#and then the literal message after that was that his wound got infected AGAIN. sigh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mr-and-mr-diaz · 3 years

Note

First off, you're an amazing person w/ gr8 blog. Second of all, I hope you don't mind me saying it? If it's weird or creepy, please, disregard. Don't want to make you uncomfortable. Third of all, I came to your tumblr from ao3 and specifically the pirate fic and ma'am (sir? Neither? Wanted to use honorific and "my kind dude tends to not be *that* universal, sadly). It. ROCKS. If by any chance you feel like continuing it, I'd be forever in debt. Also hope you don't mind reviews via anon tumblr? ♥

ANON!! My answer to this ask is so long overdue I literally have no words. When I first recieved this ask in my box I was warmed through--thank you so much for your kind words! I determined to myself I would NOT send an empty response, would only publish this with the chapter in hand!! And then life picked up like crazy and I never seemed to have a spare BREATH to sit down and write this AU well enough that it would be worth reading. AND NOW I FAINLLY HAVE IT!!! Two more chapters for ya, I really hope you enjoy!!

P.S. Also, I refuse to be called ANYTHING except My Kind Dude from now on, that is the best address ever!

The Damned Disgrace--Buddie Pirate AU, Chapter 2

"Dios mio, you're useless."

Buck looked up from where he'd been struggling to swab the deck and met the glare of Captain Nash's angry first mate--Diaz, and sighed. He'd already been on the ship a fortnight, and while Chimney had fit right in, used to hard work and quickly picking up the vernacular of the other pirates, Buck stuck out like a sore thumb. He wasn't used to manual labor, having spent his life behind books and papers, and had no instinct for it. He tried, oh did he try so hard, but his clumsy hands struggled to complete work that someone else had to repeat later to make sure it was done right. And the pirates who didn't ignore him were usually laughing at him. What few acquaintances he'd made in his past life had been in academic circles. These men had no patience for or interest in unusual trivia about far away lands, or wonderings about what the world would be like if mankind lived under the water and fish lived on land.

Buck was red with sunburn, blistered all over--on his back, his forearms, and face from sunburn, and his hands, fingers and feet from work. He ached everywhere.

He looked away from Diaz and went back to stubbornly pushing the mop around the deck.

I won't be useless! I won't go overboard. I'm going to work hard and they'll help me find Maddie and bring her home! and if I get to shoot that thrice-damned Commodore Douglas too, well that would be a boon from God--

"Stop. Just stop."

Buck stopped, his heart sinking. He dared not look Diaz in the eye again, already knowing the derision and anger he would see there.

Sure the other pirates ignored him or laughed at him behind his back. But Diaz? Diaz detested him. This was the first time he'd ever spoken to Buck but definitely not the first time he'd loomed nearby, sneering at Buck's pathetic efforts to work as part of the team and fit in.

"We should've left you back at the port."

"What? No! No, I swear, I'm learning--"

"Learning what? How to smear muck around so someone else has to clean up after you? Again?" Diaz sneered, kicking at the mop. Buck's hands twitched around it, every blister flaring up painfully. Diaz's eyes caught it and he suddenly leaned forward. "Show me your hands."

"What...?"

"Show me!"

Buck carefully placed the mop against the rail of the ship and carefully unfolds his hands, wincing as the skin flares in pain with each motion.

"Dios...! Come with me."

"Wait, but I have to finish the--"

"NOW!"

***

Buck followed Eddie down into the ship, down down, past Buck's sleeping berth with the other sailors.

Buck looked around in trepidation. Is he taking me to the bilge? To the brig? The bilge was full of seawater, the brig a confined, rat infested cell where only the most unfortunate went.

They kept walking.

"Uh, Diaz, I... I swear, I'll work harder, I just--please don't--"

"You're not working any more today." Diaz replied shortly and threw open a door. "Hen, I've got the cabron for you. Destroyed his hands and he thinks he's magical enough not to get gangrene or something. Can you fix him up?"

The woman inside raised her eyebrows. "You don't usually bring me people, Eddie." She was dressed like the rest of the sailors but her clothes were neater and better kept.

"They aren't usually this stupid." Eddie growled.

"I... sorry." Buck mumbled, defeated.

"Don't worry about this one. He's always angry about something." Hen chuckled, and Diaz's scowl deepened. "What's your name?"

"Ah, Buck. Well, Evan Buckley, but... just Buck is okay." He felt another twinge in his heart as he said it. It was Maddie who had named him Buck.

"Buck it is. Come sit and we'll have a look at those hands."

Buck chanced a sideways look at Diaz, who was still standing there, muscled arms crossed. "Is he...?"

"Eddie was just leaving, weren't you, Eddie?" Hen's tone brooked no argument, and to Buck's surprise, Diaz obeyed.

Buck sat and held his hands out. Now that he had a moment to focus on them they hurt even more, and he could feel some of the injuries oozing. "I'm sorry, I tried to-- but--" he stopped abruptly as he felt his throat thicken and his eyes started to wet. You are already the most pathetic creature on this ship, you will not make it worse by whining about it. Silently he held his hands out, head down.

Hen sucked in a breath. "Eddie was right to bring you here. If you let these wounds get any more infected than they are and gangrene set in I might have to remove one or both of them."

Buck swallowed around a sob. As a teacher and writer, his hands were his life.

"I'll clean and wrap your hands for you." Hen continued softly. "That should be able to prevent it from getting worse, so long as you promise not to use them for the next few days and come down here every day for the next week so I can make sure they don't get worse. Okay?"

Buck nodded silently.

"Buck."

He looked up at Hen. She was wearing a kind smile and that was enough to completely undo him. A single tear slid down his cheek and he reached up a hand to stop it, but Hen wouldn't allow it. "I need to wrap these first." Her eyes and smile were all compassion. After two weeks in a foreign world with no friends on board it was a balm to Buck's soul. He kept his head bowed as she cleaned and wrapped, let the tears fall silently, unchecked. When she was done, she reached out a hand and clasped his shoulder. "The sailors are used to losing people and because you’re greener than most, they're expecting you to die. They don’t want to get close to someone they’re gonna lose. But if you stay alive they'll warm up eventually, don't fret it."

"Then.. why are you...?"

Hen snorted. "I walk to the beat of my own drum on this ship, Buck. Always have. And I've decided I like you, dumbass hand damage and all."

Buck sniffed. "Thanks."

Hen nodded. "Go to the captain and tell him that I've ordered light duty for you--no using your hands except to carry light objects. Errands only for you for the next two weeks."

"But Captain Nash said--if I'm not useful--"

Hen chuckled. "His bark is bigger than his bite. Besides, I'm pretty sure he's taken a liking to you too."

***

"Buckley."

"Uh, Captain. I... Hen, the doctor--" Buck choked off with a derisive snort at himself. Did I really just stop to explain to the captain who his doctor is? "Uh, she said I should tell you that I'm..." He held up his bandaged hands. "Light duty. Errands."

Captain Nash's face clouded and his brow furrowed as he took in the state of Buck's hands.

"But I swear, I'll be useful, I don't--please, don't throw me off the ship--"

"Buckley." One firm word and Buck silenced. "You'll rest today, and starting tomorrow you'll work as an errand boy around the ship. Messages, parcels, meals for sick crew. And anything Hen or I asks you to do, you do without question."

"I--yes. Yes, sir. Captain."

Nash looked up at him, his eyes showing the smallest glint of kindness. "A teacher's hands are his life's blood, Buckley. See to it you take care of them." Nash turned to gaze out the window of his office and sighed. "If you're very lucky, you'll need them sooner than you think."

Buck's pulse heightened. "Are we near Commodore Douglas's ship, sir?"

Captain Nash sighed. "Not as close as I’d like to be." He turned back to Buck. "Dismissed."

Buck nodded and left for his hammock.

Chapter 3

The next day he showed up bright and early at Captain Nash's office only to be sent down to Hen. Hen took one look at him and started loading a crate with various medicines and infusions, talking rapidly. For each bottle, Hen explained what it was, who it was for and why. Buck paid careful attention so he could keep up. Rote memorization and processes? He was back in his comfort zone.

"...garlic and chamomile for Wes, he ate something at port that we're still trying to get out of him. Then cat's claw for Lea, her knuckles are hurting her again. And that's all." Hen hesitated, thinking for a moment. Then she mumbled something under her breath before grabbing a few more vials. "Actually, got a few more. These are to be dropped off outside Eddie's quarters."

"Diaz? What are they for?"

"Eddie knows what to do with them." No further explanation came and Buck nodded at the dismissal and left, running around the ship to deliver the medicines to each ailing person. When he arrived at last outside Diaz's door, he paused, looking over the bottles. It made no sense to be bringing so much medicine to Diaz’s quarters. Buck had seen him just this morning, looking as healthy as ever, muscles rippling while he hauled canvas with the men. What is this for? Buck shook his head to clear the thoughts--no use risking his newfound equilibrium by prying. He hastily dropped the bottles outside Diaz's door, knocked and departed.

He followed this routine for the next week, deviating at times in the afternoon to run errands for the captain. But every morning started the same--Hen dropping several bottles and vials into a box for him to deliver around the ship and he running around as fast as he could to get it done quickly and efficiently. Each time, he would find himself hesitating outside Diaz's door, awash with curiosity at what the medicine could possibly be for. It wasn't hard to puzzle out the various vials, even though Hen hadn't identified them. Some were the same bottles he delivered elsewhere, others he recognized from his studies. Willow bark, cat's claw and ginger--pain relief.Chamomile, dried cherry, valerian, and peppermint--muscle relaxers. It was a mighty amount of herbs for the average aches of a day's work even as strenuous as the work Diaz did.

So who is it for? Buck wondered again as he approached Diaz's door to drop off the bottles. He had just turned to leave when he heard a thump on the inside of the office followed by a yelp of pain.

Good God, that's a child. There's a child in there!

Horrible images came to the forefront of Buck's mind as he imagined why Diaz might be holding a child prisoner. A child who would require so much pain relief. His skin paled in horror and he dropped the box.

I need to help! But his hands were still tightly bandaged and the door was latched shut from the inside. Buck thumped against it with his shoulders to no avail. The sturdy wood would not give.

If only I could unlatch it from the outside... Then he had an idea. He picked up one of the envelopes he was delivering for Captain Nash. It was thin but strong. Carefully, he eased it between the door and the latch, pressing the envelope between his bandaged hands to keep his grip.

With a click the latch came free and the door swung open.

Buck braced himself for what he might see and ventured inside, closing the door behind him.The room looked like the captain's, if smaller and simpler. Diaz's bed was neatly made, and soaked in sun from the window. His desk was neat and cleared off. The room was empty.

But I heard a child, I know I did!

Buck started looking around, when he heard a whimper of pain from the direction of the desk. Quickly he hastened over and pulled out the desk chair.

There, curled in the desk well and looking nothing like the skinny, dirty, or abused waif Buck had expected, lay a child. He looked clean and healthy, if in pain. He regarded Buck with large terrified eyes, his hair clean and curling every which way.

He was adorable. And as sure as grass was green, he was Diaz's own child.

So what is he doing hidden away in here?

The child whimpered again, obviously still in pain and Buck lurched away, back toward the bottles and vials he'd brought from Hen. "Here, let me help you, Hen sent me with a bunch of..." He fumbled with the bottles, pulling out the chamomile and the willow bark. "Here, this should help." The child shied away from him, curling deeper into the desk well with awkward jerky movements that only seemed to hurt him more.

"Oh God, please let me help, here, let me..." Buck backed up far away to give the child room and then gently pushed the vials at him. "Here. They're directly from Hen, don't worry. I haven't opened them or anything. See?" The child looked between Buck and the bottles, but didn't say anything.

"And--here, I'm leaving okay? Nothing to be afraid of, I'll leave you so you can climb out of that desk. It looks--God, you look like you're hurting so badly, is there anything I can do to help?"

The child still didn't respond, only regarded Buck with the same terrified eyes and Buck took it as his cue. He hastened to his feet and hurried to the door, away from the room. He was about to step out when he heard the child gasp and whimper again. He froze.

The child won't let me near him, but I can't leave him like that.

Diaz! Diaz can help him!

"I'm going to go and get your father, okay?" Buck took another step toward the door.

"Don't!" A small plaintive voice called, and Buck paused again.

"I can't just leave you like this... Wait, did your father do this to you??"

"No, no!" came the small cry. "He's the best papa ever. And..." the child paused then continued in a stronger voice. "He'll kill you if he finds out you know about me."

Buck's body froze in place. "Surely not--" The child cried out again, and Buck hastened back to the desk. The child was panting now, but still wouldn't move. "Oh, for the love of God, please let me help you!"

"Can't... don't... trust... you." Christopher panted in between pained gasps.

"Oh God, please--" Buck's voice broke and he felt himself start to cry. "I can't--you're hurting. You... I was a schoolteacher before I got onto this ship, I love kids, I swear I just want to help, please!" He reached out his bandaged hands toward the child. "Look, see? I couldn’t hurt you even if I wanted to! I--I swear I won't tell anyone about you on this ship, I'll never speak to you again. Just let me help you settle yourself more comfortably, you need to take some herbs for the pain..." He was blubbering now, his view of the child obscured by tears. He tensed as he felt small hands grasp around his bandaged hands.

"Please help." The boy whimpered.

He sobbed in relief and crooked his wrapped hands so they became large hooks to grip the child and carefully, oh so carefully pulled him out of the desk well. By this time he heard the child begin to cry as well, still on the floor. Buck quickly swiped his eyes with his threadbare sleeve to clear them. "There now, that's a bit better, I'm sure. Let's get you settled into the bed and I'll mix some medicine with water to relieve the pain.”

Buck carefully lifted the child, who whimpered at being jostled. Carefully he laid the boy on Diaz's neatly made bed and hastened back to the bottles and vials, pulling corks out with his teeth and pouring a the various powders into a tin cup. He filled the cup the rest of the way with water from a pitcher on the small wash stand and stirred it to mix before offering the cup to the child.

But the boy only shook his head, crying more."Don't want it. It tastes h-horrible." The child's big eyes were red from crying and Buck's heart broke.

"Oh, shh, there there. Yeah, I won't lie to you, it’s going to taste pretty bad. But once you drink it, you'll stop hurting so much and then you can relax and sleep or play." Buck clumsily rested a wrapped hand in the child's hair. "How's that sound?"

Still the child shook his head.

"Okay, how about this?" Buck took a theatrical sniff and wrinkled his nose. "I'll drink some and then you have to drink the rest, okay?" None of the ingredients were harmful to someone who wasn't in pain. "Deal?"

The boy looked at him, surprised. “Really?” Buck nodded and the boy sighed. "Deal."

Buck grinned, then made a big show of sniffing the contents of the glass. "Ohh blurggh," he shuddered theatrically, and heard the slightest huff from the bed. "Oh boy, here we go." He took a sip then screwed up his face and shook it rapidly back and forth like a dog. "Heaven and earth, but that's awful!" The child giggled and Buck continued with his performance, making gagging noises and funny faces. "You must be the strongest kid I know to drink this every day."

"That's what Papa says, too." The boy smiled.

"Well, he's right. I don't think I can handle any more." Buck made one more funny face and the boy laughed again. "Okay, you ready? I'll count to five, and then you drink it all as fast as you can, okay?"

The child hesitated. "How much is five?"

Buck turned to him, eyes wide. "You don't know...?" Then he paused. No use making the boy feel bad for something that wasn’t his fault. Besides, this was Buck's specialty. "Five is a number, you'll see. I'm going to count a few numbers, and when I say five you drink that down as quickly as you can so you barely taste it, okay?"

The boy nodded. "Okay."

"One, two, three, four... five, go!"

With Buck's clumsy assistance, the child drank down the mixture, screwing up his face just like Buck did. "Urgh."

Buck laughed. "I think you made a funnier face than I did." The boy reminded Buck of his own students. He missed children, their bright-eyed optimism, their enthusiasm for exploring the world around them. "I hope I don't die for meeting you, kid. You're just about the nicest person on this entire ship."

The child smiled. "Christopher."

Buck returned his grin and held out a bandaged hand. "Nice to meet you Christopher. I'm Buck." Christopher reached out in jerky movements and shook Buck's hand, both of them giggling at how clumsy the exchange was.

"I hope you don't die either, Buck." It seemed that the medicine was starting to work. Christopher was relaxing and his smile wasn't edged with quite so much pain anymore.

"In that case, I should probably run before your father finds me. those big strong hands of his would tear me in half like paper." Buck stood, patting Christopher on the head once more before turning away.

"...Buck?"

"Hm?" He turned back. The boy was starting to fall asleep.

"Can... Can you come back and visit me again?"

What a terrible idea. "Of course, Christopher." Buck rummaged up a brave smile. "I'd love to see you again." An idea occurred to him suddenly and he straightened his shoulders. "I'll even teach you how to count to five all by yourself if you want?"

The boy's tired eyes lit up. "Yes. Yes please..." His eyes slipped closed and he fell asleep.

Buck smiled, feeling warmed for the first time in weeks. Carefully he gathered the scattered items for the rest of his errands and slipped from the room, latching it behind him.

#buddie #buddie fic #evan budckley #eddie diaz #9-1-1 #pirate au #christopher diaz #Anonymous

15 notes · View notes

heartslogos · 4 years

Text

mafia!verse: hunting season [8]

They removed Tim’s breathing circuit and switched him to a regular nasal mask a few hours ago. The doctors said that he should be out of the realm of respiratory failure, but Tim’s lungs are still weak and they’re observing for signs of infection. The possibility for one of his lungs to rupture a second time once he’s mobile is not out of the realm of imagination.

It feels like Bruce has been here watching Tim for any sign of movement or change for weeks and minutes at the same time. As though he blinked and he was suddenly in this room with Tim lying prone on the hospital bed, looking gray and washed out. And simultaneously — it feels like he’s always been here.

He needs to go back to the manor. He needs to shower, change, talk with Alfred, answer his messages, make arrangements for who will take care of business while Tim is in recovery. He needs to check in on WE and see where projects stand. Bruce needs to check in on his other children to see how they’re handling — not well, most likely.

He closes his eyes and all he can see is a flash of pearls, shadows, red numbers, and the brilliance of several pounds of C4. Bruce closes his eyes and it’s every death at once. He opens them to a possible death in progress and he feels so very, very old. And young. Bruce exists outside of time and is shackled to its steady, indifferent progression. He is a young boy suddenly alone and he is a grown man having people slip through his fingers.

Like blood. Like sand. Like pearls.

But he can’t seem to move. He’s anchored here. Unable to look away, and also somehow, unable to look closer. Bruce doesn’t know if he can handle the details of Tim’s self-destructive nature, but to look away is somehow a disservice. And if he looks away — what if that’s the last he ever sees?

He hears Cassandra lightly rap her knuckles on the door frame.

“Jason and I are heading out,” Cass says. She’s always quiet, but her voice is somehow too loud in this room that’s just Bruce and the machines working at recording Tim’s literal life. “Dick’s on his way. Can he come in?”

Bruce nods. He should say something. He should ask her how she is. He should ask how things are looking outside of the world of Tim’s hospital room. “Take care of each other.”

Cass closes the door with a purposeful click and Bruce closes his eyes.

Pearls. Shadows. Numbers. Heat-light. Now this. The glow of monitors, the light through slatted blinds, the murmur of hospital noise.

So much to be contained in the blink of an eye. So much to be lost.

The sound of the machines changes and his eyes slam open, all of his focus narrowed down to this room, this moment, this.

Tim’s eyes flutter and Bruce is there, standing next to him. His hand hovers over Tim, unsure of where is safe to touch, before uselessly resting on the hospital bed next to Tim’s head.

Blue eyes slide open, hazy and Tim’s arms weakly start to move.

“Tim,” Bruce says, careful, “Tim, you’re in the hospital. Don’t move. Can you understand me?”

Tim’s lips move, sound imperceptible.

His eyes close again, brows twitching downward in frustration.

“Are you in pain?” Bruce asks. Tim turns his head slightly towards Bruce. “I’ll get a nurse.”

Tim’s eyes open and he fixes his gaze on Bruce, hand attempting to raise — uncertain and weak. His fingers curl feebly.

Tim’s mouth opens and closes mutely, trying to speak. His words come out as quiet puffs, mere exhales. Tim frowns in frustration.

Bruce puts a hand as lightly as he can on Tim’s shoulder, the other on the hand raised.

“No,” Tim’s mouth shapes clearly.

“Stay down,” Bruce says as gently as he knows how, “You had three gunshot wounds. One of them broke some ribs.”

Tim’s eyes close, but Bruce can see them flickering behind his pale eyelids. Thinking.

“Stop,” Bruce insists. “You need to rest, recover.”

Tim’s head shakes minutely. Bruce wonders how hard Tim is struggling for coherency right now. How much of all of this Tim’s actually processing.

Tim tries to speak again, but Bruce can’t catch it.

He leans forward, as Time draws in another breath.

“Fabricci, Warren, Sullivan, Carlisle — “

Bruce’s body almost flinches away, shock and despair.

Tim’s first words out of waking up from surgery after nearly being killed after a car chase around North Gotham and a shoot out is to list names.

Bruce closes his eyes. He forces himself to focus.

Pearls. Numbers. Monitors.

He listens. He takes each name that Tim survived to speak of and burns them into his memory.

“Ibanescu, Reds,” Tim’s whisper tapers out. When Bruce turns to look Tim’s fallen unconscious again. He doesn’t know if that’s all the names or if Tim finished.

He looks up as the door opens, light spilling into the room.

Dick stands there, a nurse behind him.

“He was awake,” Bruce says to them both, “But he’s fallen asleep again.”

Dick makes room for the nurse to check Tim’s vitals and Bruce goes to join him in the hallway.

“Did he say anything?” Dick asks.

“Names,” Bruce closes his eyes, and puts a hand over his face. “First thing he says right after waking up is a list of names.”

Dick is quiet for a moment before he says, carefully, “Are you going to share those names with me or should I guess?”

“Most are the same as what Damian already told us,” Bruce replies. “We’ll talk about this later.”

When Bruce opens his eyes to look at his eldest Dick looks distinctly unhappy with his rebuff, but he also looks like he isn’t willing to press it. At least, not here, not now. If it was Jason or Cassandra standing in front of him right now, Bruce is sure that it would be a different story.

“Go home,” Dick says, expression softening. He squeezes Bruce’s shoulder. “You look like a mess. I’m sure it’d knock Tim right out again if he woke up and first thing he saw was you looking like this.”

“He did, technically, see me like this.”

“See you while lucid, B.” Neither of them point out that he was lucid enough to pass on names. It’s the banter, it’s the small talk, it’s the social protocol that’s necessary. Dick sighs. “I’ll be here.”

“You look worse than me,” Bruce points out, gaze pointedly going towards a faint pink smear at the corner of Dick’s cuff. Dick made the effort to wash the blood out, at least. But out of all of them the only one who’s ever really mastered Alfred’s ability to remove stains is — actually. None of them.

“But I’ve got a beautiful face,” Dick replies. “And a generally sunny disposition. If he opens his eyes — lucid this time — and sees you looking like you’re attending a wake he’s going to think he died for real.”

#heartsfic #c: the dreamer who always sees the stars #c: unwanted and enduring knight #c: a star going red giant

11 notes · View notes

nyctolovian · 4 years

Note

(i already tried to sent this message so apologies if I seem overbearing I swear it's just to make sure tumblr isn't eating anons again) Hello! I love how you write and I would love a "hiding an injury" for dororo, possibly with Dororo being the one injured

@badthingshappenbingo

Hi! Sorry for the delay! I received your first ask oops but i just needed some time to get used to writing dororo (this is my first time for this fandom after all). I hope this is fine?

Trope: Hiding an Injury

Fandom: Dororo (2019)

ao3 link

First Red

Hyakkimaru was strangely obsessed with naming colours lately but with how he reacted to getting his senses back previously, Dororo wasn't surprised. However, that didn't make it any less annoying to her when he pointed at a flower for the hundredth time that day and asked, "Dororo, is this red?"

"This is the first time he's able to see, right?" Genjirou asked, laughing. "I think we should let him have his moment."

Dororo sighed loudly as she looked at her Aniki squatting on the floor and scrutinising the flower closely. She still couldn't help her annoyance. The three of them were on the way back to the refugee village from getting her father's hidden treasure, of which they each carried a bag. So they had a ton of valuable stuff. With the war increasingly taking a toll on Daigo's land, who knows how many people are desperate to get this treasure in their hands?

It was a good thing Genjirou was around to help as well. There was literally no way Dororo and Hyakkimaru could drag this much stuff back to the village. According to the other refugees, Genjirou was a trusted friend and one of their strongest men. So far, they were proven to be right.

The unforeseen troublemaker was none other than Hyakkimaru himself. He was constantly pulled away by different sights, and when they were out of Daigo's land and were seeing more beautiful things like green hills and colourful flower fields, Dororo completely lost her Aniki to those distractions.

To make matters worse, however… She gripped her robe tighter to herself.

While trying to get the treasure, she had slipped while trying to climb the pile and gotten a nick from a bejeweled dagger (why on earth was that even there?!) on her back. She had deliberately stood where the other two couldn't see her back until the sun set and she was safe to mend her clothes and patch herself up.

It really should have been a simple affair with the injury being so shallow. She started the next day without a thought about the wound but it was starting to burn and twinge under her clothing. She couldn't see the wound no matter how she twisted her body but when she reached back to touch it, it wasn't a lot of blood. She knew immediately what it was. Years spent around bandits had taught her this meant her wound was infected.

Usually, she wouldn't mind just fixing the wound herself but, unlike previously, Hyakkimaru could now see exactly what she was doing and she'd have to explain herself, which she'd really rather not do. It would be pathetic to admit to Hyakkimaru that she got the wound from a stupid fall.

But there was an even bigger reason why she's not doing that: Genjirou would see her.

Aniki already knew she was a girl. Somehow or another, blind as he was back then, he still managed to figure out she was a girl. But Hyakkimaru was not a blather mouth so it was fine. Who else can he tell things to anyway?

Genjirou on the other hand… He was popular in the village, and he was talkative. In this trip alone, Dororo had learned more about Genjirou and the other refugees than she had in the week she spent with them before heading out.

There was no way she was letting him find out she was a girl.

So she kept her mouth shut. As the day dragged on, her wound throbbed away, draining her energy bit by bit.

***

The mid-day sun was blazing above the travelling group, and the sweltering weather was already unbearable, yet somehow, Dororo's wound felt hotter still, swelling to a worrying throb. Even the tiniest movement on her part would set her robe scratching agonisingly against her raw flesh.

She had also drunk quite a bit of water but somehow she still felt endlessly parched. Maybe it was because of how she panted with each and every exhausting step she took. Her chest was heaving and it occasionally stuttered, giving way to fatigue for a second before starting again.

Things were uncomfortable to say the least. In fact, Dororo was lightheaded and feverish with pain. She just hoped she'd make it through today and get some much needed rest.

"Dororo…"

Her eyes snapped up to look at her Aniki's brown ones. It was still slightly weird not to see wooden eyes when she looked at her Aniki.

"Are you alright? Your face is… white."

Playfully, Dororo rolled her eyes. "Putting your new words to use so quickly?" she teased in an attempt to dodge the question.

Hyakkimaru with his eyes back was far more expressive than he used to be. Right now, there was the slightest tinge of pride in his eyes. However, that was quickly replaced again with worry. "There is something wrong."

"What is?" Genjirou asked as he slowed his pace to match the other two.

Internally, Dororo groaned.

"Dororo looks very white."

"Oh right, he does," Genjirou said as he knelt down and held her by the shoulders. "Are you feeling ill?"

Scowling, Dororo shoved him and backed away. As she did, a wave of nausea overcame her and she had to take a few moments to compose herself as the feeling faded slowly away. "I'm fine," she said as nonchalantly as possible. "Just a little tired."

"Should we rest?" Genjirou suggested. "You are a child after all. Of course you would be tired."

A wave of anger surged through Dororo. "No need," she snapped as she tossed her bag from one shoulder to the other. She felt a sharp pain on her back and valiantly held back a wince. "Let's continue walking."

She marched on without them. Compliantly, the other two followed behind. However, as they continued on, Dororo could feel her feet beginning to drag harder and harder against the sand, nearly tripping several times in the uneven ground. Several times, she caught her eyelids closed for at least 5 seconds, and sometimes she would feel her stomach lurch with the urge to puke. But she kept it in and trudged on.

Suddenly, Hyakkimaru let out a barely audible gasp that hitched on his throat. "Dororo," he said, catching up with her. "There's red on your shirt."

She looked down at her side. Sure enough, there was a dark patch on her green robe. The wound must have burst open with her excessive movement.

Genjirou yelled, "That's blood!"

The look of alarm on Hyakkimaru's face was strange. He rushed forward and his trembling hands hovered over Dororo, not daring to touch her as he just looked at the patch of dark dark red seeping through her shirt.

It was then that it occurred to Dororo that he had probably never seen blood before. How ironic to have so much blood upon your hands but only just seeing it for the first time.

"Look, I'm fine. This is nothing big," Dororo said.

"Let me take a look at that," Genjirou said, reaching over.

Immediately, she slapped the hand away. "No!" Her vision began to blackout but she held her gaze in place in a feign. Her vision returned in spots and she realised she was swaying dangerously.

Silently, Hyakkimaru touched Dororo's forehead with his hand. His cool palms shook ever so slightly. "You are warm," he said. "You're not okay."

"I'm fine!" she insisted as she pulled away from the other two and charged ahead. However, as she walked, she tripped on thin air and suddenly the world was beginning to tilt violently to the side. Her sight went dark even as she felt herself fall and hit the ground. The ground vibrated as loud footsteps came towards her.

She opened her mouth to insist that she was fine. But her consciousness faded as she heard Hyakkimaru's panicked voice call out her name.

#dororo #bad things happen bingo #hyakkimaru #fanfic #my writing #dororo 2019 #angst #i guess #request #anon

9 notes · View notes

why-this-kolaveri-machi · 5 years

Text

Fic: explosion

For the Whumptober 2019 Day 2 prompt: explosion!

Summary: When the breakdown finally arrives, it’s nothing like Dick once pictured it would be: a spectacular implosion, buildings collapsing on themselves and raining debris until there’s nothing left but a flaming pile of rubble. The weight that he’s been collecting (for too long) just seems too big for the letting go to be anything short of a disaster. Instead, it starts slow, without him even noticing.

aka: at the end of everything, Dick breaks down, and his family is there for him.

Warnings: future!AU, Titans s2 spoilers upto 2.04, some swearing. this is some truly indulgent shit.

When the breakdown finally arrives, it’s nothing like Dick once pictured it would be: a spectacular implosion, buildings collapsing on themselves and raining debris until there’s nothing left but a flaming pile of rubble. The weight that he’s been collecting (for too long) just seems too big for the letting go to be anything short of a disaster. Instead, it starts slow, without him even noticing. It erodes him with the unceasing regularity of the tide, instead of cracking him right through the centre.

It starts with the end, the night after Deathstroke is defeated and the Titans, both old and new, are gathered at the tower. The gigantic rooms are about as small as Dick has ever seen them, filled with people and music and laughter and chatter. Superman and Green Lantern-themed party decorations hang from the ceiling, (“literally all that was available last minute,” Gar had told him earlier that day, like somehow over the last year he’d gotten better at lying to Dick. Hah.) glittering in the lights, and there are pictures everywhere—trophies of their biggest triumphs, and snapshots of smaller, more intimate moments that Dick has no memory of ever posing for or taking.

Dick walks through the party, beer in hand, feeling strangely light-headed. The music sounds muffled, and he hears snippets of conversations as though they are coming from very far away. He smiles vaguely at Gar talking animatedly to Rachel and Rose, flits, ghost-like, between Jason and Dawn throwing down for an impromptu sparring session, and gestures with his beer at Donna across the room, hoping that’s answer enough for the curious look that she’s giving him.

Joey catches his eye from where he’s sitting with Kory and Conner. You okay? he signs. You look unwell.

“I’m okay,” Dick says loudly—maybe a little too loudly, because he can barely make out anything over the roaring in his ears—and keeps walking, determined not to be a buzzkill (this once, Rachel had said, crossing her arms over her chest but with a playful twinkle in her eye).

Somehow, he finds himself sitting at the kitchen table, watching Hank determinedly mix something in a giant bowl.

“You’d think he’d know the difference between walnuts and peanuts,” Hank’s saying. “I mean, just on principle. The kid’s got a smartphone and every fancy gadget money can buy and he doesn’t think to text me oh hey hank, you weren’t really planning to bake a cake with peanuts, were ya? Because that would be ridiculous, oh no, not him—”

“You do a mean Jason impression,” Dick says. “Gotta save that for the actual party.” Now that he can actually hear himself speak, he winces—he sounds scratchy and hoarse, like he hasn’t spoken in a while (he hasn’t spoken in a while).

Hank stops mixing to stare at him. A beat passes before he sets the bowl down and walks around the table to sit next to him. “You feeling all right, man?”

Dick sighs. This is exactly what he wanted to avoid. Usually when he gets like this—wobbly, sad, there but not quite—he discreetly escapes to his room and punches and cries and screams into pillows, stares at the ceiling and the walls, listens to loud music or makes notches on his desk with his bare fingernails, anything to quell the desperate, seething mass of feeling inside of him. It almost always works.

“Just tired,” he says. It’s not even a lie.

Hank nods, then throws an arm around Dick’s shoulders, pulling Dick towards him. “Yeah right,” he says, “like you’re going to weasel out of the party with that excuse. Roy still hasn’t forgiven you for skipping his birthday to go to wilderness survival training in the Amazon, and that was a hell of an excuse.”

“You say that like I had a choice,” Dick mutters.

“You coming back and lecturing us on camping styles and insisting that we stock up on twenty different kinds of insect repellent? Definitely a choice.”

Dick remembers Hank dragging him away then just like this, reminding him none-too-gently to get his goddamn head out of his ass once in a while. He opens his mouth to laugh, but to his horror, hears a sob escape instead.

Hank freezes. “Dick?”

God-fucking-damnit. He really, really can’t do this here, not in front of all these people. He wriggles out of Hank’s hold and staggers in the general direction of his room, his vision swimming. The music stops, there’s a litany of concerned voices and numerous hands reaching out to stop him, and Dick squeezes his eyes shut and keeps moving because if he doesn’t—

if he doesn’t he can’t—

“Dick please,” Rachel says, and her voice cuts through everything like it always does, like it did when she saved him from Trigon (when she saved them all). “Dick, what’s wrong?”

He’s in his bedroom with Kory, Gar and Rachel, trembling like he’s going to fall apart with the force of the ticking time bomb inside of him. He wants to reassure her, but he can’t find the words or his voice, and so he looks to Kory, pleading.

Please, he tries to say. Not with them here.

Thankfully, she seems to get the message, and ushers them out of the room. Within seconds, she’s back in the room, her arms around him. She’s warm enough to be right at the cusp of uncomfortable, her skin glowing faintly in the dark room. Dick leans into her touch even as she says, “It’s okay. It’s just us now, Dick.”

And Dick… crumples.

He cries—loud, keening sobs that are barely muffled by her shirt. Every time he thinks he’s just about spent, a fresh wave of sorrow washes over him, and he starts all over again. He doesn’t understand where this is coming from—why this sadness is pulling him along in its current and washing him up on shore feeling empty and bereft—when everything is over, fixed, saved. He only knows the feeling of a festering wound being sliced open, spilling pus and infection until the blood runs red. He only knows what it means when something blows open, spitting smoke into the air as fire burns everything clean.

There’s so goddamn much to burn through.

He realises that at some point he stopped crying and started talking. He’s not making much sense, not even to himself, but the words pour out of him like a messy afterbirth anyway. At one point all he can say is it’s been so cold for so long and he doesn’t know if that means all the nights training in the Batcave past the point of collapse, or if it means trying so goddamned hard to keep himself together while everyone fell apart around him because he’s the leader, this was his idea, or if it means living with the guilt of Joey and Slade and Zucco and Bruce festering inside him, trying not to let it spill out of him even if all he wanted to do sometimes was tear at his hair and scream—

“I understand,” Kory says, the only words she’s said the entire time that he’s been falling apart. “But it won’t be cold forever.”

He collapses against her, utterly spent. She threads her fingers through his hair, singing something both indistinct and ethereal—Tamaranean, he guesses.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice like smoking wreckage. “I shouldn’t have—put all of this on you. It’s not fair.”

“Maybe not,” Kory says lightly. “Perhaps you will return the favour one day.”

“I want to,” he says, and there’s a longing there, a wistful belief that he will ever be strong enough to do for others what Kory is doing for him.

“You will,” she says, and continues to sing. He falls asleep to the sound of her voice.

#titans #my fic #dick grayson #koriand'r #hank hall #whumptober2019 #no. 2 #a byronic cupcake

42 notes · View notes

hermitcraft-dnd · 4 years

Text

Prologue

Cleo could feel the moment the others entered her domain. There were two--no, three?--fast approaching from the north. She asked her first mate to send up some food for her guests and made her way to the captain’s quarters. She wasn’t sure why they were coming since she didn’t get guests often, instead visiting the others in their homes, but if they were entering the land of the dead it must be important.

It was Doc who entered first, carrying Ren in his arms, then Grian right behind him with a large black book in his arms. Doc was frantic and panicking, and such an unusual expression had her standing up from her desk.

“What--” “It’s Ren. Grian found something in the Jungle and now he’s all grey and he won’t respawn!” Doc told her, setting Ren down on the desk. Cleo glanced over him, taking in his blotchy grey skin and shallow breathing. His skin was cold, closer to her own temperature than the heat he should have, and he was barely breathing, but it was his energy she was worried about. It was as if it was being attacked, infected, replaced with a sickly, rotten feeling instead of the steady earthly feeling she knew Ren by.

Like sticking your hands in fresh soil while gardening, she’d once tried to describe it.

“We’re lucky. There should be enough time to purge him of whatever parasite Grian found.” Cleo told them. Grian’s wings sagged in relief and Doc’s scowl lessened somewhat, but she was too busy feeding her own energy to Ren to notice.

“What were you thinking, going into that place?” Doc barked at Grian. “I’ve told you--” “I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt! I just wanted to see what you were hiding!” Grian held up his hands in a pacifying move, though it didn’t do anything to actually pacify Doc.

“I’m not hiding anything! That place is dangerous, and--”

“Well I didn’t know that! You just told me to stay out, I thought it was something like Area 77--”

“You should have stayed out of there too. If you hadn’t been so nosy--” “If you hadn’t taken my project--”

Cleo sighed and lifted her hands off of Ren, interrupting the argument.

“I’ve fought the infection back enough for Ren to recover on his own. Grian, what did you find in there?”

Doc’s glare switched from Grian himself to the book in his hands. Cleo reached out and Grian handed it over. When she opened it the pages were covered in words in a language she didn’t know, which was strange since she’d learned almost every mortal language from her ghosts. Even though she couldn’t read what they said, she could tell that there were lists written in the book, two columns per page, and they stopped about halfway through.

“I was investigating the Jungle and Ren followed me. He tried to tell me to leave, but I wanted to see what was up, and then I found the temple. It wasn’t big enough to explore properly but it had a book on a lectern. I picked it up and Ren took it, he convinced me to bring it back to Doc, and we were leaving when he fell, and it looked deadly but he didn’t disappear to respawn like he should have--” Grian’s panic increased as he retold the story to Cleo, so she interrupted him before he could work himself up into a panic.

“He’ll be okay. We should call the others though and let them know what happened. If it can affect respawn it’s dangerous, and we could all use the reminder about how dangerous the Jungle is.”

“You stay here with Ren. We can go get them.” Doc told her firmly. Cleo nodded and turned back to Ren, dismissing them. She heard Doc telling Grian who to go after as they left, and Grian was feeling too guilty to argue with him.

It was nightfall by the time everyone managed to make it to her ship. They arrived in groups of twos and threes, and by the time Grian and Doc had returned the cabin was looking very full.

“I think that’s everyone we can find,” Grian said as he entered. “Or at least, that’s everyone I could think of.”

“Same here.” Said Doc. “How did you manage to dig up TFC?”

“He has tunnels under Sahara. I went to the entrance and got one of his bunker people to grab him.”

“So what’s all the fuss about?” The hermit in question asked gruffly, arms crossed. “I’ve got duties to get to.”

“This shouldn’t take long,” Cleo assured him. She gestured to Ren. “Grian went into the Jungle--” “Dude!” Bdubs said, giving Grian a betrayed look.

“--and he found this book. We think it has some sort of corruption powers, and it messed with Ren’s respawn. We need to figure out what to do with it.”

“Destroy it.” Came from Iskall, who looked especially upset with his friend’s state. “Burn it or something.”

“We should study it first!” Scar countered. “Make sure it doesn’t get to anyone else and find a way to fight it.”

“Area 77 is still there, even if we don’t use it anymore.” Doc offered. Impulse shook his head.

“I don’t want to take the risk. If this thing interferes with respawn it’s too dangerous to mess with.”

“I agree with Impulse. We shouldn’t mess with something we don’t understand.” Xisuma added, making Jevin laugh.

“This coming from you.”

“It just means I know what I’m talking about!” Xisuma defended. Tango raised his hand, covering it in his hellfire.

“Just give it to me and I’ll get rid of it. Then we can all go home.”

“We don’t know how it’ll react to being destroyed though. It might fight back. We should lock it away.” This suggestion came from Cub, who was eyeing the book suspiciously.

“Again, Area 77 is right there. We’ve got vaults that we could keep it in.” Scar gestured at the book. “Even if we don’t study it we can keep it safe.”

“I’m not sure how secure it really is since Grian and Ren and Impulse managed to break in.” False countered. “We should try hiding it somewhere instead.”

“It was hidden, and Grian stumbled across it anyways. Who’s to say it won’t happen again? If everyone knows where it is, no one will find it on accident.” Doc argued.

“But putting a great big keep out sign is pretty much an invitation to go in!” False retorted, gesturing to Grian.

“Hey!” He protested. “If I know what’s in there I won’t go looking for it! I can stay away from something I know is dangerous.”

“Grian, I literally gave you a big red button with “Unstable farms, do not press” on it and you pressed it,” Mumbo spoke up. “I’m not sure how much faith I have in your self-control.” Grian sent him a betrayed look.

“This isn’t about Grian’s self-control, this is about the book.” Xisuma reminded everyone, stopping that argument before it could get too out of control. “We need--” He was interrupted but Ren suddenly rolling over, coughing violently. Everyone went quiet as Cleo rushed over to him, rubbing his back and making sure he didn’t fall off her desk. He coughed a few more times, almost choking, until a wave of energy hit everyone and he vomited black sludge onto the floor. Several hermits made noises of disgust and stepped away, and Cleo took a moment to silently bemoan the state of her cabin floor. Smaller pieces of sludge flew out of Ren’s mouth as he coughed, but he seemed to be breathing easier now.

“Ren? You good buddy?” Doc asked as his coughing wound down. Cleo checked his life force.

“He seems to be mostly clean.” She offered. “But I’d bet there’s still some of it infecting him.”

“Is there a way you can get rid of it?” Iskall asked, joining her in supporting Ren. “I don’t want him to risk up having a messed up respawn.”

“We could send him through a cycle of reincarnation. That usually fixes any problems with respawn.” She suggested, still inspecting Ren’s life energy. But now that Iskall was so close, she noticed something off with his.

“Iskall, do you mind moving away from him for a moment?” He looked reluctant, but he stepped away without arguing. Cleo made sure Ren was comfortable and stood up to follow him. She frowned as she checked his life energy as well.

“There’s something wrong. You’ve got traces of the infection too.”

“How could he get infected? He hasn’t touched the book or anything!” Mumbo protested. Cleo glanced around at the others.

“It could be because he was close by. I need to check over everyone.” There was some grumbling at the surprise medical inspection, but no one tried to stop her. They’d seen what this did to Ren, if they were in danger too they wanted it to get treated as soon as possible.

Cleo looked more and more worried with each person she checked. When everyone was finally done she made the announcement.

“Everyone’s been infected.”

There was panic, questions and accusations being tossed around, everyone speaking over each other until Xisuma stepped up and took control.

“Cleo, you said the reincarnation cycle could cure Ren?” He asked. She nodded.

“It sort of resets your soul. And when you die as a mortal you end up right back here.”

“I’ve done it before. It’s not that bad.” Stress added. Xisuma nodded.

“Then we should all go through it once, just to make sure we’re all clean.”

“That thing never works right for me.” TFC grumbled. Zedaph offered him a sympathetic look, but that was the only reaction he got.

“Is it safe for all of us to go at once?” Keralis asked, glancing between Xisuma and Cleo.

“It can handle everyone going through it at the same time, yeah.” Cleo agreed. Xisuma nodded.

“And I’m sure our domains can handle themselves for a little while. We can leave our seconds in charge if we have them.”

“But what about our projects?” Impulse protested.

“Making sure we’re all safe is more important,” Xisuma said firmly. “And what would happen if one of us stayed behind and got infected while the rest were gone?”

That put an end to most of the protests. Nobody wanted anyone to die permanently, and nobody wanted to be left behind.

“I can take you to the River of Souls. Once you jump in your soul will be placed into a mortal body.” Cleo instructed. “If you need to write out messages to anyone here I can have my first mate deliver them, but I don’t know how long this will take to spread. We should get going as soon as possible.” Most of the group got paper from her and wrote out messages and explanations to their subjects back in their territories, either giving instructions on how to run the domain or just telling them where they went.

Once everything was settled Cleo led the group out of her ship, Iskall and Doc helping Ren. The spirits of her ghost town watched them respectfully as they passed, making several members of the group uncomfortable. Trying to keep an eye on the surroundings instead wasn’t much help. Cleo may have built a town here and filled it with ghosts, but this was still the land of the dead. Faces could be seen in the water if you looked hard enough, and the entire place was cold. The voices of the spirits around them were unsettling, off in a way that nobody could quite define.

Xisuma wasn’t too disturbed by it since the Void was very similar.

Cleo brought them to a river just outside of town. The water was slow, with the same disturbing wrongness of the ocean.

“I’ll go last to make sure everyone gets through okay.” She told them. “Who’s going first?”

Everyone eyed each other silently, not wanting to volunteer, until TFC sighed and stepped forward.

“Let’s get this over with.” He looked around at everyone and gave them all a brief nod of farewell. Cleo stepped aside, gesturing to the river. He marched in, water swirling around his ankles, and dove under once he got deep enough. He disappeared once he was completely submerged.

The rest followed, supervised by Cleo. Some went together, like Bdubs and Keralis, and some went alone, like False. Finally, there was only Xisuma and Cleo left.

“See you on the other side.” Xisuma offered, smiling under his helmet. Cleo smiled back, and they both walked into the river together.

The gods had left the celestial plane.

Back at Cleo’s ship, her first mate was collecting the messages from the captain’s cabin. She didn’t notice that the sludge Ren had vomited had disappeared, even though no one had been sent to clean it up.

In the forest just outside of the ghost town, the Grimdog opened his eyes.

#Hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfic #Dungeons Dragons and Demise #after this i'll go back to making character sheets #there are 18 hermits in demise and each one is getting a character sheet #i'll also be posting info on the lore of this au #you don't have to read everything #but it might help some stuff make sense

8 notes · View notes

nate-santos · 4 years

Text

Clamie Bit My Finger || Nate & Alain

Location: The Hospital Time: Shortly after Alain lost a dear finger Parties Involved: @deadicated-nate, @carbrakes-and-stakes, One very rude coughing patient zero for the coronavirus

Throbbing pain, constant and sickening. Alain felt as if he was going to either throw up or faint. He didn’t remember anything from the ride to the E.R. other than Cassie and Erin speaking and him clenching his jaw the whole time.His jaw was probably sore, but he did not think too much of it. It was only as a nurse spoke to him that he spoke, slower than usual, taking deep breaths between questions. The news that he would be given painkillers came as a relief, although he was concerned to hear that they wouldn’t stitch his would immediately, and rather put a bandage to stop the bleeding. He understood that they had a lot of injuries to take care of, but he would have thought his injury would be more urgent than that. He supposed that he probably should be relieved about this, but he was just annoyed. “Are you fucking kidding me,” he groaned, shuffling across the hall to get to the waiting room, now dressed in clean, dry scrubs. Sitting next to a guy who was not coughing or close to any children, Alain sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair.

One of Nate’s go-to places was the ER. Not that he actually hurt himself often, but he ended up asking for medical advice much more often than his general practitioner would allow. So here he was, sitting patiently in the waiting room, settling himself in as far from any of the sick or contagious people as he possible could be. He opened up the book he brought, knowing it may take a while to get to him. One of the downsides to having to come through the ER- long wait times. Especially when the week White Crest was having had resulted in many more...strange injuries than normal. Nate looked down at the small scrape on his elbow, hoping that he’d managed to get enough neosporin on it to prevent any major infections, but his inspection was quickly interrupted by a man sitting down much too close for his comfort. He was holding his bandaged hand and Nate felt his stomach churn when he saw the blood. “Hey uh...what...what happened?” He nodded anxiously to the man’s hand, hoping he hadn’t just been chased by some giant lobster that he happened to lead right into the waiting room.

Alain looked at the guy sitting next to him after a couple of seconds which was the amount of time it took him to register that he was actually speaking with him. Great. Now he had to endure small talk, after what he had just been through. “I can sit somewhere else if you can’t stand the sight of blood,” if it took him a while to realize that they spoke to him, he could still read a face, especially one he’d seen often in a mirror. Anxiety. He took a deep breath. Truth was, he was feeling stressed too, about his finger, of course, but mainly because he wouldn’t be able to hunt for a while. He needed this hand to fight. “I lost my finger,” he finally replied, swallowing his saliva and realizing that he was too suffering from his own anxiety. That ball of stress stuck in his throat was growing. Rubbing at his face with his left had, he sighed. This was going to be a long wait. “What about you? Why are you here?”

Nate’s eyes flitted back and forth between the man’s hand and the door, wondering if it was too late or too rude for him to bolt. But then he wouldn’t be able to get his elbow looked at. His face was pained as he weighed his options. It was his own fault that he was now in a conversation with a man who had lost a finger and while he had a burning need to know how, Nate also wasn’t entirely sure he did want to know. “N-no, I’m ok with blood.” Nate stared at the man apprehensively, only a little bit relieved that he didn’t seem to be afflicted with anything contagious. “I’m more worried about uh…” he nodded over to a woman who hadn’t stopped hacking her lungs out since she arrived two hours ago. She refused to cover her mouth and it was honestly an achievement that she hadn’t actually expelled a lung. “Oh, I uh…” Nate sheepishly rubbed his elbow. His injury was much less dire than losing a finger, but the threat of infection was real. “I’ve been exposed to potential infections and I wanted to get some antibiotics.”

Alain still decided to move his injury to his left, resting his wrist against his shoulder. It was not very comfortable, and he would probably end up back with his hand close to that guy, but at least he’d tried, unlike that rude woman, he also had noticed, coughing her lungs out without caring one bit for the rest of the patients. “Hey,” he called her out but she didn’t seem to even listen, “hey,” he repeated, already annoyed. Must have been that he had been through a lot of shit today, right? Right. “You think you can cover your mouth when you cough? Is it something you can do?” His eyebrows raised as he watched her roll her eyes in response. “Quelle connasse,” he muttered to himself, sighing. He glanced back at his chair neighbor and listened to him instead. Was he talking about HIV ? Well that sounded more serious than losing a piece of your finger. Alain could live with that, at least. “Wow, you’re okay?”

Nate cringed when the man raised his voice, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Nate wasn’t the kind of guy to yell or stand up for himself in any way, so he’d been silent for hours when the woman was not only being rude but hazardous to literally everyone else in the room. He nodded at the woman, who was far from the only perpetrator in the ER. “I’m not sure she has the capability to understand basic manners. She’s been doin’ that for over two hours.” Every cough or sneeze had Nate jumping and clutching his chest, but for the most part this was just an average trip to the hospital for him. “Oh, yeah...hopefully.” He shrugged, trying not to show how nervous he was and sounding all the more forlorn. “Are you uh, french?” He tried to change the subject, falling into awkward small talk. “That’s lame...and weird, sorry. Just, the accent. And the french words.”

“Probably not. Maybe the cough got to her brain,” he commented, and, attempting to cross his arms in discontempt, winced and held his hand back up. “I hope they won’t keep me waiting two hours, I feel like coughing is not an emergency,” Alain rolled his eyes. People using the ER as some kind of doctor appointment pissed him off. What part of “emergency” did they not get? Apparently his grumpiness was contagious : a soccer mom with her son started to complain to the woman as well. “Yeah, well hang in there. I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he would have patted him in the back, but pretty sure that no one would want a wounded hand near them, decided against it. “As a matter of fact, yes,” his eyebrows raised. Were they going to talk about that for the following… eternity waiting? Alain rarely went to the doctor, and had forgotten that waiting rooms were small talk hubs. “It’s fine. Call me German and you’ll have a nose to fix too, however,” he smiled and shook his head, laughing through his nose. Heh, maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad.

Nate laughed nervously, knowing the guy was probably joking, but also knowing that whatever illness that woman had may have actually affected her brain. He leaned even further away from her. “You’ll probably be seen soon,” he nodded at the blonde nurse behind the counter. “Elise is working, she usually gets people in and out pretty quickly when they have more urgent injuries.” An awkward smile appeared on Nate’s face. He felt a little guilty, as his potential infection might not be seen as an emergency to most, but that’s why he was waiting patiently despite being surrounded by a cornucopia of contagians. He raised his hands in defense. “Promise, I won’t call you German. But uh...what should I call you? I’m Nate.” He wrapped his arms around himself as if to make it abundantly clear that he would not be shaking anyone’s bloody, fingerless hand.

“Elise? She’s a friend of yours?” Alain glanced at the man sitting next to him, his attention diverted once again by the coughing woman. He pinched at the bridge of his nose. What would be the point of getting into an argument now ? “You can call me Alain, he replied absent-mindly, leaning forward to have a look at the magazines scattered on the coffee table in front of them. They looked like they had been here for a while, and he decided against grabbing one when he saw unidentified stains on one of them. Now this was disgusting. When he glanced back at Nate, he noticed that he’d tucked away his hands. Maybe he’d get along with him. He was not fond of touching people either and only very few people respected that. “What do you do for a living, Nate?”

“Yeah, I’ve known her for a few ye-” Nate flinched as the offending woman continued to cough. “Years.” He frowned, curling in on himself even more. Eyeing the new group of children who were being ushered into the room by one seriously overwhelmed parental figure, Nate reached into his pocket for one of his many on-the-go hand sanitizers. He glanced over at Alain and saw the other man debate picking up one of the borderline crusty magazines and decide against it. He smiled a bit and held out the hand sanitizer. “I’m an uh- architect? It’s...more exciting than it sounds.” Nodding to the man’s bloody hand. “Does that happen...often in your line of work?”

“Oh come on,” Alain called her out once again, raising his voice further. “Cover your mouth and stop spreading your microbes or get out of here, you are annoying a whole room of people who are already worried or in pain,” he raised his hand up to show her his bandage, and leaned back in his chair, hoping that this would be his last time lecturing a fucking grown up. Blowing air through his nose, he had a look at his phone for a moment. He probably should message his employees and tell them that he wouldn’t be around for at least a couple of days, he told himself. Typing the message proved to be difficult, and he did not bother correcting a few typos that had slipped in there. “I’m a mechanic, that’s… how I lost my finger,” he shrugged at the next question and instead took an interest in the architect. “That’s pretty exciting, what are you talking about. What are you working on right now?”

Nate jumped as Alain raised his voice once again, smirking to himself. If only he could be so bold. He used to be. It was comforting to see another person as anti-germ as he was, even if he was a bit more bristly than Nate. He almost asked if the guy needed help texting, but figured he probably wouldn’t want someone who might have a deadly infection touching his device. “Oh- I’m sorry...Do you think they can sew it back on?” He squirmed in his seat. “Oh uh...nothing special. I just did a walk through of an old house out in the Outskirts, something about proving it was in disrepair due to age rather than...supernatural means?” He shrugged. “Other than that, I’ve just been drawing up a lot of new roofs thanks to the whole fish situation.”

Alain shook his head. He had never been good with lies, mainly because he hated lying. Seeing all the things he’d seen, you grew to have quite the imagination skills. “I don’t think so. I was unable to retrieve the thing,” not a lie. It was indeed impossible for him to open the clam after it died. “It’s okay. This kind of shit happens,” he shrugged. Well, he was actually more worried than he let it transpire but since shit happens had become his motto over the years, he was getting used to it too. “What do you mean supernatural means? You think … those things exist?” His eyebrows raised in surprise. One of the hardest part of his job was not to kill vampires and zombies, but rather convincing people that they did not see what they saw. “You must be pretty busy. I had my roof replaced a couple years ago, so it’s holding up pretty well so far. Fingers crossed.”

Nate winced, feeling a shiver run down his spine. He couldn’t imagine losing his finger with no hope of reattaching it and being as calm as Alain was being. Then again, if he worked in the more physical aspect of building houses instead of just working with paper and math and hypotheticals, maybe he would be more used to that sort of thing. As it was, however, Nate continued to shiver. “Oh...I’m really sorry. You’re taking it a heck of a lot better than I would be.” Nate glanced up, wondering if it was a trap. He knew lots of people in town didn’t believe in the supernatural, but he knew enough of it existed to not doubt the existence of so much more. “Oh, well you know. I think ghosts exist, and I wouldn’t put it past this town for more weird stuff to be real too. But the whole point of that inspection was to really prove that ghosts did not live in the house and were definitely not responsible for people getting hurt.” Nate smiled lightly, his head lifting. “That’s good! It should definitely hold up for a while longer. And if something does happen, you can reroof first, which would save a lot of money and a big headache of replacing the whole thing.”

“So you believe in ghosts then,” he raised an eyebrow, faking concern as he’d done it so many times before. No matter how hard hunters worked, people always seemed to suspect something about the town. “Why would someone ever want to buy a house where someone had to come to prove it’s not haunted is above my understanding, but hey, to each their own.” How this was the job of an architect, Alain was not sure about that one either. Architecture school probably did not give classes on haunted house. “So your job as an architect is to play Ghostbuster ?” Clearly, this was confusing. Or maybe he had lost too much blood and the medicine they had given him minutes ago was starting to work really well. Alain cleared his throat and looked away from Nate for a moment, his eyes glancing at his bandage, at his hand. He had mostly avoided to look at it since they had entered the room, and he was not feeling very well, looking at it now. A shiver ran down his spine and he felt his anxiety rush back up his throat, building its nest there, and forcing him to take heavier breathes. He had really lost a finger out there. Absentmindedly, he managed to reply to Nate that reroofing seemed like a good idea.

Nate shrugged. ��I’m not spiritual per say, but yeah, I think ghosts are real. I’ve never seen one or anything, though.” Shaking his head, Nate ran his hand absently over his scraped elbow, flinching at the slight pain. “I couldn’t tell you. People in this town are weird. I don’t uh...I definitely am not a Ghostbuster. I just sometimes go check out old buildings and prove that any odd happenings are due to structural instability and overall lack of upkeep rather than because some ghosts took up residence.” His eyes flickered down to the man’s bandaged hand, an influx of blood spreading out through the gauze. “Uh...do you- I’ll be right back.” Nate stood carefully, eyeing his waiting room companion. “Hey Eloise, could you uh...would you mind bumping up this guy on the list? Alain- he said his name was?” Nate looked back at the man, his brow furrowed with worry as if it were him who had just lost a finger. “Hold on there, man. They’re gonna get you in ASAP.”

#clamie bit my finger #alain1 #chatzy #tw hospital #tw medical blood

7 notes · View notes

a-black-pegasus · 5 years

Text

Written Love

Part 1

Because Tony Stark deserves love and here it is. Soulmate Au with Tony Stark and borrower Reader

______________________________________________

Tony wrote out an equation on his forearm. Only about two years ago did his "sign" come up, signaling that the freaking universe has suddenly decided he was allowed to have a soulmate.

Yay.

The thing with soulmates was not everyone had one. You never knew knew when, or if a sign would show up on you, or not. People said that if they did appear, that it meant you were destined for something special.

But lots of people who didn't have a sign accomplished amazing things all the time! And up until recently tony had thought he was one of those signless greats.

The pattern on his wrist seemed to scream the opposite. It was a vine, twisted around a needle layed on what could only be his arc reactor.

Whatever, a sign didn't make you anymore special than anyone else. Save for one small thing....

As he wrote out a formula for one of his smaller, more public projects on his arm, question marks began showing up. His soulmate, whoever they were, never had a single clue as to what his notes meant!

Stark loved it! He loved the idea that someone, somewhere was staring down at their arm completely baffled at the meaning of his notes.

He laughed out loud, and grinned. "Well, not everyone can be a genius." Tony shrugged.

The thing with soulmates was that once the sign showed up, whatever you drew on your skin showed up on the other person in the same location, and his soulmate was an artist! They had to be, judging by the things they drew. Flowers from odd perspectives, millions of dotted stars in a few inches of skin, smooth swirls that slowly transformed into cats or birds as he watched...he had to wonder if they were maybe a tattoo artist.

"Love you..." He murmered as he wrote it out on the back of his hand.

He waited a few minutes, and then words came up! Excitedly, he lifted his hand higher, and waited for the message to fully appear.

"...You think you do."

Tony frowned, and wrote back. 'Of course I do, I would even more so, if you told me where you were.' He scribbled out with a black marker.

'...I can't. I'm sorry.'

'Why do you always say that? Why not?' Tony wrote back, a weight growing in his chest.

It was several moments before more words came up, Tony almost thought he had annoyed them away— but then...

'Because it's for the best, and I don't want to talk about it'

Tony wrote back quickly, not wanting them to leave. 'Ok ok, we don't have to talk about it'

Sometimes if Tony pressed the issue to hard, it would be weeks before he heard from them again.

More words showed up. 'Thank you. I'll talk to you later, I have to go.'

He sighed, 'Alright.' and drew a messy wrench. Within seconds, a pine tree grew besides it. At least this means they weren't annoyed.

His father, his grandfather—hell, even his great grandfather, none of them had soulmates; but he did! It was incredible, and amazing! If only he could see, or talk to them face to face. He would just have to be patient.

One day he would find them.

***

You sighed as you read the writing, and finished up drawing your pine tree. Your soulmate was a human! It was almost unbelievable.

Within days of your mark showing up, enough words and equations to fill a book had spread over your body! It was ridiculous! Numbers wound around your arms, and comments spread down your legs, questions dotted around your torso— even a few doodles covered your face!

(You quickly, and rather irritatedly put a limit on where he could write after that)

What gave it away were the words he wrote. They were things only a human would ask.

'Whats your number? Did you go to college? Whats your favorite type of coffee? Do you like the beach? Did you see the new movie trailer for Jurassic world? Hey, wanna meet up and go biking?

His name was Tony. No last name, just Tony apparently. He seemed to be a math teacher, or some sort of engineer if the math jumbles scrawled out on your arms were anything to go by.

You almost wished you could meet up, just to see what he looked like, but the best you would have to settle for would be writing or drawing to him.

You had to admit you were getting good at it. You had never been a big talker, so you tried to put some effort into your scribbles. It was mostly just flowers, stars, or animals you escaped from on an almost weekly basis.

But putting that aside, It was time to borrow some much needed things; Having recently moved indoors due to the coming cold seasons, you needed to make stores of things like food, water, and bedding. Really anything you could get your hands on.

As you exited the hole, you looked around to check if the coast was clear. Hopefully this place would have fewer animals than outside.

Once you deemed the room clear, you ran out from the wall. The hard wood floor felt alien against your bare feet, and without the grass to offer cover you couldn't help but feel exposed, as if you were already seen.

Suddenly the very ground rumbled. Stumbling, you whipped your head around to look for the source. The ground never shook outside! Unless their was....

A human!

The smooth floor trembled more than any dirt ground! It was a struggle just to make it under the couch in time. Once there you let out a sigh of relief.

You were safe!

***

Tony's jaw dropped.

Had he really just seen....? No. He couldn't have! Could he? Clearing his throat Tony spoke.

"Um,... Friday. Am I drunk? Or did I really just see a tiny person running under the couch?" It was a bit early in the day, but hey! There were worst things he had done.

"Yes boss" Friday confirmed. "Do you want me to replay you the security footage on your tablet?"

"Huh, and they say seeing is believing." Stark waved his hand. "Ah no. No that's not necessary." He said, stepping over to the couch. Getting on his hands and knees with a sigh he looked underneath.

"Whoa..."

***

You shrieked, and reeled back. His face filled up the space in front of you. You drew your needle.

"Stay back!" You demanded shakily. "I'm warning you don't come any—Ah!"

His arm reached out, and grabbed you! You plunged the needle into his knuckle, but he didn't let go.

He gasped in slight pain, and winced. Standing to his feet he went over to a bar, and grabbed a cup. You could tell where this was going.

"N-no...No! Pl-please!" You cried.

"Calm down." He said putting you down. You scrambled to run away, and slammed into glass after only a few steps.

"Look," he grunted, pulling out the needle. "I'm gonna go make sure this doesn't get infected, and then uh... we'll talk. Name's Stark by the way. Tony Stark. Welcome to my house." He said sarcastically before putting a heavy ceramic bowl on top of the cup, and leaving you alone.

***

"No...no, no no no no!"

Tell leaked out of the corner of your eyes as you slumped against the glass. You curled your legs up tightly as you waited.

On your hand words formed.

'You'll never guess what happened. I just got stabbed with a needle!'

You could have laughed at the irony. Digging around in your bag, you took out a felt marker tip, and unwrapped it.

Rolling up your sleeve, you wrote. 'Wow, I literally just ran into Tony Stark' You waited for him to write back 'haha' or 'seriously?' To which you would have replied that you were just kidding, but that's not what happened.

Instead, Tony Stark came running back into the room, and slid to a stop in front of you. Wiping away your tears, you shoved your marker back into the bag.

"Show me your arm." He demanded.

You quickly rolled your sleeve back down rebelliously. "Why?"

Tony moved the bowl off the cup, and lifted the cup. You toppled back, but before you could even stand to your feet, Tony pushed you down flat against the counter with his fingers. Holding your arms out on each side as you struggled, he pushed your sleeves back.

"L-let me go!" You nearly screamed, trembling. What did he want? What was he doing?

Imediately his eyes widened as he read the tiny words on your arm, and saw the tree. Letting you go, he backed up, and ran his hands through his hair, mumbling under his breath.

You pushed yourself back till you bumped into the small counter rise. Frantically you looked for an escape as Stark rambled incoherently to himself.

After some moments he turned to look at you. "It's you..." Tony said loud enough for you to hear.

"M-me?" You stuttered.

Tony's hand darted out, and wrapped around you, bringing you closer to his face. You threw your hands up to protect your head only to feel something soft and somewhat prickly pressed against your side briefly.

Cracking your eyes open you saw his lips, and a peppered beard....did he kiss you?!

"I can't believe it! You're my soulmate.... you're... It's you!" He said absolutely ecstatic.

You flinched at his loud voice. "Wh-at? No. Not you! I..." Your voice trembled. This couldn't, not him! A million thoughts raced through your head of the things he could do to you for money, more fame, or I the name of science.

Tony couldn't keep the hurt from his eyes. "Not me?" He thought. Then he saw your face, you weren't just shocked or surprised, you were terrified.

Of him.

Gently, he set you back down, and let you step back. "I... I'm sorry, I just.. I just had to see if, and then you were— and I was so happy to finally meet you. Your Y/N right?"

You nodded. You had given your name on a whim way back, and now you wished you hadn't. "What now?" You questioned wrapping your arms around yourself protectively.

"What now? Er... Well." Tony scratched his beard. "Well now I, I can make you a place to stay if you want...where do you even live?"

Shuddering, you shook your head ignoring his question. You didn't want this. You didn't want to be some prisoner or pet.

"What? Well, well what do you want to do?" Stark asked.

"I..." You bit your lip. How were you going to escape? "I'm hungry." You lied. The last thing you wanted was food, you didn't even know if you could stomach it right now, but it was all you could come up with.

"Food?" Tony tilted his head. "...Yeah, yeah of course. I can do that. What do you want? Chinese, pizza, I can get you whatever you want. Anything at all."

"Do..." You had to think about it, a way to gethim to leave. "I saw someone making soup or something... It smelled good. C-can I have—"

"Yeah of course!" Stark cut off. "That was Happy's chili. But I warn you." He said with a slight chuckle. "It has some kick. You sure you want some?" Tony saw your quick nod. "Right. I'll be right back."

As soon as he left the room you took out your hook, and began climbing down. He was still gone when your feet hit the floor, and as you ran back to the hole.

Free! You were free! And you were never going to see Tony again if you had anything to say about it!

***

When tony came back with a small bowl of steaming chili, you were gone. Completely disaperared!

A stone settled in his chest. They left him.

Wiping his eyes he took a breath. He had only himself to blame after everything he did. Of course they would want to run.

Guilt and fear racked him. Did the universe make a mistake? Was he not compatible with them? No. He had seen the mark on their wrist, and the words on their arms. It was the same as his.

He could find them, He would just have to be patient for a little longer.

______________________________________________

@sammigruber @sammie-skele-turtle @gatlily @nightmarejasmine @misfitsgalaxygt @obwjam @bee-wrecker @nerdqueenkat @tinyliltina @nini116 @queenofconspiracies @dc41016 @jasper-jazzle-zazzle @tiefling-trickery Cross out means it wouldn't find your blog sorry

#g/t writing #g/t #giant tiny #tiny #marvel writing #marvel #soulmate au #soulmate #(y/n)

242 notes · View notes

the-real-coronium · 6 years

Text

A joke story written for a friend.

Mercury Black was not having a good day.

In all fairness, it was hard to have a good day in the black and hopeless domain of Salem, the Queen of the Grimm. The whole place seemed like it was just nothing but sludge and blood and doom. In his personal opinion, the whole place was just asking to be razed to the ground. It reminded him of an infected wound in need of some serious treatment. But no one had asked for his opinion, and he certainly wasn’t going to volunteer it. Not here, and definitely not now, when Cinder, the only person who was keeping him alive, seemed to be going through what he could only describe as a mental breakdown.

Still, even as far as days in the Grimmland went, he had a feeling that today was going to be the day that he was put on the list of lost causes. Future generations would write and speculate on when he had started to lose it, and this would be the day they debated for. All day long, it seemed, every time he looked up, or in to a tree, or out a window, he saw them. They seemed to follow him around, mocking him. It shouldn’t be possible, not all the way out here, and yet every time he was alone, he could hear them.

Almost as if on cue, he heard the fluttering of wings, and turned towards the window. Sure enough, there they were again: A large Raven and Crow, staring at him with their beady little eyes, just as they had been doing all week.

At first, he had simply been surprised. Grimm and animals normally let each other be, and so it wasn’t too rare to see birds and nevermore in the same area, but not all the way out here. Out here the grimm were, understandably, very territorial. Not a single other creature lived this far out. He doubted that there were even enough food sources around to sustain any kind of non grimm life. These two birds, however, didn’t seem to care about any of that. They continued to stalk him through his day to day activities. He hadn’t seen them eat, but he had seen them take down a small flock of nevermore that had come trying to clear them out. Just another entry in to the long list of why these animals needed to be looked in to. Unfortunately, today just did not seem to be going his way.

He found his boss in her usual spot, cooking Grimm that looked like that red hooded menace.

“Cinder.”

“Not now, Mercury,” came the irritated response.

“I know you hate being disturbed, but it’s important.”

“I said not now, Mercury.”

“Cinder, please, you know I wouldn’t bother you with something trivial.”

Cinder paused for a moment to let his words sink in. Eventually the flames around her died down, and she turned to him with a sigh.

“Very well. What is it.”

“Well you see, there are these birds . . .”

Her temper quickly, and quite literally flared right back up. Mercury could feel himself start to sweat, but the water evaporated as quickly as it generated.

“BIRDS!? YOU INTERRUPTED MY TRAINING REGIME TO TELL ME ABOUT BIRDS?!”

“Cinder, please, these aren’t regular birds!”

“Of course they’re not regular birds, this isn’t central park, where you have pigeons wandering about!”

“Cinder they’re wearing jewelery! One has a ribbon in its feathers and the other is sporting a necklace for god’s sake!”

“I don’t care if one is the friggin Spring Maiden! I have a silver eyed brat to kill, and I swear to whatever gods will listen, Mercury, if you interrupt me with this nonsense one more time, I will disintegrate you and turn your legs into decorative Christmas lamps!”

Mercury quickly got the message. He backed away slowly with his arms raised in surrender. Behind Cinder, he could see Emerald staring at the whole spectacle with one part wonder, two parts smug, and three parts incredible arousal. shaken, not stirred. He decided that maybe these two weren’t the best people to consult about this particular issue. He half ran, half scrambled out of the room.

After wandering around aimlessly for a while, he found himself sitting in a patch of relatively clean grass in the blackened garden. Unfortunately for him, almost everyone was out on their own personal errand for Salem, leaving the place almost abandoned, leaving him alone and at the mercy of the twin tormentors more often than he’d like. Sure enough, after a few minutes of relative peace, he heard the distinct flapping of wings, and the grating caw of a large crow. He looked up, and there they were, staring down at him from the branches of a nearby tree. He glared at them. Had he not known better, he would have tried to shoot them down, but his attempts earlier in the week had shown that they were better at dodging bullets than he was at shooting birds. The memory only further served to irritate him. He was just about to head inside when he heard a set of heavy footsteps coming outside.

Mercury almost cried when he saw who it was. Hazel Rainart, resident stoic giant. Finally, Mercury knew that he had found someone a little less insane, at least as long as you didn’t mention a certain body hopping wizard.

“Hey, Hazel!”

“Mn?” As always, Hazel was a man of few words.

“You can see those birds, right?”

Hazel looked to where Mercury was pointing, noticing the two birds for the first time. The birds, for their part, froze. Mercury found himself grinning at their panic, knowing it was finally about to be over. Hazel smiled.

“A rare enough sight in the Grimmlands. Always a pleasant sight,” he mused.

Mercury felt the grin slipping off of his face.

“. . . What”

“It’s nice to see life blooming, even all the way out here.”

“You can’t be serious. You don’t see anything wrong with this picture?”

“Of course I don’t, they’re not bothering anyone.”

“They’re bothering me! They have been all week!”

Hazel looked at him as if asking if he was serious. When it was clear that Mercury was very serious, Hazel only shook his head.

“Get some sleep.”

Hazel started walking away, but Mercury grabbed a hold of his elbow.

“Hazel, just look at them!”

Hazel looked pensively at the two birds as they engaged in their new activity, but he ultimately shrugged and kept walking.

“Let the birds drink from their flasks in peace, boy.”

Mercury just watched as the seeming last bastion of sanity in this ridiculous place left him to his fate.

He heard the rustling of wings, and a gruff voice behind him spoke.

“Same time next week kid? Great.”

Mercury spun around, but the only thing left was the sight of two birds fluttering away, and a distant, mocking caw.

As he slowly curled in to a fetal position on the grass, he suddenly found himself thinking that after years of murder and villainy, maybe now was the prefect time to use his vacation days.

#rwby #mercury black #short story #dumb

8 notes · View notes

crippledboyfriend · 7 years

Text

Viktor fucks up his back in this one because honestly, I think it’s safe to assume something like this has happened with how he holds himself when relaxing, the simpleness and lack of shoulder rotations when we see him skating with Yuri compared to when he was younger, AND how he nearly started to explain something like this when Yuri touched his hair and they had a little argument.

Disc Damage

Dizziness overcame Viktor and it took him a second, but he still impressively got back up and kept skating. His face felt hot, heated up with pain now in addition to just normal sweating. Viktor continued his routine as the crowd made worried noises.

There was just about 10 seconds left. He could do this.

Viktor spun and stopped himself short as he raised his arms in the air, struck with another blow of pain to his back from the motion. He gasped and covered up his inability to perform the routine as planned by gracefully crossing his arms and slowly bringing them back out. He did this as widely as he could, which was not very wide at all. The skater was glad that he thought ahead to take the improvisation slowly to decrease the chances that people would notice when he realized his limit.

The crowd cheered as his song ended, and he slowly made his way off the ice to the kiss and cry.

Yakov was red and shocked. He kept making dramatic gestures while lecturing Viktor who was just trying to sit down without passing out.

“Viktor, what the hell?!? You fucked up your back, didn’t you?!?”

“Yes, Yakov,” Viktor panted. “Yes, I did. Just, don’t act like you know we’re going to the hospital after the competition.”

“Viktor, that looked awful. Did you think at all that you might jeopardize your career by getting back up like that?!?”

“We’re so close to the final,” Viktor breathed heavily. “I just want to get there. I can deal with this on my own time.”

Viktor ignored Yakov’s muttering as he tried to pull himself together, breathing through the pain.

Yuri Katsuki kept checking for updates from Viktor. His fall looked awful, and there was all kinds of speculation about it. Finally, Viktor posted a pale selfie from the hospital of himself on a drip.

Yuri gasped, worried.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch. I’m on some really strong painkillers after the spill that knocked me down to 4th place, but my back’s still killing me!”

“Oh, Viktor,” Yuri whispered to himself. “Poor baby.” He couldn’t even imagine how his idol was feeling.

Yakov parked in front of Viktor’s apartment. Fortunately, the painkillers were allowing him to tolerate the ride back from the hospital, and as much as Viktor wanted to be in his own bed with his dog who was not allowed to visit (he checked), a lot of him still wished that he was in the hospital getting attention, and able to just take another selfie in the white room for line after line of pity messages. He thought about taking a few selfies to save to post later as if he was still hospitalized, but he knew that he posts so much he’d blow the lie in an instant.

The medication was starting to catch up to Viktor’s stomach a bit, but that wasn’t going to make him ease up on it. These pills were quite the experience, nothing that he’d ever gotten before for routine surgery or minor fractures like the time he landed on his wrist.

“Wait here,” said Yakov. “I’m going to put the damn dog up. It’ll be hard enough to get you to bed without her jumping on you.”

“She won’t hurt me,” Viktor said weakly, but Yakov ignored him and let himself in with Viktor’s keys. Viktor got a bit nervous being left alone, but soon Yakov was back to the car, opening the door and helping the skater stand.

Viktor’s lip trembled and he made an involuntary noise as he stood, ears ringing.

Yakov didn’t want to hurt Viktor by touching his back, but he watched carefully, nervous. He wasn’t sure what all he could do to support the younger man.

Walking with a hand on the car to keep him steady, Viktor took slow, small steps, not letting either of his feet get too far out from the other one.

By the time they were inside, Viktor’s vision was going out and he knew he couldn’t make it to the bed. He sat down slowly on the couch.

“Take a break,” suggested Yakov.

“Definitely. I’m going to stay here until I have to get up again,” Viktor winced and gently lowered himself on to his aching back.

“Vitya, that’s not what I meant. You’ll be more comfortable once you make it to bed,” Yakov gently grabbed Viktor’s arm, trying to stop him before he had gotten completely on his back. He failed.

“I know, but the problem is I can’t actually make it,” Viktor nearly snapped at his coach.

“I’ll try to bring the dog in slowly,” Yakov folded his arms, wanting to move on from the conversation. It was hard enough to argue with Viktor when he was dead sober.

“You know how she is, though,” Yakov warned as he opened the door to the bathroom and grabbed Makkachin’s collar to slow her down, guiding her as she tried to scramble across the floor. Her claws were making an awful racket, but it made Viktor smile like it always does. Yakov brought the feisty dog over to the side of the couch and she pawed up at him, trying to leap.

“I’ll just pick her up so she doesn’t land too hard,” Yakov awkwardly scooped up the dog and put her on Viktor’s chest.

Viktor winced at some stinging pain a bit, but then he grinned and pet his dog as she got her balance and licked his face.

“Thank you,” said Viktor.

Yakov made some ice for Viktor.

“Can you move at all to put this on your back?” he asked, pulling Makkachin to Viktor’s feet.

“I’ll try to slip this under…” Viktor grunted and took a quick breath as he adjusted the ice.

“Okay,” Viktor sighed, and Yakov let the dog loose again. Viktor hugged her.

“Don’t use ice for long, though. Just 15 minutes at a time. Do you have a heating pad you could switch to?”

“I don’t think so,”

“Well, that’s easy enough to get,” Yakov put his hands in his pockets. “Can I do anything else for you?”

“I don’t think so,” Viktor yawned, a bit drowsy from the medication.

“Well, then I should get to the rink and help Georgi out. He’ll need extra practice for a while since all the time we’ll need to make up together after you heal will add up,”

“Wait, don’t go,” Viktor looked shocked, but he wasn’t actually that surprised. He just really didn’t want to be left alone, even though he figured his recovery would be with Makkachin for the most part. It scared him to not be able to control his body, and the pills were making him more outwardly emotional about it.

“Please, please, please don’t leave me alone. I know you have students, but I can hardly move.”

“Lilia will stop by in the afternoons frequently until you’re well,” Yakov promised, nodding. “We spoke a lot when you were in the hospital. She’ll be here soon. She knows when you were discharged.”

Now Viktor was actually surprised.

“She didn’t say that when she visited me in the hospital,” said Viktor. “I didn’t think you two spoke much anymore.”

“She saw what happened to you. It was important to both of us that we had a lot of conversation the past few days,” shrugged Yakov. “I can wait until she gets here.”

“Are you positive that you want to take this now?” asked Lilia, withholding a pill from the injured skater. “You will only have 3 left after it, and it would be wise to space them out more than that considering the condition you’re in.”

Viktor took the medication from her.

“I’m sure,” As he swallowed the pill, his old ballet instructor carefully reached to fix his pillow, wanting to make it a bit more comfortable.

“I don’t think this is healing normally,” Viktor couldn’t meet Lilia in the eye.

“You fucked up a disc and you need to rest,” she snapped, brushing off the idea.

“Lilia,” Viktor smiled.

“I’m dead serious. You never take the recovery time you need. Apparently this amount of pain is necessary to make you follow doctors’ orders. Ridiculous, if you ask me,”

“Do you think we could get more of those painkillers?”

“From the doctor? No,” said Lilia. “The thought of that is laughable. I’m personally not convinced that you’re not addicted as is.”

“How cruel,”

“Get over yourself. That’s the kind of question you should’ve asked before taking one of your last pills,”

“It wouldn’t have changed my decision,” said Viktor. “It would’ve made me a lot less nervous if I could get more, but I need it now.”

“Just be sure to continue with your honesty and tell me what that does to your stomach so I can try to fix it, alright?”

Viktor nodded, not looking at the woman.

“Could you brew up another batch of the same tea as earlier?”

“Another?” Lilia put a hand on her hip.

Viktor simply thanked the ballerina, knowing she’d do whatever he requested. He actually liked asking her for literally everything, and the pills helped curb his guilt.

“When I come back, I’m going to check your wound,”

“Again?”

“It’s been 2 days. I’m looking at it once your medication kicks in,”

“You can be a really tough nurse,”

“And you, my dear pupil, can be a very difficult patient,” she said as she left.

Viktor pet Makkachin, worrying that he WAS getting older. This recovery might not go as smooth as his others have.

Lilia came back and sat the cup of tea down at Viktor’s side and took his hand, urging him to sit up.

“Ow,” he complained.

“Oh, woman up. I know it hurts,” Lilia firmly supported Viktor by his shoulder with her right hand and gently lifted his shirt with the left. She changed her tone into a more comforting one.

“There, that looks so much better,” she cooed.

“I have to have an infection,”

“No, you’re fine,” said Lilia confidently, helping Viktor lie back down and fixing his hair. “This is just the most serious injury you’ve ever had. You just don’t know what to expect.”

“This isn’t right,” Viktor insisted. “This isn’t like how I felt after I had surgery on my wrist when I broke it. Not at all,”

“You don’t have an infection. It would look worse, and YOU would look worse,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Viktor. “Pretty people can’t be sick?”

“You’d be clammy and sweating like a pig,” Lilia clarified, touching her temple.

“I’m shivering, though,”

Lilia sighed.

“You’re shuddering, Viktor…shuddering…” She gently stroked his cheek. “Perhaps I made you move too soon before the pills had a chance to fully kick in. Just because you’re acting high didn’t necessarily mean it was enough yet.”

“Lilia, something’s wrong,”

“Do you want me to take your temperature?” asked Lilia. “We should be passed that, but I can prove to you that this is no infection.”

Yuri read over a new tweet from Viktor Nikiforov.

“I had no idea how many things I was using my back for. I can’t do anything on my own right now.”

Part of the wording excited Yuri even though it bothered him that Viktor wasn’t recovered yet. He would do anything for him. He’d give everything he had to wait on his crush while he healed.

“Phichit, when did you say you thought Viktor would be back on the ice again?”

Staying at home was boring for Viktor, so he was getting a bit better at taking care of himself and pushing though pain. But, he still stuck a thermometer under his arm, paranoid and looking for answers as to why he felt such sharp pain whenever he moved. He couldn’t believe that there wasn’t an infection or some sort of mistake at this point. He had a doctor’s appointment in just a few days, but it was becoming clear to him that he should stop whining about this online. People will speculate and might realize he’s done permanent damage long before he’s willing to talk about it. As awful as this was, he wasn’t willing to let it end his career.

Viktor removed the thermometer. Normal again. He wasn’t sure what to do with the lack of new information.

“Viktor, I brought dinner!” Lilia hollered, loudly shutting the front door.

Makkachin leaped off the bed to find her as Viktor scrambled to put the thermometer back on the nightstand. He was more careful and meticulous about getting his shirt back over his head.

“Thank you,” Viktor grinned, looking a bit disheveled. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back on the ice, but I’m getting better at managing at home, I promise.”

Viktor looked away.

“Even if I do ask you for most everything when you’re here. It just…helps to not do things that hurt…” Viktor was a bit embarrassed, but he continued despite this. “And I’m still in quite a lot of pain. I can’t imagine moving for enjoyable things, much less exercise,”

“Oh, I know it still hurts,” said Lilia, looking in Viktor’s eyes. “Which is also why I know you can get back to skating soon if that is what you want. I’ve seen how strong you are. You can suffer and deteriorate through pain yet still do beautiful things while faking the most convincing smile.”

#yuri on ice #yoi #viktor nikiforov #yakov feltsman #lilia baranovskaya #fanfic

6 notes · View notes