a pretty boy soft as he is could never join Savanaclaw!” and continued.

You didn’t find violence necessary in the situation, but you weren’t opposed against it either. So when the Savanaclaw members began taunting both you and Epel, you quickly drew your sword and began fighting them, all while Epel walked in at the perfect moment and hid behind a wall and watched you.

The beastmen tucked their tails between their legs and ran off soon after you had your sword pointed to them on the ground. Once they were gone, Epel quietly walked out of his hiding spot and asked if you were okay, to which you hesitantly replied with a “yes”.

Quickly after, Epel began to somewhat gush about your sword fighting abilities and how great you were. Yet, he’s also curious about why you never told him about your skill in such. You explain to him that you never thought of a reason to why you should inform anyone of it, but you were also a bit afraid that he might find your talent in it ‘weird’.

He shoots your suspicions as completely incorrect. You were amazing out there! Epel has never seen sword fighting up-close and done so well! It makes him stagger through his words. He also states that you don’t need to hide anything from him and that he’ll accept you whole as a person and as a lover. The reason why he even fell in love with you was because of how free-willed you are, you know?

“Well, I think your sword fighting is great, (Y/N). I don’t think it matters what other people see you as, especially the negative ones—you’re great and that’s all there is to it!”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus first saw you sword fighting a handful of the Savanaclaw boys, or, well—it looked more like you were deflecting and inflicting minor wounds on the beastmen until they eventually ran off out of cowardice.

The fae was completely stunned. He had never known you were so skilled in sword fighting, and you fight with such gracefulness and elegance, too! The only other time he had seen sword fighting up close was when he and Lilia trained Silver as Malleus’ knight. Even so, his fighting style was merely that of a normal knight’s—but you, you looked like you were dancing with the sword.

When he snaps out of his amazement, he quickly comes out of the shadows to your aid and checks if you have any wounds. Humans are very fragile, after all. You reassure him that you’re fine and he eventually brings up your talent in swordsmanship, to which you bashfully deny ever being skilled in such a thing.

Malleus can obviously see through your lies, and after a while, you admit that you do. You kept it a secret because you were afraid that he might see you as improper or ‘strange’ and the only reason you even fought those Savanaclaw boys were because they were ridiculing your beloved fae.

He’s visibly surprised by the notion. Fighting...for him? Of course, he has literal knights who fight for him, but he always considered it as the two merely doing their jobs. You, on the other hand; you didn’t need to do such a thing for him, yet still, you did it anyway. He’s touched, to say the least. Afterwards, he comforts you regarding your talent and says to not be shameful of it, for it is a talent one could only look up to and that he’s always welcome to talk about anything.

“You’re not required to put yourself in dangerous situations, Child of Man. Trust that I can fight my own battles, so please, do not burden yourself with mine. Though I must say...you did well.”

Trey Clover

‘Surprised’ would be a bit of an understatement to describe what Trey felt when he saw you sword fighting with a fellow Heartslabyul member. Just a little bit.

The way you made your sword swings seem effortless renders him speechless. Just when did you learn to swordfight? And how will Riddle react when he sees you, battling a Heartslabyul member, with a sword!? The consequences may be severe… (and even so, when did Heartslabyul C-kun learn to swordfight!?)

Trey quickly steps in and stops the duel between you and the other dorm member. Heartslabyul C-kun leaves with a scoff while small wounds decorate his otherwise clean skin. Meanwhile, you seemed completely fine. There were only a few cuts from C-kun’s sword but it wasn’t at all serious. Still, Trey treats your wounds so they don’t get infected.

The entire time, Trey is almost quiet as he tends to your wounds until he releases a sigh of defeat, for lack of a better word. He tells you that fighting by yourself isn’t safe, you know? That would just end up in both you and him getting your heads chopped off by Riddle (thank goodness he brought you out of the scene of the crime).

You explain to him that the only reason you had done it was because C-kun recently found out about your talent in sword fighting and wouldn’t stop bugging you until you agreed to duel with him, knowing it was against the rules, so you denied his every demand. However, he brought Trey into the story by mocking him and that was the last straw.

Quite honestly, Trey doesn’t know how to feel about it. On one hand, he’s afraid and a bit worried for you and what could have happened. And on the other...he’s grateful and rather enamoured about the fact that you tried to defend him. Still, he shows appreciation for what you did in his name but reminds you to be careful next time.

“Don’t run off fighting other people, okay? I really appreciate what you did for me but I don’t want you getting hurt. Plus, I can’t have my favorite cupcake get in trouble with Riddle!”

Rook Hunt

Saw you sword fighting another Pomefiore member, but it didn’t look intense if at all. From afar, it did look like you and Pomefiore B-kun were simply practice-duelling—and from afar, it stayed as such. Rook continued to watch you from the bushes with a keen eye and a smile tugging on his face.

However, B-kun just had to do it. During your duel, he began taunting you about Rook, your Hunter of Love. It started small; calling him a weirdo and other nicknames Rook had likely grown accustomed to. But B-kun just went on and on, his small taunts grew to harsh insults, and you weren’t having any of it.

You swiftly defeat B-kun in the duel. His sword flying out of his hands and landing on soft grass, piercing the surface. You quickly tell him to scram and he leaves without a word, not even to retrieve his sword.

You let out a sigh before turning to the bushes, where you know Rook is. You call out his name and after a few rustles from the bushes, he walks out with a large smile on his face and claps for your performance, stating that it was marvelous! ....However, this does spark curiosity in him—curiosity on why you never informed him of your talent in the art of sword fighting.

You say that you never found the reason to tell him of it, though you weren’t exactly ashamed, it was just what it was also because you knew Rook wouldn’t stop pestering you about it once he found out that you were skilled in sword fighting.

Non, non! This is wonderful news to him! He’s happy to know that you’re confident in something you’re skilled in and he would be all the more glad if you wanted to speak to him about sword fighting, should you ever wish to do so.

“Your swordsmanship is fantastique, mon cherie! Though, I must ask…,” The self-proclaimed hunter steps towards C-kun’s sword and picks it up. “May I request a few sword fighting lessons from you?”

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