#but the sleep monitor the doctor wanted me to get was like >$1k and not covered by insurance sooo fuck that lmao

[watermelinoe]

i am genuinely so nocturnal it's not even funny. i "fixed" my sleep schedule for the women's fest coming up and now i can't get anything done, i just lay around exhausted and irritable all day until the sun goes down and then i get in bed and can't fall asleep bc i'm full of energy

#and if i take something to fall asleep i sleep for 14 hours bc my body is trying to correct itself ghdkfhdh #i still think it's non-24 hr and not delayed sleep phase bc i cycle thru every possible sleep schedule #but the sleep monitor the doctor wanted me to get was like >$1k and not covered by insurance sooo fuck that lmao #and not to rant but i hate it when people say ''night owls'' aren't real and it's just bc ur on ur phone or playing video games #i didn't have a fuckin smart phone when i was six years old staying up till midnight i just wasn't tired!! #and i have tried everything. i hate ppl being like ''well have you tried-'' yes. didn't work. i have decades more experience w this than u #i know people think i'm just lazy. even more so now that i also have chronic pain. #that i should be able to wake up every morning like everyone else. #i was so excited abt this new sleep doc because he was the first one to say ''why don't you just follow your body's schedule'' #and he had this great care plan too but his team sent me on this wild goose only to find out this device would be over $1k #ppl think wow she doesn't even work like it's not humiliating to see your peers advancing their careers #while you had to give up on your dreams #i'm so lucky to be financially supported by my parents bc i would be dead otherwise #but that doesn't mean i don't feel worthless bc all my hard work in school amounted to nothing #who would hire someone who can't keep a consistent schedule? my only hope is IT but i can't handle traditional college again #it nearly fuckin killed me the first time #but will my online degree even help me #i want to work i want to contribute i want to be financially independent #i wish the rest of the world was wide awake at night like me

[tails89]

Whumptober day 4

“Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

Buddie - 1k

Read on AO3

From the depths of the building, a single gunshot rings out, almost lost in the cacophony of the surrounding emergency personnel. More orders are shouted and there are officers and detectives rushing around behind the cover of their vehicles.

And Eddie Diaz sees none of it.

“We have to go in!” He fights back against Bobby and Chim, keeping him pinned against the truck. This was supposed to be a routine call out— a possible false alarm— but now Buck is inside, held hostage by a desperate criminal and no one is doing anything.

“It’s too dangerous.” There’s an edge to Athena’s tone, like she’s only just herself holding back from racing into the building. “We don’t know what’s going on inside and we can’t risk you too.”

“But it’s Buck!” Eddie pleads, appealing to the affection he knows Athena feels for his boyfriend.

“And jumping the gun and rushing in isn’t going to help him,” Athena bites back. “There are procedures for a reason. Ignoring them isn’t going to help Buck.”

“It’s been hours, Athena.”

“We’ll get your boy Eddie, but you have got to let us do our jobs.”

It’s another hour before the “all clear” echoes through their radios followed by a request for an RA unit. Eddie grabs his pack, ready to follow the team. Bobby doesn’t try to stop him and it’s a relief, Eddie was prepared to argue the point but that would have taken precious time.

He rushes inside with Hen and Chimney, a million different scenarios running through his head about what he might see. None of it prepares him for the real thing— Buck; pale, with bruises already blooming across his face.

He’s half sitting, half slumped against a pillar, his eyes closed. There are deep lines of pain etched into his face and his chest rises and falls with short, quick breaths.

And the blood. There’s so much blood— it coats Buck’s hands, his clothes.

Hen and Chim move in, quickly assessing the damage but Eddie can’t move, can’t breathe. The whole world is at a standstill, narrowing in on Buck.

But then Buck’s hand twitches and suddenly roaring in Eddie’s ears dampens enough to hear the soft moan that accompanies the movement.

He’s not aware of his feet moving, but one moment Eddie’s standing still and the next he’s kneeling beside Buck, holding his hand while Hen cuts through his shirt to access the wound.

“Hey, shhh, I’ve got you,” Eddie croons, stroking his free hand through Buck’s sweaty hair. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“Ed—" Buck cuts off with a groan.

“Sorry Buck,” Hen tells him sympathetically as she puts pressure on the wound. “I know it hurts, but we’ve got to stop the bleeding.”

Chimney gets to work inserting an IV, and taking vitals. “Okay, let’s get ready to move him.” He leans over Buck keeping his voice light. “Just let us do all the work, okay Buck? You’re good at that.” It gets something that could almost be a laugh from Buck before his eyes are falling shut again.

“No, stay awake,” Eddie tells Buck, tapping his cheek. “Eyes open.”

“He never does listen,” Hen says, motioning for the backboard. “Eddie, give us a hand.”

The sound Buck makes when they roll him onto the backboard almost breaks Eddie’s heart. His eyes are scrunched shut as they lift him up onto the gurney and Eddie reaches for Buck’s hand, squeezing reassuringly.

“You’re doing great,” Eddie tells him. “We’ll be at the hospital soon, just stay awake for me.”

~

The wait at the hospital is a tense one. The mood inside is sombre. No one feels like talking while they wait.

When the surgery drags on into the second hour, Eddie steps outside to call Carla and ask if she can watch Chris for the night. He can hear his son in the background asking to talk to him and he takes a long calming breath while the phone is passed over.

“Dad what happened?”

Eddie swallows against the lump in his throat. “Buck got hurt, Chris. We’re at the hospital, but he’s going to be okay.”

“Can I see him?”

“We’re just waiting at the moment,” Eddie tells him. “He’s probably going to be in surgery for a while and he’s going to be pretty sleepy after. Tomorrow, if he’s feeling better, I promise you can see him.”

“I want to wait with you,” Chris says, “I don’t want you to be alone.”

Eddie bites his lip as his composure wavers. “I know kiddo, and I love that you want to be here but I’m not alone,” he says, fighting to keep his tone even. “Maddie is here. So is Chim and Bobby and Hen.”

“Okay,” Chris says, voice resigned. “Hey Dad?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“When you see Buck, can you give him a big hug for me?”

“The biggest,” Eddie promises. He disconnects the call and heads back to the waiting room to settle in once more.

Two more hours pass before the doctor comes to let them know Buck is out of surgery and then it's a further forty-five minutes before he’s settled in a room and allowed visitors.

The rest of the team take that as their cue to head home. Buck is going to be okay and the hospital is restricting his visitors to just Maddie and Eddie as it’s outside regular visiting hours.

Eddie and Maddie follow the nurse towards Buck’s room.

“He woke up briefly in recovery,” the nurse says as she shows them inside. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if he sleeps through till morning.” She leaves them alone after checking the monitors beside the bed.

Maddie doesn’t stay for long, just long enough to reassure herself that Buck’s going to be okay, before she heads home with Chim.

Eddie drags his chair closer to the bed. Buck is still pale in the harsh fluorescent light that filters in from the hall, but his face has lost the grey pallor from before.

“You’re going to give me grey hairs,” Eddie murmurs, reaching for Buck’s hand. He squeezes it, his thumb rubbing soft circles into the warm skin of Buck’s wrist. “You were right behind me when we evacuated.”

Buck’s fingers twitch, curling around Eddie’s hand.

“Had to go back,” he mumbles, half asleep. “Had t’make sure they all got out.”

“I know,” Eddie says, voice low. “You did good.” Buck’s fingers go lax in his as the drugs drag him back under. “Sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

#911fic #buddie #evan 'buck' buckley #eddie diaz #whumptober #hurtbuck #taken hostage #blood #911 fanfic #my911fanfic

[stark-tony]

most recent bookmarks (5/8/21)

bnha

5 Times Midoriya Taught Class 1A about Memes and 1 Time they Found a Villain that Understood Them by MaddCatter (1.2k, G, gen) After being diagnosed as quirkless, Midoriya gets into pre-guirk media and finds memes. He shares them with Class 1A. Aizawa doesn't get paid enough for this.

a glimpse of tomorrow (looking back) by achievingelysium (7.9k, T, gen, bullying)  Subject: Aldera Time Capsule Ceremony Forwarded Message— This year marks ten years for the Aldera Middle School graduating class of 20XX.To celebrate, we would like to invite pro heroes Kingpin and Deku, Aldera alumni, to participate in a public time-capsule opening. We are incredibly proud to have helped them on their journeys to becoming heroes, and would be most honored to receive them as guests and for them to speak at the ceremony. [...]"Well," Deku says, leaning over to turn the monitor towards him. His eyes flick over the contents of the email one more time. "If they haven't changed, then I guess we could return the favor."Ten years down the line, Bakugou and Midoriya are invited to a time capsule ceremony at their middle school to read letters from their past selves, and look back on their past and how it shaped their future. For anyone else, it would have been a celebration.For the two of them, it's an opportunity.A look into Bakugou and Midoriya's past—through a future neither of them imagined—as pro heroes, agency partners, and friends. (Written for NWA: Prompts for All Event.)

Watch The World Burn by Quisanne (33k, T, gen, bullying)  Shouta and Toshinori were successful in their attempt to gather evidence about the wrongdoings of Aldera Middle School. It doesn't take long, though, to realize that there are many more things out there in hero society that need fixing. Fixing as in throwing a feral Yagi Toshinori at the problem and hoping everything turns out fine, that is.

Razzmatazz by xylophones (168.5k, T, gen) Izuku has plans for everything.He plans out what to say to the cashier when ordering coffee, he plans out his homework before even opening his textbook. He has a whole ten-year plan for how he’s going to get into UA’s hero course and get his hero license fully quirkless. He plans for every wild, unlikely scenario he can think of because his anxiety gets so bad if he doesn’t go through every possible outcome, every way his life could landslide into disaster–– but Izuku never planned for this.For once, he doesn’t have a plan and he doesn’t have time to think of one. All he can see is Yagi-san’s lined, kind face looking resigned as he stares down the villain in his shop. Yagi-san, who is the closest thing to a father figure Izuku has ever had.Izuku doesn’t think. He just moves.(Or: Izuku saves the number one hero, gets a hero license way earlier than anyone wanted, realizes that maybe hero society isn’t as great as he thought it was, and everything just kind of falls apart from there.) 

almost never losing by blueh (4.6k, T, gen) It’s been five years since Izuku has last stepped foot there, but the words Aldera Middle School still bring him an unprecedented amount of dread. It’s accompanied by middle school reunion scribbled underneath which has the added bonus of making Izuku want to go hide under Iida’s desk and not come out.He puts the letter, unopened, on his desk and resolves not to think about it.“You’re just going to let them win?”… Izuku resolves to not think about it for the two seconds that Kacchan allows him not to think about it.or: Two year after graduating UA, Aldera Middle School hosts its first middle school reunion in honor of not one, but two former students graduating and becoming pros.Izuku’s not quite sure he even wants to go, until suddenly he does.

Putting Infinity into Words by redrobin1989 (8.3k, G, gen)  Soul Mates have evolved with quirks to become Soul Bonds in which one feels the entire emotional spectrum and a fact about their future relationship. Or so Izuku had heard, he'd only ever two Soul Bonds and they both caused him pain. Until All Might and Yuuei and he finally learned what it was like to have a loving, thriving Bond.

an old friend or two by neon_air (8.3k, G, gen) When Midoriya Izuku began hearing whispers in his head after gaining One for All, he didn't think much of it. When the whispering escalated to full thoughts, suggestions, and that somehow escalated to a couple of ghosts tailing him around, then he began to think much of it.Or, how Midoriya Izuku and the vestiges of One for All become one big mish-mash of a family.

New Discoveries by deafmic (826, G, erasermic) Eri has never seen a cat in her life and when coming home for the first time, is terrified of Aizawa's.

Father's Day by Fallende (2.7k, G, gen)  “T-this is for you!” His successor says. "For me?" Toshinori Yagi asks. "What's the occasion?" "No occasion!" The boy insists. It's a lie.

One Step by GEMoore990 (5.2k, T, gen) Doctors and Izuku don’t mix.Which was why it felt like the floor fell under him when Aizawa-sensei announced they would be going to the hospital for checkups.Or just because Izuku has a quirk now doesn’t mean that his body physically isn’t quirkless anymore.

possession is only one-ninth of a quirk by PachiiRiisu (9.2k, T, gen) “You’re right on the money; to be more accurate, I’m in Midoriya’s body. In truth, I’m… one of the previous holders,” The words “of One For All” are left unsaid.What.“What the fuck,” Katsuki eloquently says. He can already feel a headache forming, if it hadn’t begun already.Or: 5 times Bakugou covers for Deku’s weird quirk, and 1 time he doesn't.

hp 

Official by BeeDaily (1k, T, jily) James is caught eavesdropping in the library.

mcu

the little things by crowkag (4.2k, T, gen, kidnapping) Minutes tick away, and by the time Tony finishes the three emails Pepper had copied him into, Peter is a snoring ball in his lap. Shutting his laptop, he carefully leans forward to place it on the coffee table, drawing back with the forgotten can of root beer in his hands. Peter prefers his sodas flat when he drinks them—probably because he’s weird and has no sense of taste—so Tony pops the tab open with a soft hiss and settles it on the side table.Tipping his head back on the couch, he lowers his fingers to run absentminded tracks through Peter’s curls.He’s my weird kid, though, he thinks with a smile, already drifting into sleep himself.(or: Ten little instances of love between Tony and Peter.)

i know who his dad is (it's you) by imeanthatsprettysnazzy (3.6k, gen, spideychelle)  “Spider-Man, as in the guy that stops robberies in Queens?” Pepper asked slowly. “That kid — that little tiny baby kid — is Spider-Man?”“Yeah…” Tony stared at her, still not really understanding what the hell was happening here. “As far as I can tell. All signs point to yes, and all that. Who did you think he was?”Pepper blinked again, slower. She shook her head hurriedly. “No, I — I thought he was your kid.”“What?”“Well, what else was I meant to think?” Pepper exclaimed, looking at him like he was insane. “You’re sitting there, very clearly pretending like you’re okay, with information on a kid that was born during the middle of your crazy years!” [People think that Peter is Tony's kid.]

atla   

Three-Body Problem by JustGettingBy (6.3k, T, gen) In this world, the war ends early.Events ripple out from there.AKA The Hakoda and Zuko arranged marriage turned adoption au

#bnha recs #hp recs #atla recs #mcu recs #my fic recs #most recent bookmarks #bullying tw #kidnapping tw

[abruisedmuse]

can we get a drabble for jurdan + this is gospel by panic! pls 🥺 CONGRATS ON 1K BABES!!!! 🥳💞💞

The Fear Of Falling Apart

Warnings: mention of death, mention of alcoholism. HEA (for the most part)

Song of choice: This is gospel-Panic! At the disco

And thank you love!!! Thanks for always supporting all my crazy ideas. p.s. Sorry if this hurts babes. I promise I have smut in my docs for you.

Jude sat in the aged recliner next to the hospital bed. Unsure of how much time had passed stuck in the cold room. Only the sounds of beeping monitors and the low murmur of tacky infomercials from the tv overhead. Then of course his breaths. Deep and shallow as he slept. The same way his chest rose and fell.

She roved over his slumbered state. Thick, soft inky black hair messily brushed to the side. A hauntingly beautiful contrast to his ivory toned skin. Which looked more on the scale of ghostly pale than a glimmering white. His lips, full yet dry and chapped. Her guess was from all the content he spilled from whatever liquor he consumed. Amber eyes moved to the various tubes connecting him to the monitor. Keeping him steady. Keeping him alive.

Jude loved Cardan. Cardan loved Jude. It wasn't that simple. 

Not where alcohol was involved. For Jude, no matter how much he loved her. He seemed to favor drinking a tad beyond it. Her pleas for him to get help fell upon deaf ears. His friends...only cared for his wallet and line skipping. They were no help to her cause. She's fairly certain the staff at Insmoor General Hospital know her by name. For how many times, Cardan had needed his stomach pumped. Like always she drove as fast as her car could go. Jude would wait for the nurse or doctor, letting her know of his condition. This time it was a nurse who approached her. The words the nurse spoke were more like sharp knives that she knew would leave scars. That would haunt her. 

"your boyfriend's heart stopped for ten minutes."

Ten minutes. Cardan had died for ten minutes. In one single sentence, her entire world shattered. The fear of him being a broken memory stole the very breath from her lungs. 

Even now when she looked at him in peaceful rest. She could picture him laying there. Motionless. No movement under the thin blankets. No beeping from the monitors letting her know he was alive. Few things frightened Jude. Losing Cardan. No matter if it was seconds or minutes. terrified in a way she could barely hold a grasp of. 

Usually, when he drank heavily, she saw red. Furious at him for indulging in copious amounts. Until the rage and anger fell away. She'd lay in bed with him. Telling him, how much it worried her. He always promised to get better. He never did. A vicious circle, a dance with death. All it would take is a misstep in the routine to slip and flip. Cardan had gone and done just that. Apart of her wanted to scream at him until her lungs burned and her cheeks turned deep crimson as they did when her frustration with him hit its highest point. Tonight the thought of never hearing his criminally wicked tongue again weighed heavier than anger. For Jude, she felt as if she was on a cliff. Mere inches from falling apart.

Her hand trembled as she reached over, slipping her hand into his. It was barely warm, like death still hung around him. Readying to take him into a permanent slumber. Jude squeezed his hand, nails digging below the skin of his fingers. He didn’t grip back. If she didn’t study his face at that moment, Jude would have never caught the slight flinch from his lids. Good. If she was lucky he would hear her. 

“Cardan,” Jude took a calming breath, running a thumb over his knuckles, “I-I don’t know what to do anymore,” the hot sting of tears burned against the lining of eyes, she swallowed thickly. It didn’t prevent the wetness trickling down her cheeks or the way her voice cracked when she continued, “I want to hate you right now,” gnashing her jaw together and then losing it,” I want to slap or threaten you. And then tell you…” another breath. Jude wasn’t sure if she felt a featherlight squeeze or imagined it, “That..that if you loved me Cardan. You would let me go. Because. Because,” her tone rose an octave too high, her lips trembled. Shaking the way her body was as her heart twisted in agony, “I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore. But-”

To her surprise, his hand squeezed back. Jude flicked her gaze to his eyes. The lids pulled back as he slowly blinked awake. The slow trickle of tears turned to an endless stream. Jude made to take her hand away. He held on to her. Like she was a tether to this world. To his world. A grip so tight she could feel the cool clammy sweat between their palms. He groaned trying to reach up and wipe the wetness staining her cheeks. He was still too weak and fell back on to the bed. Jude rubbed her tears away with the opposite hand. A tired grin fell on his lips.

“Jude,” Her name on his lips came out in a rasp, from sleep or what he endured she couldn't say. Cardan’s handsome features twisted like saying her name physically pained him.

Again Cardan tried to ignore the pain in his body as he attempted to rise. Jude moved to the edge of the bed thigh to thigh with him. Being this close to him. She fell off that cliff headfirst. Letting him see the damage he had done to hear that night. If this didn’t work she wasn’t sure there was anything else she could do besides walking away. Jude refused to give up. Not without one final fight. Cardan rested his head against her shoulder, an arm draped lazily around her. There was power in his fist as he clung to her. Fingers grasping at the back of her shirt. Jude copied his movements. The only difference was she felt hands running through her auburn strands in calming strokes. Her body shook against him as she finally, truly gave into the fears of what his habits did to her. Jude knew her sleeve matched his own. Soaked and used as a tissue. Cardan’s grip tightened around her with every shaky breath, every sniffle from either of them.

Jude willed herself to pull away, catching his face in her hands. Their foreheads touching and she could still smell the reek of alcohol on him. Almost like he wore it as cologne. She should ask him how he felt if he needed anything. Her emotions for once bested the thought.

“I want to hate you right now,” she choked out, biting back a sob, “because I hate what you’re doing to yourself. I hate that you’re not taking this seriously. For ten minutes. Ten minutes Cardan you died. You left me in this god damned world, you insufferable bastard. And for what?” her pitch rose with every word.

“I know.”

“I wish I could leave you. I want to,” Jude pursed her lips before continuing, Cardan only stared at where their thighs touched. She hoped it was shame that made him unable to look her in the eyes, “I’m... I couldn’t live with myself if, if, “ she stumbled trying to find the words. Too many thoughts were racing and pulsing in her mind. Jude couldn’t grasp onto one long enough to articulate it fully.

“Jude,” his eyes finally lifted under thick long lashes to meet hers. Dark circles encased around his coal eyes, “I had. No. I have failed you. And you should. I love you enough to let you go,” she was quiet, her expression unreadable as he coughed, “I know I died. Explaining it is difficult, but I know it,” gingerly he cupped her cheek, wiping away a stray tear with the tip of his thumb, “I should have stayed dead. This is a second chance. I am a sickness that needs to be cured.”

“What are you saying?”

He took in a breath and released it, “I need help.”

Jude wasn’t sure what stole the air from her lungs first. Cardan’s admittance or the way he held her. Arms wound around her like she was his lifeline, a saving grace. Like Jude was his gospel.

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#jurdan #jurdan fic #jude duarte #cardan Greenbriar #this is gospel #sadness #and I'm sorry #but not really #I'm in my feels #patd #slightlyrebelliouswriter23 #usernite #all my tags disappeared 😫 #mutual mixtape #becca writes

[aizawasbodypillow]

Hold You To It

Ship: Aizawa x Reader Prompt: A request from the old blog.  Some hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending for Aizawa Length: over 1k A/N: I still love this one so much.

"I'll be fine Shouta.  It's really just a simple raid.  Nothing too extreme."  He still couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in his chest despite your assurances otherwise.  You were a capable hero in your own right.  There shouldn't be anything to worry about.  "I'll call you when we get done okay?"

"Be safe."  It was on the tip of his tongue.  Those three little words but they tangled together when he wanted to say them.  And so he kept the words to himself, one day he'd be brave enough to say them out loud to you.  For now, he hoped his actions spoke more clearly than his words.  Your laughter in his ear was a balm to his frayed nerves.

"You too.  Try not to get an ulcer from that troublemaking class of yours Shouta."  His lips curved at your words.  His class would keep him occupied for the day.  They certainly had that uncanny knack of getting into trouble.  "Oh, time for me to go.  Talk to you soon Shouta."  He murmured a good-bye before the line went dead.  He stared down at the phone blankly until the first bell rang.  He made his way into the classroom already filled with angry explosions and yelling. 

The training kept Aizawa in Gamma Building for most of the day.  He got very little cell reception in the gym which gave him more time to concentrate on his students.  They continued to work on their super moves and find the style of fighting that suited them.  He heard the door open behind him but didn't pay it much mind.  All Might was known to drop in to check on the students' progress from time to time.  The hand that clamped on his shoulder did surprise him.

"Eraser."  Midnight's normally silken voice cracked as she said his name.  His eyes widened at the panic in her eyes.  "You're needed in Principal Nezu's office.  I'll watch over the students.  It's important."  Dread twisted into a slippery knot in his stomach.  He told himself not to panic.  He had to keep believing it was something to do with the League.  It had nothing to do with you.  The staff knew who you were, it was impossible not to with how often you used to stop by for lunch.  

"Alright."  Shouta nodded and headed towards the door as Midnight stepped up to his place.  His steps were a little more rushed than normal as he made his way to the school after arriving back on the main campus.  A few of the other teachers he passed by sent him sympathetic glances and his stomach twisted further.  Cold sweat dripped down his forehead as he knocked on Nezu's door.

"Eraserhead.  Please."  Nezu gestured towards the couch.

"Tell me what the news is."  Shouta barely kept his voice from cracking.  He saw the pain on Nezu's face and heard the tiny inhale.  No one did that to deliver good news.  Just a tiny little breath of air into the lungs but it was never followed by good news.  Not in his experience.

"You are aware of the raid that was to be conducted today?"  Shouta nodded and curled his fingers into his fists.  "It appears there were complications.  It was…  Catastrophic.  The heroes involved were rushed to nearby hospitals."  He held a piece of paper up to Shouta.  "Here.  We secured their location."  

The world faded to a grey and fell away from his senses.  Nezu wasn't saying that.  No…  You gave your word.  Gave your word that it was just a normal raid.  Damn it.  His trembling fingers accepted the paper and Nezu pretended to ignore the way the paper shook.  "They're at this hospital?"  Nezu nodded.

"That is what Detective Tsukauchi informed me."  Nezu nodded as Shouta tucked the paper in his pocket after memorizing the address.  "I've instructed the other teachers to take your classes for the day.  Please.  They'll need you by their side Eraserhead."  Nezu patted his hand before Shouta turned and strode out of the office.

The trip to the hospital flew by in a blur.  He would never be able to recall getting on or off the train later on.  Nor would he be able to say with clarity how he managed to walk the five blocks to the hospital from the train station.  He just knew he had to reach you.  The hospital was bustling with activity as the local raid had involved civilian casualties after an explosion.  The nurses at the station appeared haggard as they did their best to answer questions for other patients.  He walked up to the desk and caught their eye.

"May I help you?"  Her tone was tired and dull.  An automatic response to running on caffeine and a protein bar after an eight hour shift turned into twelve due to the raid aftermath.  Shouta curled his fingers into his palms letting the sting ground his thoughts.  He told them your name and the nurse nodded.  "Third room on the left.  306."  Shouta shuffled off to the room and stood outside the closed door.

Could he go in there?  Was he prepared?  What would he do if you were lying there on those sheets so still he couldn't see you breathe?  Did he have the strength?  Dummy, you have to just get it over with don't you?  Otherwise how will you ever know?  It was almost as if you were standing right beside him.  That was how clear he heard your voice in his mind.  The you in his head had a point.  He couldn't stand outside and wait in limbo for some pivotal sign.  The door slowly swung open and he stepped into the room. 

The sharp sting of disinfectant hit him first.  His heart thundered and drowned out the slow, methodical beeping of the monitors.  His eyes landed on your body.  The tubes attached to you was like a knife in the heart.  Shouta sat by the bed in the chair provided.  He clasped your hand in his forcing from his mind the thoughts on how cold you felt.  His thumb brushed the side of your hand, taking care not to jostle any of the tubes.  A nurse came in and informed him of your status.  Stable but they were still keeping you sedated to let the more painful wounds heal.

Shouta refused to move from your bedside.  He moved enough to let the nurses and doctor do their jobs but he never left.  Exhaustion eventually overtook his stress and he fell asleep leaning against the bed.  His sleep was dreamless which he counted as a blessing.

He woke to the feel of fingers brushing over his hair.  He leaned into the familiar touch.  It was a habit you had that relaxed both of you.  His eyes opened slowly and locked onto your face.  Bruised and tired but your eyes crinkled when your gaze met his.  Shouta shot to his feet and leaned over your head softly brushing his hands over your face.  "You."  The scolding words turned to ash on his tongue.  He was just grateful you were alive.  Safe.  

"I made it back."  He winced at how hoarse your voice was.  Like ground glass being crushed.  His hand brushed your uninjured cheek as his eyes searched yours.  "Had a hiccup."  

He leaned in and brushed his lips against yours in a soft touch.  So soft and tender, he poured all of his emotions into it.  The worry, the grief, the shock, the relief, and the love all wrapped up in one tender touch.  Tears welled in your eyes as you felt the emotions.  He used the back of his fingers to brush them away as he slanted his lips over yours for another.  He was starved for your touch.  Anything to anchor your presence to him, to show it was real and you were safe.  You were home.

"Shouta."  His name had never sounded so sweet to his ears as it did at that moment.  Even if it did sound like a frog said it.  He gently touched his forehead to yours as he soaked in the heat that radiated from your body.  "Sorry."  He shook his head.  "I love you.  I didn't want to worry you like this."  

Three words.  Three little words.  But they had the ability to shake him to his soul.  He turned his head to press a kiss to the palm of your hand as it cradled his cheek.  He choked on the words at first as they welled up in his throat too quickly.  He took a deep breath, inhaling your calming scent, before he tried again.  "Don't do it again.  My heart can't take it."  He saw the way your lips twitched at his words.  Smiling likely hurt too much but your eyes twinkled with humor.  "I."  He broke off as his emotions squeezed his heart.  

"Shouta?"  You looked up at him with genuine worry.  He didn't want to worry you.  He sucked in a breath before continuing.  This time the words no longer stuck in his throat.

"I thought I lost you.  I can't.  I can't handle that."  His lips pressed against your palm in a desperate kiss.  "I love you too much."

"Shouta."  The words fell from his tongue like a dam broke inside of him.  He laid bare his soul to you while you sat in that hospital bed.  The words and emotions he gave you were treasures you'd never relinquish.  "I'm not going anywhere.  You'll have to pry me away with a crowbar."  He barked out a dry laugh at your words.  

"I'll hold you to that."

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort

[justkurotingz]

pillow fight (aaron hotchner x reader)

this is based on the end of 7x10 (the bittersweet science) after jimmy tells ryan it’s ok to give up and then ryan dies. i was sobbing so hard and after seeing hotch cry i knew i had to write something. i’ve had this sitting incomplete in my drafts for FOREVER so i decided to spend twenty minutes today to finish it and edit it so i hope you guys enjoy 🥺🥺🥺

A/N: in this, jack also has leukemia, but he’s in remission. also you are jack’s biological mom, haley never existed.

word count: almost 1K words

you turned away as the monitor flatlined, tears streaming down your face as jimmy and pam cried over the body of their now dead son. aaron’s arms encircled your body, tears in his eyes as well, and all you could think about was jack. “let’s give them space. ” aaron whispered in your ear, gently leading you away from the room. emily and morgan glanced at you and you gave them a weak smile, wiping your eyes.

“he didn’t make it. all i could think about was jack.” you whispered and aaron held you tighter. “go home, we’ll handle paperwork in the morning.” emily nodded, still looking at you. “see you tomorrow.” aaron said to both of them, getting in the car with you.

“he’s ok y/n. he’s in remission.” you sighed, looking at him. “i know. i know. but so was ryan. i just, i couldn’t stop think what if-” “no what-ifs.” he squeezed your hand tightly and you smiled slightly. “no what-ifs.” you repeated, clutching onto the words as if they were a lifeline.

the second you got home, your 5 year old son leaped into your arms. “mommy! daddy! i missed you!” you held him tightly, breathing with your eyes closed so you wouldn’t lose it. “i missed you too baby. were you feeling ok today?”

he frowned, looking into your eyes. “why are you crying mommy?” you laughed, wiping your eyes. “mommy just missed you so much.” jack smiled, giving you another hug. “don’t cry mommy, i’m right here.” you were truly going to lose it, so you let jack go to aaron and quickly went to the bathroom, sinking down the door.

as you cried, jack’s life flashed before your eyes. the pure joy you and aaron felt at his birth, the start of something new. taking care of him at 2am in the morning, watching him so he slept well, paranoid something would happen if you leave. getting the cancer diagnosis and your entire world collapsing in seconds. crying entire nights when jack cried, the exhaustion and pain lulling you both to sleep. aaron’s arms comforting you in hospital beds, making sure you were eating after being with jack the entire day. the way your knees buckled in relief when the doctor finally said he could come home. spoiling jack like crazy and watching him play in the yard, as if he’d float away in a dream any second. the pillow fights at midnight, reading bedtime stories to him... you wrapped your arms around yourself as you sobbed, letting your fear, your pain, your sadness, and your relief out.

you heard the doorknob rattle behind you and quickly got up, splashing water on your face as the door opened. you expected jack, but seeing aaron standing in front of you, you lost it again. he closed the gap between the two of you quickly, holding you tightly as you cried.

“i love him so much. i can’t lose him.” you choked out and aaron closed his eyes into your hair. “i know sweetheart. let it out, just let it out. i’m right here.” you let out a heavy breath hearing jack’s voice outside. “mommy let’s play!” 

“give mommy one second sweetie.” you wiped your tears away and aaron kissed your forehead. “i love you.” you whispered against his lips and he smiled. “i love you too.” you opened the door and scooped jack into your arms.

“what were you doing baby?” “just playing. can you play with me?” you smiled, kissing his soft hair. “of course i can jack.” you walked down the hallway to play and aaron smiled watching you two, going to the kitchen to start dinner.

“can you color with me mommy?” “sure!” you sat down next to him, picking out a lilac colored crayon. “i think purple flowers are really pretty.” you explained to jack and he beamed. “me too!” 

“mommy loves flowers, did you know that buddy?” aaron spoke from the kitchen, turning on the stove and jack laughed. “i know daddy! you get mommy flowers a lot.” you smiled to yourself, remembering all the bouquets aaron gave you when you two went on “dates” at home with jack.

“that’s right buddy.” aaron chuckled and you busied yourself with coloring until your hand jerked right, going past the line. “jack hotchner!” you pretended to be mad, eyes widening dramatically as you turned to glare at your son, holding a pillow in your hands.

he giggled, hitting you with the pillow again and you laughed, grabbing another pillow from the couch. “so this is what you really want to play, huh? well mister, mommy’s always won pillow fights.” “not today!” jack jumped on the couch, attacking your head and you stood up quickly, taking cover behind the coffee table.

you screamed as jack jumped onto you, pummeling your torso with the pillow and you laughed, collapsing back onto the couch. “ok, ok mommy surrenders.” you panted, out of breath, but jack kept on slamming the pillow in your face.

“mommy said she surrendered!” you laughed, crawling away behind the couch, but jack followed you. “now it’s my turn to win!” he announced triumphantly, launching himself onto your sprawled body and you groaned as he landed on your chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

you smiled, holding him to you and aaron chuckled from above you. “mommy better watch out or you’re going to crush her soon.” “yeah!” jack grinned and you rolled your eyes at him, standing up and fixing your ponytail.

as aaron continued to make dinner, you let go of your fears about jack’s leukemia like a feather pillow exploding. as you looked at aaron making spaghetti and jack bouncing on the table with energy, you knew it was going to be a long night.

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds scenario #criminal minds angst #imagine #fluff #scenario #angst #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner angst #jack hotchner #fbi imagine #fbi #bau #oneshot #one-shot #writer

[turtletotem]

Sleeping Beauty

@gold-from-straw​ won a fic from me for her participation in the Star Bright Release Party (currently on Week 3!). It was supposed to be 1k... it’s almost 3k, because I can’t write short things. Hopefully that’s a feature instead of a bug. Also posted on AO3 here.

The chosen prompt: “I thought you said you weren’t dead.” “I’m not! ...exactly.”

.

It wasn't like Charles to stand him up. They'd only been dating three months, and didn't get to see each other as much as Erik would like, both being busy with work and children—Erik only had Lorna on Wednesdays and weekends, but that was more disruptive in some ways than having her all the time, and in Charles's case, as a mutant-specialist social worker and emergency foster father, the children were his work. Still, ever since the day they met—when Erik fell into the pool where Charles was doing physical therapy and nearly drowned them both—they had made time for each other. So for Charles to miss their standing Friday night dinner at Erik's house, without so much as an apologetic text, was worrisome.

Erik texted three times, and called twice. By then worry was transmuting to anger. Charles said Erik's go-to emotion was anger because it was easier than being afraid. Maybe he was right, because Erik was in a towering temper by the time the second call went unanswered. He left an expletive-laced voicemail that he immediately regretted, and tried to remember if he had Charles's sister somewhere in his contacts. She lived on the opposite coast but maybe she'd know something…

He didn't have Raven's number, but they were Facebook friends. He sent her a message there. No answer. Well, if it was nine o'clock here in New York, it had to be, what, midnight in L.A.? Or did the three hours go the other way? In which case she was probably in the middle of dinner.

Whatever. Erik tossed his phone on the counter and started putting away the uneaten meal he'd cooked. He wasn't hungry.

Erik?

"Charles!" Erik shouted, catching the pasta pot with his powers when his hands let go of it. "Where are you? Damn it, are you dead?"

No, I'm not dead. Charles's mental voice sounded chagrined, as well as distant and strained. But I need you to come get me. I'm sorry.

"Where are you?"

The hospital.

When he arrived at the hospital, Erik followed the sound of Charles's telepathic voice—stronger now that he was closer—up elevators and down hallways. No one stopped or questioned him, and he wondered if that was also Charles's doing. But why would Charles need to sneak him in? Why did he lead Erik through the maze to his room, instead of meeting him in the lobby? Wasn't he being released? He'd said he needed Erik to come get him…

Finally he spotted the right room number, and rounded the doorframe to step inside.

There was Charles, pale and completely motionless in the bed. His eyes were closed, and most of the lines on the nearby monitor were flat.

"I thought you said you weren't dead," Erik said, anger rising to meet a spike of panic.

I'm not! …exactly.

"What?" Bewildered and annoyed, Erik examined the monitor more closely. Charles did have a heartbeat after all. But that seemed to be about all he had. Were those other flat lines supposed to be brainwaves?

They're saying I'm brain-dead, which is obviously untrue, Charles said with asperity. I'm still here! I just can't get them to hear me, mostly. Only enough to keep them from unplugging me.

"What do you want me to do?" Erik was appalled to realize his eyes were wet. He picked up Charles's pale, lifeless hand. "You said to come get you. Are you expecting me to steal your body or something?" It was utterly absurd and he wouldn't do it, he thought, even as he eyed the steel frame on the window and calculated whether Charles's hospital bed would fit through it.

Nothing that dramatic as yet. I was exaggerating a bit about the unplugging—they wouldn't do that until they get hold of Raven. My body's safe enough for now. It's me, the rest of me, that needs to get out of the hospital.

"I don't understand."

Turn around, will you?

Frowning, Erik did—and saw Charles, leaning against the opposite wall. He met Erik's eyes, smiling sheepishly, and waved.

My psyche is rather naked, walking around outside my body like this, he said, and all the pain and fear and so on is really getting to me. His mouth didn't move with the words, and his body was noticeably transparent. I haven't been able to leave on my own, but I'm hoping if I can anchor myself to your mind, it will let me get further away from my body. Your house is still within the range of my telepathy from here, after all.

"No wheelchair," Erik noted, which seemed a less inane thing to say than Are you a ghost?, which had been his first instinct.

Yes, that's interesting, isn't it? Charles looked down at himself, wiggling his transparent legs. But it makes sense. The wheelchair is a body thing. You're lucky I figured out how to imagine myself some clothes.

Erik couldn't help smirking. "Am I? I don't call that luck."

Charles snorted at him, eyes twinkling. Just get me out of here so we can figure out how to wake me up.

 Charles's plan worked; after resting his insubstantial hand against Erik's temple for several seconds of hard focus, he was able to walk out of the hospital at Erik's side, and get into the passenger seat of his car (without having to open the door). It was all surreal beyond words—My boyfriend is in a coma and I'm helping his not-quite-ghost escape the hospital; I'm gonna laugh my head off when I wake up from this dream—but at least it did seem to help Charles. He relaxed bonelessly against the seat (that he wasn't actually touching) and rubbed his temples as they pulled away from the hospital.

"Charles, what even happened?" Erik asked. "How did you get hurt?"

Lost control of the chair going down a steep ramp, rolled right out in front of a car.

The mental image left Erik sick and breathless. "You could have been killed. You could still…"

Charles reached out and laid one transparent hand over Erik's. He could feel it, almost, like a dream or the memory of a sensation. There's no reason to panic. I'm still here, and I'm still tied to my body in some way—that's why I couldn't get too far from it without anchoring to someone else. Raven won't let them unplug me; I'll probably be able to talk to her just as I'm talking to you. Remembered desperation lurked under his smile. You've no idea what a relief it was to make contact with you, when I couldn't get the doctors to hear me, except for a distant feeling that I might not be as gone as I looked.

"I'm just glad I hadn't gone to bed yet," Erik said. "Did you try, I don't know, laying back down in your body?"

I did, and several other things besides. It's hard to explain, but I can't get it to feel like mine, like part of me.

Erik tried to tighten his hand around Charles's. "We'll figure something out."

When they pulled into Erik's driveway, he was startled to find another car already there. Suzanne's, with Lorna's little green head visible in her car seat.

"What… I'm not supposed to pick her up until morning! Did I forget some change to the schedule…?"

I don't think so, Charles said. Suzanne's upset about something, but not at you. She's feeling very apologetic toward you.

Erik climbed out of the car, tentatively alarmed, and found Suzanne already coming around her car toward him.

"I was just about to use my key and come wake you up," she said. "Should have realized you were out, no car… I'm sorry, Erik, I'm all over the place." Her mascara was streaked, her hands shaky.

"What's wrong? Is Lorna okay?"

"Lorna's fine. It's my mom, she's taken a turn for the worse. I don't know if you knew she had another stroke a few days ago?"

"Oh." He grimaced in sympathy. "I'm so sorry."

"Do you mind taking Lorna a little early? I know it's last-minute, I'm really sorry, but I've got to hit the road—I could take her with me, but she's barely met my mom, I think she'd mostly just be frightened and confused—"

"Of course, of course I'll take her, no problem. And I'll keep her as long as you need." Erik never minded getting more time with his two-year-old daughter. "This is tough, Suzanne, I'm so sorry." Should he offer a hug? He and Suzanne were amicable, but not really close... and he admitted it felt weird to hug his ex with his boyfriend watching.

No hug, she'll fall apart if you do, Charles whispered in his head, and then somehow communicated a sheepish expression at Erik's half-formed censure about Suzanne's privacy. I don't have much in the way of shields in this form, sorry.

"You're the best, Erik," Suzanne was saying, and turned to open the side door of the car. "C'mon, princess, time to go inside with daddy!"

"Daddy!" squealed the little girl in the car seat, and began kicking and reaching for him while Suzanne tried to unbuckle her.

"And here's her bag, do you want me to carry it in?" Suzanne said when Erik had Lorna snuggled against his shoulder.

"I've got it," Erik said, latching onto the metal rings holding the strap on the duffle bag. The bag floated out of Suzanne's grasp toward the front door. "Drive safe, Suzanne. You're getting a really late start."

"I know." She kissed Lorna's brow. "See you in a few days, baby!"

Well accustomed to trading one parent for the other, Lorna cheerfully waved goodbye as her mother drove away.

"Well this is… timing," Erik said, as Charles appeared at his elbow. "Can Lorna see you?"

I don't think so. Lorna, love? Hello! He waggled his fingers in front of Lorna's face. No response. I guess it's only people I'm strongly connected to that can see me like this. At least I hope it is, and not just you for some reason.

"I'll explain to Raven, if I have to," Erik said, opening the front door with his powers and floating the duffle ahead of them. And if Raven—against all odds, really, knowing her brother was a telepath—didn't believe him, he'd see about levering that hospital bed and all its important equipment out the window after all.

Charles smiled and leaned an insubstantial head against his shoulder. You're sweet.

"Not a lot of people say that."

They don't know you like I do.

"No, they don't." Erik had to stop and look at Charles, feeling an almost involuntary smile on his lips. No one knew him like Charles—or at least, no one saw him the way Charles did, as a good man with a good heart. Erik's coworkers hated him, his clients tolerated him, Suzanne in her heart was afraid of him.

Lorna loves you, Charles pointed out, looking saddened by the direction Erik's thoughts had taken. Lorna adores you.

"She's too young to know any better."

Children are often wiser than any of us.

"Well," Erik said, horribly certain he was blushing, "this child is way past her bedtime. Did mommy already brush your teeth, sweetie?" Lorna was already wearing pajamas—green, her favorite color, to match her hair. Erik had to hand Suzanne this much; she had never hinted at rejecting her mutant daughter, though Erik had seen how quickly that could change if her powers turned out to be something dangerous.

Lorna, leaning sleepily against Erik's shoulder, nodded her head. "Brushed teef. Had stories. More stories?"

"Sure, why not. More stories." The poor mite deserved some kind of treat after being pulled from her bed and dragged across town without warning.

Erik carried Lorna to her bedroom and settled them into the rocking chair next to her crib. She was big enough for a toddler bed, Erik just hadn't gotten around to getting one. She'd grown so much, so quickly…

It's astonishing how quickly they grow up, Charles agreed, watching Lorna with a wistful smile. It was no secret that Charles wanted children of his own, even after spending all his working hours with them. Erik wondered if he'd ever tried to adopt any of his cases, perhaps one of the ones where he ended up serving as emergency foster care. Wondered if he'd have more luck with adoption, if he were married…

There was still a book next to the rocking chair from Lorna's last visit, a storybook version of Disney's Sleeping Beauty. Erik picked it up and began to read.

 Charles knew he couldn't actually sit anyway, but it felt awkward to 'stand' around the room while Erik read to his daughter. There weren't any more chairs, but he finally settled onto Lorna's toddler-size play table; the weight of his body would have collapsed it, but his body wasn't here. He 'sat,' and watched Erik read to his sleepy daughter.

Charles thought Lorna was adorable, but he hadn't spent much time with her. He and Erik had only been dating three months, and Erik wasn't going to bring someone into his daughter's life until he was sure that person deserved to be there, and planned to stick around. Because Erik was a good father. A good man.

Charles didn't see Erik through rose-colored glasses, whatever other people or Erik himself thought. He knew that Erik could be downright mean, that anger was his go-to emotion, that his view of the world was harsh and painfully cynical. But he also knew how much good Erik's heart held, how much passionate protective love that only needed somewhere to land, some beneficiary he could trust not to reject him. Erik would fight for every version of his people—mutant, Jewish, queer—but that was a cause, not a family. And Erik would die without hesitation for Lorna, but she was someone he had to protect, not someone he could lean on. He needed a partner.

Charles wanted to be that partner. He wanted to be the stable center of Erik's erratic orbit, a source of love and joy and certainty, a second father to Erik's little girl. Part of a family. He really didn't want to be dead.

"Prince Phillip rushed to Aurora's side," Erik was murmuring to Lorna, "and bestowed a gentle kiss—True Love's Kiss—on her lips. Aurora's eyes fluttered open. The curse had been broken!"

A kiss sounded wonderful, Charles thought. If he had his body here, he could climb into Erik's warm, cozy lap and press kisses all over Erik's tired, scruffy, beautiful face. Erik was a very good kisser and Charles could imagine—

Oh. Huh. How about that.

Distracted by Charles's sudden distraction, Erik looked up from the storybook, but Charles waved him off. He needed to figure out what had just happened before talking to Erik about it.

He had felt something, just now. Felt his body, distant as it was, respond in some tiny, flickering measure to the thought of kissing Erik. Which was more than any other thought had been able to do.

Erik, he said, a few minutes later, when Lorna was asleep in her crib and Erik was closing the bedroom door behind them. I have an idea.

 Erik brought over a neighbor that had watched Lorna before, with the promise that he wouldn't be gone long and she was asleep anyway.

"My boyfriend's been hurt," he said. "I need to go to the hospital."

"That nice young man? Oh, dear, I hope he's all right," the neighbor said with sleepy concern. "Don't worry a bit, dear, I'll just read in your living room and keep an ear open for Lorna."

There's no need to get yourself a ticket, darling, I'm not going anywhere, Charles said as Erik's car sped toward the hospital. When this failed to have any effect, he laid a transparent hand on Erik's knee. Please? Getting yourself killed in a wreck right now would be terribly inconvenient for me. Do let's wake me up first.

Erik rolled his eyes, but lifted his foot from the accelerator.

Like last time, Charles was able to keep anyone at the hospital from stopping Erik, and guide him to the right room, following the beacon of his tenuous connection to his own body.

"Sleeping Beauty, huh?" Erik said, looking down at the still figure in the bed. "You look more like Snow White."

My lips aren't that red, Charles said, embarrassed by Erik's mental image of him, which was at least three times as attractive as reality. Not now, certainly. Skin white as snow I will grant you.

"Yeah, you don't look very good right now," Erik said, brushing his fingers down the sickly-pale cheek of Charles's body. He glanced up at the telepathic projection of Charles's appearance. "You sure about this?"

Not at all, but it can't hurt to try.

Erik looked down at Charles in the bed, still stroking his cheek, then bent and kissed him.

And Charles felt it—felt all his nerve endings lighting up at the sensation, felt the pull of his body's response to being touched. Not his body—him. He was being touched, Erik was kissing him, Charles wanted to kiss him back, and—

And he was, he was kissing Erik back.

Erik pulled back with a gasp, and Charles was looking up at him now, looking up from the bed. He was inside his body, which felt terrible, bruised and battered and broken, his head aching fiercely—but he was awake, and all the monitors next to his bed were going crazy.

"True Love's Kiss," Charles said, smiling, and pulled Erik down to kiss him some more, just as a bevy of nurses hurried in to witness the miracle.

#my fic #cherik #gold-from-straw

[wazzupmrstark]

We’re Only Kidding Ourselves- Part Five || Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: I know it hasn’t quite been a whole week since I posted Part 4, but there are a few new faces around here and I wanted to get another part up asap!!

Prompt: Enemies to lovers au (from @marvelellie‘s 1k writing challenge!!)

Summary: You work as a production assistant for the Spider-Man: Far From Home crew, or rather as Tom Holland’s handler. The two of you don’t get along very well to say the least, but you won’t quit and he can’t fire you so you’re stuck with each other.

Warnings: swearing, injury, angst y’all already know what the fuck is going on

What I listened to while writing: this italian music playlist on Spotify bc...Italy

Word Count: 3.9k

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

After what felt like an eternity Tom’s voice broke the silence. “Are we really doing this?”

“Do we have another choice?” you asked.

“Not that I can think of,” he sighed. You felt him roll towards you on the bed. You stiffened even further. “We’re adults, this shouldn’t be a big deal, right?”

“Are you talking to me or yourself?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just try and get some sleep, Tom. You’re filming for thirteen and a half hours tomorrow.”

“God, do you ever turn it off?”

You had the urge to turn towards him so that you could see his face, but you resisted. It felt too intimate, like if you did you’d be crossing some invisible line that you couldn’t come back from. So you stayed on your back, hoping he couldn’t read your expression in the dark. “What do you mean?”

“The handler, do you ever turn it off? Like when you close your eyes do you just see excel spreadsheets and schedules? Are you ever a normal person, or are you always this anal about everything?”

That stung. Just when you thought you had established some sort of understanding Tom had to be an asshole again. You heard Tom inhale sharply, probably regretting how harsh he sounded, but no apology came. You didn’t respond and bit your lip, trying to fight off angry tears that were threatening to fall.

You rolled out of bed, pillow in hand.

“Where are you going?” Tom asked when he felt the weight on the bed shift.

“I’m sleeping on the floor,” you replied bitterly.

“Y/N, don’t be ridiculous,” he said and you scoffed audibly. “No, that’s not how I meant it. I, I’m sorry! Just, you-”

“Don’t worry about it, Tom,” you said, hoping your voice didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. “You’re my boss, we shouldn’t share a bed anyway, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You felt Tom’s eyes on you as you moved around the hotel room. You didn’t know what was going through his mind, but he didn’t say anything. You found extra blankets and even more pillows in the closet that you laid on the floor next to the bed. The floor was hard, like you’d anticipated, but what you hadn’t been expecting was how cold it would be. The carpet must only be a thin layer over a hard slab of concrete. With a huge exasperated sigh you sat up and crawled over to your open suitcase to put on a sweatshirt.

“Y/N, come back to bed.” Tom’s voice was gruff with fatigue.

You fought a shiver. Those words, in that tone, without context, sounded very sensual. But there was context. Months of it. So you only let it throw you off for a quarter of a second before responding.

“I’m fine, Tom. Go to sleep.”

If Tom had mentioned last night to either his brother or Harrison, they didn’t say anything about it to you. You were all huddled in one of the crew tents with the space heaters, standing behind the monitors watching Tom and Zendaya film a scene in the middle of the street.

Waking up this morning had been hell. You’d been in and out of sleep all night so you were exhausted. You and Tom had both lain awake for hours without speaking to each other. Your back hurt, your everything hurt. You’d been taking Advil all day for the pain in your muscles that was the result of sleeping on the ground.

“Tom’s really off today,” Haz muttered to Harry. “He keeps messing up his lines, and his accent keeps slipping.”

“Yeah I know,” Harry agreed. “I dunno what’s the matter with him.”

“Maybe he’s tired,” you suggested even though they hadn’t been talking to you. 

“Said he slept fine,” Harry shrugged.

“Like a baby,” Harrison added and you had your answer about what the boys knew about last night. Not only had he not told them, he’d lied to them. But why? Your face must have given something away because suddenly both of them were zeroed in on you.

“What?” Harry asked. “Did he say something different to you?”

“Uh no, sorry” you lied. You were shit at lying and you might have been able to get away with it with Harry, but Haz had known you longer and furrowed his brows at you with suspicion. “My back just hurts,” not a lie, “I slept on it funny last night.”

Harrison’s expression changed from one of skepticism to one of concern. “Do you want to sit down?”

“No I’m fine, thanks.”

Everyone turned back to the monitors and you breathed a sigh of relief. Tom was still struggling out there and as he fucked up more and more Zendaya would shoot the camera glances like she was on Parks and Rec. A crowd of other crew had gathered around the monitor to watch and all murmured to each other about what was taking so long to move on to the next scene. To your surprise your immediate instinct was to defend Tom to them rather than join in, but you kept your mouth shut. Come on, you thought to yourself, get it together. No one was going to be happy with him if he extended their thirteen and a half hour work day.

After several more takes the scene finally seemed to be going pretty well until Tom tripped on a step and smacked his face onto the side railing. There was an audible ooh from everyone who was watching around you, but you didn’t stick around to hear anything else they had to say because you were already running. Haz and Harry were right on your heels, and they each passed you, but you kept your pace. Every muscle in your body was screaming at you to stop, but you couldn’t, you could worry about your own pain later.

By the time you got over to your boss he was already surrounded by medics and his friends. You stood on the edges of the crowd, trying to see what was going on. He’d hit his head from what you could tell. He looked like he wanted to cry.

You pushed through the crowd and made your way over to him. “Can everyone but the medics move back a little?” you shouted, taking control. You were only half expecting anyone to listen to you, but everyone did and took a few steps back to give Tom more room.

One of the medics ushered you closer and had you crouch down next to Tom. “He blacked out for a second. We’re going to need to check him for a concussion,” he said to you, a little out of earshot of Tom.

You looked at your watch. Filming was already a little behind. “Can you you do that to him here?”

The guy shook his head. “He needs to see a neurologist at the hospital a few miles away. He’s also going to need to rest for a few hours.”

“What’s going on?” Watts asked as he made his way through the crowd. The medic explained the same thing to him. “Fuck me.”

“He’ll be back in a few hours good as new,” the man promised Watts, but he shook his head and turned to you.

“Keep him resting until tomorrow, I’ll push up the scenes with Mysterio to this afternoon instead.”

You bit back a curse. That was going to inconvenience a lot of important people. You hoped they’d be understanding. “Have someone send me the new schedule,” you told Watts then addressed the medic. “I’ll grab his brother and best friend and we can go.”

“Wait what’s going on?” Tom asked the medics frantically as they spoke into their radios and to each other in Italian.

“They’re taking you to the hospital to see if you have a concussion,” you explained when no one else would answer.

“What?” He looked up at you with wild eyes.  “No, no I’m fine,” he insisted and started to get up. As soon as he did the medics yelled at him to lay back down until they could get a boat. “I’m fine! I can keep going!” he shouted at them, giving you a desperate look. “Y/N-”

He’d never wanted your help before and it was the one time he did you couldn’t do anything. You felt guilty, but he needed to get to the doctor.

“Tom I want you to get some rest,” Jon said to Tom, crouching down to him.

“No, I can still-”

Watts put a hand out. “Don’t try and be a hero, you’re already playing the greatest one out there. We’re just going to move some scenes around and you’ll be back tomorrow good as new, okay? It’s not worth risking your health over. Take it easy today,” he looked up at you. “Miss Y/L/N, update me throughout the day. Make sure he gets some rest.”

You were a little surprised Jon Watts knew your name but you assured him that you would watch out for Tom. You liked the fact that he cared about his cast and crew. Even though he was upset about the accident and stressed out over rescheduling he hadn’t shown it to Tom because he already knew Tom was beating himself up about it and didn’t want to twist the knife. If you ever got to live out your dream of being a director you hoped you could be like him.  

Harry and Haz were allowed to approach Tom after that and you watched them each talk to him. You stood off to the side and saw Tom wipe away tears of frustration and immediately looked away. You couldn’t start feeling sympathy for him now. It was going to effect how you did your job.

The first available boats on the canal were gondolas so Harry and Tom got in the first one with two of the medics while you and Haz got in the second with the other medic. Gondolas were supposed to be romantic. Racing to the emergency room with your boss was the least romantic reason to be in a gondola that you could think of. 

You sat in the boat with your head in your hands.

“He’s going to be fine,” Haz assured you. “This isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to him on set before. He broke his nose on Chaos Walking.”

“I know, but this happened on my watch,” you groaned. “Tom is my responsibility.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have anything to do with this. He was just off today and that’s not your fault.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and shut your eyes tight because it very well could’ve been your fault. The fight and the lack of sleep had to at least be contributing factors. Tom had never had an off day like this before. What else could it be? 

Tom was checked into the emergency room without much issue and the medics took him back immediately to see about his head. Harry joined you and Haz in the waiting room.

“Typical,” he said and gave half a chuckle as he made his way over to the both of you.

“Figures he’d fuck himself up walking and not doing stunts in the spider-man suit or something,” Haz chimed in.

“Div,” Harry laughed and shook his head.

You couldn’t believe neither of the boys were worried about Tom. From what you seen he’d hit his head pretty hard.

“You alright, Y/N?” Harry asked, noticing how quiet you were.

“Yeah, just a little stressed out.”

“About Tom? He’ll be fine,” Harry said, brushing it off.

“He was crying,” you said softly. “I’ve never seen him cry before.”

Harry cleared his throat but didn’t say anything.

“Want anything from the vending machine, Y/N?” Haz asked, clearly trying to change the subject. “I’m going to get some chocolate probably.”

“I’m good.”

“You should eat something,” he insisted. “Keep your energy up.”

“Fine, I’ll have a KitKat if they have them.”

“And if they don’t?”

“A snickers bar.”

He winked a confirmation and headed off around the corner, leaving you and Harry sitting in silence. You weren’t sure how to describe the mood in the room, but it was uncomfortable and dull, like the life had been sucked out of everything. Maybe that’s how all emergency rooms were, but it felt wrong.

Harrison returned with your KitKat a moment later, but the mood didn’t lift. Soon he was sucked into it too. The three of you, sitting in silence, waiting. You realized Haz and Harry had been joking around about Tom because it was their way of coping. They didn’t want to have to think about what might happen if Tom was seriously injured and you didn’t blame them.

You passed the time by talking to your parents and calling the hotel to see if any rooms had opened up. There was still nothing available, but you asked them to let you know when something did. When you hung up Tom was over at the front desk with the boys being discharged.

You walked over and looked at him expectantly. “I’m fine, stop looking at me like that.”

“Fuck off,” you shot back instinctively, completely forgetting that you were still in the emergency room for his head wound. Tom was in the middle of signing papers, but stopped to raise his eyebrows at you. “Sorry. So you’re completely fine?”

“They said if it is a concussion it’s super minor and that I should be fine by tomorrow. I’m just supposed to rest and keep an eye on how I’m feeling I guess.”

“Turns out your thick skull is good for something,” Harry joked and clapped Tom on the back.

“That was a cheap one, mate,” Tom laughed and shook his head at his brother.

Getting back to the hotel was an ordeal because some fans had seen Tom go into the hospital and were an absolute mess waiting outside the emergency room. Upon checking Twitter you saw that someone had tweeted that he’d died and had to stifle a laugh.

Harry and Haz offered to hang out with Tom in his room, but he told them he just wanted to be alone. Fuck, you’d expected to be at work all day and now you had to spend hours alone with Tom. It was early evening and you weren’t supposed to be back until after midnight. The sun had only just started setting. You might have taken a book down to the lobby or to a cafe around the corner except for the Jon had specifically asked you to keep an eye on Tom and make sure he was resting. You’d much rather give yourself a concussion, but followed him down the hallway and to your room anyway.

“There hasn’t been an update with the rooms,” you informed Tom after the door had shut behind the both of you “so we both have to stay in this one again.” He just nodded.

The room had been straightened while you were out. The bed was made and the blanket you’d slept on was folded neatly beside the pillows. You wondered what housekeeping had thought of the odd setup.

Tom immediately flopped on the bed with a groan. “I can’t believe how much of an idiot I am.” You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or just ranting out loud so you let him keep going. “The entire schedule had to be move around because of me, Marvel is having to pay the hospital bills, I cried in front of the whole cast and crew-”

“Everyone has an off day,” you offered, taking the armchair.

Tom sat up to look at you. “I had an off morning,” he corrected, “the day was a shit show.”

“You’ll look back on it and laugh.”

“Maybe,” he said reluctantly then suddenly threw himself back on the bed dramatically “fuck, going to work tomorrow is going to be so embarrassing.” He covered his face with his hands.

“The only option is to fake your own death.”

He lifted his hands from his eyes. “It’d never work, people know my face.”

“Plastic surgery.”

“My voice.”

“Half the world doesn’t even realize you’re British you’ll be fine.” Then you remembered the tweet you had seen. “Speaking of faking your own death, thirty thousand people on Twitter already think you’re dead so you should either run with it or fix that.”

“What?!” Tom already had his phone out. “You’re just telling me this now?”

“Oh my god, of course everything is always my fault.”

“Social media is literally in your job description.”

“Sorry I must have been distracted by the possibility of you actually dying!”

“You’re being dramatic, I wasn’t fucking dying!”

“You know what I mean! I was worried about you!”

“...You were worried about me?” Tom asked and as quickly as the bickering had started it came to a screeching halt.

“Uh yeah,” you felt sweaty all of the sudden. You had been worried about him...but only because it was the human thing to do. “Without you I don’t have a job, you know.”

“Wow, for a second I actually thought you cared about me,” Tom said with a smile, though it sounded like he was only half kidding.

“Me? Never.” 

“Here how’s this?” Tom finished typing and handed his phone to you.

“‘Hey guys, not dead’? That’s it? You don’t want to make it funnier?”

He shrugged. “It’ll still get at least 50k likes anyway.”

“Asshole.” He laughed. “What about something like ‘sorry guys still alive’?” He made an eh hand motion. “Or...’sorry Anthony and Seb I’m still alive’?”

“That’s brilliant.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Go ahead and tweet it,” he said.

“Me?” you asked.

“Yeah, you already have my phone.”

You quickly typed it out and checked for typos before hitting send. It felt oddly powerful tweeting out to 2.5 million people. You wondered if that’s how Tom felt every time he tweeted something

You tossed the phone back to him on the bed. “I’m going to shower,” you told him. “Unless you want to go first?”

He shook his head. “All yours.”

You took the time to shave and wash your hair more thoroughly. This hotel had surprisingly nice shampoo. By the time you were done the bathroom was completely steamed up. Only once your hair was up in a towel did you realize you’d forgotten to bring a new change of clothes into the bathroom with you.

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered to yourself.

You could make one of two choices: put the dirty clothes back on or wrap yourself in a towel to go get your pajamas. Well, there was an unspoken third choice which was to go out into the room completely naked, but there was no way in hell that was happening. You decided to be an adult and wrap yourself in your towel to go get the clothes you’d forgotten. You’d just have to play it cool. Maybe Tom would be asleep.

Obviously with your luck he wasn’t. He was watching Baby Driver on cable when you came out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel. He raised his eyebrows at you.

“Shut up!” you said defensively and clung to the towel tighter.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“I forgot my pajamas, okay?” you huffed with embarrassment.

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal.”

Your cheeks were absolutely on fire as you rifled around in your suitcase for pjs. When you looked back up Tom was averting his eyes and looking at his phone, but he couldn’t hide the shit-eating grin on his face. So much for playing it cool. You were never going to live this down.

Once you were dressed and had somewhat regained you composure you joined Tom back in the room.

“How are you feeling?” you asked.

“Fine.”

“Are you hungry? We could order room service.”

“Sounds good,” Tom rolled over and snatched the menu off of the nightstand. “What do you want?”

“Do they have spaghetti?” you asked him.

“We’re in Italy.” Tom rolled his eyes. “Yes, they have spaghetti.”

“I can’t read the fucking menu from over here, I didn’t know!”

“Well they have spaghetti, Y/N.”

You ended up both ordering the spaghetti.

By the time the food came the credits to Baby Driver were rolling and Titanic was starting. It was in Italian, but there were English subtitles. You and Tom were sitting on the floor eating your pasta in front of the screen.

“I’ve never seen Titanic,” you admitted.

“Shut the fuck up,” he deadpanned. “It’s a classic!”

“It freaks me out.”

“It’s a romance.”

“All of those people dying is not romantic.”

“Don’t you want to be some sort of film director? You have to watch Titanic if you’re going to do that.” You were surprised Tom had remembered that about you. “You’re watching it. We’re not going to sleep until it’s over.”

You were okay with that. Watching a movie meant Tom was resting which is what you needed to make sure he was doing. Once you were both done with your spaghetti you placed the bowls and tray outside of the room and Tom took his turn in the shower, but not before making you promise you wouldn’t change the channel while he was gone. You moved to the bed to get more comfortable and found yourself getting invested in the story. You were starting to see why it was one of the most famous movies of all time. 

When Tom came out of the shower you wanted to throw something at him. He was soaking wet and wearing nothing but a towel wrapped low around his waist.

“You’re unbelievable,” you scoffed and shook your head at him.

“What? I just forgot my pajamas!” he smirked as he grabbed clothes from his suitcase and retreated back into the bathroom. Dick.

When Tom was fully clothed and a little less drippy he joined you on the bed. As if on cue the scene in the car started as soon as he settled next to you. It wasn’t anything outrageously raunchy, but you still found yourself holding your breath until it was over. You were overly aware of Tom next to you, hair still wet, breathing evenly, eyes trained on the screen. You relaxed visibly once the scene cut and Tom laughed.

“You’re a dork.” It was the nicest insult he’d ever given you.

The painting scene made you want to die. Your palms were sweating and your cheeks were burning furiously. Tom remained entirely composed unless he was looking at you in which case he’d laugh and give you a hard time. You wished you weren’t so flustered.

“Hey, we’ve only got twenty minutes left, don’t fall asleep yet.” Tom shook your shoulder gently.

You had curled up on your side and your eyes had started to droop. It wasn’t your fault this movie was three years long. You groaned, but sat up anyway.

“This movie is too long,” you complained.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity the credits rolled. You had actually gotten a little emotional at the end, but you weren’t going to admit that to Tom.

The two of you were quiet as you got ready for bed. The silence was comfortable, for once. You both brushed your teeth and took your meds and Tom put on his retainers. It was all very domestic. Tom climbed into bed while you took a moment to plug up your phone and computer by the desk.

“Y/N?” Tom asked, breaking the silence.

“Hm?”

“Don’t sleep on the floor tonight.”

Sorry this is up kind of late tonight (but it’s not 2am like last time) !! I really need to get a schedule going lol. Thanks to @splashofbi and @patdandtop for the movie suggestions I was rlly struggling with those!! Anyway lmk what you think about the part!!

WOKO Tags: @parkerstylesperalta @everythingbooknerd @marvelellie @splashofbi @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @timelock97 @ohheyitsem @starsholland

Forever Tags: @mischiefmanaged49 @bookingbee @cloverrover @captainbuckyy

Send me an ask to be added/dropped from a taglist

#marvelellies1kcellie #were only kidding ourselves #woko #tom holland #TOM #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #spiderman #spiderman homecoming #spiderman far from home #far from home #harrison osterfield #haz #enemies to lovers #peter parker #tom holland series

[corancoranthemagicalman]

So @sigrunsavestheday​ tagged me for this game during my great Laptop Absence and it’s since been saved in my draft as I’ve slowly tried catching up to things amidst balancing graduation upcoming. Having been tagged by @darkshrimpemotions​ too, I figured that was the perfect excuse to kick my rear in gear, update the list, and actually post it. :)

The first lines from your last 20 works and see if you spot any patterns!! :) I don’t really know who to tag, but here’s my works listed below the read more.

I’ve noticed that I start with either dialogues or “the” statements a lot. I play with tense and perspectives a lot between all of these (especially the more recent pieces), but you can definitely tell the more present tenses are my shorter works. Typically. Or definitely ones I was getting experimental with. Again, thanks to you both for the tag, and if anyone wants to do this, please tag me as your tagger ;))

1. Will You Take Me Away (Will You Make Me Your Wife): T+ SPN 789 words

The gulls are crying out in the fresh morning, and from where Cas’ stands he can see Kelly keeping a sentinel watch over the water. Her ankles are buried in the surf as the ocean kisses her skin with mist. It’s peaceful, really. The way her hair is swept in the breeze, and she seems like a painting. Motion paused; life still.

Cas peers through the yellow curtains one more time, just to watch Sam chase Jack across the open field that makes up the front yard. Its grass bleeds into the surf where Kelly stands. He can’t see her face, but Cas imagines that she is smiling. Her son—so full of good—young and carefree in a kind world. A paradise.

2. de·noue·ment: T+ SPN 1k words

The Old God was a writer.

He sat at his desk, scribbling away on a page. Or he typed away at keys. He crafted and drafted words— worlds . Creation came to life beneath his fingertips. After the world was created, and filled with his characters, he continued to write. Continued to fill out the page, writing a masterpiece that would culminate into the tale of two brothers.

3. Another Word For Divine: T+ SPN 2.9k words

“What’s all this, then?” Mary asked as she walked into the Bunker’s kitchen on a Sunday morning.

Jack smiled, beaming a sunny disposition as he turned away from the stovetop he was monitoring. “Hi! Sam said I could help with breakfast. I’m watching the bacon.”

Mary let out a breathy chuckle. Despite him looking so much older, Jack was still just a child. In a way, it was the opposite of how she felt seeing Sam and Dean. When she looked at Sam and Dean, it was like she was searching for her babies but could only see men. When she looked at Jack, his blue eyes a mirror of Castiel’s, she tried to see a man. The Devil’s son. But all she could see was a child . The child of her friend. The child of her children.

4. An Invisible Man Sleeping In Your Bed: M SPN 1.5k words

Dean Smith is a simple man. An average man. He orders salads from the cafe down the street. Talks to the other people on his floor when he steps out for his coffee. Has a unicorn laugh that erupts from his office on occasion. He’s sociable, competent, and attractive. There’s only one problem all the single women on the floor have with him.

5. (How Am I Supposed To) Carry On: M SPN 15.9K words

The thing about Florida was that it was hot as balls. The humidity was gross, and Dean could not believe anyone would want to vacation there. Maybe the beaches weren’t so bad, but wendigos didn’t stalk beaches. Sam made some smart sounding comment about silkies to which Cas refuted that silkies were hardly carnivorous and it was the sharks one had to watch out for.

6. Into The Sea Of Waking Dreams: E SPN 5.9k words

Swallowing thickly, Dean traced his fingers over the inscription within the volume that Sam had placed in front of him. His throat felt dry, but his mouth would not salivate. He turned his gaze to Sam, words rasped. “Are you sure?”

7. Modern Methods of Instruction: M SPN 2.7k words

The history of mold and its use for spellwork was an intriguing subject, though hardly relevant to Sam’s current inquiry. Sighing, Sam replaced that particular novel back into its place before retrieving another unearthly arcana book. He flipped through the pages, mentally marking how yellowed they were. Sam wondered if he should begin cataloging the books within the library. Shifting through artifacts was a daunting enough task, but creating a Hunter’s Dewey Decimal System was something more within his wheelhouse.

8. Between The Shadow And The Soul: M SPN 2.3k words

The Righteous Man was touched by angels. Literally and figuratively. Castiel himself had touched the Righteous Man’s soul, bore his grace into him, and stitched his torn soul together. Placed his body back piece by piece with a few added bonuses. Healed the old liver. Twisted the knee back into place. A few pieces here and there that would have no true bearing on his role as the Michael Sword, but which Castiel hoped the Righteous Man would appreciate.

9. You Don't Wanna Be Alone: G SPN 1.7k words

When Dean was four, he watched his mother hold his baby brother to the blooming sunflowers she kept in the backyard. Mom said they were called Sunriches. They were named that because they were like golden suns. Dean thought the sun was golden, but when he tried looking at it, the sun was just a bright, white color. Blinding. Dad said he couldn’t look at the sun without hurting himself, so he stopped trying.

10. I'm Lost And I'm Found: M SPN 1.4k words

The first time Castiel feels hunger, he is standing beside the ocean.

His brother—tall and formidable in his form—watches over the ocean with unblinking eyes.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” His brother sighs wistfully. “The quiet?”

Castiel knows what he means. It has not been so long since Lucifer rebelled against God’s Will. The noise had been terrible; the fighting was great. Now Heaven rolls with ominous thunder that looms within the clouds, waiting to rain down upon the peace that has settled since Lucifer’s Fall.

11. All That I Want For You, My Son (Is To Be Satisfied): T+ SPN 2.8k words

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean’s voice is soft. “Dad’ll be gone soon. And we’ve already fixed everything that my dumb wish messed up anyways. Might as well let him meet the kid, right?”

12. A Two Dimensional Kind of Guy: T+ SPN 2.3k words

“Hey, man, so like…” Shaggy trailed his words off as the dude halted in his steps. His shoulders were large and intimidating but his face made him seem softer and more approachable. It was easier speaking to the guy, Castiel, when faced with his - well, face.

13. You Hang From My Lips: M SPN 1.8k words

You can’t touch him unless his blood is coating your hands.

Maybe it’s because your unholy hands could never touch something so divine unless bathed in its blood. Like red wine cleansing the body’s sins. You’ve heard wine is good for that. Some God-follower interpreted it and some doctor agreed with it.

Maybe it’s because all you know how to do is hurt. Your touch is poison and it drags him down, down, down. Until there’s nothing left of that burning star but a husk.

14. A Second Once In A Lifetime: G The Witcher 1.2k words

The winter had gone quickly in Kaer Morhen this year. Geralt was certain this was because of the non-Witchers who had stayed during the season. His focus had been Ciri’s training and helping Yennefer to heal, and both responsibilities had taken up much of his stay this winter. It had certainly broken up the monotony of repairing the old keep with Vesemir.

15. The History of Tango: M The Witcher 48.9k words

If there was one thing that Jaskier could find agreeable about the eccentric Countess Yennefer of Vengerberg, it was her taste. Well, that and her disregard for social etiquette. Together, it made the woman rather impressive. The Countess had not married into her title, having been bequeathed it in some dramatic fashion that Jaskier had heard no less than three versions of. The people did love their gossip, especially when it surrounded such a scandalous figure.

16. Your Eyes Aren't Rivers There To Weep: T+ SPN 2.7k words

It was a cold night in January when it began. Castiel recalled the humans had recently marked the year 1979. The evening was an ordinary one save for the birth of one, small child. Crying, the babe called out for his mother. Like most humans, the babe hungered. Humans milled about before affixing the newborn into the arms of a tired but brightly smiling mother.

17. You've Been Ever So Kind: T+ The Witcher 2.1k words

“Geralt,” Jaskier whined. “I am sweating like a paid lady in a temple!” He pouted, fanning himself with some tool of an Eastern design that Geralt was not familiar with. The bard cupped his hand over his brow with the opposite hand not already preoccupied with the fan in order to shield his eyes from the overbearing sun.

18. I Heard There Was A Secret Gourd (That David Carved): G The Witcher 2.2k

The laughter of children as they ran along the sidewalk outside was but a muted noise within the apartment inhabited by Geralt Rivia and his goddaughter Cirilla. The young tween sighed boredly as she stared at the scattered patterns. Miscellaneous eyes and mouths meant to be traced on the gourd met her gaze as she sighed again. Drumming her fingers against her cheek, Cirilla turned to face her godfather.

19. A Wet Red Devil: M DC Comics 2.2k words

There was a reason Zatanna did not often invite Constantine to join their missions.

John Constantine was the single most irritating human to have ever existed. A brilliantly talented warlock with a bastard smug grin. A knack to create anarchy amongst even the most peaceful of beings. Zatanna was certain that even Superman himself had wanted to make Constantine choke on his smarmy words.

Sighing, Zatanna placed her forehead to her palm. While she had always tried to keep from inviting Constantine along - well - needs must and all that.

But was this worth it?

20. Vado Dove Vai Tu (I Go Where You Go): M YOI 1.5k words

The worship of the gods is common. Which deity is worshipped varies from city to estate, like which sort of wine decorates a table, but the pantheon under Zeus’ watchful eye is predominantly those deities that are worshipped. Sacrifices are offered for blessings or boons, whether it be for harvest, happiness, or war. The velvet tongues of mortals cry out their gods’ names and bleed forth on altars all for the sake of worship.

#tag game #fics #all of these words holy crow #words are so hard to process #magical moots

[dovesandsparrows]

Kidnapped: Part 4

( first entry - previous entry - next entry )

The gentle hum of the hover-truck does nothing to calm Angela’s nerves. The arcade is not far down the Hyperlane, but with the van embroidered with the Overwatch symbol, it lags across the tracks, and the road stretches on and on, the end just too far to grasp. She sighs, bowing her head, to picture Genji looking up from behind one of the ancient game machines upon their arrival, beaming as the team had elected to join him after all.

That was the best possible outcome of this trip. Suited in her Valkyrie, however, with a silent Lúcio in deep contemplation beside her, and Hana steel-lipped at the wheel, it feels more like an official mission than worried friends in pursuit. Genji is not a mission, nor is he simply just an agent. His rescue should be their priority until he is home safe in her medbay, for a thorough checking and care.

Home safe with her, and his friends, whose usually bubbly-selves are so withdrawn with the worrying news of his disappearance. It nags at her too, like an ache in her chest she cannot soothe. Her face must display it at this point, because as Hana directs them off the Hyperlane, Lúcio pats her knee, then leans forward to say to the driver, “Are we close, Song? I’ll chuck on my gear, get a scope of the place from the outside. See what I can find.”

She hums in approval, then glances in the rearview mirror at Angela. “You and me for the good cop, bad cop, Doctor Z?”

Speaking with the patrons and staff at the Arcade, Hana intends to ask, when Angela simply would prefer to chase straight after him. Track down this Sombra article, cipher her last known sightings from Talon-monitoring satellites, find her before something bad finds Genji. (Winston had already told her Sombra is far too elusive for the imagery to detect, but it was worth asking, and still lamenting about now.)

Short of Hana’s joke, she replies, “I’ll speak with the owner, yes. You can join Lúcio if you want, I will be fine.”

The stunted answer makes Hana blink, to stare back out to the road. The Arcade is at the end of the street, all bright colors and taunting. “Oh, okay. Uh, Lú?”

“Nah, two people on deck would be good. Maybe you could mingle, there’d be a fan or a hundred.” He hangs over the front seat, fingers framing an imaginary Hollywood sign: “the famous D.Va, in the flesh, on world-saving business! Her prime informant: the arcade dweller.”

Hana giggles, slapping his hands away as the car cruises to a stop besides the decorated building. The display is enough for Angela, who slides out of the car, and treks straight into the Arcade. It’s smaller inside, but the levels climb up higher than she allows her eyes to follow, instead her gaze is set on the counter immediately in front, and the attending with a name badge that says “Jason”. He’s staring googly-eyed at her, whether it’s at the suit or simply her, she cannot tell.

“Ohhhh, hey,” he croons, as she approaches. “The big bosses rang, told us you were coming. Overwatch. I never thought I’d even see you guys in action, let alone meet you. It’s Mercy, right? You’re Mercy, the angel, you’re so coooooool-”

“Yes, I’m Doctor Ziegler. I need information regarding-”

“And D.Va?” The attendee’s attention is stolen as Hana strides in, only in a loose version of her MEKA suit, but still in-gear all the same. She beams at Jason, moving to give him a high-five.

“Hey dude! You can call me Hana, and Doctor Z here, she’s cool too.” She leans on the counter, and Angela tries to relax, reminding herself they are all here to help. “They told you what happened to our agent?”

“Shit, yeah, scary stuff. Talon was here. I could have died, y’know, was texting my boyfriend about it. Then I told him: Overwatch is here, so I really got nothing to worry about, huh.”

“We will try our best to find him, and to secure the grounds,” assures Angela after a deep breath, complete with a patient-brand warm smile. “One of our agents is currently scoping the exterior, we’ll go over the inside.”

“For sure, Doctor. We’ve got everyone on the ground floor, cleared out where it happened so it was clean for when you guys got here.”

Sure enough, the floor is packed with gamers of all shapes and sizes, some with eyes glued to screens, others watching them with mixed expressions of confusion, awe, disbelief and suspicion. It is only small down here, it seems tables and machines have been mashed together like a jigsaw to make room. The capacity of the room means all of the game advertisements - some posters of Hana, too, she realises - cannot be seen among all the people. There is a low murmur from all the patrons, talk of their games, their characters, the goings on, or simply the passing of their lives. Angela hadn’t noticed any of it on her march up to the bench. That, or she chose to ignore it, thinking during such a dire situation as this they would have at least closed the building to the public.

Apparently not. Many things had changed during the war. The refusal to cave to fear was one of them, but it called into question where to draw the line at “stupid”. Allowing people to remain here, with possible Talon activity confirmed in the area, was definitely stupid. Yet she couldn’t dwell on it now, what’s done is done, and unfortunately not her business. Genji is her business. Finding him, making sure he is safe and well.

“Thank you,” she says, shaking the tension from her voice. Genji’s status could worsen if she’s clammy like this, and regardless, it’s unprofessional of her. Better status should be expected of an agent of Overwatch, and a doctor, to not let the situation get to her.

“I’m gonna go make some friends,” Hana announces proudly, giving Jason some finger guns, then disappearing off between the machines, like she’s a part of the scenery, colors and all.

The attendant takes her into the staff area, introduces her to the other staff, and the manager. They are kind, and make her a coffee as she peruses the video footage (erased), reviews the entries to the arcade today (clean), examines the grounds (bare) and checks in with Hana for witnesses (nothing). It turns out, to her utter dismay, Talon may have just committed the perfect kidnapping.

It tortures her, so she reviews where he was taken again: an upturned stool on the third floor behind a machine entitled “Omnic Kong 3”, a nearby open window with nothing but sky in its wake, and the absence of Genji. It’s also when Lúcio chooses to appear in said window, making her jump so much he begins spewing apologies.

“But hey, uh, Doc Z. You’re gonna want to come up and look at this.” Her heart leaps: he’s found something, finally, a lead. Something to grasp, to confirm to herself Genji isn’t entirely out of their reach. “You got your Valkyrie activated? Follow me up here.”

The window is only small, but so is she, climbing out of it with ease. She sits three floors up, legs dangling over the edge, to give a weak smile at Lúcio across the way. He’s perched on the wall next to her, skates grinding in a whoosh sound against the bricks. He glances above his head, where the gutter of the roof begins, something heavy in his eyes.

Her heart leaps, even more than when she activates the Valkyrie suit, pushing herself out of the window. The suit catches her, a quiet pulsing as the wings strain to keep her afloat above the ground. Once the slow descent starts, Lúcio climbs the rest of the way to the roof, so she beckons the suit to follow him.

He’s hunched over a tray, only about the size of her hand, but it is more than they had a second ago.

“Took me a while to find, but hey. Here it is.” He toes the tray, disgusted. Angela crouches down to examine it. “Looks to me like the dart they used to sleep him, they probably shoot him through the window. Hung down, one shot: bam!” He reloads an imaginary finger gun. “Then nabbed him back up here with the translocator, and took off.”

“I’ve seen this technology before,” Angela confirms, with a sigh. “It’s stolen from Overwatch, Ana Amari used the same technology. Almost had it perfected before she was killed.”

“You think it can lead us to him?”

She considers. “Perhaps.” The headache nabs her suddenly, pulling at her temple, beckoning towards the sleep dart debris in the tray. She massages it away with her hand, the other lifting the head of the dart with a gloved finger. “Talon likely finished the technology. If we find out how, we can track down the chemicals they used to do it. It’s a unique serum, it…. Shouldn’t be too hard.” The glimmer of hope she allows herself is minimal, but there. Lúcio is beaming, at least.

“That’s great news! I’ll get onto the others right away, I’ll find Hana! I’ll meet you down in the foyer!” He’s disappeared over the edge of the roof before she can say another word.

--

Hi all and welcome to the second D&S Fab Collab event!

Season two is centered around the prompt: Kidnapped. The fourth addition is authored by @talizorahs !

♚ For illustration continuations, please limit these works to 8 panels. For prose continuations, please limit these fics to 1k words. These are not benchmark figures, just the maximum amount for a submission.

♚ Submission from the next participating member is due on the 15th of November, either submitted to the blog or DMed to any staff member on the Discord server.

♚ Applications to participate for this season or “arc” are still open! To join, sign up here !

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#gency #emergenji #genji #mercy #overwatch #d&s fab collab