#how many fell because they wouldn’t sign on to see what they’d made burn?

[guardian-of-soho]

Thinking again about the very first scene, and how Aziraphale was fascinated and besotted by the Starmaker. Not-yet-Crowley is so full of light, and joy, and innocent intent — and Aziraphale is already afraid. He already knows not to ask questions. Whoever he’s been with, they aren’t like the Starmaker. Heaven already isn’t safe; they don’t love what they’ve made. They’re blithely planning its destruction. But the Starmaker loves his stars. He wants them to live. And even though Aziraphale doesn’t have words yet for what is wrong in Heaven, he feels the fear of it — and he sees the Starmaker hasn’t gone wrong yet, and he loves him for it. He loves him for loving the world.

#it GETS TO ME #who frightened him? #how did Crowley miss the fear? #is it because he’s out on his own? is his whole team just sweet souls? #how many angels hated the plan when they heard it? #how many fell because they wouldn’t sign on to see what they’d made burn? #did any demand answers from god and get only the Metatron’s bland refusal #the way Aziraphale did in the end? #good omens 2 #good omens #ineffable husbands

[adenei]

Exile

We're back for Era 5 of @cruelsummer-ficfest!

Song: Exile (Folklore)

Ship: Romione

Read on Ao3

His hand tightens around the bottle of Butterbeer he’s suddenly lost the taste for. He knew she’d be here; why wouldn’t she? But he still hoped she wouldn’t show. 

To make matters worse, she walks in with another man. And not just any man, but the one she knows will cut him the deepest: Viktor Krum. The Quidditch star’s hand is splayed across the small of her back and her eyes shine as she glances up at him, laughing at a joke that Ron is sure isn’t funny at all. 

It’s sick and twisted irony at its finest. Two years ago, they were here in this same spot for the same occasion, only now there is no unknown looming in the midst of a full-fledged war. Now, there is no Hermione in his life either. She’d made certain of that.

It didn’t take her long to pack her things and leave for Australia shortly after the war ended. She’d given no explanation, no goodbye. She took everything he thought they’d fought for and left him alone to pick up the pieces.

Maybe it wasn’t love after all.

Memories of Bill and Fleur’s wedding flit through his mind as he watches Vicky lead Hermione to an empty table. His heart aches as he remembers dancing with her; how just for a moment, things felt normal. Just for a moment, he was a teenage boy, drumming up the courage to seek something more with the girl who meant everything to him. Only for it all to be ripped away in the blink of an eye. 

Now, two years later, everyone who survived the war is gathered again for Bill and Fleur’s vow renewal, where there are no threats of danger looming on the horizon. Only the promise of a well-deserved party. 

But try as he might, Ron cannot find it within himself to be happy. She should be here with him. It should be his hand on the small of her back, whispering a joke about how Percy’s too serious or Mum trying—and failing—to cut Bill’s hair again. And her laugh would be real because he knows what she finds funny.

Instead, he stands on the sidelines, shielded by the circle of his brothers and Harry, who are engaged in some other conversation. His eyes never leave her, though she doesn’t notice him at all. 

Maybe, if things were different, he could ask what went wrong. Where the fine line they always walked between friendship and something more snapped. Why she never gave him a chance. Would it have been so hard to hear him out? To give a warning sign that she was leaving?

Though he’s learned to read her well over the years, he never could read her mind. And he couldn’t turn things around. If she’d just given him a warning, he could have fixed things. He could have followed her. 

But war doesn’t care who it fucks up along the way, and Ron and Hermione are perfect examples of that. A lost love that never stood a chance. 

Sometimes, Ron wishes it was him and not Fred. Even death would be better than the life of exile he leads as he sees her now.

💔

From the moment she arrives, she can feel his eyes on her, burning into her skin like Fiendfyre. It’d been a coincidence, arriving seconds before Viktor. But she appreciated his warm smile and kind gestures once he realized she was attending alone. It was the support she needed to get her through those first awkward moments.

Hermione laughs. Not at the lighthearted joke Viktor makes, but at the reaction she elicits from him. Like he’s ready to get his knuckles bloody and stake his claim. Her heart flutters as she sees a glimpse of the Ron she once knew. The Ron she fell in love with before the war sucked the life out of him.

She tried to wait for him. Gave him so many chances to come to her, to open up, to talk. Even to simply cry as she held him and told him it would be okay. Any of that would have been better than the vacant stares she received instead. The shell of a man who’d had so much personality; all washed away from the locket, seeing her tortured, and witnessing death.

The decision to leave him behind had been the hardest yet, even harder than sending her parents away. Deep down, she knew he couldn’t come with her. She’d lost track of how many tears she cried—and still does. One year gone, and she still misses him more than anything. Still yearns for a chance to be something more. He was her crown; she’s empty without him.

💔

Ron and Hermione spend the better part of the evening avoiding each other. No one urges them to seek the other out. Everyone is careful not to speak the other’s name in their presence. It’s only when Ron finds the atmosphere of the tent too suffocating that he steps out into the grounds of the Burrow for a break, and Hermione follows.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to Vicky?” he says once he settles by the old oak tree near the pond.

She draws a sharp breath in, not realizing he could sense her presence this whole time. “No. It was nice to catch up with him, but he’s not the reason I came tonight.”

“I would hope not.” Hollow laughter catches in Ron’s throat. “Considering this is a celebration for Bill and Fleur.”

“I didn’t come for them either.”

Ron turns and peers at her in the moonlight reflecting off the water. “Then why are you here?”

“For you,” she says simply. 

The words take Ron aback, and his forehead creases as he watches her closely. 

“Why?” he dares. “You left. Why would you come back?”

She steels herself with a deep breath. “I never left for good. And I never wanted to leave you. But you were—I didn’t know how to help you anymore, Ron. You were broken and everything I tried wasn’t helping. I needed to find my parents. I couldn’t delay my search any longer. And I thought maybe some space might help.”

“Then why didn’t you say any of that?” he snaps.

“I tried! I’d ask you to take a walk with me, joined you in your room after dinner. Every time I tried to bring it up you’d say you were tired or excuse yourself or do something else to avoid any hint of emotion that didn’t wrap you in grief!”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. No words come out as he stares in utter disbelief.

“I never intended to be away for over a year, but the search took longer than I thought it would. I barely found them before I had to return for Hogwarts. Maybe I should have been clearer, but I thought you knew. I wasn’t giving up on us, I swear.” Tears fill her eyes. 

His demeanor softens as he pushes himself off of the tree and takes a step toward her. “You tried to tell me?”

She nods. “I gave so many signs.”

“I never saw them.”

They both remain quiet for a while, neither knowing what to say. After a while, Hermione finally dares to speak again. “You seem like you’re doing better.”

“I guess.” Ron shrugs and kicks his toe into the ground. “There’s still something missing, though.”

Hermione reaches out to touch his arm. It’s a risky move, but she does it anyway. “I’m sure there always will be,” she whispers. “You’re missing a brother.”

“What?” Ron looks up. “No, not Fred. I’ve learned to work through that.”

“Lavender, then?”

“No.”

“Then—”

Ron steps forward, cutting her off. “You, Hermione. You’re missing.” His hands find the sides of her face, cupping her tenderly as he guides her gaze to him.

Tears well in her eyes and a few spill down her cheeks from the overflow. “I missed you. I was so worried we wouldn’t be able to move past this.”

“I know. I’m sorry I fucked up.”

“You didn’t. You were hurting. You lost so much.”

They’re so close their foreheads touch. She can feel his hot breath on her skin as her arms wrap around his torso, willing him to close the distance. And he does, but not until he responds first.

“Yeah, but I didn’t lose my ‘everything.’” 

Their lips meet. It’s soft and sweet and full of emotion, but there is no urgency to it. Not like there was during the battle. This kiss is a reconciliation, a step out of exile and into each other’s arms, where they’ve always meant to be.

When they break apart, Ron makes a promise. “I know I couldn’t change things around back then, but I’ll be better now. For us. I can’t lose you too, Hermione.”

“You won’t. I promise you won’t.”

I think I’ve seen this film before

And I didn’t like the ending

So I’m leavin’ out the side door

#ron weasley #hermione granger #ron weasley x hermione granger #ron x hermione #romione #hp fanfic #cruel summer fic fest #ronmione

[stratiotis-nth]

The few times Cas spoke about his true form, Dean had always imagined some terrifying robed creature with a bazillion heads and rotating rings and fifty giant wings from different animals. He imagined mighty beings that embodied the idea of God’s warriors. Cas once said his true form was size of the Chrysler building, and Dean had had to hide just how impressive the angel was despite looking and acting like a total dork. Cas as Cas was intimidating enough, but Castiel—the Chrysler-sized warrior of divinity—sounded terrifying and majestic all at the same time.

But apparently, Cas had omitted a few details. He had neglected to tell Dean that little bits of his true form lingered with him while he was in human form, some additions that couldn’t be seen but existed with him in another plane of reality.

So imagine Dean’s shock when he’s on a case and accidentally uses the holy fire glasses in his insurance company disguise. He didn’t even realize the difference until Cas joined him and Sam to help.

They were dealing with a Shifter who had been killing old people in a wealthy neighborhood in upstate New York. Cas, a fully functioning angel again, had offered to help when Sam and Dean realized they were up against a Shifter duo instead of a loner.

Sam was out getting grub when Cas appeared in the motel room with a whoosh of wings. Dean knew how much Cas had missed flying, and even he had missed hearing him announce his presence with that characteristic whoosh.

“Hey Cas.” Dean greeted without looking up from the laptop.

“Hello, Dean.” Was the usual response. He flicked his gaze up to Cas briefly, peering over the rim of the glasses he hadn’t bothered taking off. Dean did a double take when he caught a flash of black within the glasses’ lens. Frowning, he pushed the frames up his nose until he could squint through them properly. A sharp intake of breath caught in his throat.

“Dean?”

Cas’ voice floated through his mind but he couldn’t process it. He stared at the Castiel revealed through the lens, abso-fucking-lutely floored.

A pair of black wings, ones Dean had only ever seen the shadow or scorched remains of before, were folded neatly against Cas’ back. As the afternoon sunlight hit the feathers, Dean could see them shimmering and reflecting all the colors of the rainbow subtly. The feathers looked spun of night sky and stardust, light as clouds but dense and powerful was cooling lava. Dean had a really, really strong urge to run his fingers through them. They looked like they’d make his fingers tingle with lightning.

Alongside the wings, the other newly revealed part of Cas was his halo. He had never mentioned one before, so Dean had just assumed halos were just another one of those things crazy Christians made up. But apparently, angels did had halos, because there was a thin ring of glowing light surrounding Cas’ head like a circlet, hovering above his ears and just a few inches away from his hair and forehead. It gleamed an ethereal pale gold, almost white, light. As he looked at it closer, he noticed a few gaps in the ring, like jagged cracks where pieces had fallen away. Were they supposed to be like that?

Dean was so shocked that he wondered how the hell he was even seeing these parts of Cas now. It took him a moment for his sluggish brain to piece together that he must had accidentally taken the holy fire glasses instead of another fake pair.

“Dean? Are you alright?”

He blinked, still taking in the halo and wings, and cleared his throat. Cas was frowning at him in concern, his head tilted adorably to the side. The halo drifted and followed a half second behind his movement.

“Uh—“ a strangled noise escapes Dean’s throat. His fingers itched to dig themselves into those feathers, to trace that halo and try to feel the warmth of light. He swallowed thickly, his throat clicking. The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Are there supposed to be cracks in that thing?”

Cas blinked at him, thoroughly confused. A split second later, his face both flushed and paled at the same time. Dean worried the sudden blood flow would make him pass out, but then he remembered Cas was an angel.

“Those glasses have been burned in holy fire, haven’t they?” He asked, his wings tucking more firmly against his back like he was trying to hide them.

“Uh, uh yeah.” He stammered, wondering if he should say something to ease Cas’ obvious insecurity. “Grabbed ‘em by accident.”

Cas shuffled his feet awkwardly, the light of his halo dimming shyly. He obviously wasn’t going to offer any information unless Dean pressed a little more.

“So?” He managed to sound somewhat casual, even though his heart was beating loudly in his ears. “What’s with the missing pieces?”

“Ah.” Cas rumbled in his low voice. He avoided Dean’s eyes, his chipped halo floating after every movement of his head. “Well, to angels, the halo represents purity and devotion to God. It is the manifestation of each angel’s divinity. When Lucifer rebelled against Heaven, his halo was shattered as a sign of disgrace and he was banished to Hell. Other angels like Gabriel and Anna had a chip broken off because they rejected Heaven and their loyalties were to their own well-being. Angels cannot exist fully if their halos are damaged, but because Gabriel was an archangel and Anna became human, they were exceptions.”

Dean frowned. But Cas had way more than one piece missing and he was still alive and still an angel.

“So how come you’re still around?” He asked, waving a hand at Cas’ cracked halo.

“Because I was created already broken.” The words, delivered in a flat, emotionless tone, still cut through Dean’s heart. That wasn’t true. Cas wasn’t broken. He was just Cas. Perfectly fine the way he was. “As you have heard from many angels and Chuck himself, I came off the line with a crack in my chassis. I was created to be flawed.”

“Cas…” Dean began, trying to find the words to tell him that it wasn’t true, that everything Naomi and Chuck had told him was a lie.

“It’s alright, Dean.” Cas said gently, glancing at him for the first time since the conversation started. “When Jack restored me to my full power I asked to keep the cracks I bear. Not as an punishment.” he added, somehow interpreting the frown flashing across Dean’s face. “but as proof that angels can exist with their flaws and still do good things. That they can still protect humanity, as was their reason for existence.”

Well, when he put it that way, Dean really couldn’t protest. It was very Cas-like of him to not give a single fuck about being perfect and defying everything anyone has ever known by doing it his way.

“But I am sorry.”

That made Dean snap his head up sharply, looking at Cas in surprise.

“For what?” He asked incredulously.

“For forcing you to see me like this.” Cas’ wings spread out momentarily before being tucked tightly against his back again, hiding their magnificence from Dean. He hated that. He hated that Cas thought Dean wouldn’t want to see him like this, one step closer to his true form, to the real Castiel. “I understand it was undoubtedly shocking and unsettling, but if I could hide these parts of myself from those glasses, I would for your sake.”

“No.” Dean snapped vehemently, jumping to his feet and jabbing a finger at Cas. He hated that Cas believed the things he was saying. How could he not be awestruck by him, by his beautiful wings and perfectly flawed halo? “Shut the fuck up, Cas.”

Cas’ face fell even further than before, the corners of his mouth ticking down and his eyes falling downcast. He looked so…rejected. It cut right through Dean’s heart again, and he scrambled to fix it before they fell victim to miscommunication again.

“Cas.” Dean said firmly, ducking down to catch his gaze. Like a moth to light, that piercing blue gaze fixed on green and followed them up. “I ain’t unsettled. Shocked, but in a really good way.”

Cas looked frowned, confused. Dean plowed on.

“Dude, don’t be ashamed of who you are. Your wings and halo…they look awesome, man. Seriously. You look badass.”

Cas’ lips parted in shock. Dean nervously fidgeted with a pen he had forgotten was in his hands, tapping it against his palm as he struggled to find the right words.

“You ain’t broken or flawed—you’re just Cas. My—“

Best friend didn’t cut it anymore. They had gone through too much together to be best friends. Brothers didn’t sit right either. Dean didn’t feel the same things for Cas as he did Sam (it made him shudder in disgust just thinking about his little brother like that). Dean knew what it was like to lose Cas and Sam—Sam, he had lost his family, his blood. Cas, Dean had lost a part of his soul.

“—you’re my—“

Dean wanted—needed—to say the words. But nothing fit, nothing felt right. No word could describe just what Cas was to him.

“—you’re my angel, Cas. And I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Cas just stared at him with another one of those soul searching gazes. Even when he was human, Dean felt he could still see straight through him, searching for deception or lies and every time never finding one.

There was a small, awed smile on Cas’ face, and before Dean could register what was happening, Cas gently cupped the back of his neck and pulled Dean down. Soft, chapped lips pressed briefly against his forehead, warm and sweet and grateful. They were gone a moment later, and so was Cas’ hand.

“Thank you, Dean.” He said softly after a while. “I appreciate it.”

Dean blinked and nodded stiffly. His entire body was shaking, aching to feel that warmth again. “Don’t…yeah, don’t mention it, Cas. I just…you gotta know the truth.”

Cas’ wings were fluffed up a bit, and they twitched against his back like they were itching to spread out. His halo was glowing much brighter than before, matching his smile.

“I have always been honored to be by your side, Dean, but it is nice to hear that you consider me yours.”

There was a lump in his throat that muted his voice. He nodded, shivering when he felt the cool, electrified tingling brush of a feather run down his arm and the warmth of light as Cas’ halo grew brighter.

“Always have. Cas.” He murmured, staring down at the pen clutched between his trembling fingers. He could feel Cas’ smile grow, and the primary feather of his wings brushed against his arm with a little more intent.

“As have I.” His response was so quiet that Dean almost didn’t hear it. But a shiver ran down his spine nonetheless. There was something different in the air, now that there were these confessions in the open. It wasn’t quite like a straightforward declaration that Dean was Cas’ and Cas was Dean’s, but it was pretty damn close. It was just a soft, gentle confirmation of how they had felt about each other since Cas pulled Dean from Hell all those years ago.

The quiet, peaceful moment between them was effectively shattered when they both heard the motel door open and Sam come barging through. They both jumped apart. They might have confessed…something between them…but that didn’t mean they were at all comfortable letting Sam see them in such an intimate moment.

“Uhhh…” Sam came to an abrupt halt as he took in Dean and Cas all but throwing themselves in opposite directions. “did I…?”

“No.” both Dean and Cas said quickly. They faltered and fell silent. Sam glanced between them hesitantly, like they were a bomb about to go off. Dean peeked over at Cas, noticing how his wings were fluffed up almost twice their size, his cheeks burning when he noticed Dean had noticed.

“Riiiight.” Sam said. “Well…there’s uh…been another body. I was gonna grab you and go…?”

“Yeah.” Dean said immediately, straightening up. “Let’s go.”

Cas looked like he wanted to protest—or force Sam to leave so they could deal with twelve years of tension—but Dean pointedly sent a prayer his way.

Tonight. Promise.

Cas’ wings fluffed up even more, his halo’s light shone so brightly it poked Dean’s eyes, and his face was redder than a tomato.

Dean grinned before grabbing his keys.

“See ya at the crime scene, angel.” He said before ducking out of the motel room.

“Is Cas okay?” Sam asked when they were in Baby.

“Oh yeah.” Dean grinned smugly, already looking forward to tonight. “He’s definitely okay.”

He’s got a chipped halo and beautiful wings that had once been burned to bone.

He’s Dean’s angel. He’s perfect.

#this was a lot longer than i thought it would be #but i’m a sucker for cas with a halo and wings #dean would be so floored to see cas like that #supernatural #cas #castiel #destiel #spn #casdean #dean is bi #dean winchester #deancas #love confessions #destiel confession #destiel fandom #destiel fanfic

[gamerwoo]

[Tales from the Pack] Joshua: Second Chance (Part One)

Characters: Joshua x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, angst, possible character death, a little bit of fluff but it’s like angsty fluff

Word count: 1,837

Summary: After his mate died, Joshua always blamed himself and never wanted to imprint again. However, fate has other ideas when he meets you: a young, energetic werecoyote that’s quite the opposite of him. He insists he doesn’t want a new mate – nobody’s even sure if he’s ready for a new one – but he can’t ignore his instincts.

Next | Second Chance Masterlist

a/n: things in bold are in english. BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY!!!! hi i know everyone has been awaiting this series from tftp in particular. and while i wish i could say im updating this regularly,,,,,i cannot. there’s no definite update schedule, im just doing it when i can. i wanted to wait until i had all the parts written but im impatient. but i hope you’ll enjoy this series even with the slow updates, and i hope it lives up to expectations 💜

“Where’re we going?” Joshua grumbled as he followed slightly behind Hansol and Kyung, the younger boy’s hand wrapped around hers.

Joshua was going with them to the doctor without actually knowing. Kyung knew better than to tell him before they left because she figured the grumpy werewolf would just tell her no, not really caring whether he was unable to heal or not -- even though that was very clearly a bad sign that he had overexerted himself.

Kyung thought maybe Joshua would be a little less...angry all the time once she got to know him, but Joshua was stubborn well before he’d even met her -- he was just bad at shoving his stubbornness and anger down.

“I promised I’d get my back fixed if Kyung decided to stay, and you said you’d go if I went, didn’t you?” Hansol reminded his brother with a smirk over his shoulder. “We’re gonna go see that doctor we were told about. What was her name again?”

“Minjee,” Kyung replied. “Not to sound rude but...Josh, why don’t you want to see a doctor?”

“I don’t really care if I can heal or not either way,” he replied flatly, “but I said I’d get help if Hansol did. So...here we are.”

“Here we are...” she repeated in a mumble.

Joshua simply followed the mated couple in silence as the alpha led them to Minjee’s, being the first to knock on the door. It was a girl -- as expected -- that opened the door, bowing politely to the group before smiling brightly at the darker skinned girl in front of them.

“Kyung!” she exclaimed as she gestured the three of them in. “I haven’t seen you in so long -- I suppose that’s a good thing, though. How’ve you been? Your pack hasn’t mentioned you.”

“I’m not actually in that pack anymore,” Kyung told her with a shrug, her ‘cool’ exterior coming back in the presence of an old friend. “I’m an alpha of my mate’s pack now.”

Minjee seemed impressed, eyebrows raising with a smile, “Wow, look at you. How’d the sudden change happen? Jiung must be proud.”

“He’s actually...passed away.”

The doctor’s face fell, placing a comforting hand on your upper arm, “I’m sorry for the loss of your brother.”

Kyung nodded, “I’ve been grieving, but it’s been easier with my mate. Minjee, this is Hansol, and his brother -- er, our brother, I guess -- Joshua.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Hansol said as he nodded to her. “Our brother, Soonyoung came in before with a human girl to talk about fixing us -- I’ve got silver burned into my back, and Joshua’s the healer that can’t heal anymore.”

“Ah, yes, the healer!” Minjee’s eyes lit up as she nodded excitedly. She looked to Joshua now. “Your power still hasn’t come back?”

“No,” he replied. “I thought just resting would help but...nothing.”

“I see,” she hummed, eyeing him over before looking back at Kyung like she was their mother that took them to the doctor’s office. “I’ll do a quick look over and then see what I can do. It’s almost time for me to close up, and I have to go out of town for a few days. I won’t be able to do anything until about a week from now, but they’ll be fine until then if they’ve been fine this long.”

“That’s okay,” Hansol shrugged as Joshua replied, “No worries.”

“Alright,” Minjee breathed with a warm smile, grabbing some gloves from nearby, “then let’s get started and see what’s going on.”

-

Even though you were never careful, you wanted to blame this on shitty luck. You were too carefree and excitable, so you ran and ran and didn’t see the trap. So with you trapped under a net with little prickles that you were sure were laced with wolfsbane from how fucking awful you felt -- that was an understatement -- all you could do was wait for hunters to come find you before death took you itself. Honestly, you hoped the latter would come first.

You faintly heard footsteps coming toward you as your vision went out of focus, your eyelids becoming too heavy to keep up. You sensed a presence beside you, the body crouching down to get a better look at you.

“What do we have here?” a female-sounding voice asked, but it sounded far away and muffled to you. “Is this another werewolf?”

“I can’t tell,” another female voice replied in a sigh. “Sura, do you have any ideas?”

“Doesn’t smell like werewolf to me,” a male voice said. “It definitely is some kind of were-creature, though. This thing wreaks of wolfsbane and it’s clearly affecting her. I’d say...coyote, maybe?”

One of the women sucked in a breath between their teeth before saying, “Prajya, help me get this net off of her -- it’ll be heavy but I’m afraid to let Sura touch it.”

Slowly, you felt the weight of the net being lifted off of you. You could also feel every little barb stuck in you being pulled out, and you whimpered softly from the stinging pain that covered your body.

“Minjee, will she make it?” the second girl asked as you were lifted into warm arms.

“No,” the male replied, “probably not.”

“The house isn’t far from here,” the first girl insisted. “We just have to hurry.”

But you were out cold before they even took the first step.

-

Josh and Hansol weren’t really sure why so many people wanted to go with them into town that night for them to finally get fixed. Suvi was understandable since she just enjoyed going into town, and Soomin made sense since she was basically their resident know-it-all when it came to werewolves. However, Wonwoo wanting to tag along was weird because Wonwoo didn’t like leaving the house, much less going into town. They figured maybe it was because he wanted to make sure Soomin would be alright, but she was already going to be with two werewolves and a girl who had gone into town plenty of times. She was in good hands, but whatever made Wonwoo happy.

“Are you nervous?” Suvi wondered, looking up between Hansol and Joshua as she walked.

“I don’t know how they’re going to fix my back, so that’s a little concerning,” Hansol decided, “but I’m more excited.”

Joshua just shrugged, “Eh, not really.”

“Try not to be so excited, huh,” Wonwoo commented.

Joshua did like his power. He liked that he was able to help people with it. However, it didn’t benefit him -- as in, it didn’t make his own personal healing any better than anybody else’s in the pack -- and it wouldn’t be needed if his pack wasn’t so stupid and got themselves hurt. It wasn’t fun like Seokmin’s or Chan’s or Kyung’s, and it wasn’t interesting like Jihoon’s or Soonyoung’s or Hansol’s or Minghao’s. It was boring -- kind of like Wonwoo’s or Seungcheol’s.

Suvi was the first up to the door, knocking before she took a step back to wait. The door was answered by Minjee -- as always -- who greeted them with an almost pained smile.

“Hello,” she greeted them. “Before you come in, I’d like to apologize. My partners and I have just gotten home, and one of our patients... Well, she won’t make it.”

Now that she’d mentioned it, the wolves could just barely hear the faint, slowing heartbeat from inside the house. But they could also smell that it wasn’t the typical werewolf. It was something they’d never smelled before, but it still wasn’t completely human.

Joshua also picked up on a scent that was very familiar but also so very different from anything he’d smelled before.

“We’re just trying to ease her pain until she passes,” Minjee continued, letting the small group into the house. She turned to look at somebody else who was helping with the aforementioned girl. “Sura, could you put a curtain up around her? Prajya, I’ll need you to help me with--”

Minjee stopped when she noticed Joshua stop in the doorway, his body going rigid. His golden eyes were spotting red and locked on you, hands balled into fists.

You were dying; his mate was dying. Again.

“Josh...?” Wonwoo spoke up, placing a hand on the older boy’s shoulder.

Joshua’s thoughts and opinions on re-imprinting were out the window when it registered that the girl quickly losing her life was his mate. The only thing he could focus on was you and saving you -- but he only knew one way how.

“She’s not dying,” he stated, walking straight through the small crowd and over to you where your pulse was just a moment away from completely dying out.

“What?” Minjee asked, watching him as he approached you with a set jaw and narrowed eyes.

“I’m not going to let her die,” he said louder, letting his hands hover above your body.

Joshua was too focused on trying to somehow get his powers to come back to him that he wasn’t paying any attention to Hansol and Wonwoo’s conversation over their surprise of their brother imprinting for a second time. Truthfully, nobody thought anybody would come after Lilly since Josh was so against it. But then again, imprinting wasn’t something any werewolf could control. 

Joshua mumbled to himself as he tried to will his power back. He was concentrating so hard but nothing was happening. No faint glow from his palms, no color coming back to your face, and your heartbeat was still rapidly decreasing by the second. It wouldn’t be long until it was gone all together, and then there would be nothing he could do.

“C’mon...c’mon...” he grumbled, closing his eyes as his eyebrows creased together in concentration.

“Your powers won’t suddenly work,” Minjee spoke up, watching from where she stood by his pack, wanting to give the werewolf space -- especially since she was preparing for him to be grieving for the mate he’d lose before actually having her.

“They have to!” he snapped.

He refused to lose you. If he lost two mates -- even if he didn’t properly meet or know you -- he was sure he wouldn’t be able to take it.

With his last bit of energy he had in his body, his palms faintly glowed to life, spreading a tingling warmth across your body. His healing power was starting to cleanse the wolfsbane from your system, and your heartbeat was starting to become stronger and more stable. Hearing your heartbeat louder in his ears made Josh want to cry. But he didn’t have the energy for it.

As you let out a cough and a girl with brown skin rushed over to sit you up so you could empty your system, Joshua collapsed onto the floor, knowing you were alive and would hopefully stay alive. He put his everything into saving you, and he didn’t know if that would kill him, but he knew it was worth it.

#seventeen #joshua #joshua hong #seventeen au #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #seventeen oneshot #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #werewolf!seventeen #joshua au #joshua imagine #joshua scenario #joshua oneshot #joshua fanfic #joshua x reader #werewolf!joshua #joshua hong au #joshua hong imagine #joshua hong scenario #joshua hong oneshot #joshua hong fanfic #joshua hong x reader #werewolf!joshua hong

[meltingpotimagines]

Boyfriend!Todoroki

dating has never really interested him

but you changed that completely

mina being the people person she is introduced you to the friend group and you just kinda became one of the group

indifferent to your presence at first but slowly became interested the more time he spent around you

how happy you seemed when you laughed or how you wouldn’t take bakugo’s crap

started to pay more attention to you particularly after you managed to put him in his place

(to this day no one knows how you managed to do that and bakugo refuses to admit it ever happened)

he’s never met someone that could handle the human bomb as well as he can

every new thing he learns about you and your personality gets him more and more interested

finds himself hanging around more whenever you come by the dorm

he’s just intrigued by you not like he’s lowkey crushing or anything

denki realized he had a crush on you when he caught him staring at you and from then on was determined to set you two up

(he’d noticed those quick little peaks you’d take in shoto’s direction when you thought no one was looking and shipped it s o hard)

roped mina and ochaco into his schemes bc he knew they’d ship you two just as hard as he did it they knew

he also needed the extra help bc you two were the d e n s e s t people he’d ever met

tried to get shoto to realize his feelings in every way he knew possible

“hey todoroki, doesn’t y/n look so cute today?” “yes”

“y/n, can you go with todoroki to get some snacks for the movie tonight?” “sure”

boy was this close to just locking you two in a closet together and hoping for the best

and almost did but ochaco convinced him to go with a game of spin the bottle instead

with a rigged bottle of course

let everyone in on the plan except mineta so there was no chance of anything going wrong

they will be d a r n e d if their last ditch attempt fails

thankfully neither of you objected when mina suggested the game one night

made sure both you and shoto sat exactly across from each other so regardless of who spun the bottle you’d have to kiss each other

mina volunteered you to go first

shoto stiffened almost imperceptibly when the bottle landed on him

you were going to kiss him

he was going to kiss you

you two were going to kiss

he was going to have his first kiss

with you

in front of everyone

oh no

everyone cheering “kiss! kiss! kiss! kiss!” certainly did not help

he may not know everything but he was n o t oblivious to the fact that everyone found him attractive

which usually means people expect you to know what you’re doing

he did not

at all

was he supposed to make the first move? or were you since you spun the bottle? 

what’s the proper protocol for spin the bottle?

is there proper protocol for spin the bottle?

he wouldn’t know

he’s never played before

did his best to hide his nervousness as you moved towards him

he’d never hear the end of it if anyone figured out it was his first kiss

luckily for him, you just gave him a quick peck on the cheek

not that that stopped him from blushing, much to your surprise

he was equality as surprised at the blush on your cheeks

“...can you come with me for a moment?”

everyone’s teasing voices follow you all the way down the hall (as well as mineta’s “wait where is everyone going? i didn’t get to spin yet!”)

as soon as you were out of earshot he turned around and stared at you for a moment

“do you... like me?”

his heart raced at the sight of your flushed cheeks and skipped a beat when you nodded

“...would you like to go out with me?”

he’s so awkwardly formal it’s so cute

was so nervous he nearly didn’t hear your happy little “yes!”

he relaxed as a soft smile graced his face

“tomorrow, six o’clock? meet at the front door?” “it’s a date”

one of many~

but the only one before he asked you to be his

hey, boy knows what he wants

was kinda nervous bc he doesn’t know much about this stuff but he’s a fast learner

gets you red roses sometimes bc he heard that was romantic

first time he did he got you a bouquet of fifty

not that it wasn’t appreciated ofc but in hindsight, fifty is just a l i t t l e excessive on a normal day 

was confused when you suggested changing your contact names for each other but went along with it

chose a simple ‘mine’

tried to make you change his when he saw you picked ‘freezer burn’

“you chose freezer burn? why?” “because teasing is a sign of affection” “fine”

it makes you happy so he’ll allow it even if he’d rather it be boyfriend ᵒʳ ʰᵒᵗ ˢᵗᵘᶠᶠ

never initiated physical contact at first, but as he got more comfortable with you, the touchier he became

not big into pda but turns into a massive cuddlebug when it’s just the two of you

doesn’t really care how you cuddle as long as he’s facing you

he can’t stand cuddling with his back to you

loves to take cuddle naps

even if he doesn’t actually sleep and just dozes the whole time, it’s his favorite way to spend time with you

just being wrapped up in blankets with you, listening to your steady breathing or your heartbeat if his head is on your chest

it makes him feel at peace

was determined not to go to you about nightmares

no one needs to know about those and he certainly didn’t need to bother you with them

but one night he had a particularly bad one

showed up your door at two in the morning

no explanation, just stood there, face hidden until you invited him in

curled into bed with you and buried his face in your neck

you could feel the tears on your skin but didn’t say anything about it, much to his relief

he clung to you until he finally fell asleep, safe and warm in your arms

opened up in the morning about the nightmares

it made him feel very exposed but he felt you deserved an explanation

not that you would ever judge him or use it against him

“you know you can come to me whenever you have them right?’

he didn’t but now he does

anytime you hear a knock on your door in the middle of the night, you know it’s him

it’s always the same routine

you let him in, he crawls into bed with you, you two fall asleep with him in your arms

it makes him feel better knowing he has a safe place to go to

sometimes gets insecure about his scar

is it ugly? or was his mom right after all? is his left side itself unsightly?

it always quiets those thoughts when you kiss his scar

makes him feel loved

the first time you two said i love you was both so awkward but so precious

you had been a little out of it all day

it had been a long day and there had been a lot of your mind

out of habit you said “bye love you” as you turned to leave and it took your tired brain a couple of seconds to process what you had just said

crap

internally freaking out, you looked back to see him staring at you, eyes wide

crap crap crap

“i mean-”

his eyes softened and a gentle smile spread across his face before walking towards you and pressing a kiss to your forehead

“i love you, too”

pLS imma cry

from then on showed how much he loved you in everything he did

press little kisses wherever his head is when you cuddle

always gets you a drink when he gets himself one

takes note whenever he sees you eyeing something that you want and gets it for you later

buys you your favorite food when you’re sad

gently squeezes your hand when you go on walks together

wordlessly takes off his jacket and wraps it around you if it’s chilly

he doesn’t say the words very often but his actions say it all

he’ll never leave you any room to doubt how much he loves you

#todoroki #todoroki imagine #todoroki x reader #shoto #shoto imagine #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki #my hero academia #mha #mha imagine #boko no hero academia #bnha #bnha imagine

[gladerwolfstarkimagines]

Unlikely friends: Part 2

Azula comes to visit you in the earth kingdom and the two of you spend more time together leading Azula to confess her feelings.

Part one here

Part three here

Azula’s POV

Azula lasted 1 month, 2 weeks and 4 days before she took you up on your offer to escape to the earth kingdom. She and Zuko had gotten into a silly argument and Azula really wanted to get away from the fire nation and him. So she wrote to you and received a reply hours later. You told her to come immediately and listed the address. So Azula was walking through the streets of an earth kingdom village searching for Toph’s school. It was pretty easy, the whole town seemed to be proud to be chosen by Toph Beifong and she passed many people in uniforms or signs boasting this was the proud location of the best earth bending school in the world. Azula knew she’d arrived when she found an 8-foot statue of Toph outside a large building. She supposed Toph herself had made it and had to admire the girl’s confidence. Azula knocked on the door but it fell open. She walked inside and could hear the soft thudding of earth bending somewhere further inside. You had only said to come to the school so Azula didn’t know what to do next. She looked around and found a child around age 10 or so. "You boy tell me where can I find y/n" she called. The boy shrugged "I don’t know". Azula narrowed her eyes "well is she teaching a class? What’s your best guess for her location?". The boy sighed "why should i tell you?". Azula had always hated children and got a strong urge to throttle the boy but she breathed deeply "because i’m a friend of hers and i need to see her". "I’ll take you to her....if you pay me, you look rich". "Five" Azula bargained and the boy shook his head "fifty". "Ten" Azula bargained but the boy shook his head "now it’s sixty". Azula broke and grabbed the boy’s sleeve as she lit her other hand on fire "listen here you little monster....” she started when someone came around the corner. “Sifu Toph this woman is attacking me!” the child cried and Azula paused letting the kid go. “Toph I....”. “Let me guess, you were looking for y/n and Lamo here asked you for money? So you threatened him”. Azula blinked “yes exactly, if you’re upset...” she started when Toph turned to the boy. “Lamo what did I tell you about choosing your opponents wisely? You see a scary fire bender and challenge her? Do you have a death wish?”. The boy stammered “sorry sifu Toph” and bowed deeply. “Enough of that now go train!” Toph barked and Azula admired how the boy ran away as fast as he could. She watched him go before awkwardly turning to your cousin. Azula had hardly spoken to the girl and the few times she had, they’d been trying to kill each other but hopefully that was in the past. “Y/n’s this way” Toph said breaking the silence and Azula just nodded following her. It was an awkward walk but as Toph was your closest family Azula wanted her to like her. “I wasn’t really going to burn him” she clarified “I was just going to scare him a bit”. Toph made a grunt in reply “the lily liver would deserve it, attacking someone from the fire nation, you people are so fickle with your honour. You taught him a good lesson about staying away from fire folk”. “You’re welcome?” Azula offered. Toph shot her a look and Azula realised she shouldn’t have said that. Thankfully they reached you before Toph could reply.

Your POV

You were in the middle of class when you heard the door open and you turned. You stopped midsentence and grinned “Azula!”. You paused realising everyone in the room, including your students were staring and coughed “Azula...if you would please just wait over there i’ll be with you soon”. Azula nodded smiling slightly and you looked away so as to not blush. “Anyway so as I was saying....” you started when Toph stepped forwards “I got this y/n, you go see to your guest”. You grinned “really?”. Toph smiled, she’d seen how your face lit up when you looked at Azula and figured you deserved an evening off. “Sure” Toph nodded and you grinned patting her arm before rushing to Azula. You led Azula outside of the gym and into your private quarters before throwing your arms around her in a hug. "It’s so good to see you but of course sorry circumstances! How are you?". Azula shrugged "i’m okay, me and Zuzu always argue it’s nothing new....thank you for letting me come here on such short notice though. I hope i didn’t cause too much of a disturbance?". "Nah that was the last class of the day so your timing was perfect". Azula blushed as you emphasised the word perfect while staring at her and you smiled. "So i’ll show you where you can put your stuff and then we can go get some food and have a catch-up! I like our letters but it just can’t compare to talking to you in person". Azula smiled pleased you felt that way also "i agree, there’s no replacement for hearing and seeing you". This time you were the one blushing but you smiled brightly and took Azula’s hand "well come on then, let's get started" and led her away.

"It was my fault" Azula sighed recounting the argument to you "i was in a bad mood because of our mother’s visit and so i was snapping at Zuko and then he snapped back". You nodded your head listening with a worried look. "And i know our mother is trying but i...i think i still have some issues with her that i should really address". You nodded your head "would you be able to discuss them with her or do you need more time to heal?". Azula shrugged "maybe, i don’t know....anyway enough about me, tell me all about your new life! How is it being a renown earth bending teacher?". You laughed “i’m not so sure about that, Toph’s the talent, I just handle the basic and beginners but I don’t mind that I’ve never been fond of children, especially as they get older and more annoying”. Azula smiled at you and you frowned “what?”. “Nothing” she smiled looking away “I just knew there was a reason I liked you”. You grinned “because I hate children?”. “Precisely” Azula nodded and you both laughed. "I wish i was around you more" Azula said suddenly and you paused managing not to blush "you do?". She nodded "i feel calmer with you, my temper here feels completely under control but at home...". "Hey the important thing is you're trying to control it" you smiled putting a hand on her arm "you’ll get the hang of it, one day at a time remember?". Azula nodded glancing at your hand on her. You went to move it away noticing when Azula put her hand on top of yours "thanks y/n".

Azula’s POV

“No problem Azula” you smiled and Azula just allowed herself to admire you. You looked so beautiful just sat on the deck of your garden smiling at her...Azula felt her breath stifle. "Why are you staring, is something wrong?" you asked as Azula gazed at you intently but she shook her head "nothing...the opposite actually, you look so beautiful". Azula had no idea where that confidence had come from but she meant what she said, here with you all her insecurities just melted away. She felt good enough, you made her feel good enough.  A blush appeared on your cheeks but you only looked away for a few seconds. “You should see it from my view" you replied and Azula grinned. Azula had made her feelings clear and this was you returning them. She couldn’t be happier but she had to make sure before she moved onto the next step...

Your POV

Azula smiled and leant closer to you “y/n can i kiss you?". "I thought you’d never ask" you smirked and Azula kissed you. She held onto your cheek softly as she tenderly and almost cautiously kissed you. Azula was very gentle and you were pleasantly surprised, you found this timid Azula adorable. You pulled away and the sun made Azula’s face glow but her red cheeks were all her own. "I...i like you, a lot" Azula blushed and you smiled taking her hand "i like you too...a lot". Azula laughed "that’s a relief! It’d be awkward if you didn’t after that”. You laughed “it would be” and stroked the top of her hand “but that’s not the case, I like you with every fibre of my being. I have since our trip” you explained. Azula nodded “I did too I just didn’t realise it, i’m annoyed it took me this long but I mean to make up for the lost time”. “That sounds good” you smiled and Azula’s eyes flicked over you. “In that case....can i kiss you again?". "Yes and you can stop asking now, the answer will always be yes" you told her. "Got it" Azula nodded and you smirked at how adorable she was before leaning in to kiss her again.

The next few days were a blur with Azula. You took her all over your town and just enjoyed being totally and utterly in each others company. It was the perfect weekend for a new couple but Azula was scheduled to leave the next day putting a slight negative atmosphere over the day.

After a walk to a restaurant Azula had taken a liking to you returned to the porch where you first kissed and lounged in the sinking sunlight. “I don’t want you to go” you said softly and Azula nodded draping her arm around you and pressing her face into your hair “me either”. You melted into her more and Azula wrapped her arms around you fully. Azula held you, watching the sunset and marvelled at how perfect her visit had been. Since she was a child she didn’t think such a sweet innocent experience would ever occur to her but she was wrong. She looked down at you against her and an idea came to her.

“Come back to the fire nation with me” Azula said suddenly and you sat up surprised. “Come back...but Azula you know I have to stay here and help Toph”. “I didn’t mean permanently I just meant for the remainder of my mom’s stay? She’s only going to be another 4 days and I meant what i said, i’m better around you and i want to show my mom and Zuko that i’m not who i once was and i think i can with your help...". The tone of Azula’s voice made you sigh and you turned to face her properly "you said that knowing i wouldn’t be able to resist didn’t you?". Azula smiled "i suspected appealing to your selfless kind nature might help". "Stop flattering i’ll come back with you" you rolled your eyes and Azula gasped. "Y/n thank you!" she cried peppering your face and lips with kisses. You pretended to be annoyed but seeing Azula’s genuine happiness at the thought of you coming back with her made you smile.

Azula’s POV

You stayed out on the porch long after the sunset and when you did stumble inside you both jumped to see Toph sat in the room. “Nice night?” she asked. Azula felt her hand in yours and knew even though the girl was blind she could sense things like this. Azula glanced at you but you didn’t seem nervous. “We did thank you, how about you?”. Toph nodded her head “I did, y/n can you please do and tell Raosheng in the village that I will be requiring his help running the school while you are in the fire nation?”. Azula jolted expecting an argument but again you didn’t tense. “I have already sent him a letter but I will go and make sure he knows, be right back” you smiled and walked out the door. Silence settled and Azula stared at Toph in horror. Toph was basically your only family, the person who meant the most to you in the world...if she didn’t get on with her that could wreck the whole relationship. Azula cleared her throat “so you heard our conversation about y/n visiting me?”. Toph nodded her head “I didn’t mean to but I got worried you were trying to poach my best teacher”. “No i’d never try and take her from you, I know how much you both care for one another” Azula rushed to reassure her. Toph made a noise and stood up going to leave the room. “Do you...did you hear anything else?” Azula asked and Toph paused. “I know you’re dating my cousin if that’s what you mean”. Azula went to ask how when Toph laughed “the two of you aren’t subtle, y/n’s always worn her heart on her sleeve but even she was too blissfully happy for it to be because of your presence alone, no offence”. “None taken” Azula shrugged. She supposed Toph must be fine with it and so satisfied her relationship wasn’t in danger went to leave the room when the door closed. “I trust y/n to make good decisions” Toph said suddenly “she a good judge of character and she trusts you so I do too...but if you ever harm or hurt her....you’re powerful but I took you out once and I’ll do it again”. “That was in the eclipse” Azula pointed out before she smiled “but I understand, trust me I have no intentions of ever harming her or letting her get hurt, she’s one of the few people I would never let anything happen to”. Toph nodded “I believe you will honour that promise, you better...” and left the room.

The next day

You and Azula stood waiting for the airship and Azula kept glancing at you often. “I’m not going anywhere, I promised to come with you so I am” you said and she jumped “was I that obvious?”. You smiled “just a little bit” and took her hand discreetly. Azula knew the earth kingdom was worse than the fire nation for judging same-sex relationships and so stood up taller ready to defend you if necessary. “So how was your conversation with Toph?” you asked and her posture slumped. “You knew she was going to give me the protective sibling talk! You left us alone together on purpose”. “Of course!” you grinned “I knew Toph wanted to get her threats out of the way and so i’m sorry but I let her, I figured you of all people could handle it”.  Azula nodded “I managed to convince her I won’t harm you or ever let anyone else hurt you, so yes you were right”. “I figured that when I came back and the school was still standing” you joked. Azula smiled “I wouldn’t attack her she’s your family, but if she attacked me first....well that’s just retaliation”. You laughed and smiled at Azula “thank you for being so perfect this weekend, now it’s my turn to try and do the same in your home”. Azula took your hand “you’ll be perfect I promise”. “Well I guess there’s only one way to find out” you said and nodded to the airship that had appeared in the sky. “Are you ready?” Azula asked as the ship came closer. You nodded and squeezed her hand tighter “next stop the fire nation”.  

____

Next and final part the fire nation!!

#azula #azula imagine #azula x reader #princess azula #atla azula #avatar azula #atla #Avatar The Last Airbender #avatar the last airbender imagine #fire nation #earth kingdom #metal bending #earth bending #zuko #toph #beifong #atla zuko #avatar zuko #atla toph #toph beifong #avatar toph #fire nation royalty #firelord zuko #ursa

[pastelwitchling]

Alex had both palms braced on the console, breathing deeply, and trying not to spiral into the hurricane of questions and horrifying scenarios his brain was making. He had to stay focused.

“What about the security cameras?” Liz said somewhere behind him.

“We checked them, there’s no hint where he could be,” Max said with a little edge. “Whoever did this knew exactly where to stand to keep hidden.”

“It was Mr. Jones,” Alex muttered, thinking. “It had to be.”

“He hasn’t woken up yet,” Liz was starting, but Alex cut her off.

“Not alone, but he did do this,” he said. “This is how my dad works. He uses people, whoever he needs to. He used Michael when he’d taken me, and now he’s used Mr. Jones.”

It wasn’t right, not completely, Alex knew. Something about this whole plan to take Michael and leave Mr. Jones behind felt off, it felt sloppy. His dad was many things, but not sloppy. The finer details though didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Michael was gone, and Alex was on the verge of losing his mind. Maybe he already had. That didn’t matter either.

“I want to talk to him,” Alex demanded. “See what he knows.”

“Alex,” Max started to shake his head, “we don’t know what he’s capable of, even under the pollen, he could be too dangerous to –”

“I’ve seen things that would give you nightmares, Max Evans,” Alex hissed, and the room fell silent. “Right now, the only danger you have to worry about is me. None of you know anything about interrogation, I’m taking over.”

It was not a request, and Max and Isobel didn’t hear it that way. They took Alex back to Max’s house, through his large living room, into the guest bedroom where Mr. Jones was being kept.

Alex had expected him to look like Max’s twin, but there was something unhinged in the darkness of his eyes that Max definitely didn’t have, a twisted curl to his mouth that said he knew Max and Alex were vibrating with fear for Michael, and that it made him happy.

“Well, well,” he said slowly, his voice hoarse despite the upward quirk of his lips. “Aren’t you a pretty one? I was wondering when I’d get to see you here, Jesse Manes Jr.”

“It’s Alex, actually,” Alex said, kneeling in front of Mr. Jones and peering up at him. There were dark circles around his eyes, his cheeks were hollow, his shoulders slumped with an undeniable exhaustion. There was a single needle wound in his neck.

“You took someone that belongs to me,” Alex said quietly, and Mr. Jones tilted his head, his eyes locked on Alex’s. “And I want him back.”

Mr. Jones started to laugh. It was breathy, his voice cracked, and it faded into a fit of coughs, but he was clearly amused, nonetheless.

“That’s sweet,” he murmured. “You’re sweet. I kinda like you.”

“Enough with your stupid games,” Max warned. “Tell us where my brother is, or you’re going to wish you were never born.”

Mr. Jones gasped mockingly. “Goodness me, brother. What’re you gonna do? Lecture me to death?” His laughs grew louder, stronger. “I know you too well. You put on the villain face, but in the end, you ‘aint got the nerve.” He looked down at Alex, and sneered, like his next words were the most insulting he could think of. “You’re heroes. You see the good in everyone, even a lunatic like Jesse Manes. Now that man is dark. View’s too limited though, too narrow-minded. Can’t see the big picture.”

Alex stared. “You won’t tell us where Michael is? That’s your final answer?” Mr. Jones opened his mouth to retort, but Alex coldly cut him off. “Keep in mind that this is your last chance to talk.”

Mr. Jones’ smile widened and he tilted his head. In a singsong voice, he responded, “Michael’s gonna diiii—eeee.”

Alex’s eye twitched. “Max,” he said, his voice unfamiliar to his own ears. “Can I have a minute please?”

Max must’ve known something bad was about to happen because he quietly responded, “Sure, Alex. Just don’t kill him.”

Alex clenched his jaw, his eyes unmoving from Mr. Jones. He wouldn’t kill him. Dead men couldn’t talk.

*

Max regretted leaving the second the door closed behind him. Isobel, Liz, and Kyle looked up from where they sat on the couch, waiting for an answer.

“Did you find out where Michael is?” Isobel demanded.

Max shook his head. “He won’t talk, no matter what I say.” He punched the wall. “He’s having too much fun.”

“I don’t get it,” Kyle shook his head. “Jesse Manes left him to get caught. How could he still be defending him?”

Max didn’t say his biggest fear; Mr. Jones didn’t care if Jesse had left him so long as he was killing Michael and the rest of them were suffering for it. He would have fun watching no matter what.

Kyle was staring at the guest bedroom door from his seat on the armrest, his arms crossed. “Why’s Alex still in there? Shouldn’t you help him? You’re the one with the powers.”

“Alex wanted a minute alone with him,” Max said, avoiding their eyes.

Liz, of course, noticed right away. “Max,” she said, “what aren’t you telling us?”

Max shook his head. Alex was just worried, they were all worried. He was fine. He opened his mouth to say that when Mr. Jones suddenly screamed.

The others shot to their feet, Isobel’s hands over her mouth, her eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” Liz breathed.

Oh my god was right, Max thought. That wasn’t any normal scream. It was one of pure and utter agony, like the scream of a man having his limbs slowly torn off.

Max took two long steps to the room when the screams suddenly cut off, and the door opened. Alex was wiping his bloody hand off on his jacket. Max stared. He was not the only one. That blood, they knew, was not Alex’s, but it covered his entire forearm like paint.

“Alex,” Kyle breathed, “what the hell –”

“Caulfield,” Alex said at once, already heading to the door. “He’s at Caulfield.”

It was too late to hide the look in his eyes. Max had seen something in Alex shatter, something dark, something frightening.

*

“Drive faster,” Alex said through clenched teeth.

“This is as fast as it’ll go, Alex,” Max said. Alex could feel him glancing. “If anything happened to Michael –”

“Don’t.”

“—We’d know,” he finished. “Okay? Isobel and I would’ve felt it. I would’ve felt it.”

Alex felt the smallest bit of reassurance. It was nothing compared to the overwhelming fear and discomfort at not having Michael in his arms, safe and sound. His hand, his fingers, his wrist and forearm, they were still stained with Mr. Jones’ blood. He could still feel the meat of the alien’s flesh as he dug his fingers into the needle wound at his neck, opening up the cut to fit his fingers, until Mr. Jones was screaming. His eyes wide, as though he’d never expected Alex to raise so much as a finger at him. He’d been wrong. He’d taken Michael.

He had no idea what he’d unleashed.

As if hearing his thoughts, Max quietly asked, “What’d you do to him?”

“Doesn’t matter,” was all Alex said, not wanting to linger on the familiar chill of his own voice.

When they reached Caulfield, they were careful to come in the same way they’d come when it had just been Michael, Alex, and Kyle. Alex held his gun up, as did Max. Kyle stayed on Alex’s other side, a taser in his and Liz’s hands while Isobel held her hands up in case of a sudden attack.

Getting in was difficult. It felt like every few feet, a guard came out to stop them. Alex knew these people were trying to keep Michael away from them, and wanted nothing more than to tear into them with his bare hands, but they needed to hurry. He shot each one in the shoulder or leg. There was more than one spot in the human body that rendered the rest of it paralyzed. He didn’t care if they screamed, if they bled out. As far as he was concerned, they’d signed their death warrants when they helped Jesse hide Michael from him. He was being merciful not doing worse.

They moved deeper and deeper into the facility, and by the end of it, it was him and Max with the most stains on their clothes and the more bruises. Better that way. They made it into a long, dark hallway that took them to a sealed room.

Through a small window, Alex could see Michael in a steel chair, his head dropping between his shoulders as an IV strip pumped something that looked a lot like the pollen’s serum and something else into his veins.

There was a keypad next to the door. Without missing a beat, Alex held his gun for Max to take and pulled out his phone.

“Michael!” Isobel called through the window, panicked, but it was no use. He wouldn’t be answering anybody.

“Can’t we break the door down?” Liz demanded.

“It’s reinforced steel and set up to self-destruct,” Alex muttered, typing rapidly on his phone. He knew that hacking software he’d created would come in handy sometime. “Look around you. This place is already falling apart from the last time someone tried to break in.”

“But you can get him out, right?” Max asked Alex.

“Yeah,” Kyle said without missing a beat. Alex could feel him staring. “Yeah, he can do it.”

A second. Two. Three. Four seconds of Alex hearing nothing but the blood rushing in his own ears and the held breaths of everyone around him. The keypad beeped, the steel hinges clicked, and the door swung open. Alex pushed it enough to run in and fall to his knees in front of Michael, yanking the strips out of his arm while Max and Isobel set to work on the cuffs that kept him in the chair.

“Hey,” Alex whispered, lifting his chin gently. “Hey, baby, can you hear me? Michael, look at me, can you hear me?”

Michael’s eyes were half-lidded and hazed. Michael made a soft “Hmm?,” and his gaze focused for a split second. He smiled sleepily.

“You,” he breathed, “you look . . . just like my Alex.”

A small cry escaped Isobel’s lips before she quickly stifled it. Liz put a hand on her back as Kyle undid the rope around Michael’s waist. Jesse was nowhere in sight. He must’ve run the second he heard them arrive, knowing the guards would do nothing but stall for time. None of it mattered.

Alex smiled at Michael. “I am,” he huffed a chuckle, his eyes burning. “I am your Alex. Okay, come on, give me your arm, lean on me.”

“Alex,” Kyle tried, “if your leg hurts, I can –”

Alex cut him a glare so sharp Kyle turned silent at once. He’d apologize for it later. Right now, he needed to feel Michael against him, and he trusted no one but himself to help get him out of this hellhole.

Michael was able to stand, though he leaned most of his weight on Alex, his other arm around Max. His face was in Alex’s hair and he inhaled.

He murmured, “You smell like him, too.”

“Come on, baby,” Alex encouraged, unwilling to ever let go again. “Come on, you can do it, just hold onto me.”

 Alex’s fingers and toes had turned numb from the lack of movement in the last two hours, but he didn’t dare stand and walk around. He didn’t dare take his eyes off Michael until he woke up. He’d collapsed almost the second they’d gotten him into Max’s car, but Alex had kept a tight hold on him.

Max’s healing was useless against the pollen, and technically, Michael didn’t need a hospital, but Alex wanted Kyle to have access to whatever he needed to help him.

So they were pumping acetone into his veins instead of saline, they were monitoring his heart rate, even as, by the minute, it was getting better and better. And still, Alex kept close, kept watch, made sure no one but Kyle came in, no one but Kyle changed his IV bag and cleaned his wounds.

At one point, Kyle came in and put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Dude, you need to rest.”

“I’ll rest when he’s awake.”

“Alex –”

“Kyle,” Alex said, his voice clipped. “I’m not leaving him.”

A moment of silence, then, “Are you okay?”

“The man I love was kidnapped by my father, what do you think?”

“Alex.”

Alex glanced at Kyle, and the lump that had been in his throat since he first discovered Michael had gone missing lodged itself firmly in place now, forbidding him to breath steadily. His eyes burned and his lower lip trembled as a horrifying realization that he’d been keeping at bay surfaced now.

He whispered, “I’m just like him.”

“No,” Kyle said immediately. His voice was calm. “You’re not.”

“What I did to Mr. Jones,” he shook his head. “I would’ve killed every single guard in that prison without batting an eye.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

“Kyle –”

“You wouldn’t have.” Kyle sat down next to him. “Alex, you’re not your dad. All he ever thought about was himself. You did what you had to do to get Guerin back. Mr. Jones never would’ve told us where he was if you hadn’t – if you hadn’t done what you’d done.”

“I’d do anything for him,” Alex whispered, watching the way Michael’s chest rose and fell with his breaths. “Isn’t that a bad thing?”

“Maybe for some people,” Kyle shrugged a shoulder. “Not for you.”

Alex clenched his jaw. “I’m scared of what I’d become for him.”

“Who you always are is Alex,” Kyle said, and stood, ruffling Alex’s hair. “No matter what you become, that doesn’t change.”

With that, Kyle left them to be alone, and still Alex would not look away from Michael. He sniffled and reached out, taking Michael’s hand in both of his and holding tight.

The lump, the weight on his chest, the pain in his leg, he knew, wouldn’t go away until he got to see Michael was awake and safe. With the knowledge that he would be here all night, Alex squeezed Michael’s hand, and waited.

*

Michael opened his eyes to a white ceiling, white walls, and white sheets. A steady beep beep beep went on somewhere behind him, there was a warm weight on his left hand and hip, and he realized that he was in a hospital. Before he could start to question why though, he caught the source of the weight.

Alex had his head rested against Michael’s hip, sleeping with pinched brows as his hands clung to Michael’s. Michael stared. It took him a minute to process what he was seeing.

He heard himself breathe slowly, carefully. If this was a dream, he hoped he never woke up. Alex looked so real, his dark, straight hair splayed against the white sheets, his long lashes curled against rosy cheeks, his warm breathing against Michael’s hand as his lips brushed Michael’s fingers.

Michael reached up his thumb to touch Alex’s cheek, to see if it was as soft and warm as it looked (it was), and Alex started awake. His eyes followed Michael’s thumb to his face, and he sat up, a grin splitting his lips.

“Guerin!” he breathed. He stood and cupped Michael’s face. Michael did not miss the way he winced, but his eyes were filling with tears that begged to fall and his smile was so beautiful and happy that Michael couldn’t find it in him to do anything but cling to Alex’s hands just as tightly.

“You’re okay,” he sighed with relief, his fingers gentle on Michael’s jaw. “You’re okay. I’m going to – I should go get Kyle, I –”

“No,” Michael croaked, his throat dry, as he tried to sit up. “No, stay here.”

“Be careful,” Alex said, setting up his pillows and helping him lie down against them. “There you go, careful.” He stood back, looking Michael over for any open wounds. “Do you – uh – what do you need?”

Michael watched him. His fingers were trembling, his eyes twitching, his jaw clenched so tightly Michael feared he was drawing blood. He wordlessly held his arms out, and Alex eyed him a moment before his expression revealed the grief behind it, a sob escaped his lips, and he fell into Michael’s embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried, and Michael’s heart broke. His hold on Alex tightened.

“Don’t,” he growled. “That wasn’t your fault. Got it? It wasn’t your fault, Alex. You’re my hero.”

“I’m not,” Alex whimpered. “You don’t know what I did.”

“I don’t care,” Michael breathed, his hold unbearably, painfully tight now. “I don’t care. You’re always my hero, Private.”

Alex burrowed deeper into his side. He kissed Michael’s shoulder, his neck, his jaw, his cheek, and held his face as he kissed his lips. Michael didn’t care if they weren’t officially together or hadn’t really spoken about their feelings since Alex and Forrest had ended things. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was Alex.

He held Alex back just as desperately, and kissed him again and again and again, until all Alex could do was laugh through his tears.

“I’m sorry,” Alex swallowed, straightening. “I should – I should be more careful. You’re still hurt. Uh –” he wiped his face roughly “—do you want me to get you some water? Juice? Anything you want.”

“You,” was all Michael said, taking hold of Alex’s hand and pulling him onto the bed.

Alex looked startled, but went where Michael guided him until they were both lying on their sides, pressed close together.

“Guerin,” Alex whispered as Michael wrapped an arm around his waist, his forehead against Alex’s. “We can’t do this now, you – you need –”

“You,” Michael whispered back. With his other hand, he traced Alex’s jaw, his lips, down his neck. He couldn’t remember anything after his bunker had been broken into, but he’d been sure of one thing; Alex would bring hell to the doorstep of anyone who dared hurt him.

“All I’ve ever wanted and needed is you,” Michael said into the small space between their lips. Alex’s eyes fluttered, his chin raising so that his lips met Michael’s, as if he couldn’t help himself. Michael was so in love, it hurt him.

Before he closed the distance between them, he whispered, “My Alex.”

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #tw graphic violence #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

[solomonish]

he comes with a warning sign (satan & his brothers)

One of these things is not like the other...the one born as soon as the others fell, the one made entirely of feelings they'd all rather forget.

ao3 link: here!

Satan started his life crashing into the ground, the impact creating a crater that is now considered a piece of Devildom history.

His first memory was the gut-wrenching jolt of falling through the air, watching as a man he didn’t know let out his anguish in a mess of feathers, blood, and tears Satan vaguely felt he wasn’t supposed to see. The next was of his collision, a bone-shattering hit that, somehow, only sent a dull ache through his body. Black feathers floated down around him, some matted with blood falling faster than the others, soft like the ones inexplicably around his neck in a boa. Around him, he could hear quiet moans of pain and the occasional sob, a cacophony that both grated in his ears but fit the turmoil that threatened to spill out from within him. Those first moments were nothing but hatred, an acidic burn within him so strong it felt like all he’d ever know.

Emotion didn’t come easy to him. For the longest time, he felt like an animal, some form of furious energy trapped in a cage of demonic armor that wouldn’t give no matter how often he lashed out. Occasionally, he’d manage to reach his arm between the bars and swipe at whoever made the mistake of getting close, attempting to ease him into the familial life that was expected of him. Who were these people? Why did they think they could expect him to care about them? It didn’t matter to him that they were shrinking from him, undoubtedly fighting behind closed doors about who’s turn it was to see him. In a way, it made him feel better. They should feel as angry as he did.

Even after he calmed down - convinced himself to put on a show of obedience for the right to stretch his legs and not have to wonder if the others forced the orange-haired one named Beelzebub to send his dinner (meaning he’d get none at all) - he was still aloof, uninterested in what the others thought about spot in their family. Eventually, he’d learn: learn of what they used to be, what they did to fall from that place, and of the person they lost. For the first time, he cared about the misfitting sensation inside of him. After all, he’d very much rather feel like an intrusion than a replacement.

The knowledge of what happened introduced that new emotion to him, a sort of sympathetically charged guilt that he, hah, hated. The others were in no state to teach him how to be a person. Their means of teaching him to be something other than a feral beast were certainly some sort of violation of his personal rights. So, instead, he took to reading, desperate to find answers to questions he didn’t yet know how to ask. Through the many novellas and epics, the treatises and research journals, entire libraries worth of fiction and nonfiction, Satan began to piece himself together. He taught himself how to craft a facade of sympathy and understanding, how to mask the anger that constantly boiled inside of him, and tuned himself to his emotions lest he fall back into the vat he always hovered just above. Cats and books calmed him down. Black feathers and Lucifer made him lose his grip.

Perhaps it was because, if he reached back as far as his memory went, the only thing he saw when his entire body burned with pure wrath was Lucifer himself and a tornado of feathers. Maybe it was because Lucifer seemed to watch him and regard him as a miniature version of himself, then promptly remind Satan that he would always be a step beneath his legacy. All Satan knew was, on the days Mammon would call on his crows to complete a scheme and the yard was littered with their feathers, his mood soured in the same way it was when Lucifer even made his presence known.

Every day, Satan had to wrestle with emotions the meanings of which he had to discern for himself, emotions that never should have been his in the first place. The war that raged inside his very core was only the product of a failure, a symbolic continuation of what robbed his “brothers” of someone he would never meet. There was no way he and this Lilith could exist at the same time, and Satan often wondered how readily the others would trade him for a chance to have her back.

Satan did not waste time wallowing in self-pity. However, despite his practiced control, he could not stop the frown that always formed when someone spoke of his origins. He was the product of Lucifer’s wrath and grief, a part of Lucifer that he tried so desperately to claw out of himself he disfigured himself in the process. Lucifer was once the most brilliant angel, the morningstar himself. Satan was the worst part of him, an embodiment of that which he could never want, not in his grace as an angel or his degeneracy as a demon.

If any of his brothers caught on to this pattern of thinking, they never breached the topic. Perhaps they agreed. Satan wasn’t sure he’d want to know if they did.

His withdrawal from the others was only natural. His violence in the beginning effectively conditioned them to stay away, and he could only imagine the things they associated him with in their grief. As they all did their best to move on, letting their broken bones fuse crooked, Satan gave up on his hope of ever fitting in. He was the youngest, yet the fourth most powerful - the one in the middle, splitting up the older and younger siblings and somehow not quite meshing with either group. When Diavolo commented on the everlasting love of brothers, Satan smiled and nodded. If he could put on an act of being a composed individual, he could put on an act of being a true member of their family. With how absorbed they were in themselves, it was rare the topic ever came up.

The only one who seemed to care was Lucifer. Even then, he only seemed to want to be his brothers’ keeper, if only for the disciplinary privileges it gave him. When Satan stepped out of line - which seemed to be always- Lucifer was quick to remind him that, oh, perhaps they weren’t brothers. Something churned in his gut, nothing like the bile he pretended rose up at the thought of being Lucifer’s son. As Satan simmered in his fury, silently planning something to get back at Lucifer, he wondered if they truly did find pleasure in reminding him how much he didn’t belong.

Logic said that only Lucifer knew to plan psychological torture that way, but Satan was under no obligation to forgive the behavior of the others on the ground of ignorance.

So, as was only natural, Satan came with a warning sign. He was the one to be wary of, a ball of uncontrollable rage disguised as one of them. His smiles were all surface-level and fake, hiding his true, devious intentions. Be careful around him - better yet, don’t associate yourself with him more than you have to.

After all, he had been pushed away from the beginning, a volatile bundle of emotions that Lucifer couldn’t - didn’t want to - deal with. There was no place for him anywhere when he had been tossed aside like trash from the start.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #swd obey me #obey me swd #obey me satan #swd satan #satan #satan angst

[hlizr50]

Thank You for Saving Me

One of my first. One of my faves.

Spoilers for From Blood and Ash and A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire

Casteel wants to address a few of Poppy's scars that they don't usually talk about

Read on AO3

The room was dark, but he wasn’t bothered. Casteel’s Atlantian heritage meant that he could see anything around him that he cared to notice. He should have been trying to sleep, as Poppy had rolled over to do. She’d said as much not long ago, before he’d successfully distracted her with his lips, his hands, his tongue… all of him.

He grinned to himself, shaking his head. He loved that she found it so difficult to resist him. Surely she knew how easily he unraveled at even the slightest thought of her. That was why he couldn’t help himself tonight. Even though they were to begin the journey across the mountains in a few hours. Even though they were aching and weary from the battle with Duchess Teerman’s regiment.

Casteel leaned his head back against the headboard and cast a sidelong glance at her – the way her hair fell across her shoulders and back, a sharp contrast to that alabaster skin. So soft. So perfect. He let his gaze drift down, eyeing the faint, thin marks that tracked back and forth across the tender flesh of her. His eyes narrowed.

He had never been anything less than completely sincere when he spoke about her scars. He needed her to understand how special she truly was, working against the years of venom that the Duke, Lord Mazeen, and the rest of the treacherous Ascended had used in an attempt to poison her soul, to dim her light. Her scars were beautiful, if only one entry in the long list of things he admired about her. But these long, thin, nearly invisible lines were not the jagged tears from Craven claws and fangs. No, these told a story of a fortitude he understood completely yet could also barely comprehend.

The two of them had rarely discussed Duke Teerman’s “lessons” since Poppy had finally admitted to him that the Duke had beaten her, likely for years. In fact, the last they’d spoken of it was during their journey from New Haven, and that was a lifetime of realizations and confessions from where they lay now.

Married.

And not for the sake of mutual benefit from the power of being Atlantian royalty, but for love. Real, true love. And he needed her to know how he felt – about all of her scars.

“How many times do I have to tell you that it’s creepy when you watch me sleep”

Casteel chuckled. “Well you’re obviously not asleep, so I don’t believe your question really applies.”

“Whatever,” she sighed. “It’s creepy when you stare silently at my back when I’m awake, too.”

“Alright, I’ll accept that,” he answered. And then he reached for her, trailing a calloused fingertip over where the cane had bitten her and swearing to himself when her muscles tensed. “When I realized what he had been doing to you it was all I could do not to kill everyone in that Gods-damned castle.” He moved his fingers up and down the length of her back. If his attention on those particular stripes made her uncomfortable he wouldn’t force his touch. But this conversation was important. He needed her to know.

It was quiet for a few moments, and he wondered if Poppy had somehow drifted off to sleep.

“When did you know? For sure?”

“That day with the priestess, after I prevented her from striking you. I could’ve killed her, too, honestly. But there were too many things that came together… too many signs.”

Poppy rolled over to face him, clutching the blanket over her chest. “Like what?” her emerald eyes shone with surprise.

“Please, Poppy. Did you truly think you were even remotely convincing even one of the many times I asked and you denied it?” the prince laughed humorlessly.

“You always let it go!”

“There was the first time he had me summon you. You and Tawny were both… distraught,” Casteel took a breath. If only he’d known right then, maybe he could have spared her – at least that final lesson. “Then you were holed up in your room for two days. And then there was the night I found you on the Rise. The way you winced when your back hit the wall… when I implied I might report you, and you told me I didn’t know what he’d do, before you could reign in your emotions.”

He reached for her again. Gathering the blanket around her body he pulled her into his lap, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“But it was that day with the priestess. When she said you’d grown fond of the cane. When it was painfully, heartbreakingly clear that you were accustomed to her striking you. And when I asked you point-blank if he hit you… all the color drained from your face before flushing deep red…” he pulled back so he could look her in the eye and let his fingertips caress her cheek. “My heart could have shattered in that moment. I knew what it was to be trapped, knew the shame and the fear of being helpless and not understanding how someone could take such delight simply from causing pain to someone else.”

Casteel planted a kiss on her forehead before pulling her close again. He ran his fingers idly through her wine-red locks – a favorite past-time of his. He loved her hair. It had been so unexpected the first time he saw it; red hair to match the fire within. But the fire had cooled tonight, and he might have thought she’d dozed off if it weren’t for her hand gently stroking his arm.

“Sometimes Lord Mazeen was there,” she offered quietly, and the prince stilled. Of course he knew that, but she had never been so open with this part of her. “He was there… that last time. He… he liked to watch.” Casteel’s chest rumbled with a barely-contained snarl. He had always been so glad – he would even say proud – that she’d hacked the Lord to pieces.

But Gods what he’d give to have the chance to go back and end that monster himself.

“That day… he stood in front of me. I tried to be as modest as possible, as was expected of me. But I had to brace myself on the desk, so I would lean on one arm and use my other arm to cover as much of me as I could. He bored into me with those haunting, hungry eyes as he moved my arm and held both of my hands on the desk so he could see… all of me.”

Casteel could barely breathe, and he clutched his wife tighter to his chest. Had he known that? He wasn’t sure. He knew that the Lord sometimes joined the Duke in his sadistic practice. He remembered Spessa’s End when Poppy had raged against Duchess Teerman’s insistence that the Ascended had been protecting her.

‘Is that what the Duke was doing when he took a cane to my back simply because I breathed too loudly or didn’t respond in a way he found appropriate? When he put his hands on me? Allowed others to do the same?”

He knew that they’d hurt her, but her admission had completely…

Gods, it tore him to pieces.

He felt soft fingers curl around the back of his neck and let out a breath. Her touch grounded him, pulled him back.

“Poppy… I –“

“I think Lord Mazeen was the first one that really made me realize that something was wrong – that their explanations and expectations didn’t make sense. How could my purity and isolation be so important when I saw what was in his eyes… he would have taken me if he knew he could get away with it. He leered at me for… for years!”

He pushed her shoulders back from him gently so he could grasp her face between his hands. He brought his lips to her forehead before leaning into her gaze.

“The Ascended are monsters, make no mistake. But THOSE two… There is not a word strong enough. They were EVIL, Poppy. They hurt you. They tormented you. They took pleasure in knowing that they could do anything they wanted to you for the most miniscule fucking reason and you had to sit and take it. I would burn the entirety Solis to the ground if it meant I could have saved you from that.”

Poppy smiled then. Gods, somehow she still smiled and it knocked the wind from Casteel’s lungs. Her eyes were luminous with unshed tears as she lifted her hands to cover his.

“How many times have you told me that you had hoped to sweep in dramatically and rescue me? After fighting Craven, after Lord Chaney or Duchess Teerman? But don’t you see?” The tears slid soundlessly down into her smile. “You did rescue me. You saved me from the priestess, from the Duke and Lord Chaney. You saved me from a lifetime of ignorance, of being used as a pawn to force an entire people into submission.  You saved me from a life of solitude, of never knowing pleasure or love.”

She released her grip on him and reached a hand to move a stray lock of his dark curls out of his eyes, while he used his thumbs to wipe away the dampness still staining her blushing cheeks.

“You weren’t too late Casteel. You saved me. You did.” And then she pulled his head toward her and pressed her lips to his temple. “You’re my hero,” she whispered, and began to pull away. He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and held her against him, foreheads touching.

“I know that the scars he left on you are not the obvious ones. They are not many, and they are not easy to see, but they are there. And they are beautiful, all the same. You are so strong, Poppy. So brave. I cannot begin to comprehend your ferocious need to explore, to learn, to live, all in spite of them. You had every reason to cower, to slip into a meek existence, but instead you dreamed and you learned and you fought. Every day I am staggered by who you are, and I don’t think there will ever be a moment when I am not in awe of you.” He could feel burning in his throat and his eyes. His voice was hoarse. He so rarely wept, but he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed. “These scars may be my favorite, the most stunning. The Craven scars are a symbol of your blood, your heritage, your survival. But these? They are a testament to your bravery and fortitude. They show the world that you have faced pure evil, looked it in the eye, laughed, and dared it to try again.”

Casteel scooped her from his lap and laid her back on the bed before sliding down under the blanket to face her. He wrapped his arm around her and let his fingers feel the velvety skin of her back, searching for those thin lines.

“I don’t want you to feel fear or shame when my fingers find them. I want you to feel strong and brave and powerful, knowing that you beat them – that they are dead and you are living your fullest life. Can you do that for me, Princess?”

His breath hitched when she smiled softly again before wiggling closer to him, burrowing as far as she could into his chest. Would he ever be able to see her smile and not come undone?

“I think I can do that,” she murmured against him. He smiled and kissed the crown of her head. He breathed her in and allowed his body to relax around hers. Contentment wasn’t something Casteel was accustomed to feeling, but this was the closest he had ever been to paradise. The silence was comfortable, wrapping around them like a cloak in winter. He sighed deeply and felt her head turn slightly against him. And then soft full lips pressed to his chest. The gesture was pure and innocent and earth-shattering.

“Thank you. For saving me,” Poppy whispered in the dark, almost too quiet even for his ears. He didn’t know if he could draw her any further into him. But he would keep her tightly cocooned in his arms, knowing that having her there is what held him together.

And he wondered, truly, if it hadn’t been she who had saved him.

#fbaa #fbaa fanfic #poppycas #poppy balfour #casteel da'neer #poppy x casteel #ao3 #ao3fic #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #so fluffy #from blood and ash #a kingdom of flesh and fire #akofaf

[mandoalorian]

Pain Is For The Living [Javier Peña x F!Reader] - Chapter 2 (SMUT)

Summary: Sex work in the heat of 1980’s Colombia was never going to be a walk in the park. Especially not when you had a crush on your number one client, agent Javier Peña. You’d been warned about him and his reputation, but after one very specific incident that would change your life forever, you find yourself attached to him like never before and you’d do anything to make him yours. Even if it means endangering your own life.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT (protected p in v), allusions to sex, reader works in a brothel, PTSD, anxiety, panic attack, mention of drugs, guns, character death, typical Narcos themes.

Word count: 4000>

Pain Is For The Living Masterlist

*reblogs appreciated! Ko-Fi in bio if you want to support me!

The office was dead, like it had been for the last three weeks. No new leads. Nothing. The days dragged and honestly, it felt like the case was growing colder and colder. Escobar had gone completely off the grid, hiding out in La Catedral, his very own self-built prison in the depths of Medellín. But the DEA didn’t know that yet. So, they made an attempt to shift focus, at least just for now. After all, any narco they captured would be a win. They’d been tracing Juan Diego Diaz, otherwise known as La Quica, believing that the sicario would eventually lead them to Escobar himself. But La Quica was just as cunning as any other narco and following him was not an easy challenge. If it wasn’t for Steve Murphy, the DEA would’ve most likely shifted focus again - but Murphy and La Qucia went way back. In 1981, just a few years ago, La Quica shot dead Kevin Brady, Steve’s old partner back from Miami, and so to say that Steve had a personal feud against La Quica was an understatement.

Javier Peña didn’t realise he was about to gain a whole vendetta against him too.

Within a second, every phone in the damn embassy began to ring. Javier and his partner, Steve Murphy exchanged a glance, and their eyes trailed up to Horacio Carrillo who answered the call. “Colonel Carrillo,” he introduced himself. Javier and Steve watched as their colleague took in the information on the other end of the line. Carillo erratically gestured for a notepad and pen, and Steve quickly threw him one his way. “Wait, wait… are you sure? Are you sure you saw him? How many eyes? With another man? Who? Who?” Carillo pressed pencil to paper and began to scribble the details down. “How many dead?... Shit, okay. We’re on our way now.”

Carrillo slammed the phone down on the hook and took a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his face in dismay. “We got eyes on La Quica,” he announced, and Steve immediately grabbed the handgun from his desk drawer and shoved it into his jeans. The whole office cheered, apart from Javier and Steve. This was good news considering the DEA had no lead whatsoever for the past three weeks, but if Carrillo’s demeanor over the phone was anything to go by, Javier and Steve knew they shouldn’t be celebrating just yet. “No. No,” Carrillo chanted, raising his voice in order to silence the rest of the department. “Three hookers. Dead. Shot.”

Javier froze up completely as he processed the words.

“By La Quica?” Steve beckoned, his voice dripping with venom.

“We don’t know. But we have eyes on him. He was seen.”

“Where?” Javier asked finally, his face expression stone cold.

Carrillo eyed Javier up and down, swallowing a nervous lump in his throat. He knew it was the brothel that Javier frequented...and Javier Peña was quite unpredictable. So, after taking a brief moment to prepare for Javier’s reaction, Carrillo finally gave the name of the location. “Desiderio.”

Desiderio. It was the brothel where you worked. His eyes flicked over to the wallclock before his gaze met back with Carrillo’s dark eyes. He had literally been there, with you, two hours ago. If he had just gone two hours later… he could’ve put a stop to the attack. Hell, he could’ve been the one to find an arrest La Quica. But Javier’s hero complex was short lived when all he could think about was you.

“Do we have names?” Javier asked. “Who was killed?”

What if it had been you? What would Javier do then? You were younger than the other girls, polite and bright eyed. You were brand new to Colombia, and Javier swore you were too good for the dangerous life you had managed to get yourself caught up in. Being a sex worker in 1980’s Bogotá? It was only a matter of time something happened to you. 

“No names,” Carrillo confirmed. “Peña, with all due respect, I ask that you go in and investigate the scene. You know the girls better than anyone else in the department. Maybe you could identify some of the bodies.”

It was like time was frozen, and Javier felt sick to his core. Javier was used to death and bloodshed; this was a war on drugs - however, it hit different when it was close to home. When it was a place he had been, or it was people who he knew.

Javier Peña was a complicated man. He didn’t talk about himself or his feelings. Truth be told, he didn’t even let himself feel. But right now, as anger swirled in his stomach, he decided he wasn’t going to waste anytime at all. He paced back over his desk and grabbed his handgun before bolting to the car that was already waiting outside for him. All eyes followed Javier’s movements but no one dared to make a comment. Apart from Bill Stechner, of course.

“Not everyday you see the department of drug enforcement’s noted womanizer get worked up over a whorehouse shooting,” Bill commented, a smug grin playing on his lips. “Didn’t think agent Peña had it in him.”

“Shut the fuck up Bill.” Steve rolled his eyes, not even bothering to humour the CIA agent’s out-of-pocket remark. Everyone in the district knew about Javier Peña’s reputation with the ladies. But of course, you were new.

“The Search Bloc and I will go after La Quica. Steve, you stay on the down low with agent Peña and investigate the crime scene. We’ll have guards protecting you from outside the brothel.”

“I want to go after La Quica.” Steve argued but Carrillo pointed a finger.

“No. You stay with Javi. Partners,” Carrillo reminded the blonde haired man. “Besides, you’re the DEA’s best photographer.” Carrillo smirked, thrusting a Polaroid camera into Steve’s chest. Steve let out a low grumble in response, before shaking his head and following Javier out of the office. Partners. And right now, Steve saw the primal glint in Javier’s eye. Agent Peña was seeing red.

As both Javier and Steve were being transported to Desiderio, Javier made an attempt to dial a number on the carphone multiple times. Your number. Of course it was a dead line. And that only worked up Javier more. The never ending ringing sound signified that you weren’t there, and Javier’s heart was pounding against his chest. It was the same kind of adrenaline as when he found Helena tortured by Gacha’s men in Medellín. Steve knew better than to ask his friend who he was so desperately trying to call, but it was the last of his instincts to assume it was one of the sex workers from the brothel. Because renowned womanizer Javier Peña didn’t form attachments, especially not to women, right?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

At some point or another, you had passed out. Maybe you’d cried yourself to the point of exhaustion. Maybe the reality of what you had seen had hit you like a ton of bricks and you had fainted. How could you possibly know? But when Javier and Steve stormed the lobby of your workplace, you were laying on top of Rosa’s body, as still as could be. And that’s when Javier’s heart sank.

You weren’t moving, and his mind shot to the worst possible outcome. He raced over to you and fell on his knees, dragging your body off Rosa and cradling you in his arms. You were absolutely saturated in your best friends blood, and by holding you, now Javier was too. He briefly glanced down at Rosa and placed a hand on her forehead, trying to feel for any sign of warmth -  any sign of life. Javi sighed and ran his hand through his dark locks of hair before bringing it back down to you. He cooed your name a few times, desperate to earn some sort of reaction. Thankfully, on the third calling, you stirred a little, indicating that you were in fact alive.

Your perfect eyes fluttered open and in that moment, Javi swore his heart stopped. Thank God you were breathing. “You’re safe now,” Javier whispered. “I’ve got you.”

“Javi?” you asked in disbelief. Surely not. The way he was holding you was the most affectionate he’d ever been with you, and it felt like a dream. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe you were dead and this was your journey to the afterlife. God was finally giving you a chance with the one you loved so much. You said his name again, raising a shaky hand to cup his cheek. You brushed your thumb over his jaw and along his mustache, and when you smelt his familiar musky cologne, you knew you were somehow going to be okay.

Javier picked you up and carried you back to the car. “We have a survivor!”

Steve replied but to you it was just a haze. You could hardly keep your eyes open and when you did, everything was a blur. Your clothes were stuck to your skin, due to the mixture of blood, sweat and tears. You knew the second you were outside because the orange setting son burned against your skin. You stirred and mumbled, but Javier smoothed out your hair and hushed you. He opened the back seat of the DEA car and lay you down.

“Hey, hey listen, I’m DEA,” Javier whispered. “I don’t talk about it, but I’m here to help you. I need to head back inside now and help my partner out, but I won’t be long. I promise.” As Javier turned to leave, you grabbed his hand and he looked back at you.

“Please don’t go.” you sniffed, tears free falling down your cheeks.

And normally, Javier would’ve shrugged it off. He had a job to do, and he couldn’t just stick around you because you felt unsafe. They had counsellor’s back at the embassy for that. All he had to do was use the carphone and call them out. It wouldn’t take him two minutes. The only problem was, Javier didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want anyone else to hold you and comfort you. He wanted it to be him.

So, he swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and slid into the back seat next to you. He maneuvered your body so your head was resting against his jean clad lap, and he continued to smooth out your hair. Despite your red puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks, you were still so beautiful.

“Hermosa, what happened back there?” he asked quietly after a moment. Between you and Javier, there was never an uncomfortable silence. It was his job to find out, but asking you straight up when you were so clearly traumatized, felt insensitive. Nevertheless, what else was there to say? He had to do it sooner rather than later.

“I’m sorry.” Javier mused, closing his dark brown eyes as he mourned.

“They killed Rosa,” you whispered shakily, doing your absolute best to remain composed and not fall back into an abundance of tears. Javier looked out the car window and held back a sigh. Well, he knew they killed Rosa already. “And Juliet and Martzia.”

Javier didn’t know who Juliet and Martzia were, but his heart sank at the revelation. Three deaths that could’ve been stopped.

“La Quica,” you croaked, and Javier’s head snapped to face you. “Was his name. But there were two, I think.”

La Quica… that was the name Carrillo had come up with. It was who the DEA had spent so much time looking for. But two? That was the first he’d heard of it. Carrillo and the cop department only had eyes on La Quica.

“Do you know the name of the other man? Or what he looked like?”

You did. At one point, his name rang like bells in your ears. He was friends with Rosa, or so you had thought. You knew his name… you knew his face until suddenly you didn’t. You couldn’t make sense of it or understand it, but it was like everything that happened back there had just become a fuzzy blur. It still hurt so much but… you couldn’t match actions to faces, or names to bodies. All you could see was Rosa and her sacrifice. All you could see was the way her body fell to the ground, crumpled up in a pool of her own blood. And then the screams and cries.

“Are you okay?” Javier asked due to the delay in communication. Your mouth felt dry and your fingers felt numb. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, I can take you home, but the embassy is gonna want to interview you at some point in the near future. La Quica is dangerous, and I don’t know who this other guy is but I wouldn’t feel good about bringing you back to your apartment and leaving you there. I can send over additional security measures but, listen. I know you. And,” Javier took a deep breath not sure if he was about to regret the proposal. “If you’d prefer, you can come back to my place. Stay there for a few days. High security and you’ll be with me. Someone you know. I know that, if I was you, I wouldn’t wanna be alone right now.”

And for the very first time, your pretty plush lips curled into a smile. “You’d really do that for me?” You whimpered, nuzzling your face into his shirt.

“Of course.” Javier hummed, pressing a soft kiss into your forehead.

Was it unprofessional, inviting you over to live with him for the foreseeable future, the moment you had become an essential asset to the case? Yes. Fuck yes. But Javier Peña was not someone who played by the rules. He’d done this plenty of times before, when he shouldn’t have… but it was truly the right thing to do. Besides, you weren’t like any other informants. He knew you. He cared about you, more so than he’d like to admit.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You were very sleepy, and you couldn’t bring yourself to talk all that much. Javier understood better than anyone. He helped you out the car, carried you through the embassy apartment complex, unlocked his door (albeit with great difficulty), threw his keys haphazardly on the kitchen counter and gently plopped you down on the brown leather couch. Pulled out a crocheted blanket, he wrapped it over you, ensuring your warmth. He padded into the kitchen and filled you a glass of tepid water before looking in the refrigerator. Empty. Javier didn’t cook. In fact, he rarely even ate. When he did eat, it was take-out or fast food. Something quick and easy that he didn’t have to bother with. But now he had company. He sighed, and closed the fridge, glancing back at your sleeping body. He figured he’d have to go grocery shopping.

He picked up the phone and dialled Steve’s number, but his wife, Connie was the one who picked up. “Hey Con, Steve there?”

“Yeah. But he’s pissed with you Javi.” Connie sighed on the other end of the line. Javier scowled. He understood. It seemed like he pissed off people quite easily.

“Could you put him on?”

Connie didn’t reply but judging from the scuffling, Javier assumed she was handing the phone to her husband.

“Javi,” (“Steve,”)

“What’s up?” (“I need to ask you a favour,”)

“After today’s stunt? Not a chance.” (“Y/N was a mess, Steve. One of her best friends died in the shoot-out. I wasn’t just going to leave her,”)

“Javier Peña. Ever the hero. What do you need?” (Groceries. She’s gonna be staying with me for a few days. I can use the time I spend with her to gain her trust. Try and work out what exactly went on,”)

“Javi, she’s vulnerable. She’ll need therapy. You really want to use her as an informant?” (We’ll get her therapy from the embassy. Steve, I don’t think we have any other choice.”)

“I just think it’s a bad idea, but, it’s your call Peña.” (“I’m going to head to the market before it closes. Can you or Connie come over to watch her? She’s asleep so she won’t be much trouble.”)

“We have Olivia.” (“So bring her. Or don’t. I don’t care. Steve, please.”)

Javier waited patiently through a silence followed by a long sigh. “Okay Jav, but you owe us. We’ll be over in five minutes.”

“Thanks Steve, I’ll see you soon.”

Javier put the phone down on the hook quietly and padded back over to the sofa where you slept, crouching down and taking your hand. You didn’t deserve this. You were so soft and full of life, and everytime Javier saw you at the brothel you were always beaming. You were too good for this life. He knew you’d get hurt, one of these days, but that didn’t mean it was right. And suddenly, Javier was filled with vengeance. He couldn’t bear to think how the shoot-out would come to affect you, but he knew, in that moment, he would seek justice. Too many deaths, too close to home. Javier whispered your name, his breath fanning over your ear. You were somewhere in between consciousness. You could feel his presence but everything felt so dream-like. “If you can hear me, I’m going to head to the store. Buy us some food, okay? I won’t be long, and I have friends who will be watching over you. You’ll be safe, I promise.” Javier said before pressing another kiss to your forehead. He just couldn’t resist it. You stirred upon feeling the bristle of his mustache graze your skin and he drew his face away, not wanting to wake you completely.

“Hi Liv,” Javi cooed, leaning down to Steve and Connie’s little girl and pulling a face.

“So that’s her?” Connie asked, putting Olivia down.

“Yeah,” Javier sighed, and began to introduce you.

“Why do I get the feeling that you know her?” Steve quirked an eyebrow and Javier felt his cheeks flush with heat. “Are you one of her regulars?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yeah, I suppose I am,” Javier retorted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Con, if I’m gonna cook her dinner, what would you recommend?”

Connie stifled a laugh before turning to Steve. “Steve, you hungry? Javier’s offering to cook.”

“Hey that’s not what I meant--”

“He does owe us…” Steve smirked. “Paella sounds good.”

Fucking paella. 

“I could just bring her Taco Bell,” Javier considered out loud.

“I like paella.” Steve reiterated.

“Me too,” Connie agreed. “Paella is delicious.”

“Everyone likes paella.” Steve commented.

“Oh my god would you shut the fuck up about paella?” Javier groaned, causing Connie and Steve to laugh in unison. 

“Make her paella and bring us the leftovers,” Steve grinned, patting his friend on the shoulder. “And be quick about it.”

“Whatever, Murph.” Javier sighed, rolling his eyes before grabbing his wallet and car keys.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Seeing Nina working as the supermarket cashier was the last thing Javier expected.

“Javi?” she smiled that familiar gorgeous smile, her eyes sparkling as she scanned through the items of food. “It’s so good to see you. Been a while.” she commented, her gaze not leaving the agent’s once. 

And for the first time in a long while, Javier smiled. The stress of the stake-out and investigating the brothel, and taking you home had been a lot on him, but seeing his ex-girlfriend helped bring him back down to earth. If Nina could even be called ‘ex-girlfriend’. It wasn’t ever official, but he and Nina had been fucking on and off for around 6 months last summer and Javier was actually committed to Nina during that time. She came into his life unexpectedly, to say the least.

“How long have you worked here?” Javier charmed as he bagged the groceries.

“Two months, it’s been good to get out of the house,” Nina grinned. “You're still working for the DEA I assume?”

“Yeah.” Javier hummed, quickly reminding himself of you and the way you were sleeping on his sofa. He looked back up from the bag of rice and at Nina. Come to think of it, she resembled you quite a bit. Same hair colour, eye colour, skin tone… only she wasn’t as distinct. She didn’t have that flare about her, like you did. Maybe Javier had a type after all. 

“I get off work now,” Nina announced, flicking her wrist upright and checking the time on her watch. “Are you busy or? I was thinking… it would be nice to catch up, maybe, if you wanted.” Nina ducked her head down awkwardly.

Javier didn’t forget about you once. He didn’t forget about the fact he had a traumatized sex worker sleeping on his couch, or how he’d invited his partner and his partner’s family over to watch over you while he got ‘groceries’. But catching up with Nina would be nice. The right thing to do would be to reject Nina, and perhaps make plans to see her when Javier wasn’t so swamped with work commitments (if he could even call you that). But this was Javier Peña. He supposed Steve and Connie could wait just a little while longer, besides, they’d never find out. Javier was a good liar. He could make up some excuse about having to travel to a different grocery store or something. So, he agreed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Nina’s apartment had barely changed since she and Javier had ended things. Still quaint, decorated with plants in every corner and full bookshelves. It was a clash of tongues and teeth as Nina navigated inside of her home, not pulling away from Javier once. She moaned against his lips and he grabbed onto her back, pinning her against the wall and knocking a few things off the coffee table.

“Missed this,” Javier confessed, nudging his nose against Nina. In the moment, he’d forgotten why he’d ended things in the first place. Nina wrapped her hands in Javi’s dark hair and tugged on the locks at the nape of his neck. Javier groaned wantonly and reattached his lips to hers as she let her hands maneuver down his body, unbuttoning his shirt and working at the zipper of his jeans. “Fuck Ni.”

She pulled off him and began to discard her clothes. “Bedroom Javi, I have condoms.” she hummed, taking Javier’s hand and guiding him through her apartment as if he didn’t already know the way. He’d never forgotten, really. 

This was wrong. On so many levels, this was wrong. He should be back home, with you. If anyone was to find out about this… well, Steve would be furious, for a start. But Javier genuinely couldn’t stop thinking about you. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, because if he wanted to be with you so bad he could easily just go back to his place and sit with you on the couch. The idea of that wasn’t the worst in the world. But also, he was about to get laid by Nina who looked so much like you… he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

He was whipped. Thinking about your lips on his… your hands caressing his muscles. She might have resembled you, but she tasted different, her voice was different, and her attitude. She just wasn’t you. 

Once Javi was all wrapped up, he pushed into Nina, and settled deep, his movements rough and fast. He grabbed onto her tits and gave them a squeeze, but they just didn’t feel like yours. They’d do though, for now. His grunts and her moans filled the room as she chanted his name, and he could feel himself nearing orgasm. He dipped his head in the crook of her neck, biting down on her skin that just wasn’t as soft as yours, and as his dick throbbed inside of Nina, and when he reached his climax, he made the biggest mistake of all.

He gasped your name like it was the sweetest prayer to leave his lips. He was fucking Nina but shit, he said your name.

Javier Peña said your name.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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[sour--disposition]

End Of The Road

-

harry lewis x fem!reader

-

please check my masterlist to see if my requests are currently open 

You’d met Harry whilst on a trip to Guernsey with friends from university and you’d never really gone home. You were visiting the hometown of one of your flatmates, after they’d boasted about the beautiful sea views that everyone had to see at least once.

And then you met Harry.

To you, Harry was the goofy kid you’d met in one of the hidden beach coves you’d been taken to. He was where you went on your holidays from university, wherever he was. You felt like you’d found a future in Harry, with Harry, on that beach that day.

Harry would fly you out to wherever he was as soon as you had time off from your studies, he’d pay first class train fares for you to come to London and get you the best tickets for a ferry over to Guernsey. Harry’s friends and family had made you feel welcome and loved and wanted, almost as much as Harry did.

Until you tried to surprise him.

Harry knew you were due to finish university soon, but you’d never given him an exact date of when to expect you. You’d given him excuses about moving out and seeing friends now that you had the time, all the while planning on coming down to London to surprise him as soon as you could.

You’d arranged it with Cal, who knew when you were coming. Even some of his friends knew when you were coming down, but you only told them if they promised to keep it a secret from Harry. And, so far, they’d held up their end of the bargain.

You were trudging through the middle of Kings Cross station, battling your way to the car park pick-up where you were expecting to meet your Uber driver. It felt like the day was trying to annoy you. Your train had been delayed before you’d even gotten to the platform, and then you had to wait in the rain since the waiting rooms at the station were closed, someone had taken your seat on the train so you had to argue with them over that, and now your suitcase seemed to slip into every single minute crack in the floor.

Once you slid your way into the back of the Uber, you let out a deep breath. The next person you saw would be Harry. You would see Harry and Harry would see you and all of the palaver you had been through would be worth it because, as much as the two of you tried, it had been weeks since you’d seen each other. FaceTime calls seemed to be getting less and less, too, but you chose to chalk that up to an over-critical, overactive mind.

You zoned out as you were whisked through the dark streets of London. A long final semester followed by a long day of travelling mixed with a dash of (possibly imagined) relationship doubt had started to take its toll on you. You wanted nothing more than a long, hot shower and to curl up into bed in Harry’s arms and sleep for a week or two.

Even though Cal had already told you he’d be out for the night, you sent him a text when you arrived at the apartment building, just so someone would know you’d made it into London safely.

You couldn’t help but tap your foot and fiddle with anything that was in reaching distance once you’d made it into the lift. The pent up anxiety and exhaustion mixing together was a strange feeling in of itself. You counted the floors and the lift rose, not taking your eye off of the moving counter until it drew to a slow stop, the doors sliding open in front of your face.

You walked down the hall to Harry’s flat, letting yourself in with the key he’d had cut for you as an anniversary present. You left your stuff quietly by the door, sneaking through the flat in the direction of Harry’s room.

You could hear noises coming from in his room, but you presumed he was editing a video or filming something for either his second channel or one of the Sidemen channels. You opened the door slowly, hoping not to make too much noise as you snuck into his room.

You turned around, expecting to see Harry lounging on his bed or hunched over his computer. You didn’t expect to see him with his tongue down another girl’s throat.

“What the fuck?”, the girl screeched when she moved her head and saw you standing there, eyes wide and already flooding with tears. “Who the fuck are you?”, she asked you accusingly.

Harry pulled his face out of the girl’s neck, expecting to see Cal or an intruder. “Y/N...”, he trailed off quietly. “It’s not what it looks like”, he started, “I didn’t realise - you said - you never told me-”, Harry stumbled, trying to stand up.

“It’s not what it looks like!? It looks like you’re about to fuck some other girl, Harry”, you all but shouted at him, shocking both him and the girl still awkwardly in his bed. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted to surprise you, because I haven’t seen you in weeks”, you told him. By this point, the tears that were building up had begun to spill over, slowly rolling down your cheeks.

“I-”, Harry started, mouth hanging open as he tried to find the words to say. “I think you should go”, he said quietly, turning to face the girl who was trying to awkwardly straighten out her clothes without making too much of a commotion.

She nodded, standing up and gathering her things before slipping out of the room. She mumbled a soft ‘sorry’ to you as she walked past, causing you to scoff and glare at Harry.

“Are you going to try and explain, or are you going to stand there looking like a fish out of water?”, you asked him accusingly. Harry’s face darkened.

“Explain? What do you want me to tell you? You’ve barely spoken to me the past few months, and when I’ve seen you you’ve been ‘too tired’ to do anything. You don’t want to spend time with me anymore, Y/N!”, Harry shouted at you.

“Harry, you’ve known since we met that I’m at university. I was juggling a long distance relationship, a part-time job that was asking too much of me, job hunting for once I graduate and writing my final year dissertation. What did you want me to do? I can’t be in two places at once, Harry!”, you shouted, moving your arms around in anger.

“You made me feel like shit, Y/N. Like you don’t fucking love me!”, Harry hurled at you accusingly, like this was somehow your fault. “I always made time for you, whether I was at home or here or somewhere else”.

“Are you forgetting how many days I sat here in the flat on my own or with just Cal because you were at shoots? I never said a fucking word about it, because I knew I’d signed up to that when I fell in love with you. You think walking into the room and seeing you all over some other girl made me feel loved? Made me feel appreciated?”, you yelled, ignoring how cool your tears felt on your burning skin.

“This isn’t my fault. Y/N!”, Harry yelled, storming over to you. You flinched slightly, making Harry stop short. “What? You - You think I’d hurt you?”, he asked quietly, recoiling into himself.

“Well, you clearly have no fucking problem hurting me!”, you snapped, wrapping your arms tightly around your body.

“I’d never hurt you, Y/N”, Harry murmured into the silence of the room.

“Really? Then why the fuck did I walk in here to see you with your tongue down someone else’s neck, Harry. That’s pretty fucking hurtful, if you ask me. And then you have the fucking gall to tell me it’s not your fault? Nobody made you bring her here, nobody made you cheat on me!”, you spat.

“It’s not been going on that long. Now that you’ve finished uni you can come down here and we can work on us again, right?”, Harry asked, awkwardly reaching out to you.

You took a step back, making sure he couldn’t reach you. Anger swirled inside of you, demanding to bubble up and lash out at Harry, and at this point to were too tired to even attempt to rein it in. “Oh yeah, sure”, you snarled. “I’ll just uproot my life and move down to London to be with a man who’d rather cheat on me than ask if everything’s okay between us”. You looked at Harry, waiting for him to say something, but he kept his mouth shut, looking around awkwardly. “Is you telling me it’s not being going on for long supposed to make me feel better? Woohoo, you’ve only been cheating on me for a month or two, not our entire relationship. No, Harry. We’re over. Done. You can’t come back from this”, you told him bluntly.

You turned around to leave his bedroom, storming down into the living room, coming face to face with Cal. “What’s going on? The neighbours called to ask if everything was okay because they heard yelling, you weren’t answering your phone so I came over”, Cal said softly, taking in the tears running down your face and neck.

Harry scoffed behind you. “And I’m the cheat, yeah?”, he snarked. Cal’s eyes widened before his face filled with fury. You put your hand on his chest.

“Can you call Freya and Josh to come pick me up? From the kitchen? Please?”, you asked, instructed him, pointing him over to the kitchen. He nodded, glowering eyes not leaving Harry until they had to.

“I wouldn’t dare cheat on you”, you snapped at Harry. “Every time you left me here to go film, I had no one to talk to but Cal. If me having the audacity to not sit in silence on my own for hours on end when I come and see my boyfriend makes me the unfaithful one here, then sue me. But last time I checked, the only person I’ve gotten into bed with in the last 18 months is you. You can’t tell me the same thing”, your voice raised as you spoke, your words all but nailing Harry to the wall.

Cal came over slowly, “They’re on their way over now”, he told you.

You marched back up to Harry’s room, collecting up everything that belonged to you in your arms. “What are you doing?”, Harry asked you from the door, voice sounding more fit for an innocent 5 year old.

“Getting my stuff”, you replied bluntly.

“Why?”.

“What about this situation makes you think I ever want to see you again, Harry? I could never trust you, ever again. You’ve ruined us. What about ‘we’re over’ doesn't make sense to you?”, you asked him incredulously, slipping past him to walk back downstairs and put your stuff into a bag.

“But - We can fix it, right?”, he asked, voice small.

“You blamed me, Harry! You said it wasn’t your fault! You think I don’t already feel bad enough? I know things have been rough and I know I’ve been distant and God, I feel like shit about it. I’m exhausted, Harry. I’m trying my best and clearly that’s not good enough for you, but don’t you dare go blaming me for that girl being in your bed. That one is all on you”, you told him sternly.

A knock on the door interrupted whatever Harry was going to try and say. Cal walked over, letting Josh and Freya into the apartment. “Y/N?”, Freya asked softly from the entryway. You turned away from Harry, walking over to Freya and into her arms.

For the first time that night, you let yourself cry. Heaving sobs were released into Freya’s chest and she held on to you, held you together. Over yours and Freya’s shoulders, Josh glared at Harry. A glare filled with anger and disappointment that made Harry shrink into himself even more.

“Come on, you need something to eat and drink and some sleep, you look shattered”, Josh told you. As Freya ushered you out of the door and to the lift, Cal handed Josh your bag and coat and pointed out your suitcase to him.

“Tell her I’ll speak to her in a bit, yeah?”, he asked Josh, who only nodded and showed himself out of the apartment, following you and Freya to the lift.

Cal took one look at Harry, his dishevelled appearance and the lost look in his eye, scoffed, and picked up his phone. “What do I do?”, Harry asked as Cal started to walk away.

“I’m not gonna start giving you advice, Bog. You’re one of my best mates but, man, you fucked up. Y/N is good, she was good for you. She would have moved heaven and earth for you if you needed her to, would have done anything you asked without a second thought. The one time in the 18 months you’ve been together she needed to be selfish, you were too pathetic to take it on the chin and you went and pulled someone else into your bed”, he told Harry.

“You like her, don’t you?”, Harry accused, no heat behind his words but the attempt was there.

“Of course I do, I have since the day I met her. But she was your girlfriend, I was just the accommodating best friend and flat mate who kept her company and bought her pizza when you abandoned her for days at a time for shoots”.

“I’ve really fucked up”, Harry whispered. Cal made a snarky noise in agreement, before turning his back and walking off to his room before he did or said something to Harry that he would regret in the long run.

At Freya and Josh’s, you’d showered and changed into sweats and a hoodie and were wrapped up in a blanket between the two of them on the couch as you all but cried into a bowl of Chinese food.

“I don’t want to lose of all you guys”, you whimpered quietly.

“You won’t, you silly goose”, Freya tutted. “You really think me, Gee and Talia would let you get away that easily. Or Josh and the other guys? No way. Sure, things are gonna change a bit, but just because...”, she trailed off, not wanting to even say Harry’s name. “Just because circumstances change, doesn’t mean we don’t love you, Y/N”, she told you, reaching over to squeeze your hand.

You had a long road ahead, there was no doubt about that. But with the friends you’d made over the last 18 months, you knew that you would never be taking that road alone. Freya was right, you couldn’t leave her, Gee and Talia now, you’d become too close. The boys were like family as well, albeit it a very dysfunctional family.

But, like all families, you’d find a way to make it work.

#harry lewis imagine #wroetoshaw imagine #w2s imagine #harry lewis x reader #wroetoshaw x reader #w2s x reader #harry lewis #wroetoshaw #w2s #sidemen #sidemen imagine #sidemen oneshot #calfreezy #josh zerker #freya nightingale #uk youtube imagine #uk youtube

[animefanwrites]

brother’s best friend [F] | pt.1

b. chan x reader | brother’s best friend au

synopsis: “what happens when your brother invites over his (hot) best friend but forgets to even inform you about it? And what happens when you walk out of your bedroom and see him in your house with no sign of your brother in sight?”

word count: 1.9k

genre: brothers best friend au, teen rom-com

warning: fluff, language, tiny bit of angst

a/n: this is my very first skz fanfiction I hope you guys like it!

chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 +

status: on-going series

With a book open on the desk and a few papers scattered around as well, you re-read the third math problem for the 100th time. Biting on the tip of your nails, you groaned in frustration and slammed your head on the desk. There was no way you were going to solve that without having paid attention to the math class in a week. It was simply boring, not my fault, you reminded yourself.

The sudden sound of the bedroom’s door opening made you jolt and look aside, just to see your brother there, looking quite surprised that you were studying in the afternoon instead of watching cat videos like usual.

“You need something?” you questioned after he had been standing there for a while without saying a word. Jisung scratched his head and blinked a few times before opening his mouth to speak.

“I forgot...” he replied and you looked at him, disappointed but not surprised. “Well- bye!” he added before slowly closing the door but — being the annoying brother he is — he didn’t close it all the way.

The math problem looked like it wouldn’t solve itself anytime soon so you decided to give up and pretend that you didn’t write it down when the teacher was giving out homework. You got up and walked to the door, hearing Jisung talking on the phone. Since your parents were out for the weekend, he decided to be loud and annoying with no limits.

Passing by the bathroom, you thought of taking a shower later because you needed some self-care. You took your towels and placed them on your bed, also making sure that all your skincare products and shampoos were untouched.

Back in the bedroom with the f/c walls, you tossed the math book away because you didn’t want it to ruin your mood for the afternoon. Grabbing your phone and putting on some music while also getting your paint and brushes was what would keep you busy for the rest of the day. You were painting your closet after seeing an aesthetic video and you decided that you needed that in your room.

So far, so good.

While bobbing your head to the beat and smiling without even realising it, you thought you heard talking in the living room. You ignored it since your brother was always loud and tended to talk to himself from time to time — talk about a weirdo.

You got up after about an hour and dusted your clothes from the paint that had fallen on them. Grabbing your towels, you smiled and exited the bedroom only to hear water running from the bathroom.

“Hurry up, I wanna shower too!” you yelled and knocked on the door. Just then, the water stopped. You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest as Jisung had finally decided to take a normal shower and not stay there for a whole hour.

The door opened and you were met with a chest. A strong chest, at last. You looked up, only to meet a handsome stranger with wet hair and a small smile on his lips. That was not your brother.

“Oh hey, Jisung didn’t tell me his sister would be home,” he suddenly said and you stared, eyes so wide you thought they’d pop out. When did he come? Why was he here? Where was Jisung?!

“I’m...sorry, I thought Jisung was in the shower...” you muttered, backing away only to realise he had just a towel around his waist, water dripping down his abs and overall beautiful body. Realising you were looking kind of disrespectfully, you turned away. “I- he didn’t tell me his friend would come over...” you added and he chuckled — making your heart flutter.

“I guess he didn’t inform either of us, huh?” he said and ruffled his hair slightly. “He went to take some snacks and said he’ll be back soon! You can sit with us if you want, we’ll watch scary movies,” and with that, he gave you another beautiful grin and walked towards Jisung’s room, closing the door behind him.

“I’m y/n!”

“Chan!”

And with that, you had met your brother’s best friend.

You were drying your hair in your room, smiling to yourself while thinking about the perfect man himself; Chan. What else were you going to think about anyway? The most handsome man in the world was in the next room. You were quite surprised that Jisung had introduced you to most of his friends but not him.

You cringed at the thought of Jisung refusing to bring his friends over after that one time Hyunjin had slept over and you kept telling him how handsome he is — of course, the boy loved the compliments, but your brother had to ruin everything and make the ‘no friends over unless you’re out of the house’ rule.

The rule was broken, around an hour ago, though.

He had taken an hour to go to get snacks? You guessed he didn’t remember you were even home or he forgot why he went there. Typical Jisung. After that though, the front door opened with a loud ‘bang’ and hurried footsteps rushed into your room, opening the door with force.

“Jisung what the fuck?!”

“Where is he?!”

You blinked and stared at him, with a towel in hand and your f/c pyjamas, looking confused as ever. He was breathing heavily, holding two full bags, which meant that he was running all the way here.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I know you met him, and I know he’s here!” he said and slightly glared at you, looking around the room like a psychopath. You realized what he was looking for and rolled your eyes.

“You watch way too many movies... he’s in your room,” you sighed and started brushing your hair. Jisung let out a hum as an answer and walked out slowly closing the door but not before sticking his tongue out at you.

You smiled and when you understood that he was no longer outside, got up, placing your ear on the wall as you heard talking. It was your brother and Chan, obviously ignoring the fact that you were still there and talking about what movie they were going to watch.

“How about we ask your sister to join us too?” you heard Chan’s voice and you immediately broke into a smile. Truth to be told, you hated watching movies with Jisung but if his friends were around, you loved the company and actually joined them.

“No way,” Jisung replied and you rolled your eyes. If he didn’t want to invite you, you’d ‘accidentally’ walk past for the whole movie until he decides to tell you to sit down with them. You were hungry as well and you could definitely finish a whole bag of chips right then and there.

A few minutes passed and you could hear sounds from the living room, meaning that they had put on a movie already. Walking out, you saw all the lights closed and decided to go grab some water and check out the movie they were watching and Chan. That was no secret.

Approaching the couch with a glass in hand, you realised you hadn’t seen that horror movie before and it seemed interesting — but scary as well.

“You wanna sit?” Chan asked, looking up at you with a bright smile and shiny eyes. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t say no to that man. He was holding a bowl of popcorn and patted the space next to him since your brother had taken the whole space of the second couch, curled into a ball with his blanket.

“Of course,” you smiled back, sitting down next to him and getting comfortable. You were quite close to him and you could feel Jisung burning holes in your head, but Chan’s warmth and the smiles he gave you from time to time made the atmosphere way less scary and more enjoyable.

At some point, you were all focused on the TV, knowing that a jumpscare was going to happen soon. Your hand moved to the bowl, slightly touching with Chan’s, making you both move your hands away. You turned your head, meeting his beautiful eyes looking right back at your e/c ones.

The only light was coming from the TV and you could see how he shined, his perfect features and his incredibly magnetizing look. None of you could look away from each other. Chan slowly parted his lips to speak, but instead, he was cut off by Jisung’s loud scream. You both jumped and turned to face him.

“What?! It was unexpected!”

“Don’t date my sister,” Jisung’s words made Chan turn his head and look at the younger boy who seemed quite serious. They had just laid down on the two beds in Jisung’s room while laughing and telling funny experiences they had through the week when he suddenly blurted that out.

“Sorry?”

“Don’t get me wrong Chan, I tell that to everyone. But come on, she’s my sister I don’t wanna see someone so close to me with her. I know you’re a nice guy and —”

“Mate, don’t worry!” Chan cut him off with a smile. “I know she’s your sister, I would never...” he added and shrugged his shoulders. Seeing Jisung relax made his heart clench. His sister seemed like such a nice person and from the second they met, he wanted to know more about her.

“Okay great. Well, I mean if you liked her I wouldn’t say no but I want to make sure she gets the best of the best. I might look like I hate her, but I wouldn’t hand her to someone random. You never know,” Chan felt like he had a chance after what he just heard. He hummed in response and silence fell between them. Chan opened his mouth to speak again but the snoring from Jisung made him chuckle and go sleep instead.

You were looking out the window of the kitchen, forgetting why you were there in the first place while resting your head in your palm. It was quite crazy how you’ve never thought of any of your brother’s friends that way.

But Chan was different.

He had something that just made you trust him. You could tell he was a nice person and you wouldn’t admit it, but that tingle you felt whenever he smiled wasn’t going to leave any time soon. You didn’t even realise the smile on your lips until you looked at your reflection on the window, seeing someone right behind you.

“OH LORD—“ you gasped and turned around, seeing Chan with a guilty look. Looking at the time in the nearby clock, you realised that he had gotten up for some water. “Sorry, you just scared me,” you sighed and smiled slightly.

“Sorry, I just came for something to drink and I didn’t wanna disturb you. You looked like you were thinking about something,” he chuckled and smiled softly, grabbing some water for himself. You hummed in response, looking at his back and the muscles that were visible under his thin shirt.

“I was thinking about something...” you muttered seeing him raise his eyebrows, encouraging you to continue. “Jisung would never approve of me having a boyfriend and it’s kind of annoying, you know, just that,” you said, shrugging and advertising your gaze from the floor to him.

“I understand him, he cares about you. He just wants what’s best for you,” Chan replied and smiled again. “Trust me, he knows,” he whispered that part, now seeming closer than he was before. His lips looked so pink and kissable, his skin so smooth and his eyes giving you hints of hope.

“I...guess you’re right,” you said, smiling back and watching him move away. You walked to your room, looking at him one last time before walking inside. “See you in the morning?” you chuckled while listening to Jisung’s snoring from the other room.

“See you in the morning,” he grinned and walked into the dark room, closing the door behind him, making sure to not wake his friend up.

#skz #skz oneshots #skz series #stray kids #han jisung #bang chan #bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids series #brother's best friend #lee minho #seo changbin #yang jeongin #hwan hyunjin #kim seungmin #lee felix #bang chan fanfic

[emachinescat]

Mama Bear

A Tales of Arcadia Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat @whumptober2021 day 3 - Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones But... ("who did this to you?")

Summary: After Jim’s fight with Draal, his mom sees his bruises, and Mama Bear is unleashed. Post-Win, Lose, or Draal.

Whumpee: Jim

Words: 2,603

Note: This fic was inspired by what Barbara said in 1x13 about Jim coming home from school covered in bruises. As is my way, I took the idea and ran with it.

TW: none

Barbara Lake had always considered herself incredibly lucky that her son turned out as well as he did. It wasn’t her own doing, she was sure of that – she always did the best she could, but being a single mom meant she’d had to work extra shifts to support her small family and never felt like she was there enough.

No, Jim was just a really good kid.

Not many moms could boast that their sixteen-year-old son could cook better than they could, let alone that they made gourmet lunches and dinners (and breakfasts, on most weekends), not just willingly, but happily. And not many moms could brag that their sixteen-year-old son did the dishes or kept the house clean or put aside his own wants and dreams to take care of his overworked mother. Who got up early to leave flowers on their bedside table after a long night at work, or who tucked them in after they fell asleep on top of the covers, still in their scrubs, because they’d been too exhausted to do anything else.

Barbara tried not to brag too much about Jim. She knew that he did have a social life of his own, and as far as she could tell, he was fairly well liked at school and she didn’t want to embarrass him if any of his friends found out just how much he doted on his mother. But sometimes she couldn’t help it, and she’d find herself rambling to her beautician or the nurses at the hospital or sometimes even a long-suffering patient about how her son was one-of-a-kind. He didn’t get into trouble at school, didn’t fight, didn’t skip school, and almost never missed curfew.

Until one day, he did.

It wasn’t even like it was a gradual change. There was no slow fade. She didn’t watch him slowly descend into bad grades or late nights or midnight calls about museum break-ins. There were no signs. He went to bed one day, the same as ever, and then suddenly he was getting into trouble at school, getting into fist fights, missing curfew, breaking into museums in the dead of night. Not only that but his grades – which had always been slightly higher than average – had plummeted, and he’d developed dark circles under his eyes like he never slept and sometimes he moved around like he was an eighty-year-old man and though his good nature and kind heart remained, it seemed strained at times. He still did sweet things for her, but not as often.

At first, she’d thought he was burning the proverbial candle at both ends and his lack of sleep was taking a toll on his mental and physical health. As a doctor, she’d seen firsthand what lack of sleep could do to a person. Their entire personality would change, or fizzle out, and their judgment would be severely impaired.

But then she’d seen the bruises and her sleep-loss theory flew out of the window.

***

Two weeks ago

Barbara thought boundaries and independence were a valuable part of a child’s development, so she always knocked before she entered Jim’s room. Of course, if he were gone, she wouldn’t bother.

On this particular day – one of her rare days off – she was sure he wasn’t home. She hadn’t heard him come in, hadn’t seen his bike propped up against the side of the house or in the garage. The container of store-bought chocolate chip cookies (she had neither the time nor skill to bake them herself) she’d left out for him hadn’t been touched. For all appearances, Jim hadn’t gotten home from school yet.

And so, she didn’t knock as she approached his bedroom door with a laundry basket propped on her hip. Jim always did his own laundry, but she’d seen how tired and overworked he’d been lately and wanted to ease his burden however she could.

The sight that greeted her when she nudged open the door and flipped on the light was one that would stick with her, tattooed onto her mind’s eye, for the rest of her life.

Jim was asleep on top of his unmade bed. It looked like he’d gotten halfway undressed and then decided to forgo comfort for sleep, and lay on his stomach in only his jeans. One shoe was on, the other halfway under the bed. But what arrested her attention so violently was the great rainbow of bruises arching across his back and stretched around his side, disappearing beneath his stomach where he lay on the bed.

She couldn’t help herself. A horrified shriek escaped her, and Jim sprung up so quickly it made her head spin. The panicked look in his eyes did not escape her notice, nor did the way he made a desperate reach for his pocket, like he was trying to grab something – trying to defend himself? When he saw who was in his room, and that they were alone, and that there was no danger, the raw fear faded, though a hint of panic remained.

“Mom!” he squawked, crossing his arms across his chest like that would be enough to hide the dizzying array of green, purple, yellow, and black that blanketed his chest. She noticed with surprise the lean muscles of his arms. Jim had always been fit, but never strong. He’d never said anything about a gym and he’d never been serious about sports, but she filed this information away for later and focused on the problem at hand.

Her stomach twisted as her doctor’s eyes traveled slowly, deliberately down her son’s bare torso. The bruises were worse on his stomach and chest, something she hadn’t thought possible, and she realized with horror that some of them were days, maybe weeks, older than others. This – whatever this was – was not an isolated incident.

Rage like she’d never felt before, like the protective energy of all mothers who had come before her collected into one finely-honed sword, pierced her soul as she came to the only conclusion that made any logical sense: Someone had done this to her son.

When she spoke, she barely recognized her own voice, cold as the furthest depth of the ocean, shaking with unmitigated fury.

“Who did this to you?”

Jim’s answer didn’t surprise her, but she also didn’t believe it for a second. “No one. It… was an accident.” She watched, lips crammed together in an impossibly thin line, teeth grinding against one another, her hands trembling with a righteous anger she had no outlet for, as Jim slowly reached out for the shirt he’d left in a heap at the end of the bed, the other arm still wrapped protectively around his torso. She didn’t stop him. She would absolutely be examining his injuries fully before the evening was done, but for now, she’d seen enough. The sight of her son’s bruised flesh would burn in her memory forever, more clearly than when she saw it right in front of her.

Skittishly, like a cat caught sniffing around back alley garbage cans, he snatched up the shirt and swiftly pulled it over his head. He couldn’t hide the flinch as he raised his arms to pull the fabric over his head. As he did so, she got the full view of his torso, and the wild, impossible thought flitted through her mind that it almost looked like some giant hand had wrapped around his body and squeezed. The image, however nonsensical, sent waves of nausea crashing through her. Her anger swelled again, and the crest of it burst forth, no longer containable, and the only person she could release it on was the one who was actively lying to her.

“James Lake, Jr. – do you think I’m an idiot?!”

Jim froze, his hands stilling completely as he adjusted the neck of his tee. He had never heard his mother direct such cold fury at anyone, let alone himself. “W-what? Of course not, Mom. I just–”

“You expect me to believe that you accidentally hurt yourself this badly? That you woke up one morning and you were covered in bruises? Jim, I’m a doctor. I see people come in for less than this. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have fractured ribs.” Now the anger was giving way to panic. “And don’t think that I haven’t noticed that some bruises are newer than others. This isn’t something that just ‘happened’ and it’s not an accident. So tell me. Who – the – hell – did this to my son?”

A small, ridiculous surge of satisfaction bubbled up inside of her as she watched Jim’s mouth fall open. He’d never heard his mother utter a word stronger than darn before. She’d always been very careful about the language she used in front of him. But his condition released something feral inside of her, and it was honestly a bit of a shock that nothing stronger came out.

She watched his face, saw the conflict in his eyes, knew with even more surety that he was hiding something big from her and trying to decide if he was going to answer truthfully. Well, tough luck. He wasn’t leaving his bedroom until he answered her question.

He must have seen this in her eyes, for after a moment, he dropped his gaze. Heavily, he sat down on the foot of his bed and stared down at his hands. “Mom, I… can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

At this, the fear took center stage again, and Barbara fell to her knees in front of her son, cupping his face in her hands. The tears she’d been holding back with such determination threatened to fall at the way he unconsciously leaned into her touch. His eyes closed briefly, and for a moment he was a child again, sniffling from a scraped knee and being comforted by his mother. That moment ended all too quickly, because his scraped knee was actually a bruised and battered torso, and he wasn’t a child anymore, and he was in trouble.

“Jim. Whatever is going on, I promise, I won’t be angry. But someone is hurting you. You can’t deny that. What is happening to my son?” She tried not to speculate – dared not speculate – but so many possibilities chased themselves through her head, each one worse than the last. Bullies? Abusive teacher? Drugs?

He sat for a moment, a slumped, defeated statue with too much weight on his young shoulders – Young Atlas, Walter’s voice echoed in her mind. She saw the exact moment when he made his decision. He squared his shoulders, set his jaw, and met her eyes once more. Something brewed within those beautiful blue depths, but what it was she couldn’t say. Was it regret? Guilt? Fear?

“It really was an accident,” he finally said, voice slow and measured.

“Jim, really–!”

“I’m telling the truth, Mom!” he insisted so fervently that she was tempted to believe him. Almost.

“Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?” she demanded. “What kind of ‘accident’–”

“A Vespa one,” Jim blurted, and his eyes flickered down to his hands in shame. “I… a friend gave me a ride on his Vespa. I was on the back and got thrown off and rolled halfway down the embankment before a tree caught me right in the ribs.”

Fresh panic wormed its way into Barbara’s mind at Jim’s confession. As horrible as it was, part of her desperately wanted to believe him. If he had been in a vehicle accident, then no one had been deliberately hurting her child. It was just his own irresponsibility and stupidity.

“When did this happen?”

A beat. Then, sheepishly, “... yesterday.”

But – “What about the older bruises, Jim? Did you get into two Vespa accidents?”

“Paintball,” Jim answered without missing a beat. “We had a whole thing a few months back. Guys versus girls. And I got hit. A lot.”

Barbara recalled clearly the size and location of the older bruises that had peeked out from underneath the fresh, reaching ones. They could have easily been from punches or kicks, but it was feasible that the bruises could have come from being shot at close-range by a paintball gun.

Deep down, something still nagged at her. But Jim’s explanation was a siren’s call and she was so tired of swimming.

“Do you promise me you’re telling the truth?” The gaze she fixed on him one would have withered a succulent.

Without hesitation, Jim answered, his voice clear, strong, and insistent. “Yes.”

Relief flooded through her, and she squashed the last remaining doubts, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “In that case, you are grounded.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “What, really? You promised you wouldn’t be angry!?”

“I’m not angry, I’m disappointed. Let’s see, you know how I feel about both paintball and those Vespas and yet you went behind my back and nearly got yourself killed. You’ve been lying to me, Jim, keeping secrets. Is this why you’ve not been sleeping? Why you’ve been so distant?” It didn’t explain why he’d been getting into more trouble than usual, but right now she would take what she could get.

The slightest of hesitations. “Yeah.”

She considered, eyes burning into him, for a long moment, then she sighed, the sound of every evil thing escaping Pandora’s box, and she clapped her hands together briskly. “Okay, come on.”

Jim cocked his head to the side. “Where are we going?”

“The hospital.”

Jim groaned. “Mom, I’m okay. I’m just bruised.”

“I’m not taking any chances, mister. You could have fractured ribs. You should have been rushed to the hospital as soon as the accident happened. Who is this friend, anyway? Why didn’t he take you to the E.R.?”

Jim scratched the side of his neck. “You wouldn’t know him,” he evaded, and Barbara made a promise to herself to revisit this point later. “And we were afraid we’d get into trouble…”

“Well, you did, kiddo. Now, get up. We’re going to the hospital, you’re getting x-rays, and then we’re getting ice cream.”

Jim blinked up at her. She wondered if he realized his arm was curled protectively around his ribs as he slowly eased himself off the bed. “Ice cream? I thought I was grounded.”

“You’re hurt, Jim, and I’m your mother. I’m not a monster.” A soft smile pulled at the corners of Jim’s mouth at her words, and not wanting him to get too comfortable, she added, “You are grounded, though. Absolutely. You’re not going anywhere after school for at least two weeks. And depending on the x-rays, you might not be leaving your bed for a while, either.”

“Mooom.”

“Don’t you ‘mom’ me. Now, put your other shoe on. Let’s hussle. I want you looked at as soon as possible.”

What she didn’t see as she turned to leave the room was the heavy curtain of guilt being drawn over Jim’s face.

Later, she’d drive him home with a diagnosis of two cracked ribs and deep bruising across 80 percent of his torso and a bottle of muscle relaxers for the pain. They’d get ice cream and he would mope about bedrest and she would try to cheer him up (but not too much; he was still grounded, after all). But behind the pain of his injuries lurked a deeper, fierer ache that no balm could soothe, no medication could ease.

With every lie, he could feel the chasm widen between him and his mother, and it hurt more than a few broken ribs and bruises ever could.

#whumptober2021 #no.3 #who did this to you? #sticks and stones may break my bones but #trollhunters #tales of arcadia #toa trollhunters #fic #fanfic #no tw #bruises #angst #post-win lose or draal #character study #reflection #jim #james lake jr. #barbara lake #jim whump #h/c #hurt/comfort #missing scene #protective barbara #mama bear #bittersweet #mother son relationship #emachinescat writes

[chaoticevilbean]

Voltron Humans are Weird 3/?

Lance tugged at the suit he wore, hating it with every fiber of his being. Ever since the Alteans found out humans are mostly water, they insisted that the Paladins wear special suits that covered from their necks to their ankles to avoid a catastrophe. Allura and Shiro were to explain the situation, and arrangements would be made to let the Paladins wear normal clothes if possible. They'd been lucky so far that no one had died from something like a handshake. But the suits were skintight to avoid any water escaping too early, and Lance hated it.

It was sunny as well, so Lance desperately wanted to be free from the fabric that regulated his temperature. It made him feel constantly at a neutral point, and he just wanted to feel the blaze of heat from sunlight and bask in the warm glow. It took nearly half an hour to even get past the pleasantries and another two hours to get the arrangements set up. The humans were escorted to an open pavilion, like a gazebo, where there were several pitchers of water for the Terrans to drink, and every diplomat that came with had full-covering clothing to protect their skin. The Paladins were given a place to change, and Allura made the mistake of saying that they could wear whatever they wanted seeing as they worked so hard protecting the universe that the diplomats did all the safety work.

It wasn't a mistake to Lance, but it was to the aliens.

Lance forwent the shirt and jacket, instead putting them with his suit. He was glad he had managed to find some old Altean clothing and make shorts out of a pair of blue pants. He slipped the shorts on and sprinted back to the gazebo to find his fellow Paladins in much different attire. That is to say that they were wearing their normal clothing and Hunk was the only one to not wear the full outfit. All he'd done was take off the vest.

"Lance, what are you wearing?" Allura seemed perturbed by his lack of covering, but the Cuban ignored her, instead finally leaving the shade and flopping down on the purple space grass. It was softer than regular grass, like silk or one of those really soft blankets.  The teen hummed at the feeling of sun warming his body, soaking up every ray like a lizard.

His peace was interrupted by the screams of the diplomats and Allura. He wondered why until a guard ran forward with some sort of umbrella that held a shield all the way around the being's body. None of the aliens had been in the sun. Coran had mentioned in the briefing that the sun was out for only about a quarter of their year, meaning they had no natural adaption for the heat and radiation. The guard had almost reached Lance when the Paladin launched to his feet and took off running away from the shade. He was a Cuban boy, and he loved the sun. Humans were already terrifying, what was one more thing like this. It wasn't even that weird considering the solar cycles of Earth.

As Lance was being chased down by now several severely concerned and mildly fearful guards with umbrella shields, Pidge managed to get the diplomats to calm down by saying she was a scientist and could explain it all. Although some looked stunned that she said she was a scientist. Maybe they had social castes or something? They wouldn't understand being both a warrior and a scholar. Research for another time.

"How is the Blue Paladin handling the heat? Not even the adaptive nature of the Alteans can adjust from the shade to the scorching temperature."

"Earth has several climates. Lance is from one that is more hot and that's why his skin is darker as well. He can handle the heat just fine because he grew up with a similar temperature. Next question."

"How can he also handle the cold of the shade then? Even if he could withstand it temporarily, he should be stiff from the lower temperature, and he spent over two vargas in it."

"Humans can handle temperatures ranging from -40 to 50 degrees Celsius, which Allura can calculate better for you. We prefer the 0 to 30 degree range, and many humans can live in most climates on Earth. There aren't many places that aren't inhabited at this point, and part of that is due to our ability to adapt to new environments with relative ease. Next."

"How many climates?"

"Hundreds, next."

"What are the worst? To give us a better view of your extremes."

"Some places have active volcanos, so we have to be careful of the molten rock they spew. We have tectonic plates, which cause earthquakes and can bring down entire cities. Our Poles are extremely cold, under -60 degrees at least. Next."

"Some of you live near active volcanoes?"

"Yeah, and we swim in the nearby groundwater because it has good minerals for us. Next."

"Your planet has earthquakes? And they can level entire cities?"

"Yeah, but that's our fault. We built them on fault lines. Next."

"Did you learn your lesson?"

"Yeah, when the buildings fell down, we built them back up better than ever. Next."

"You rebuilt the cities in the same spots?"

"Yes, next."

"How did you find out your Poles were so cold? From what our scientists know of Terra, it's rather undeveloped comparatively."

"We sent people. Before you ask, yes, the first few groups died, and yes, we sent more with only slightly better equipment. Humans are curious about our world, and we'll do a lot to discover more. Next."

"Why is the Blue Paladin refusing the shade if he can handle the cold?"

"We live on the Castle, and only get a simulated version of sunlight. It's not often that we get to relax a bit and enjoy our surroundings. Lance misses the sun and its heat, so he doesn't want the shade. He wants to sunbathe, like a snake or a cat or something. Call the guards off and you'll see." The diplomats, somehow managing their fear of and for the humans and their planet, did just that.

"Lance, you're free to tan!" Hunk shouted over. Lance, trusting his bro, skidded to a halt, then let himself fall backwards. He wasn't too far from the group in the gazebo, having had to run circles around the guards. Hopefully Allura didn't notice that the guards were rather undertrained. They could barely maintain the chase! And they couldn't turn very well.

The diplomats and Allura watched with fascination as the Terran boy simply laid on the grass, eyes closed and letting the sun shine directly on him.

"Feeling better, buddy?"

"Mi hermano, we better get these allies! I'm not giving up this chance!" Hunk laughed, especially when Shiro received questions as to what Lance meant.

"He's saying he's glad you have sunlight and it's another reason that we should be allies. Mostly a joke."

"But why?"

Lance paid the conversations no mind. He only moved when Hunk yelled, "Turn!" at him. It was something they came up with so Lance never got close to burning. He would flip over whenever the call went out. The Cuban laid through the entire peace talk and treaty signing and whatnot, and groaned in displeasure when he was told it was time to go.

He was up on his feet in a second once Pidge said she'd taken some time while waiting for Allura and Shiro to finish up calculating how to fix the fake sunlight that gave them Vitamin D on the Castle. More sun, whenever he wanted, and it wasn't the weak sauce of the giant Altean ship? Yes please!

Feeling much better than before, Lance ran over to the group, refusing the shirt Hunk tried to give him. It was a halfhearted attempt, given that the Samoan knew his bro wouldn't want it in the first place. The team of Terrans headed back to the Castle, this time taking the sunny route. The diplomats and Allura remained in the shade, discussing some less political topics. One in particular came up.

"Is there any way to obtain more information about Terrans? We would never have known that the Paladins were so adaptable and biologically dangerous if you and the Green Paladin had not told us."

"Actually," Allura smiled warmly, "my advisor and I are compiling a log. 'A Guide to Humans', we titled it. I can give you viewing access, although, I must warn you. Almost all of our information is in the preliminary stage. We know next to nothing about humans and their planet, and we may find that some of the data is false. An example that recently happened was that we found Terrans have strong tolerances to quite a few poisons. But we had to update the log a second time after investigating further and discovering that only some of them have strong tolerances. Most have mild tolerances, but only a few can handle some toxins in larger amounts."

"Which poisons?"

"I believe it would be better if I simply sent you the log."

A varga later, Allura and Coran were adding a few new sections to their guide.

Due to the many different climates that somehow coexist on Earth, humans have a large range of temperatures they can tolerate, along with having the ability to adapt to a new temperature very quickly. On the Terran scale labeled 'Celsius', humans can handle temperatures from -40 to 50 degrees, with their comfortable range being about 0 to 30 degrees. Some humans prefer warmer temperatures and some prefer colder, depending on where they were raised.

To elaborate on the different climates Earth sustains, there are a few extremes that should be made known. Some populaces live near active volcanos, occasionally submerging themselves in the dihydrogen monoxide found nearby the deadly formations. They claim to do it for the beneficial properties found in the substance. Another climate is the freezing cold of Earth's poles. They are, at their warmest temperatures, 0 degrees or less. Humans, with their still young technological advancements, deemed their curiosity of the poles a worthy cause to send groups of their own people to the frozen locations. After the deaths of their initial teams, they sent more.

Earth also has tectonic plates, and earthquakes are common enough that Terrans often pass off the tremors as normal. Some cities are built on fault lines, and are damaged by larger quakes. Humans, instead of doing what most races would and relocating, rebuild their cities in the same places with better foundations.

Be receptive to suggestions a human may give about how to handle a new climate. They likely have a good knowledge of how to withstand different temperatures and how to handle the unfamiliar conditions. If a human requests specific equipment for the trip, it would be best to supply. Most Terrans will never risk the safety of themselves and others to extort the goodwill of another being. The younger a Terran is, the less likely they are to be greedy in those situations, unless the Terran is not fully matured, in which case they will not understand the circumstances well.

#voltron #vld #voltron oneshots #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #earth is space australia #oneshots #humans are weird oneshots

[asweetprologue]

the process of rewarming

Octoberfest 6: Hypothermia (whumptober #21)

Read on ao3

Kaedwin was sharply beautiful in the winter. Every surface glinted like polished crystal, the world coated in a fine layer of ice and snow. Blankets of white muffled the countryside, broken by the intimidating bulk of the northern mountains. The thick pine forests were heavy with snow, the trees bowing under the weight of winter in full swing. Above them, the sky was a steel gray that promised more harsh weather to come. 

The path that they walked was narrow and slick, the unforgiving mass of the mountain rising on their left and sloping downwards treacherously on their right. Jaskier paused, his breath puffing out before him as he spared a moment to look out over the countryside. The entire scene was cast in sharp black and white, the snow, trees and mountains beyond forming a stunning but severe monotone. It was bitterly cold, the icy fingers of the northern wind stabbing under each and every gap in his thick winter clothing. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice came from ahead. Jaskier looked away from the view, though the sight he turned to face was no less stunning. The witcher was just as bundled up as Jaskier, his armor traded out for a thick cloak and a padded coat, the rest of his usual gear loaded onto Roach. He looked even larger than usual, the bulky clothes adding extra breadth to his shoulders. His golden eyes glinted in the light reflecting off the snow, though the rest of his face was cast into shadow by the hood he had pulled over his head. Roach snorted beside him, shaking her mane out and tugging at the reins in Geralt’s hands. The path was small enough that Geralt had to walk her, not willing to risk a wrong step. “We need to keep moving,” he said, nodding up the mountain. “If we don’t reach Kaer Morhen by night we’ll be stuck in the snow.”

The clouds above did seem to be growing ever darker. Jaskier nodded, jaw clenched to hide his chattering teeth. Geralt’s eyebrows came together in a frown when he didn’t respond verbally, but Jaskier could do little to assuage his worries.

This was the first time that he’d been invited to travel to Kaer Morhen with Geralt, and he wasn’t going to fuck it up by complaining about the cold. If Geralt thought Jaskier couldn’t handle the journey, he’d never let him come along again. So yes, his fingers were nearly numb and his eyes were burning from the wind and his feet were clumsy as he followed Geralt up the path, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. Not if it meant Geralt taking back his invitation in future years. 

So Jaskier hunched his shoulders and continued after the witcher in silence.

They were, Geralt said, no more than an hour or two away from the Kaer Morhen valley, and from there it was an easy walk up to the keep itself. The path that they currently walked was the most difficult part of the journey, made worse by the fact that they’d gotten a late start. Geralt had been finishing up a contract near Oxenfurt, and they’d only barely made it to the pass before it was closed for the winter. The snows had begun falling in earnest a week ago, and by the time they’d made it to the northern mountains they had been well and truly covered in ice and snow. There was nothing for it, however, so they’d started their reluctant way up. They’d been at it for a few days, but this area was clearly the riskiest. Jaskier had seen how Geralt’s mouth had gone thin when they discussed the last leg of the journey, but he hadn’t commented on it. 

They walked in silence for another half an hour or so before the path leveled out, splitting again into two diverging trails. The first led downwards, into what looked like a thin vale. As Jaskier followed Geralt along the other path leading further upwards, he could see that the trail below widened into a small valley. There was a river that ran parallel to their track, and here it widened into something almost large enough to be a lake. The water moved fast enough that it had not completely frozen over, only the edges glinting with sharp ice. It was some twenty feet below them, the mountainside sloping downwards sharply to meet the pool. The frigid waters reflected the light of the low hanging sun, throwing a shifting mosaic onto the cliffside across from them. It was a stunning scene, begging to be captured through pen or song. 

Perhaps it was because he was so taken by the environment that Jaskier stumbled. One moment he was staring out over the small valley, and the next his feet were rapidly sliding out from under him. The patch of ground in front of him that he’d assumed was solid crumbled beneath his heel, snow tumbling away and taking him with it. The thick blanket of snow on the path shifted, moving to fill the space abandoned through Jaskier’s misstep. He found himself slipping, drawn towards the edge of the cliff as if a tide was rushing over him. Jaskier fell, already half over the edge of the cliffside and headed towards the valley below.

Suddenly he was being tugged roughly up and to the side. Geralt’s hands were insistent, grabbing the front of Jaskier’s coat and pulling. Jaskier could feel the snow and ice beneath them still slipping, and he met Geralt’s eyes in a panic. If Geralt didn’t move, they would both go over with the crumbling mountainside. 

Geralt’s face was set with determination. With a heave, he pulled Jaskier up and twisted at the same time, shoving Jaskier out of the way even as Geralt tumbled over the side of the cliff.

“No!” Jaskier launched himself forward, trying to catch something - a sleeve, a hand, anything - but he met empty air. The snow under him shifted, and Jaskier scrambled backwards again to avoid going over the edge. He stared at the blank space where Geralt had been, dread making his breaths come in stuttering gasps. Across the decimated path, Roach snorted, pawing at the ground in agitation. 

Jaskier stumbled to his feet, heart in his throat. It wasn’t so far of a fall, he thought. Geralt could survive a twenty foot drop easily, especially if the snow had cushioned his fall. He was probably fine. Jaskier just had to find a way to get down to him, as quickly as possible. 

Once he’d managed to retrieve Roach, Jaskier swiftly backtracked down the path until he found the spot where the two roads diverged. He urged Roach down along the other trail until it began to widen out, leading into the little valley. The snow here was thick and heavy, having fallen from the nearby cliff sides and collected below. Jaskier had to shove himself through it, feeling the damp powder making its way into his boots. He ignored it, making his way as quickly as he could back towards the lake. Roach followed behind him slowly, her reins gripped tightly in his gloved hand. Geralt would be fine. He had to be. Jaskier just had to find him, and then they could continue to Kaer Morhen and he would have all winter to convince Geralt that this was all just a spot of bad luck. It would be a good argument. Jaskier just needed to find him. 

It took longer than he would have liked to make their way to the side of the pond. Jaskier began to look around frantically, trying to figure out exactly where Geralt had gone over. The upper path loomed above them, seeming higher up from this angle than Jaskier remembered. The snow was disrupted in many places, probably from various animals passing through the valley. Jaskier couldn’t tell where Geralt had come down, he couldn’t see anything but the snow, already covering up his own tracks, let alone any signs of Geralt - 

There was a cough. 

Jaskier sprang into action, abandoning Roach as he rushed toward the sound. There was a small overhang on the west side of the vale, against the wall their path had been on. When he neared, he could see that there was a line drawn through the snow from the side of the lake, as if something had been dragged through it in places. Jaskier felt his heart crawl up into his throat. Until now, he’d refused to think about what would happen if Geralt had fallen in the lake. He ran towards the overhang, following the shallow path through the snow. 

Geralt was slumped under it, in a small clearing where the snow had been unable to fully reach because of the overhang. Jaskier could immediately see that something was wrong as he crashed to Geralt’s side. The witcher’s skin was even paler than usual, his lips tinged blue. His white hair fell in frozen sheets around him, and his wet clothes had already turned icy in places. He looks dead, Jaskier thought suddenly, and it was the worst thought that he’d ever had. Bile pushed up into his throat, but he forced it back, instead cradling Geralt’s face in his hands. His skin was so cold Jaskier could feel it through his gloves. Holding his own breath, he moved his face close to Geralt’s slightly parted lips.

After a long moment, he felt a puff of air against his cheek. Relief hit Jaskier like a punch in the chest, his fingers tingling with it.

Witchers could survive low temperatures better than humans could, he knew, but he also knew that the process of warming them up was troublesome. Their hearts were so slow - a blessing and a curse. It would keep him alive even as his limbs shut down, but it would be harder to get him back to a normal temperature for the same reason. 

Alright. Alright. He had to focus. One step at a time. Geralt’s cloak was in a pile next to him, one edge slightly singed. He must have been trying to light a fire, Jaskier realized, but the cloth had been too saturated. Step one, he thought, forcing himself to concentrate on the problem at hand. Wet, freezing clothes had to come off. Jaskier hated the idea of exposing Geralt’s pale, damp skin to the open air, but he knew that the stiff coat he wore now wouldn’t do him any good. He reached out and started prying the fabric away, one layer at a time.

It was hard work, much of the clothing already coated in thin sheets of ice. Jaskier pulled and tugged and shifted until he finally wrestled Geralt out of his thick, useless coat. The layers underneath were just as soaked, but not yet quite as frozen. Jaskier stripped Geralt down as quickly as he could, leaving him bare. He didn’t even shiver, just lying on the cold ground with his breath barely forming clouds in the cold air. Jaskier hurried to Roach.

They had extra clothes in their saddlebags, cotton shirts and pants and a few blankets. Jaskier grabbed them without looking, arms piled high with material as he fell back to Geralt’s side. He pulled two shirts over Geralt’s head, and then laid down a blanket to protect him from the cold ground and rolled him onto it. The freezing earth would leach heat away from him just as surely as the snow or wet clothes would. Satisfied with Geralt’s position, Jaskier fumbled with his pants and socks until he was at least mostly clothed. 

Step one completed. Step two: shelter. The ledge was something, but they were still exposed to the elements. He didn’t have the time to go hunting for branches to make a lean-to, and there was very little foliage this high up the mountain anyways. They had a wax treated canvas sheet rolled up behind Roach’s saddle, but he had to find some way to mount it if he wanted to keep the snow off of them. 

Roach, bless her, was standing utterly still, clearly aware that something was going on. Jaskier headed back to her, and unclipped Geralt’s swords from their place against her side. They were all he had to work with in terms of any sort of scaffolding, so they would have to do. After grabbing the canvas, Jaskier shuffled through the path of snow back to Geralt. He leaned both swords against the back wall of the cliff, near Geralt’s head, spaced a fair distance apart. The canvas he dragged out and looped over each sword, the heavy weight of them pinning the rough fabric to the wall and holding it several feet above Geralt’s head. The other end of the canvas he dragged out until he reached the snow, half a foot or so away from Geralt’s toes. It was easy work to find a couple of stones to hold the end in place, resulting in a sloped little shelter. 

It would have to do for now. He wanted to make step three a fire, but Jaskier had to admit that he wasn’t great at starting them on the best of days. He never had to; Geralt always just snapped a finger and the kindling was crackling merrily away. They could make one later, when Geralt woke up and was cross about how cold their little tent was. They could always do it later. Grabbing the rest of the blankets from Roach, Jaskier gave her a quick kiss on the nose. He felt bad to leave her saddled and free to wander around, but he had to trust that she would be alright. Geralt needed him.

Decided, Jaskier scrambled inside of the makeshift shelter, careful not to pull too hard at the canvas. Geralt lie on the blanket inside, still absolutely still. Jaskier could see that his chest was rising and falling shallowly, but it didn’t truly assuage his fears. Tugging off a glove, he laid a hand on Geralt’s cheek and nearly winced. The witcher’s skin was freezing, as cold as the snow outside. 

There was nothing for it. Jaskier began tugging off his own clothes, wincing at the frigid air as it assaulted him. Geralt needed body heat to warm up, if they couldn’t have a fire. He left his boots and pants on, but everything else came off. After a moment of consideration he laid the coat and shirt along the seam of the canvas, blocking more of the harsh wind from entering their delicate abode. That done, he shucked off Geralt’s twin layers of shirts as well, now that they were no longer so exposed to the elements. Grabbing the remaining blankets that he’d pulled from Roach, Jaskier covered the both of them fully and laid down next to Geralt in the small, cold space he’d created. 

It was like laying down next to a block of ice, like one of the dazzling sculptures that sat in the square in Novigrad during the yule festivals. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s bare chest, gooseflesh erupting across his skin as it met Geralt’s. He was so cold, Jaskier thought, shivering as he huddled with Geralt beneath the mess of blankets. How could anyone survive being this cold? He felt dead already, his slow heartbeat even slower now as it sluggishly tried to keep his blood pumping. Jaskier tucked himself close, putting his head under Geralt’s chin as his own heart seized in his chest. He didn’t know what he would do if Geralt wasn’t okay - not just how he would get down this fucking mountain, or face Geralt’s family, or, fuck, how he would tell Ciri. He didn’t know what he would do, if Geralt wasn’t there anymore. A crushing void threatened to open in his chest just at the thought of it. 

And it would be his fault besides. All for forcing Geralt to take him on this bloody journey to Kaer Morhen, where he’d never even asked Jaskier to come. Jaskier had asked, begged even, said, But I want to meet your family and Ciri needs someone who knows how to tell a good story and I miss you, when we’re apart. And Geralt had caved, eventually, allowing Jaskier to come along where he wasn’t even wanted. Now he was going to freeze to death in the middle of nowhere, because of Jaskier. 

A sob fell from his lips before he could stop it, a few stray tears sliding from his cheeks to land on Geralt’s collarbone. The small space under the blankets was growing, if not warm, then something less than freezing, so hopefully his tears wouldn’t freeze in place. Sniffling, Jaskier gathered Geralt’s hands in his own, still icy to the touch, and pressed them between their bodies. Geralt would be furious if he couldn’t wield a sword anymore because of something as silly as frostbite. 

It felt like they laid there for ages, and Geralt did not wake. Jaskier was anxious to the point of nausea and bored besides, wanting to pace and fret but unwilling to move an inch from his spot by Geralt. The occasional flurry and the cold ground under them ensured that the space never grew truly warm, but Jaskier found his skin becoming sticky with sweat where he was pressed to Geralt. How often had he thought of this, he wondered, on nights when they would share a bed or a bench in the tavern? He’d feel Geralt’s bulk against him through his clothes and his heart rate would pick up, his cheeks flushing as he thought about what it would be like, to feel Geralt skin to skin. To be held by him as a lover. They were silly thoughts. Geralt wasn’t interested, Jaskier knew that. He barely tolerated his presence after all these years. It wasn’t Geralt’s fault Jaskier couldn’t keep his heart to himself. 

After an age, Geralt started to shiver. Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief; it meant the worst had passed. 

Jaskier scrambled out of the small tent as soon as he was relatively sure Geralt wouldn’t immediately die without him there. Step four: fire. Before heading up into the mountains, Geralt had filled a burlap sack with some light pieces of wood, explaining that the terrain provided little by way of kindling along the mountain path. Jaskier tugged back on his coat and gloves and retrieved the sack from Roach, who was waiting with an air of impatience outside of their shelter. Jaskier dumped the bag to the side and set about clearing an area to put the fire. The extra snow he piled up around the little area, building a short wall that reached about halfway up to the overhang protecting their little spot. Hopefully it would help shelter them from the wind and keep the fire lit. 

It took him forever to get the flint and tinder to agree with him, even using a clean, dry shirt from his pack as tinder. His fingers were clumsy and numb with the cold, and he was inexperienced with the tools. Eventually a spark flew from the stone in his fingers to the fabric and caught, and Jaskier hurriedly leaned down to blow on it gently. Once the piece was well and truly burning, he pulled a few of the smaller sticks from the bag of kindling and added them until a little fire was casting odd shadowing against the wall of the cliff and Geralt’s unconscious form.

Sitting back with a sigh, Jaskier gave himself a brief moment to warm his fingers before he refocused on Geralt. The warmth of the fire would reach him better without the canvas in the way, and with the pile of snow now blocking more of the outside air, Jaskier felt it was better to expose him somewhat. He moved one of the swords holding up the canvas tent cover until it was open on one side, letting the warmth of the fire into the small space. 

Finally finished, Jaskier stripped his coat back off and huddled under the blankets with Geralt once again. Over the next hour or so, he stirred only to put more kindling on the fire, trying to keep it at a small, steady flame that wouldn’t burn through their supply of wood for too long. They would need it to last them through most of the night. 

He was dozing slightly when he felt Geralt shift beneath him. Instantly he was wide awake, shooting upwards and almost knocking over the canvas. He stared down at Geralt, who was blinking up at him sluggishly. The little tent was almost warm now, the heat of the fire trapped at least partially within the makeshift walls. Geralt moved as if he was going to sit up, but Jaskier put a hand on his chest to still him, the movement agitated. 

“Don’t,” he said, quietly. “You - Are you alright? How do you feel?”

Geralt was still looking at him with a confused expression on his face, like he was trying to piece together exactly where he was and what Jaskier was doing there. “Jaskier,” he said, his voice full of gravel and grit, “what happened?”

Unable to be anything but blunt, Jaskier said, “You fell in a lake. My fault, I’m afraid. Can you feel your toes? I’m terribly worried about them.”

Geralt made a face. “They burn, so yeah,” he said with a grunt. In the small space between their chests, his fingers twitched. Jaskier forced himself not to flush. “Witchers don’t get frostbite,” Geralt continued, still shifting here and there as if to assess the damage.

“How does that track,” Jaskier said faintly. The relief he felt was dizzying; now that he was awake, Geralt seemed to be recovering even faster. His cheeks had a slightly pink tinge to them, and Jaskier could feel that his heart rate was elevated. 

“We heal from it, if we get it,” Geralt replied. “Roach?”

“Just outside,” Jaskier said, unable to stop a fond smile from flitting across his lips. Of course Geralt would be more worried about the horse than his own health. “Very cross at us for making her stand out in the wind, I’m sure.”

“I should take a White Raffords, probably,” Geralt mused, almost to himself. He looked tired; his eyes had that half present quality they sometimes did when he came out of a long meditation session. He met Jaskier’s gaze again, tracing over Jaskier’s face and then down his neck and chest. Jaskier swallowed. “Are you alright?” Geralt asked him, tone subdued. 

Jaskier felt a spike of anger and grief shoot through him, forcing him to inhale sharply. He wanted to box Geralt around the ears a bit, and only refrained because the man was in a delicate state. “Of course I’m alright, Geralt, you self sacrificing piece of horse shit! I’m the one you shoved out of the way and fell into a frozen lake at the bottom of a ravine for!” He fisted one hand in the blankets around them, mortified to find tears pricking at his eyes. He looked away, trying to hide the evidence of his guilt. 

He felt cool fingers suddenly on his jaw, forcing him to turn back towards Geralt. The witcher’s face was soft, eyes hooded with exhaustion and what looked like affection. Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat. “I’d do it again,” Geralt said, tired but full of conviction. 

“I’m not worth it,” Jaskier said, sniffling. Geralt’s palm was warming up on his face, more and more alive with each passing moment. Jaskier wished he could do that all the time - give Geralt more warmth and life and love just through a touch. “Not your life.”

“You are,” Geralt said, with a finality that brokered no argument. His fingers skimmed down from Jaskier’s jaw and over his shoulder, until it stopped to rest against the center of his back. Holding him close. Leaning up, he pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth, a barely there press. His lips were still a little cold, drawing a shiver from the bard. When he collapsed back, he pulled Jaskier with him, curling around him beneath the blankets. “You are,” he said again, into Jaskier’s hair. “I wouldn’t have asked you to come with me if I wasn’t prepared to protect you.”

“You didn’t ask,” Jaskier said, blinking against the skin of Geralt’s neck. He was a bit dazed, still feeling the phantom of the kiss like a cool burn. “I did.”

Geralt huffed against him. “I said Ciri missed you,” he said, his fingers spread wide and comforting on Jaskier's back. Tracing around his spine in soothing circles. “I said you’d beat Lambert at gwent, and that Eskel would like that egg thing you make in the mornings, and that you would find a million songs to write about Kaer Morhen in the winter. I thought I was clear enough.” Jaskier felt a puff of warm air against the top of his head, a cold nose in his hair. “Sorry. Will you come to Kaer Morhen with me?”

Jaskier laughed, a sound half choked by tears. “It’s a bit late in the year,” he said, shuffling closer. “A bit of a big thing to spring on a fellow at the last minute.”

Geralt hummed, a sleepy sound that Jaskier knew meant he was dropping off. The little shelter around them was warm, and he knew they would be alright until Geralt woke again. “Next year,” Geralt murmured into his hair, “I’ll ask sooner.”

“And then maybe you won’t fall into a ravine because there’s so much damn snow,” Jaskier said, sighing as he tucked himself deeper into Geralt’s side. Next year. 

“Melitele willing,” Geralt said, and Jaskier felt warm all the way through.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #jaskier #geralt/jaskier #my work #october2020 #hypothermia #whump #whumptober2020 #no. 21

[tsarisfanfiction]

Stabbed

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort Characters: Scott, Virgil, Gordon

Proofreading?  What’s proofreading?  This was a ventfic I started a while ago, and as my muse decided today - my one free day to properly write this week! - was the best day to go curl up in a corner and refuse to interact with me because some unwelcome stress appeared, I prodded a little more at this and maybe there’s enough to post.  Maybe.  It’s not a darkfic, but it is kinda whumpy so sorry, Scott.

I have nothing specifically planned for this, so chances are this is just going to remain like this forever more.  Sorry about that.

Scott gasped, staggering one step, two steps forward as something drove into his back.  Something solid, digging in painfully.

In front of him, crumbling away beneath the toes of his boots, was the crevasse he’d just climbed out of, the woman clinging to his back for dear life – uninjured, but shaken and unable to climb out herself.

Whatever it was was still lodged in his back, sending distress signals to his brain, but before Scott could unscramble it enough for a translation, there was a hand on his shoulder.  Steady but firm, heel of the palm dropped down over his shoulder blade.

“Sorry, hun,” the woman purred – was it the same women?  She’d been shaken but this woman wasn’t shaken at all – sounding entirely unapologetic.  “I appreciate the help, but I can’t have you blabbing.”

The pressure on – in – his back lessened abruptly, and the hand on his shoulder pushed.

Scott stumbled, earth gave way, and then he was falling, falling down into the darkness.  Instinct had him reaching for his grapple, but his back screamed at the movement and against his wishes his hands went numb, grazing the equipment but failing to grasp it.

Something went crunch inside his chest as his fall came to an abrupt end.  A rib or few, no doubt, but Scott had broken ribs before; a nuisance but as long as they didn’t poke holes anywhere they shouldn’t they’d be fine.  He was more concerned about his back, and the fact that he hadn’t landed at the bottom, but rather an outcropping of rock that wasn’t big enough for all of him. Already, he could feel blood rushing to his head as it dangled off the end, and the tingly feeling in his fingers that meant the blood flow to his extremities was compromised by the way they, too, were hanging.

Squinting, he could see his legs dangling as well, leaving his torso and abdomen the only thing actually caught by the outcrop.  If he shifted, his centre of balance would tip him off either forwards or backwards, and it was a long way down.

This was a problem. This was a big problem, and his screaming back just emphasised that.  His baldric was trapped between his chest and the outcrop, meaning that he couldn’t reach the comm in that, and his wrist comm…

He tried to twitch his tingling fingers without moving the rest of his arms.  It was not a successful move.  A second attempt was no better, and on his third he felt himself start to slip.

That was a major hint that he should stop moving.  Breathing didn’t help, either, his no doubt broken ribs sending stabs of pain through his chest to compliment the burning back.  He still didn’t know for certain what had happened, but he was starting to get a reluctant inkling.

There were only so many things that hurt specifically like this and Scott was unfortunately no stranger to things stabbing into him, as much as he tried hard not to think about it. He redirected his concern to the fact that whatever it was, it didn’t feel like it was there any more.

Suddenly the weird and uncomfortable position he was dangling in felt like a best case scenario, even if he could do without all the blood also rushing to his head.  But if it was pooling downwards, and the open wound was on the highest point of his body, maybe he wouldn’t bleed out quite so quickly.

He just had to hope one of his brothers realised something was wrong soon – but not so soon they also got attacked.

***

John telling him Scott had gone silent and wasn’t responding to hails had rushed Virgil into the fastest post-rescue clean up he’d ever done.  They weren’t far apart in distance – Scott had made the hop from this rescue to the trapped climber when the call had come in – but if John was worried, then Virgil was definitely worried.

Scott not picking up calls was unusual, especially multiple.  John had given them all enough earfuls about ignoring him that unless they had a really good reason, they always tried to respond immediately – the second eldest was not a brother to cross, and even Scott was wary enough of the consequences to at least agree to open comms.  Then again, open comms worked both ways and meant Scott could check up on them, too.

The added warning that it looked like his suit had taken some damage and he was partway down the crevasse and not moving was really just the icing on the cake.  Gordon had been slightly baleful at the snap to hurry up, until Virgil told him John thought Scott was in trouble, and then the aquanaut had jumped to work at a terrifyingly fast and efficient pace.

There was no room for slothfulness when a brother was in trouble.  Record time saw Thunderbird Two loaded and ready to go, and she roared into the sky at his touch, nose pointed in the direction her sister had headed earlier.

Thunderbird One had made the journey in five minutes.  Thunderbird Two made it in a shade under fifteen, going as fast as she could to minimise how long it took.  It was still twenty minutes since John had made the call, and Scott still wasn’t answering.  Scans and telemetry still put him down the crevasse, and Virgil didn’t bother to land.

Normally he’d keep control of Thunderbird Two and send Gordon down on the cable, but not this time. Not for Scott and the nagging sensation that he was needed.  Gordon didn’t argue when control was passed to him, and Virgil wasted no time in getting down to the module and rigging himself into a harness to be lowered.

It was a fair way down, not because Scott was far into the crevasse but because Thunderbird Two had to stay high so she didn’t dislodge anything with her VTOL.  They had no idea how secure or otherwise their brother’s position was, and if he fell from whatever was keeping him there, it was a very long way to the bottom.  A fatal fall.

Virgil couldn’t take any chances.

The familiar flash of blue uniform was the first thing he noticed.  The muddy crimson spreading across it was the second.

He accelerated his descent.

“Scott?”  His voice was drowned out by the VTOL of his ‘bird above. If Scott heard him, there was no reaction.  “Scott!”

Still nothing, and that red stain taunted him for the agonising seconds it took to draw level with the slumped form and properly get a look at his brother’s condition.

Bad was one way of putting it.  “John, find us a local hospital,” was another.

There was a ragged hole in the back of Scott’s uniform, the epicentre of the blood.  It barely missed the baldric, the margin looking painfully deliberate, but most concerning was the lack of an obvious case. Scott knew better than to take out foreign objects until it was time to be treated, and even if he’d mistakenly thought treatment was about to happen, there was no way he had reached whatever it was to extract it so cleanly.

Virgil felt cold at the implications.  “Gordon, anyone else nearby?”

He didn’t wait for the answer as he secured himself to the rock face with a grapple and yanked an emergency first aid kit out of his own baldric.  Scott hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as twitched, at his arrival, and with the quantity of blood he’d lost, if he wasn’t unconscious he might as well be.

“Negative, Virgil,” Gordon said, voice steady and threaded with something that sounded like the military had come to the fore.  “How bad is it?”

“Bad.”  Virgil didn’t have the mental capacity to spare on anything more than basic answers.  “I’m secure; put her on autopilot and get a blood transfusion set up in the medbay.”

“F.A.B.”  The line connecting him to his ‘bird wavered slightly at the change in piloting, but the grapple held him in place.  Confident that Thunderbird Two would be ready for them, he wadded gauze and pressed it firmly to the hole in Scott’s back.  There was no response, no indication that Scott was even subconsciously aware of their surroundings, and he strapped it down with medical tape.

A deployed med scanner told him that there were two broken ribs.  Neither had snagged anything vital, but one was too close to Scott’s right lung for Virgil’s comfort.  There was very little he could do about that hanging inside a crevasse, and the priority was to get him to medical treatment as fast as possible.

It was awkward, but Virgil was creative, and securing a harness over his limp ragdoll of a big brother to tie him firmly to the cable suspended from Thunderbird Two was not an option but a necessity.  The gauze was already starting to discolour as the blood kept leaking out of the wound, and Virgil kept a careful eye on it as he triple-checked the line was secure and eased Scott off of the outcrop he was slung over.

The fact that his face was red wasn’t a reassurance; instead, it told him that Scott had been hanging down for long enough for the blood still in his body to pool in places it shouldn’t.  There wasn’t much he could do about it without risking further blood flow out of his body, but as the harness took Scott’s weight and left him suspended next to him, Virgil reached out a hand and carefully tilted his head so it wasn’t hanging down.

Blue eyes stayed lightly closed, no sign of conscious or subconscious recognition at the touch, and Virgil’s fingers trembled.  With his other hand he gripped the belt of Scott’s baldric, before sending up a call for them to be reeled in.  Whether it was John, Gordon or EOS that did so he didn’t know.  Didn’t care, either, because as the red drained from Scott’s face as blood retreated from pooling in his head it left too-white skin in its wake, which was almost worse.

Gordon’s language was colourful as he met them in the module, instantly fetching the hoverstretcher so that Scott could be gently lowered onto it as Virgil freed him from the harness and whisking him to the medbay as he extracted himself from his own straps.

It didn’t take long, but it was long enough for Gordon to have slipped Scott’s glove and bracer off of one arm and sliced the uniform open from wrist to shoulder, exposing the bare skin ready for the transfusion.  No words were exchanged as Virgil took over, Gordon instead relocating to cut away the baldric and the uniform around the hole in his back, exposing the site in its entirely.

Beneath his feet, Thunderbird Two thrummed as Thunderbird Five directed her into movement.  Virgil didn’t look away from his unconscious big brother for a single moment.

“This was a knife.” Gordon broke the silence, his voice icy. Virgil finished hooking Scott up to the blood bag and let it start flowing before looking over.

The aquanaut had removed the hastily plastered gauze, now saturated red, and was wiping away the worst of the blood from around the wound.  It wasn’t free-flowing, but that didn’t reassure Virgil.  After at least twenty minutes, Scott didn’t have much blood left he could afford to lose.  With most of it currently pooled where he was lying on his front, there wasn’t much to continue leaking from his back.

Virgil didn’t question his diagnosis.  When it came to things like that, Gordon knew more than he did.  Instead, he reached for a clotting agent, determined to do everything in his power to lessen the amount of blood still trickling out, while Gordon applied a fresh gauze.

“Mind his ribs,” he warned as his younger brother pressed down firmly.  “Two are broken.”

“Lungs?”

“Intact.”  For now.  Virgil hoped they could keep them that way.

There was little else he could do; a stab wound that deep needed surgery, and Thunderbird Two wasn’t an operating theatre.  Virgil wasn’t a surgeon, either.  “How far out are we, John?”

“Ten minutes,” his brother replied instantly.  “I’ve passed on the results of the scan and they’re ready to take him straight in.”

“F.A.B.”

He didn’t want to let his brother out of his sight – not ever, and certainly not if he’d been stabbed – but Scott needed more treatment than he could give him.  That didn’t make it easier to hand him over, blood bag still attached and a second prepped as the first ran low – and watch unfamiliar people whisk him away.

“Kayo’s on her way,” John told him.  “Thunderbird One is locked down and secure.  EOS is reviewing the security footage now to see what happened.”

“Some sonofagun stabbed him in the back’s what happened,” Gordon snapped.  His fingers were curling and uncurling, never quite making a fist. They were also covered in blood. So were Virgil’s.

“To see who did it,” John clarified, not reacting to Gordon’s waspishness.  “Until we know what we’re dealing with, stay together. And be careful.”

Virgil nodded, his voice somewhere stuck inside his throat, or maybe taken with Scott into the operating theatre.  He should be trying to reassure Gordon, but Gordon had slipped into something less familiar, more sharp edges and dangerous, and Virgil trusted him to handle whatever was going on around them while he ran through everything in his head, double-checking that he’d done everything right, that he hadn’t missed anything in his initial treatment, that there was no mistake he'd made that might cost Scott’s life.

There was a hand on his arm. Amber eyes looked up at him, firm and steely.  “Let’s get washed up,” Gordon said, although it wasn’t a suggestion.  Dimly, Virgil knew it should be the other way around – he should be the one making the decisions – but Gordon oozed confidence and a knowledge that he’d be obeyed, and it felt safer just to follow.  “Then we’ll go inside and wait for news.”

Wait to know if Scott would live.  The words weren’t said, but Virgil heard them all the same.

He nodded numbly and let his younger brother guide him back inside his ‘bird.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #thunderwhump #drabbles #stabbed