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fruitcoops · 1 year

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4/13 for a sequel of sorts to backslide? been lovin coops extra recently. p.s. this is the cutest of prompt lists :))

#4: A kiss on the temple

#13: Kissing scars either shortly or long after they’ve healed

Backslide; tw for past injury

Sirius was kissing him. Just kissing. Just gentle. Just focused. Remus watched him work in silence, letting Sirius guide his limbs like a doll. It was kind of nice, not needing to do any work. All he had to do was lay there and be loved.

That in itself was a refreshing change. He was tired of reassuring people over and over again, yes I'm okay don't worry it's fine just a partial one no you don't have to bring food yes I promise, especially his friends. It was embarrassing to know it had been that bad from their point of view. Their intentions were good, but Remus couldn't handle another minute of being treated like glass.

Sirius kissed the sensitive dip of his elbow and laid his head on the bed next to it with a long exhale, watching Remus watch him while the world went by outside.

"I'm okay," Remus said quietly. He reached up to push Sirius' hair out of his eyes and got a nuzzle on the hand for his troubles. He couldn't help but smile. "I'm okay."

Silver eyes tracked over his torso and settled on his other arm, still strapped to his body for another two days. At least the sling was comfortable. Sirius shifted and tucked his feet under the blankets they had kicked away. "I'm trying to believe you."

"I really am, baby."

"It's not that I don't trust you."

"Sirius," he whispered.

"It's not," Sirius repeated. "You would tell me if you were hurting. It's impossible to see this and not want to fix it, though."

We're both afflicted with chronic 'I can fix him', Remus thought as he let Sirius' hair flow over his fingertips. Look where it's got us. He let his hand fall and tugged on Sirius' sleeve. His visible care to avoid Remus' bad side when he scooted closer to lay on him made love beat like moth's wings in his chest; Remus buried his face in the soft cotton of his shirt and inhaled deeply, soap and laundry and Sirius, not a tinge of antiseptic. The cracking, aching thing next to his heart heaved a sigh of relief.

"It's just time and ibuprofen at this point. Kisses and cuddles are a bonus."

"I'll pass the message along to the guys."

He could feel Sirius' wry grin when he groaned. "Oh, god, no, I've been coddled within an inch of my life already."

"It makes them happy to baby you."

"I wish I knew why so I could never do it again."

"It's because you're so cute." Sirius went to give his cheek a playful pinch and Remus batted him away, laughing. A smacking kiss landed on his temple instead; Sirius pressed their faces tight together. Remus felt him relax, weighing him down like a giant heat pad, one thigh slung over his own and a hand tracing patterns on his belly. Sirius nudged at him once more before returning to his work, dropping kisses wherever he could reach.

He paused at the edge of the sling. Remus kissed the shell of his ear. "You can."

He did.

It was funny, being kissed there. Remus couldn't help the squirmy feeling it gave him, somehow more intimate than being kissed anywhere else. It would never be erotic--and judging from Sirius' reaction, he felt the same--but it gave him the same overwarm fast-pulsed charge that a suggestive hand on the knee might. It was being seen and known in the most blatant way.

Not today, though. No, not today.

"It's not fair," Sirius murmured. Remus shook his head and wove his fingers in dark curls. "I want--I want to take it all away."

"I would let you."

Sirius lifted his head an inch and let his lips linger on the shiny scar marking the pin's entry point all those years ago. Remus was sick of it and grateful. The pin had done its job. His shoulder was stronger, was set in place. The jerk-around hurt, but it was so much more bearable now. His skin cooled when Sirius turned away to put his head on Remus' bare chest. "I'll be here."

"I know."

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #hurt/ comfort #kisses #fluff #past injury

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meraki24601 · 9 months

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*bangs aggresivly on door*

FBI open up! Drop all your weapons and put yours hands up . we brought reinforcements. Now follow us and leave all your belongings where they are except for your laptop. We need a part 3 to muted.

I surrender! It took me longer than I had hoped, but to everyone asking for part 3 to Muted, here it is!

Part 1, Part 2

-----------*-***-*-----------

Muted Part 3

Hero slept nearly 4 hours without any nightmares. Something they hadn’t done, by their estimate, for around 10 years. They hadn’t even screamed or flinched when they woke up.

Villain rested peacefully next to them. They were lying with a respectful distance between them, but their fingers were tightly woven with Hero’s. Villain twitched slightly as Hero shifted but didn’t wake. With care they haven’t been allowed to use for a while, Hero released Villain’s hand and slipped out of the bed.

This was it. The moment Villain woke and had some breakfast, they were running away. Away from Superhero. Away from Supervillain. As far away as they could go. Hero only had one suitcase, but it would have to be enough. Clothes, food, and first aid. Hero’s medical backpack wasn’t super flashy, so they could probably take that instead of taking up room in the suitcase.

Having already barely escaped with their life once, Villain didn’t have any clothes they could bring with them. Some of Hero’s smaller shirts might fit well enough, and they can bring several belts to hold the pants on until they have the opportunity to buy some that actually fit. If they’re quick, they might even be able to get Ally to make some false paperwork for them to leave the country.

As Hero zipped up their suitcase to take it downstairs to gather food, they heard a small noise behind them. Villain was awake and watching them with tears in their eyes. Shifting back so they could rest against the headboard, Villain signed, “We’re leaving? You weren’t lying?”

Sighing deeply, Hero signed back, “As long as you’re willing to try. I swear, I don’t know how much I can do, but I will do everything I can to keep you safe.”

“I’ve always liked road trips.” Villain laughed softly. “What can I do to help?”

“There’s a change of clothes and bandages in the bathroom. Wash up. If you can rewrap your wounds, I’ll make breakfast and pack food and toiletries. We can be out of here before my next check-in at 10.” Hero helps Villain rise from the bed, “I… I’m still so sorry for what I did to you.”

“Nevermind that, Moonlight. What’s done is done.”

“Moonlight?”

“I’ve always loved the Moon. The whole world is dark, but despite it all, there’s a small ray of light. No one has ever tried to help me before. No one but you has shone any light in my life.” Villain scratches the back of their head, “Is… is that alright?”

Hero’s grin could have rivaled the Cheshire Cat’s. “Only if I can call you Honeybee.”

Villain giggled, “Why Honeybee?”

“I’ll save my reasoning for later if you don’t mind. Now, get ready. We don’t have much time.” Hero pushes Villain toward the connected bathroom before slipping quickly out the bedroom door. They took a moment, joy filling their heart, then ran down the stairs to the kitchen.

There, leaning casually against the kitchen counter with two of Hero’s favorite mugs were Superhero and Supervillain.

Hero didn’t hesitate. Immediately, they drew on their power and prepared to shout for Villain to run. Hero wasn’t strong enough to take on Superhero, much less Superhero and Supervillain. They were going to die, but maybe Villain could make it out if they jumped out the window. All they had to do was warn them.

Too late. Before Hero had taken a full breath, Supervillain was behind them. Supervillain’s hand wrapped firmly around Hero’s throat, cutting off their cry. “Ah ah ah. None of that now, little traitor. Villain will be joining us soon enough. Let them finish their shower. Your friend Sidekick was all too eager to help them finish quickly.”

A small gasp of “why” is all Hero can squeeze past Supervillain’s hand. Superhero laughs as Hero struggles slightly, quickly growing desperate for air. “You gave us something we could fight against. Something we both hate more than each other.” Superhero growls as they slam Hero’s cup on the counter.

“Sweet little traitors like you and my darling Villain.” Supervillain shoved Hero to their knees. “Superhero and I, well, we came to a little agreement. A little party game of sorts. We work together to find the biggest, most violent ways to kill you two, then blame the fallout on you. No one will know the truth of us working together since, well, you’ll be dead.”

Hero hears a crash in their bedroom and can’t hold back a flinch. Seeing Hero’s reaction, Supervillain giggles, stomping their feet with glee. “Oh, Superhero. I know we agreed to punish our own as we see fit, but can’t I have this one, just for a moment? I won’t kill them yet, I promise.”

“I guess.” Superhero sighs, “But only for a moment. We don’t want to get carried away too quickly. We need a crowd outside.”

Sidekick crashed down the stairs, almost falling on the last step. Hero wasn’t sure, they couldn’t turn to get a good look, but they thought they caught a glimpse of a new bruise around Sidekick’s eye. “Superhero! S-Supervillain. It’s Villain. I looked everywhere, but they’re not here. I. I swear I looked everywhere. The window was open before I made it upstairs.”

Superhero’s laughter sent shivers down Hero’s spine. Supervillain released Hero’s throat to grab their arm and twist it behind them, lifting Hero from their spot on the ground. As Superhero moved past them toward Sidekick, Supervillain’s free hand grabbed Hero’s side, fingers cutting into Hero’s now bleeding wound, and turned them to watch.

At that moment, Hero saw something they had never seen before. Superhero hurt Sidekick. They shoved Sidekick to the ground into a position Hero knew all too well. “Wait. Stop.” Hero whispered as they watched Superhero release their power into a whip. When the first stroke fell, Hero turned their head aside and threw up. That first stroke opened up Sidekick’s shirt, revealing dozens of old scars.

How did they never know?

With a loud crash, the outside wall of Hero’s apartment burst in. There, in the rubble, stood Villain. Hand clutching their side, Villain stood tall. Their smile was weak. Their whole frame shook from the effort, but their eyes were unwavering in their determination. Even as Supervillain dragged Hero out of the kitchen, they didn’t waver.

“Run, Villain.” Hero gasped, “Please, run. They’ll kill us both.” Hero’s throat burned from the sudden use after Supervillain’s abuse. A small sound, however, drew Hero’s attention away from their new friend and to the three teenagers standing as far from Villain as they could get in the damaged room.

Supervillain twisted Hero’s arm and squeezed their arm tighter, causing them to cry out. “Well. Isn’t this interesting? Oh, Superhero! It seems my little pet brought us some new friends. Where do they fall in our little alliance?”

Superhero slipped into view with that inhuman grace Hero learned to fear long ago. Their whip was wrapped tightly around Sidekick’s throat, dragging them, kicking, and trying to scream through the rubble. “I see. Did you think bringing in witnesses would be enough to stop us? They’re irrelevant. Unfortunate victims caught up in Hero and Villain’s fight.”

“Oh, I do love it when you talk like that. Maybe we ought to kill our underlings together more often. Make it a monthly event?” Supervillain released Hero to fall to the floor at their feet. Their power stretched between their fingers, growing with each step they took toward Villain.

The weak smile Villain wore gained strength. Their hands didn’t shake as they signed one simple little word. “Livestream.” Each of the teens was holding up a phone, livestreaming Superhero and Supervillain’s words to the world. “Let us go. All we want is to be free from the two of you and your hatred. We don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Go, then.” Superhero sighed, they started to walk away but turned quickly. “Was that good? We did what you asked. We performed in your play. Please, release your magic and let Sidekick go. Give Supervillain the antidote.”

The building rumbled beneath Hero and started to collapse inward. Hero’s heart clenched as the two floors below theirs were crushed under the weight of the now unstable top floor. Screams surrounded Hero. Superhero found an out. They turned themselves into the victims. The cameras were off and the battle had begun. If only Hero could still fight.

A piece of the building had fallen on top of them, crushing them from where it rested on their lower back.

Still in character, Superhero stood above Hero. “Please, let them go. I, I can’t save you from those wounds. Release my Sidekick. Please.” Even as they spoke, Hero could feel Superhero’s power shifting some of the rubble beneath them so sharp metal pressed against their chest. Not far away, they could hear Supervillain giving Villain a similar speech, though Villain seemed largely uninjured in the fall.

“Enough.” Sidekick’s voice was just barely louder than the growing fires around them. “Enough of your lies.”

The rubble holding Hero down is lifted and slammed into Supervillain, sending them flying. Hero can breathe again. Though, not for long. The metal beneath them pierces their skin, drawing out a long groan.

“Enough, Superhero! I refuse to let you have your way.” Sidekick leaned over Hero, dragging their helpless body from the ground and tossing them into Villain. Instead of piercing Hero’s heart, the metal meant to kill them cuts a long gash across their chest before lurching up and impaling Sidekick.

Villain’s arms wrapped around Hero, pulling them away from the remains of their home. Hero’s voice rips from their chest as they use what little strength they have left to fight to reach Sidekick. They watched as yet another victim fell to their knees. The last thing Hero saw before the world went dark was a tear in Sidekick’s eyes as they mouthed “I’m sorry.”

#whump #whump fic #whump scenario #rescue #whump tropes #whump writing #hero #whump ideas #villain #superhero #supervillain #sidekick #past injury #injury whump #building collapse #unconscious #injuries #hurt/comfort #superpowers

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wangxianficrecs · 1 year

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Follower Recs

~*~

I don’t know if this has already been rec’ed, but Nursery Rhymes by Maniaka hit me so hard. It’s beautifully done and I just wanted to shout from the rooftops that people should read it. Forgive me if this is not the proper rooftop. @anxiousdemonspirit

Nursery Rhymes

by manaika

(M, 96k, complete, wangxian, nielan, xuanli, songxiao)

Summary: Lan Xichen is a pediatrician who often treats child abuse cases for various foster homes, orphanages and social workers for free. He's currently looking for a second nurse because Luo Qingyang is freshly back from maternal leave and can't be expected to work full time with a baby on hand and none of her substitutes were up to the task. Enter Wei Ying with a semester worth of med school, stellar recommendations, a huge gap in his CV and a laugh bright and warm as the sun. Skeptical at first, Xichen decides to give the man a chance. He gets more than he bargained for with exactly zero regrets.

@by-mana

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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heartofspells · 1 year

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@wolfstarmicrofic

Prompt: wicked

Wc: 185

Warnings: past injury?

"That's one helluva scar," comes a deep voice from beside him, accompanied by a low, drawn out, appreciative whistle. Glancing around, Remus is confronted by grey eyes and dark hair, darker brows, gaze flickering between his arm and his face. He tries not to gape. "Where'd you get it?"

"Ah…window. I was a kid. Accident," mumbles Remus in a stilted response.

The boy beside him hums, slouching in his seat, ignoring the schoolbook slung to the side, every bit the cocky, smug eighteen year old on the cusp of life. He reaches out, snagging Remus' arm in his grip, pulling it over to him, a pen appearing immediately after, the boy beginning to draw marks around the scar.

"What's your name, new kid?"

"R-Remus."

Grey eyes dart upwards, a smirk of a smile stretching out slowly as he returns to drawing, saying nothing in response until he's finished.

"Well, Remus," he says finally, twisting Remus' arm so that he can see the creation but not releasing him, "now it's a wicked star. Sirius Black, by the way. I think you'll like sitting next to me."

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #past injury #wolfstarmicrofic #wolfstar microfic #my microfics #my writing #holli writes

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arecaceae175 · 1 year

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Can you make something about Warriors and time? Literally anything will do.

Absolutely I can. Here you go :)

Summary:

Warriors and Time have a disagreement.

AKA two traumatized heroes don’t know how to handle emotions and then they try to have a healthy conversation about it

Warnings: they fight verbally (but they make up!), Time pushes Wars once to make a point, mentions of pain/injury

“Down,” Time ordered.

Warriors frowned, but remained standing. “Time, I’m fine. We need to-”

“You don’t need to do anything but rest,” Time argued, crossing his arms.

“The rest of the monsters are still out there,” Warriors said. He felt his anger rising at the interruption and he fought to keep control. “It’s our responsibility to-”

“It’s my responsibility to keep all of you safe,” Time interrupted, voice raised and tone harsh.

The others scattered around the room froze, seven pairs of wide eyes locked on Time and Warriors. Warriors huffed in aggravation and took a wobbly step closer to Time, ignoring the dull throb of pain in his abdomen.

“It’s our responsibility to keep this town safe,” Warriors said in his Captain voice. Time’s expression faltered for a split second before he rearranged his features into his disappointed scowl. Warriors knew the look worked on the younger heroes, but he wouldn’t let himself be swayed.

“I can’t let you go out there after the injury you had,” Time said. Warriors bristled.

“Can’t let me? In case you forgot, I’m a Captain. I outrank everyone here. You don’t give me orders, old man,” Warriors sneered. Warriors felt the tension in the room slowly suffocating him, like a physical force. Time didn’t hesitate.

“I outrank you in experience,” Time growled. “I can and will give you orders when you’re endangering yourself or others.”

“Others? I’m trying to protect this town. You’re the one putting those people in danger by deciding not to fight,” Warriors nearly yelled. He knew, he knew , that wasn’t true. He knew Time was only trying to look out for him, but he was blinded by his anger. The past week’s stress was catching up to him and boiling over.

Time’s expression darkened as he took a step towards Warriors. Before Warriors could blink, Time threw out a hand and pushed Warriors’ chest. Warriors gasped as white-hot pain seared through his body, and his knees buckled as he fell back onto the bed.

“That’s enough.” Sky’s voice rang clearly through his haze. Warriors blinked the spots in his vision away and his weary eyes refocused on the room. Sky was standing between them, one hand hovering in front of Time’s chest. Time’s gaze was still locked on Warriors.

“Your arrogance is your weakness,” Time said. “You’re not healed enough. If you try to fight like this, you’ll get yourself and others killed.”

“Time, that’s enough,” Sky growled. Warriors glared. Time glared back.

“You-” Warriors began, but Sky cut him off.

“Both of you,” Sky said in a raised voice. “Enough. This isn’t helping the situation.”

“Everyone out,” Time said without breaking eye contact. Warriors’ blinked in confusion, but held Time’s gaze.

“What?” Sky asked.

“Out. I need to speak with our Captain alone,” Time said, voice nearly dripping with disdain for the honorific.

Sky glanced between Time and Warriors, clearly unsure. When neither of them moved, Sky eventually nodded and silently stepped back. Out of the corner of his eye Warriors saw Sky gesture to the other heroes, and they all filed out of the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Time deflated. His eye slid closed, his shoulders slumped, and he brought a hand up to rub over his face. Time sighed deeply then opened his eye and refocused on Warriors. Warriors’ furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and he felt some of the adrenaline drain out of him. Time looked so tired.

“I’m not trying to be the bad guy,” Time said. Warriors held his tongue and clenched his fists, waiting for Time to finish.

“You should rest,” Time said, voice soft again. “You need to heal.”

“I know my limits,” Warriors said. His abdomen pulsed in pain, as if it was mocking him.

“You would be saying the same thing if it was any of the others.”

“It’s not any of the others, it’s me. The people of this town asked me for help, and I won’t let them down.” Warriors argued.

Time sighed and moved to the bed. He lowered himself down gently, one hand gripping his knee tightly, and Warriors didn’t miss the pain flashing across his features. Warriors felt the rest of the tension drain from his shoulders. Time met Warriors’ eyes earnestly.

“You’re not letting anyone down if you let yourself heal,” Time said slowly. “We can’t help these people if we aren’t at our best. Running into battle unprepared will do nothing but harm. Is that the example we should be setting for the young ones?”

The words hit Warriors like a physical blow. He slumped against the headboard and let out a sigh of relief when the position took the pressure off his ribs. Warriors shook his head and ran wearily rubbed a hand over his face.

“I don’t recall you having that attitude during the war,” Warriors said. It was a deflection, and they both knew it, but Warriors wasn’t sure what else he could say. Of course Time was right; the old man had that annoying habit.

Time let out a self-deprecating chuckle as his gaze fell to the floor. “Quite the opposite, I’m afraid.”

“What changed?” Warriors asked sincerely.

“Malon,” Time admitted. “Living on the ranch gave me a chance to… come to terms with my journeys.”

Warriors nodded, watching emotions flicker across Time’s face. He was so stoic around the others, always trying to fit the role of leader that was thrust upon him. The only time he let the mask fall was when he and Warriors were alone.

Time settled on fear, it seemed, and Warriors was already moving towards him when he spoke.

“The hit you took… it was bad. I was afraid you wouldn’t make it,” Time admitted in a small voice. He sounded so much like the kid Warriors knew all those years ago, and it ripped at Warriors’ heart.

“Hey,” Warriors said. He pushed himself into a sitting position with a grunt. Time’s hands were on his arms in an instant, pulling him up. Warriors reached out and squeezed Time’s shoulder. “Look at me, Sprite. I’m okay. Your quick thinking in the battle saved my life.”

Time met his eyes and gave him a small smile. Warriors returned it to the best of his ability.

“You win. I’ll stay and rest on one condition,” Warriors said. Time raised an eyebrow in question. “You have to get some sleep, too.”

Time chuckled and nodded his head. “We all need it. You’ll be able to take another healing potion in the morning, and then we can finish off the monsters.”

Warriors sighed. “I hate leaving them out there.”

“These people are strong, and so are their defenses. They’ll last one more night,” Time said.

“You’re right,” Warriors admitted. “You’re right. I’m… sorry for what I said.”

Time shook his head and waved a hand. “Don’t. We were both in the wrong.”

“No, I need to apologize. You were trying to protect me. I’m not used to that,” Warriors said, eyes locked on the floor.

“I’m not quite used to it, either,” Time said. Warriors looked up in surprise.

“I’m still learning how to care without, as Malon put it, acting like a cold, overbearing know-it-all,” Time said with a fond smile.

Warriors huffed a laugh. “Harsh,” he said.

“She was right,” Time said with a shrug. “I’ve fallen into a routine with Malon, but this,” Time waved a hand aimlessly towards the door, where the other heroes were no doubt eavesdropping, “is all new."

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing fine,” Warriors said.

“Thank you,” Time said quietly.

“All right, bring it in,” Warriors said, patting Time’s shoulder.

“What?”

“You still look sad and it’s my honor-bound duty as your big brother to fix that,” Warriors said.

Time rolled his eyes but complied. He scooted on the bed until he was beside Warriors then very, very gently wrapped his arms around Warriors’ shoulders, well above his injury. Warriors grabbed onto Time much more tightly, and after a moment he felt Time relax and drop his head onto Warriors’ shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Time said, sounding for all the world like a little kid.

Warriors hugged Time tighter, and let his cheek fall onto Time’s hair. “I’m not going anywhere, Sprite. Promise.”

#ace writes #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu warriors #lu time #ace's asks #thank you so much for the request :))))))#tw:#verbal fight #argument #mention of:#pain #past injury #wars and mask are my weakness

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pluralprompts · 1 year

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Prompt #479

"Holy mother of a –!" Hero A jumped out of the way as a car flew past them, crashing on the street with a screech they couldn't help but wince at. "Are you trying to kill me?!"

Villain B, at the very least, had the conscience to look apologetic – but also the nerve to look annoyed. "I knew you'd dodge! You always do!"

Hero A gritted their teeth. They didn't always dodge, but it's not like this villain would know that; they'd only been around a few months. Technically, Hero A wasn't supposed to know, either, but there was only so long that memories of fights gone wrong could be suppressed, even if by well-meaning system members.

#pluralgang #plural system #plurality #pluralprompt #prompt #prompt blog #angst #heroes and villains #fight/battle #amnesia #past amnesia #plural hero #past injury

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bloody-bee-tea · 7 months

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BeeTober 2023 Day 6 - Tea spilling

This follows after "Passing of time" and won't make much sense without reading that first.

Albedo bites back a scream of frustration when the third vial of the day shatters in his shaking hands.

He can feel Sucrose’s eyes on him, knows that they are full of worry and pity and even that makes him want to smash something. Albedo has to put his hands on the table in an attempt to stop himself from simply sweeping everything off it and his knees almost buckle when he takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself and pain shoots down his back.

It’s not real, everyone has tried to convince him about that, but the pain makes his vision swim and it doesn’t help with the anger inside of him.

And as if Kaeya can feel Albedo burst apart at the seams he strolls into the laboratory.

“My love, Sucrose,” he greets both of them, a knowing look already on his face. “I think it’s time for lunch, Albedo,” Kaeya tells him, his eyes only briefly falling to the mess of shards in front of Albedo and Albedo wants to yell at him, too.

He doesn’t though, because Kaeya deserves better than that, and so he simply takes a step back from the table.

“I’m not hungry,” Albedo bites out, unable to keep the anger still rolling in his stomach completely in check, but it seems as if it doesn’t have any effect on Kaeya.

“But I am,” he simply gives back and looks expectantly at Albedo. “And I would hate to eat on my own.”

It’s not even a lie, Albedo knows that; Kaeya likes it better when Albedo is there as well, even though he barely eats these days. He didn’t need much sustenance before his unfortunate accident in Dragonspine and since then Albedo barely eats anything at all.

His body doesn’t protest the lack of food and Albedo doesn’t see the point in it anymore but Kaeya insists on his company during meal times anyway.

Mostly because his pleading look can get Albedo to eat at least a few bites, Albedo knows that very well, but he still can’t refuse him.

“Fine,” Albedo says, his teeth pressed together hard enough that they crack and Kaeya is by his side a heartbeat later, pressing a kiss to his cheek, Sucrose clearly forgotten. “Careful, petal,” Kaeya whispers, obviously concerned for Albedo’s teeth and despite everything, Albedo finds himself softening at the pet name.

He learned only recently that the golden glow he faintly remembers conjuring was a single petal of his isotoma, which rose just high enough over his own body to alert Kaeya to his position. Albedo finds it kind of sweet that Kaeya has taken to calling him that and he leans into Kaeya’s form.

His body aches less when Kaeya is close, and that too is apparently just his imagination, because according to Jean and Barbara and Bennett and even Baizhu who they visited last week there shouldn’t be any pain in his body to begin with because he has been completely healed.

“Ready to go?” Kaeya wants to know, molding his body around Albedo in a way that means he’s safe and protected and Albedo slowly completely relaxes.

As long as Kaeya is there he’s safe.

“Sure,” Albedo answers and marches out of his own lab to prove that he can function without Kaeya around.

His knees still shake and there’s still the unreasonable thought in his head that he’ll lose time again if he blinks but he marches on. He’s not going to admit to anyone though that he’s straining his hears for Kaeya and that breathing is a little bit easier when he hears him follow.

“My place, I ordered in,” Kaeya says, catching up to him and tangling their fingers together, absolutely uncaring of who might see and even that small gesture makes warmth unfurl in Albedo’s chest.

Kaeya doesn’t care who sees them, doesn’t care who might judge because he’s just here for Albedo and because he loves him, like he says at least once a day since the whole accident.

Albedo is matching him with that, because he still remembers that visceral fear when he thought he might die without ever saying this to Kaeya. It seems a near death experience helps a lot with inhibitions.

“Awfully sure of yourself, huh?” Albedo says, squeezing Kaeya’s hand in his and redirects his steps towards Kaeya’s home.

It might as well be their home at the moment with how often Albedo stays over—every night, because he can’t bear the thought to sleep on his own—and Kaeya even refurnished his study so Klee can have her own room.

It would probably have been easier if they all moved in to Albedo’s home where Klee already has a room but the one time they tried Albedo had a panic attack when he woke up and didn’t see the ceiling he saw when he woke up for the first time after the accident.

That, apparently, is psychological too.

“I just know you well enough,” Kaeya says, raising their hands so he can press a kiss to the back of Albedo’s.

Kaeya has been—not directly clingy lately, but he likes to know where Albedo is. He checks in once, twice a day, and he visibly gets nervous if Albedo isn’t where he said he would be. That, too, seems to be psychological, though Kaeya handles it a little bit better than Albedo does.

The one time Albedo mentioned it to him, Kaeya simply shrugged and told him “You left for Dragonspine, no definite time frame set for your return, and by the time I got worried you were already missing for at least a week. I’m not doing that again.”

It had taken Albedo off guard to hear just how long he had been trapped underneath that stone and even a little over a week was just an estimate. The longest he ever stayed in Dragonspine was a month before he came back for supplies and to see Klee at by the time Kaeya and Bennett found him it was closer to one and a half month since his departure.

Albedo feels faintly sick thinking about how long he might have truly been trapped and the thought of food just makes his stomach turn even faster.

“I’m not hungry,” Albedo informs Kaeya, trusting him to understand just what he really means and understanding softens Kaeya’s features.

“Alright, but I have the tea Baizhu left. You need to at least drink a cup of that.”

His stomach doesn’t protest at the thought of tea, so Albedo nods.

“One cup.”

“Thank you,” Kaeya breathes out, and Albedo hates to see how worried he still is about Albedo even though he’s right here and physically healthy.

It’s not as if his body really needs the sustenance food can provide him, as his little stunt on the mountain made more than clear, but it seems as if that is hard to understand for Kaeya, despite everything.

The smell of food in Kaeya’s apartment almost makes him throw up and Kaeya is quick to open a window with an apologetic smile.

“Gimme a moment to brew the tea for you, okay?” Kaeya says as he disappears in the kitchen and Albedo sits down at the table.

It’s not long before he’s back, plate with food for himself, a cup of tea for Albedo and a worried frown on his face.

“There is some for you, if you change your mind,” Kaeya casually says and the anger spikes in Albedo again.

He understands that it’s just worry that makes Kaeya act like that but all the fussing is grating on Albedo, though usually he can tolerate Kaeya’s brand of fussing better than anyone elses.

His hands shake with the sudden anger—more than they usually do, nowadays—and tea is spilling everywhere. That—the inability to keep control over his own body—makes the anger spike even hotter and Albedo is just about to throw the cup across the room when Kaeya takes it out of his hands.

“It’s alright, petal,” Kaeya softly says and Albedo sneers at him.

“That’s not always going to help, you know,” he hisses and then the anger leaves him as quick as it came and Albedo is left with the hurt look on Kaeya’s face, even though he tries his best to hide it.

“I’m sorry,” Albedo breathes out, unable to meet Kaeya’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t know—”

“It’s fine,” Kaeya interjects, even though it’s anything but.

Albedo smacks a hand to his forehead.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” he gets out even though they both know it’s a lie.

“It’s fine,” Kaeya repeats and Albedo wonders just how long he’s going to believe that himself.

Albedo is in constant pain, he’s short-tempered, he lashes out at everyone and Albedo is more than aware that he barely acts human anymore.

“Why are you even trying?” he asks, finally raising his gaze to Kaeya again. “I’m not—I’m no longer—” human, he wants to say, but that would be wrong, wouldn’t it? He never was human to begin with it’s just that now the façade has started to crumble.

And Albedo doesn’t know how he’s going to build it up again, how he’s ever going to feel normal again.

“I love you,” Kaeya says as if that is an answer but he continues before Albedo can snap at him. “And I know that alone is not enough, but it’s a fact. It hurts me to see you hurting like that. Klee, too, you know. We just want to help.”

“I don’t know how,” Albedo admits and Kaeya lets out a long breath.

“I know. And I know you’re not doing this on purpose, it’s just—I don’t understand.”

He sounds helpless in a way Albedo hasn’t heard him before and it’s enough to make him inquire further.

“Understand what?”

“The food thing, for example. You didn’t need to eat before, either,” he says and Albedo hates how his life can be divided into before and after right now. “But you did anyway. Why?”

Albedo doesn’t immediately have an answer for him because Kaeya is right. He was something other than human even before the rock so violently reminded him of that, so why is this different now?

“I’m not sure,” Albedo slowly starts. “I did it to blend in, I guess. And—there’s some comfort to be found in routines, I think.” He looks down at Kaeya’s plate and finds that Kaeya ordered Albedo’s favourites. “Plus the food tasted nice, even when I didn’t need it.”

“It no longer does?” Kaeya carefully asks and Albedo has to shrug.

“I haven’t actually tried at all, since—” he trails off, unwilling to say it and he suddenly figures that this might be a problem too. It makes his stomach turn, sour bile rising up in his throat but he forces himself to speak. “Since I was crushed by that rock.”

Kaeya flinches slightly at hearing it and Albedo doesn’t even want to imagine the sight he made when Kaeya found him.

“I see. Do you—want to try?” Kaeya asks and slightly pushes the plate towards Albedo.

Albedo wants to say no, wants to get up and leave but that is not going to help.

So he nods and then tries to ignore the blatant look of relief on Kaeya’s face.

He takes the plate and takes three bites. Albedo guesses three is a good start, a solid number, and he has to admit that he relaxes slightly when the familiar taste hits his tongue.

“It’s—good,” Albedo carefully says, not completely trusting his stomach yet but maybe Kaeya was on to something here. “You’re right, it’s still good.”

Kaeya gives him a small smile at that and Albedo reaches across the table to take his hand.

“How long until you have to go on a mission again?” Albedo asks to distract himself from, well, everything, and he doesn’t like how Kaeya tenses.

“A while yet,” he cryptically says. “I’m yours for as long as you want me.”

“But Jean needs you, right? You can’t just do paperwork for forever, can you?” Albedo asks because he doesn’t quite understand.

“Forever, huh?” Kaeya whispers as if that is the only part he took away from that and Albedo squeezes his hand.

“Kaeya. What’s going on?” he asks and he knows that there must be something going on when Kaeya can’t meet his eyes.

He only ever does that when he has something to hide.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t—I know I haven’t been a very good boyfriend with all this mess in my head but—won’t you even try to rely on my? To trust me?”

“I do trust you, Albedo, of course I do. I love you.”

“But you don’t want to rely on me?”

“It’s—you’re preoccupied,” Kaeya gives back and Albedo goes cold. There is something Kaeya has been hiding from him, something he didn’t want to share because he didn’t want to burden Albedo more.

“Kaeya, please,” Albedo says, tightening the grip he has on Kaeya’s hand. It’s not quite the same as when he was trapped under the rock, but breathing is suddenly hard and he feels hurt at the thought that he might have let Kaeya down. “Talk to me.”

Kaeya lets out a sigh, deflating in his chair and he sounds tired when he finally speaks.

“They call it vision exhaustion,” he says with a shrug. “I can’t access my powers at the moment and they don’t know when they will come back.”

“Vision exhaustion,” Albedo repeats and he distantly remembers the brittle cold that engulfed him before the fire took hold. “From when you destroyed the rock?”

Kaeya had infused the rock with cold until it shattered like glass to get Albedo out from under it and Albedo never gave it more thought than that.

“I’m good at wielding my vision but that—apparently it was too much or something. I used up more than I had, too quickly and too reckless if you want to believe Jean, and so I’m left with a useless gem at the moment.”

“Why didn’t you say?” Albedo wants to know and Kaeya gives him a sad smile.

“You barely talk to me. You’re clearly struggling with finding your way back to us and I just—I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Albedo opens his mouth when it suddenly hits him—he’s not the only one struggling. It shouldn’t be quite such a revelation but it somehow is and Albedo can feel tears prickling at his eyes.

He tries to stop them, tries to keep his composure but he loses that battle spectacularly because just a second later he’s heaving out big sobs. Kaeya is around the table in a second, pulling him into his arms and still Albedo can’t stop.

He cries and cries and cries until he no longer knows why, until he can barely breathe and then until no more tears are coming and still, Kaeya holds him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Kaeya says again and again, barely audible over Albedo’s sobs and it’s enough to shock Albedo into stopping.

“No, don’t,” he gasps out, his voice raw and scratchy but this is important. “Don’t apologize. You found me, you got me out and I don’t think—thank you, Kaeya, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Kaeya says, his voice sounding just as wet.

“Then don’t apologize,” Albedo immediately shoots back and pushes away from Kaeya so he can cup his face in his hands. “Don’t apologize.”

“I upset you.”

“You reminded me that it’s not just me who’s upset,” Albedo corrects him and it still barely makes sense how that is the one thing that brings some sense back to all of this.

It clearly doesn’t make much sense to Kaeya, going by the confused frown on his face but Albedo is too tired to figure out how to put things into words at the moment, so he simply leans forward and presses a kiss to Kaeya’s lips.

“Let’s just eat, and then go to bed for a while, okay?”

Albedo knows that it’s the middle of the day, but he couldn’t care less about that. He’s exhausted down to his bones and clearly Kaeya isn’t doing much better and he’s certain that this will do them some good, upset stomach be damned.

He hopes so, at least.

“Okay,” Kaeya agrees and he doesn’t let go of Albedo as they get up, as they sit down and share the plate between them, as they make their way to bed.

He doesn’t let go of Albedo at all, as if he could slip through his fingers at any given moment and Albedo clings to him just as hard and in a way he hasn’t done since he woke up in Kaeya’s bed for the first time.

Kaeya pulls him close the moment they lay down and Albedo counts his heartbeats rather than his own, being lulled into sleep by that.

It’s more restful than anything else he got these past few weeks and when they wake up again, Albedo knows that things aren’t magically fixed but he thinks that maybe now they can figure this out, together.

As it should have been.

#bt writes #beetober23 #kaebedo #albedo #kaeya #trauma #angst #past injury #homunculus albedo #established relationship #hurt/comfort

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eeveearoace-creative · 1 year

Text

woo, i... haven't written anything in a while, heh. i'm not sure if i'm gonna put this up on ao3 yet or not, but here's a marcy sick-fic turned marcangst/ marcanne hurt/ comfort thing!

tw: referenced human experimentation, sickness/ fever, self hate, physical pain, past injury, unhealthy weight loss

~ 2.3k words

Marcy groans as she sinks impossibly deeper into Anne’s side, her head nestling against Anne’s shoulder. Leaving one arm still wrapped comfortably around Marcy, Anne gently strokes Marcy’s hair with her free hand for a moment, giving her beloved best friend a light kiss on the forehead before reaching over to her nightstand for a cup of water.

“Mmm... Annie?” Marcy slurs, her red-tinged eyes blinking wearily open. Stirring slightly at Anne’s movement, Marcy blinks up at her, expression sunken with exhaustion and fever that has become all too familiar. Anne feels something in her break.

“Hey, Mar-Mar,” Anne murmurs, guiding herself and Marcy into a sitting position. Marcy’s worryingly thin frame rests against Anne for support, still far too light for Anne’s liking. “How are you feeling?”

Eyes squeezing back shut in response, Marcy devolves into what must be her thousandth coughing fit that day, her tiny frame shuddering against Anne’s. Frowning, Anne just holds Marcy as gently as she can, waiting for the coughing fit to subside before Marcy finally sinks back against Anne’s side with a whimper, still shaking.

“Can you try to drink something for me?” Anne asks, her fingers intertwining with Marcy’s. Marcy’s eyes flutter open, dull with exhaustion far too heavy for someone so young. Her gaze travels from Anne’s face to the cup of water in her hand. Marcy’s arms shake as she reached for the cup, practically dropping it when Anne lets go – gently, Anne puts her hands around Marcy’s, letting Marcy lead the cup to her lips.

Anne’s skin burns by the time Marcy pushes her away.

Marcy looks away as Anne slides the cup, only partially drained, back onto her nightstand. Anne would get her to drink more later.

Marcy’s fingers trace absentmindedly over one of the matching circular scars decorating her arms and legs like cursed tattoos. Even with new, soft skin from a skin graft taking their place, Anne can’t help but imagine metal disks in Marcy’s arms, her legs, layers of skin cut away to make room for something unnatural. Tiny holes poking through cold, metal disks, symmetrical and even and looking just like electrical outlets, because they were outlets, there were frogging electrical outlets in Marcy’s arms.

Marcy never said what they were for. Either she didn’t know, or she just didn’t want to say, but Anne never asked. Marcy would say something if she wanted her to know.

… or maybe Anne didn’t ask because she was afraid to. Maybe Anne didn’t ask because she didn’t want to know, didn’t want to know what Marcy went through, what Anne didn’t, couldn’t stop from happening, because there was nothing she could do to protect her beloved best friend from the nightmares that haunted her at night, or the memories that followed her in the day, or the pain and regret and terror that Anne knew never left Marcy alone. Maybe Anne didn’t ask because she was the one who had failed to protect Marcy in the first place, who had allowed Marcy to be torn away from her and hurt in ways she could’ve never deserved, no matter what mistakes she might’ve made.

Regardless, Anne hates how the grafted patches of unscarred skin had so quickly become the exception for Marcy, not the norm. Minor scrapes and bruises, even somewhat-major injuries like broken bones, were nothing new – Marcy did have a tendency to be just ever so slightly clumsy, after all – but even minor things felt different now. They weren’t oh, silly Marbles, you have to be more careful, anymore – they were marks of everything she went through, of all the pain she suffered.

“My chest hurts,” Marcy mumbles, voice small, but enough to break Anne out of her thoughts.

“I’ll go grab something.” Anne pulls away from Marcy, making for the door.

“Stay.” The word comes out as a plea, like Marcy would fall apart if Anne wasn’t there. Given everything they’d both been through, a tiny part of Anne almost believed it. She pushes the thought away before it could fester.

Anne smiles sadly. “It’ll just be for a moment, Mars,” she promises, lightly squeezing Marcy’s hand. “I’m just gonna grab something for your chest pain, okay?”

Marcy doesn’t give any sign of agreement, but when she doesn’t protest again, Anne reluctantly pulls herself away, casting longing gazes backwards before slipping out of the doorway.

By the time Anne gets back, Marcy is practically unresponsive, a far-away look in her eyes. After Anne coaxes Marcy to take some medicine, the two girls fall asleep, a tangled bundle of limbs.

Anne’s woken up by the sound of an all-too-familiar scream.

“… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” Marcy sobs, clinging to Anne’s chest as Anne rocked herself and Marcy gently back and forth. “I’m sorry, please, please don’t leave me…”

“I forgave you a long time ago,” Anne whispers, holding Marcy as tightly as she dared. “And I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m not going to leave you, not ever again. I promise.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t leave me,” Marcy mumbles, like she hadn’t heard Anne at all. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry…”

“It’s okay,” Anne repeats, because maybe that wasn’t the right word – maybe it wasn’t okay, because Marcy still did some things that weren’t “okay,” but… Anne can’t really blame her, not after everything she had done to fix her mistakes, and certainly not everything she had suffered for them.

Maybe “okay” wasn’t the right word because what Marcy went through – was still going through – wasn’t, and never could be, “okay”.

But instead of all that, Anne just settled on “You’re okay, I’ve got you,” because what else was she supposed to say?

Her best friend died in front of her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Marcy mumbles, nose buried in Anne’s shoulder. “’M sorry…”

Marcy finally went quiet, eyes shut as Anne continues to rock herself and Marcy back and forth.

No, I’m sorry, Anne thinks, one of the girls who was her everything inconsolable in her arms, I couldn’t protect you. I let you get hurt.

I’m so, so sorry, Marcy.

“... Annie?” Marcy whimpers, clinging desperately to Anne’s shirt.

“Yeah, Mars, it’s me,” Anne murmurs, pressing a tiny kiss to Marcy’s forehead. “It’s me.”

“And this is real?” Marcy sniffles. “Please let this be real.”

“It’s real, Marcy, it’s real.”

Marcy relaxes somewhat against Anne’s side. Shifting a bit so that she could see Anne’s face, Marcy blinks at Anne, eyes red and brimming with tears.

“Then, why?” Marcy’s voice brakes. “Why am I here?”

“We rescued you, remember?” Anne brushes a gangly, tear-soaked strand of hair out of Marcy’s face. Had Marcy really forgotten that? “You’re at my house, because your parents...” Left you? Abandoned you? Couldn’t wait for you to recover before moving to a different state? Chose their jobs over you?

“No, I – I get that. I mean...” Marcy swallows. “Why am I here?”

“Because...?”

“Why am I here, in your house?” Marcy cries. “Why did you save me? I hurt you, and Sasha, and your parents, and everyone, so much, so why am I here?”

Didn’t she get it? “Because I love you.”

“But why? After everything I did, I don’t deserve it.”

“Yes, you do,” Anne protests. “You messed up. We all do.”

Marcy shakes her head. Anne tries to rest her chin in the crook of Marcy’s neck, but Marcy pushes her away.

“You should hate me,” Marcy croaks, voice wavering like she genuinely didn’t understand how much Anne loved her. “Why don’t you hate me?”

“Because,” Anne repeats, “I love you. And I forgave you a long time ago, so can you please try to forgive yourself – for me?”

Marcy sobs. Anne wraps her arms around her, and Marcy lets her, bawling, as Anne rubs circles into her back.

“I love you.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I love you.”

“But, I-“

Anne cuts Marcy off with a kiss.

Marcy freezes. She doesn’t pull away, though, and a moment later she sinks into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed as she meets Anne with softer, but equal love. Warmth blooms in Anne’s chest as she kisses Marcy, and, oh, how long has she wanted this?

“Oh,” Marcy whispers, blushing brighter than Anne even thought possible. “Oh.”

Anne goes in for another kiss, but Marcy pushes her away, eyes pointedly looking away from Anne.

Anne’s heart drops.

Oh.

“I, um... you – you don’t...” Marcy’s voice shakes. “You... you deserve someone better.”

Anne sighs. How could she still not get it?

“So, let’s just – let’s just forget this ever happened.” Marcy forces the fakest smile Anne had ever seen, all quavering lips and watering eyes. It was no match for the loneliness and grief and despair etched into every line on Marcy’s face, every note of her voice. “Just – just forget it. I, I-I can’t-“

“Marcy.”

“It – it was spur of the moment-“

“Marcy-”

“It doesn’t mean anything, it was just-”

“Marcy.”

Marcy falls silent, pupils dilating as she finally turned to face Anne, pure terror shining in her eyes like she had just woken up from yet another nightmare.

But she hadn’t. She’s awake, and staring at Anne, and her breath is hitching like Anne’s some monster to fear, something or someone who wants to hurt her, not her best friend who would do anything to assure her safety and happiness, no matter what it took.

“I love you, Marcy Wu.” Anne’s heart pounds in her ears. A voice in the back of her mind begs her to just stop talking, just dismiss all of this as a joke or a misunderstanding, just shrink away and push all these feelings down like she always has, always too afraid of the consequences, of rejection, of losing her best friends in the world, all because of one stupid confession. But she can’t do that, not anymore, not when Marcy is looking at her like she’s something to fear. Not when Anne has a chance to prove how loved Marcy is, how much she deserves to be loved, how much Anne will always love her.

Marcy smiles awkwardly, letting out a puff of air through her nose. She shakes her head a little bit, her carefully crafted expression faltering like a bad hologram.

“Marcy, I’m being one-hundred-percent honest with you.” Anne swallows a knot in her throat. For Marcy. “Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?”

Marcy opens her mouth, failing to form any words before Anne continues.

“I love you. And you deserve to be loved. Do you wanna know why?” Anne’s eyes sting, tears welling dangerously in the corners. “Because you’re amazing, and kind, and brave, and smart, and so, so strong, and I’m so sorry that you had to go everything that you did, but I’m so glad you’re still here. I...” Anne finally breaks, chest heaving as she sobs, “Marcy, if I lost you, I... I don’t think I would’ve ever been okay again.”

Marcy lets out a strangled cry in response, practically throwing herself at Anne. Anne catches her, of course, holding Marcy as delicately as she can as brokenhearted sobs rip out of both of their throats. Scabbed hands clutch Anne’s shirt like a lifeline, lightly pressing into her back. Anne takes it as an invitation to pull Marcy into her lap, wrapping her arms around the love of her life.

“Is it okay that I want this?” Marcy asks after frog-knows-how-long, voice raw from crying.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay,” Anne promises. “I want this, too.”

“I… I love you, Anne.”

“I love you too, Mar-Mar.”

“Do you think… no, never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“Hm?” Anne untangles herself from Marcy a bit, just enough so that she can see her face. “Do I think what?”

“Nothing. I’m just being stupid and selfish. Forget it.”

“Mars, hey. None of that. What is it?”

“I…” Marcy sighs. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

Anne lightly kisses Marcy’s forehead.

“I - this is going to sound so wrong, and awful, and selfish-”

“Marcy.”

“- sorry. I just...” Marcy swallows. “I want to be with you, I really do – you’re wonderful, and amazing, and I love you so much, it’s just...” Marcy’s voice pricks with shame. “I wish Sasha were here, too.”

“Marcy, that doesn’t sound wrong at all.”

“No, it’s - I mean, not...” Marcy looks away. “I... I’m sorta in love with both of you.” Marcy looks back up, eyes wide with panic. “But, that’s - that doesn’t matter, it isn’t important, I can just-”

“Marcy.” Anne kisses her. “I love Sasha, too.”

“I... o-oh,” Marcy stammers. “Oh. That – that makes sense, actually.”

“Right, so you don’t have to worry about – wait, what?”

“You really think I couldn’t tell there was something between you two?” Marcy giggles. “C’mon, Annie.”

“Well, I could say the same about you and Sasha,” Anne mutters, flushing.

“H-huh?”

“Oh, come on! You had to have noticed!”

“Wh- I don’t-”

“C’mon, Mars-Bar. She loves you.”

Marcy smiles shyly, red spreading over her cheeks. “So, do you think she’d...?”

“Wanna be with us?” Anne finishes for her. “I mean, we’d have to ask her to know for sure, but... yeah, I do.”

“Either way, thank you.” Marcy yawns. “I love you, Annie.”

“I love you too, Mars.”

“Y’know, you probably shouldn’t have kissed someone with a fever...”

“Well, you shouldn’t have been so cute, then.”

Marcy opens her mouth.

“Joking. It was totally worth it, though.”

Humming happily, Marcy snuggles against Anne’s side.

They fall asleep curled together.

#bro i hate writing in present tense 😭 why is it so much harder than writing in past tense??????????????#referenced human experimentation #sickness #fever #self hate #pain #physical pain #past injury #weight loss #unhealthy weight loss #fanfic #amphibia fanfic #my fanfic #writing #my writing #amphibia

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ratdoeswriting · 1 year

Text

elsa’s song

summary: Every day since Geralt had left him on the mountain, Jaskier had been off kilter. He had still performed and fucked his way across the continent but it hadn’t felt right and it pissed him off more than anything. It was, ultimately, pathetic. So he turned it to his advantage and wrote song after song about how much he hated Geralt now, though he isn’t sure who he was fooling.

pairings: jaskier/geralt

warnings: past injury, past burns, emotional hurt, miminal comfort

word count: 2.5K

a/n: i finally watches series 2 of the witcher and had so many ideas i couldn’t decide and then i saw this post by @wren-of-the-woods on tumblr: https://wren-of-the-woods.tumblr.com/post/674200012768542720/dont-think-about-jaskier-lute-less-and-alone-in (hopefully that works) snd so here we are!! Also yeah maybe i dont really get what the song is about but uts still a vibe <3

~~~

I can hear the cannons calling As though across a dream And I can smell the smoke of hell In every stitch and seam ~ Every day since Geralt had left him on the mountain, Jaskier had been off kilter. He had still performed and fucked his way across the continent but it hadn’t felt right and it pissed him off more than anything. It was, ultimately, pathetic. So he turned it to his advantage and wrote song after song about how much he hated Geralt now, though he isn’t sure who he was fooling.

He thought that he finally had his head on straight as the sandpiper, like he had found a purpose to his restlessness. And then Yennefer had come crashing back into his life and he felt as if she had kicked him into the past and he was right back where he had started. Except this time, he didn’t get to adjust because next thing he knew he was kidnapped and tortured, then arrested and imprisoned, then saved and dragged halfway across the continent to a place he had once thought he could call home.

Which brought him to here, now, wandering the halls of Kaer Morhen trying to work out where it all went wrong. And he wanted his lute - not that he could play it with the burns still blistering his ginger tips.

Since he had left home, all he truly had was his music, his lute and his ability to perform and now without that-

He didn’t feel like he belonged, at Kaer Morhen, like he wasn’t needed - everyone there had a role to play, and the only role he could play, the entertainer, had been ripped away from him. He was fading away. Maybe the only thing that had been keeping him here was the audience - in the same way a tree would fall in a forest, would he cease to exist if the audience could no longer see him?

He tried to write. He wanted to write something jaunty, something that would keep spirits high, but every word that bleed from his damaged body was a stain on the page, and every time he tried to sing it, it sounded like a cry for something he didn’t want to name.

Part of him still couldn’t believe he agreed to any of this, couldn’t believe that he went back on every promise he made to himself just because Geralt had asked. It was pathetic. A sick, twisted part of him wished they were still at war.

~~~

And like flowers, the bodies tumble Around this muddied lot I cannot hear them scream "Forget me not" ~ It was working slowly into spring, and normally the keep would be mostly empty, but it seemed that the world would have to cope a few more weeks with a few less witchers. Jaskier wasn’t sure they had spent this long together in… who knows how long, they were all so old it was hard to keep track of the time. It seemed to be doing them good, though: being surrounded by people who understood what they went through, both here and on the path.

He had once told Yennefer that as an artist, it was his job to put himself in other people’s shoes, and he was good at it, he was good at reading people, even from a distance. Which is handy because that’s all he really does nowadays.

Jaskier had taken up his seat hours ago, on the ledge of his window, on leg on either side, as he watched idly. Geralt was training Ciri again, Yennefer watching from the side, seeming to give pointers. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, could barely even make out their faces, all he could see was the way they were moving, almost as one but never quite together, like they were scared of getting too close, of getting hurt, Jaskier could almost hear them saying, begging “I am here, please, I am here don’t forget me” and he could feel them calling back “I won’t, you're here, please do the same for me.”

~~~

Your voice it carries over The hubbub and the hum And it paints the sky and circles high Like the beating of a drum ~ Jaskier was almost certain he was losing his mind. This was not a new feeling - living his life had led him to see some truly horrifying things, things he shouldn’t have come back from, but he did. Every time. But he’s only human and there’s only so many times he can break before the pieces are too small to put back together, so small that they get lost and he loses part of himself.

He had lost his patience. He was restless, irritable and he just wanted his fucking lute. Normally he would play his old songs, finding comfort in something that comes so naturally, however now he wants to play his new song, one that has been writing itself.

Not that he would be able to play it though, not physically. His hands were still ruined, and he still wakes up screaming, can feel his hands burning like it had just happened. He wishes he could lose this part of himself instead.

All of the days are blurring into one at sickening speeds, but, maybe three weeks after everything had happened, everyone else seemed to be putting themselves back together, along with the keep.

They had started in the hall, slowly cleared the rubble and assessed the damages and now had one long table. Despite its size, they all fitted comfortably around one end and spent most evenings there.

It would be so easy for everyone to be lost, their sadness and anger echoing around the too-empty room, for the grief to sit where their family once had, but instead it was filled with joy, with laughter, enough that it bounced off the walls and danced in the air above him, and the air around his head felt so light that he could drift further and further from reality, like everything fell away around him and he plummeted, down, down, down…

Until he heard a voice, deep and rumbling, rhythmic like a drum and it shocks him enough that Jaskier’s heart can almost beat normally again.

“Jaskier? Take a breath.” Geralt says, so close he can feel the vibrations, “You’re safe here.”

Jaskier tries not to shake his head.

~~~

You will scream "I won’t forget you" But I’ll cover my cold ears It cannot be a lie If no-one hears ~ He was mostly left alone, whether because he wasn’t wanted here or because no one knew what to say to him, or they thought he needed time, he didn’t know. What he did know is that Geralt must have learned his stubbornness from Vesemir because Vesemir had made it a point to talk to Jaskier every single day, even after Jaskier had told him, very directly, to fuck off. He hadn’t really meant to.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what-”

“You don’t have to apologise. I can see how much you are struggling. I can see how difficult this all is for you.”

“I’m- I’m fine. I’ve been through worse than that.”

“I don’t doubt it, Jaskier, but something’s got to give. There’s a lot of people who won't forgive themselves if it's you. You need to find a way to handle this. Even though you didn’t fight, physically, you fought in every other way that matters. It still will take a toll.”

He was silent for a long time, legs swinging on the window ledge, “I know. I know that I played a big part in leading that… that firefucker here, I played a big part in endangering you and your family. I have hurt-” he looked at Vesemir, “I have hurt so many people.”

“Jaskier, you are human. Your body was not made to endure what you did, you would never have been expected to endure that, not for as long as you did and certainly not for any longer. Nobody blames you for anything that has happened, least of all me.”

His words fell on deaf ears. He didn’t want to believe the truth that laced each one.

“You are not forgotten, Jaskier.”

~~~

'Cause although you say good day to me I know I don’t belong ~ Jaskier woke up to a bone deep sense of ill ease trying to claw its way out of his body: his hands shook, his heart raced, and he could not stop fidgeting, legs bouncing whilst he ate breakfast, whilst he tried to sit and read, until he dropped his book and bolted from the room.

An hour later he had walked the border of Kaer Morhen twice and was well into his third lap before he started to slow down. There was a dull ache in his calves, his shoes had started to pinch and Jaskier found startling comfort in the pain.

“Geralt must have rubbed off on me - I fear I am not long for this place.” He said idly to a bird that had been following him, “Not that I’m going to die. I don’t think I'm going to die. No, I just feel rather restless, having been in one place for so long. Somewhere I don’t belong.”

He pondered briefly on whether he should incorporate some rhyming into this new song, but the thought was quickly drowned out, the idea of getting out of here, the idea of getting out of the keep, off of the mountain, hell, maybe off the continent - it was too enticing.

He took another lap.

~~~

And although you hold my hand and say "I love you," you are wrong Because love does not exist here In this garden, there’s no feeling And you say the words so often That I barely know the meaning ~ As it turns out, walking around one place meant that Jaskier had discovered some lovely little hideaways. This one was his favourite - at the junction of two crumbling walls was an alcove, overshadowed by deep green bushes, ivy creeping up the brick work and moss covering a conveniently chair-shaped stone. There was enough light to write, enough shade that he wouldn't burn, and enough quiet for him to iron out some of the more elaborate metaphors he was working on.

“Jaskier? Are you in here?”

He entertained the idea of hiding from Yennefer, just briefly. And then he remembered that she wouldn't ask a question she didn’t already know the answer to, so saved himself the embarrassment and just closed his notebook.

“You’ve been here a lot. How’s the song coming along.”

“Slowly. What can I do you for, Yennefer?”

“I was hoping you would do me a favour.” She said, her voice business like, as it had been when they met years ago, but her eyes, the way her hand found his, it was a comfort they had only recently reached that made him both melt and freeze-up simultaneously.

“Stop hiding, Jaskier.” She says with such sudden intensity that he can only blink in shock, “You need to talk to someone - I don’t care if it’s me, if it’s Geralt, or if it’s a damned tree, but you need to talk to someone.”

“Does my notebook count?” He tries to joke, but Yennefer doesn’t seem to be in a joking mood.

“I can see you falling apart, and it’s no wonder. I don’t think you have even processed how much you have to deal with, not least the fact that you risked your life every single day to smuggle people to safety. That was all you, Jaskier, there’s no words to even describe the impact you had, but it’s too much for you to do alone.”

“But I did it. I have managed alone before, and I can do it again.”

“No, I don't think you have been managing. You’ve been hiding. You cannot stay hidden because you are not alone.”

~~~

And when all the flowers are rotten And all the cannons shot I’ll scream, but you won’t hear "Forget me not"

And in years to come, you’ll wander To the place up on our hill And then you’ll cry to our painted sky

"I loved him then, I love him still" And you’ll strew some sage and lilies And roses where I rot ~ He can't say exactly what it was, but something Yen said had struck a nerve. He had to get out of Kaer Morhen. He was watching everyone around him move forwards, trying to coax him along with them, but he’s so lost, every time he even thinks about taking a step forwards, he’s ripped two steps back, his mind regurgitating the most violent memories it can find on a loop.

His fingers are still blistered and scabbed. One of them splits open as he packs his bags, but he pays it no mind. He looks around the room he had been staying in, as if he had anything to forget. All he had was a few sets of clothes and a notebook. He felt so exposed without his lute.

Geralt had left a few days ago, Ciri and Yen in tow, with a promise that he would be back within the week. Jaskier planned to be gone by then, hopefully closer to the mountain than here. He isn't sure what he plans to do when he gets there, perhaps head to the coast, but that was a bridge he would burn when he got to it.

“Of all the flowers you picked, I knew you would forget forget-me-nots…”

He finishes singing the last line as he ties his pack shut and pulls the door open.

Geralt is standing on the other side, one hand raised to knock. He doesn't look at all surprised that Jaskier is about to leave.

“I thought I might have missed you. You’re heading back to Caingorn, it’s a long way and you’ll need coin. Thought this might help,” he said, raising his other hand now which was- oh. A new lute.

“I don’t-”

“I understand that you want to leave, Jaskier. I’m not going to stop you, I just ask that you return once you’ve done what you need to do.”

He cannot comprehend what Geralt is saying - he wants to hear it as goodbye, as Geralt moving on from him and forgetting him, but he knows that Geralt is refusing to forget him, the stubborn bastard. “I will, Geralt. Thank you.” He says, reaching gingerly to take the lute from Geralt's still outstretched hand.

Geralt catches his wrist, turns his hand so the palm faces up and looks at the shredded skin, marred with burns and at the absolutely devastated look on Geralt's face he can feel his resolve crumbling.

“Let me dress your hands before you go? You won't be able to play if they get any worse.”

His thumb is rubbing gently, absently over Jaskier’s pulse - surely he must feel it jump - and Jaskier breaks down. He isn't sure that he had cried since… he’s not even sure when but he can’t seem to stop now, legs giving out beneath him as his body shakes with the force of it. The only thing that stops him from hitting the floor is Geralt, one arm wrapped securely around his waist, the other cradling the back of his head as they fall to the floor together, the setting sun painting their skin in warmth.

#ratwrites #the witcher #hurt/comfort #lmk if i need to tag anything else #past injury

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sapphireginger · 8 months

Text

At Our Ex-Spence: Chapter #25

Summary:

Stuart’s cheeks are soaked with salty streams, but it feels so good to let it all out. His shoulders shake with silent sobs and then he throws his head back and screams. The grief, agony, pain, heartache and despair he feels flood the clearing. Stiles sways in the path of the waves of intense emotions. The wind picks up. Lightning flashes over and over again. Thunder roars and the trees sway faster and faster. Stuart’s head slowly falls forward from its upward position. The shadow trembles in terror as he locks eyes with her.

AO3 Link

Stiles hates everything right now. Okay, well not everything but he does hate that apparently Stuart has to face Jasmine. Stuart has to face her shadow, just like Stiles faced the shadows of the Nogitsune and the alpha wolf. He doesn’t understand why he’s there though. It doesn’t make sense. Why would—

“Awe. What’s the matter baby boo?” Jasmine says. “Don’t tell me you forgot about me.” She smirks and it makes Stuart shudder. “You wouldn’t forget me, would you? I mean it’s your fault I’m dead.”

Stuart shakes his head. “N-No. I-It was—It was an accident.”

Jasmine laughs cruelly. “Was it? Or were you just so desperate not to have me convince you to say something that you decided I had to be dealt with.”

“No.”

“Was it because I rejected you when you said you liked me? I mean have you seen you? Why would I want to say yes to that?”

Stiles makes a fist, latching onto his bond with his mate, which like when he faced his shadows, is muted slightly. His magic is restless and ready to lash out to defend his brother. As much as he wants to though, he can’t. Stuart has to do this. However, that doesn’t mean he can’t help.

“No. I told you I liked you because you were upset about Lou not liking you back. I told you there was nothing wrong with you. I told you he was stupid.”

Jasmine quirks a brow. “Just like you?”

Stuart flinches. “No. I’m not stupid.”

“Maybe not, but there is definitely something—perhaps several somethings—wrong with you.”

“Why are you saying these things? Jazzy this isn’t you.”

Stiles sends soothing vibrations towards his brother and lets his voice echo in his twin’s mind.

“You’re right. It’s not her. She would never say these things to you. Think Stu. Think. Uważać.”

Stuart’s gaze doesn’t stray from Jasmine, but Stiles’s words strike something inside him, igniting his core. He looks at Jasmine with confusion. “You’re not Jazzy.”

“Oh really.” Her voice is hard like steel. “Says who?” She glances at Stiles. “Him? Oh. I see. You need a little help, Stu-Boo? Can’t face me like a man?”

“Shut up!” Stuart snaps. “Shut the hell up!”

The sky flashes with bolts of lightning. The sound of thunder claps, all encompassing in the clearing.

“Thatta boy. Come on baby. Let’s play.” She’s watching him like he’s prey, and Stiles feels helpless. He knows with every fiber of his being that he can’t do this for his brother but there has to be something he can do.

“What’s his favorite color?” Stiles calls out.

Jasmine looks over at him with an annoyed expression. “Green. Obviously.”

Stuart’s brow furrows slightly. “No, it’s not.”

“Of course, it is, Stu-Boo. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s not green. My favorite color is purple. Just like Ally’s. That's why I always get her violets.”

Jasmine glares at him and then at Stiles. “Stay out of this sparky!”

Stiles smirks. “Not a chance, shadow bitch.” The last word is said under his breath, so Stuart doesn’t hear it.

Stuart takes a step towards Jasmine. “You can’t be real. I don't know what’s happening. I don’t understand but I know Jazzy and you aren’t her. Whatever you are, you’re wrong. I can see how you corrupt the air around you.” His eyes glaze over slightly and Stiles’s heart beats faster at the sight of glowing turquoise eyes.

“Now Stu-Boo. Just hold on a second.”

The younger twin shakes his head and focuses his gaze on her once more. “What’s dead should stay dead, and you died. You are nothing more than a shade. You are nothing more than a stain. You are nothing more than a shadow.”

Jasmine’s form shudders at his words and then her eyes go pitch black. She begins to spout out harsher, crueler, meaner and darker things towards Stuart in an attempt to break him.

While he was winning out before, at her words something inside him believes what she’s saying. The ignited warmth starts to fade, and he feels so cold. She’s not saying anything he himself hasn’t already thought of a million times before.

Stiles thinks about Peter. He thinks about how his mate grounds him and his magic. Peter is the anchor for his magic. He thinks about how Stuart has magic but hasn’t understood what that means. He thinks about how Allison is probably the anchor for Stuart’s magic. Stiles realizes with every second that passes, his twin is getting colder, and Stuart’s spark is waning.

Anger and protectiveness surge through the older twin as he steps forward. His eyes flash dangerously and the action causes Jasmine to freeze in the middle of another taunt. Stiles’s hands crackle with electricity, his spark and magic waiting for his will to guide them.

Jasmine smiles sweetly. “Si mihi non occurrit, deficiet. Locum eius capere non potes.”

Stiles smirks and tilts his head, the amethyst glow of his eyes shifting slightly. A sliver of shadows swirls within them. His eyes begin to spiral and that’s when the shadow looks truly terrified.

Her hold on his brother dissolves instantly and Stuart snaps his gaze towards his brother. “Stiles?” he says.

The older twin looks at his brother and nods. Stiles doesn’t let Stuart say anything. “You are so strong Stu. So very strong. You are so smart, Stu. So very smart. There is nothing you can’t do.”

“That's not true, Stiles. I’m not—”

“Yes. You. Are.” Stiles’s magic hisses as Jasmine takes a step toward Stuart once more and she freezes at the sound. “Stu? No one witnesses someone else’s death and comes out untainted but that darkness that is weighing you down is only as strong as you make it.”

Stuart tilts his head. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Jasmine tries again to get closer to Stuart but with a look, the younger twin freezes her. He’s shocked it worked. All Stuart wants is for her to not get to him. He wants her to stay right where she is. When the younger twin looks back at his brother, Stiles is smiling.

Stiles nods. “You are braver than you think, stronger than you believe and smarter than you think. Stu, you are only limited by the power of your belief. You are right. She’s not Jasmine. You know that. So don’t listen to what she is saying. It’s not true. You know that.”

“But she’s dead because of–”

“No!” Stiles says, cutting him off. “It was an accident. She fell. Think Stu. Pamiętać.”

Remember. Remember. Remember.

✶ 🔎 ❤︎ 🔍 ✶

“I’m just saying that telling them how you’re feeling would help, Stu,” Jasmine says.

Stuart paces on the rocky outcrop and shakes his head. “I can’t, Jazzy. There’s no trust now. How am I supposed to trust them? They’ve kept this from me. Who knows what else they’re hiding.”

Jasmine pushes up from her seated position onto her knees. “Stuart, I know. I can’t even begin to imagine how you must feel. Sometimes as hard as it seems, the best thing to do is say it. They might not know how much this is hurting you.”

He turns away and rakes his hands through his hair. “I just…” he trails off and turns to look at her. “I’m scared.”

“I know.” Her voice is soft as she gets to her feet and moves closer to pull him into a hug. “I know.”

They stay like that for a long time and Stuart feels the tension that had been building up, seep out of him bit by bit.

When they finally part, he shoves his hands in his pockets and gently bumps their shoulders together. “You want to get some pizza?” he asks.

She gives him a blinding grin. “Definitely.”

He laughs softly and offers his hand. “Let’s go.”

Stuart hadn’t brought anything with him when they came out earlier, but Jasmine has her notebook and bag. Her eyes rake over his face, loving the way he’s smiling now. She did that. Because she’s so focused on him, her foot catches on her back and she trips. The impact between her body and the ground makes her cry out as the wind is knocked out of her.

He rushes over and falls to his knees. “Jazzy?!”

“I’m okay,” she says, rubbing her head and pushing herself up. She cries out when she puts pressure on her wrist and slips forward once again.

Neither of them realizes how close they are to the edge. It had rained the night before and as she slips and Stuart reaches for her hand, something gives.

There’s nothing they can do as the ground crumbles beneath them. They tumble down, down, down and—CRACK!

Darkness.

Stuart groans and slowly sits up the world tilting dangerously. He starts coughing. “Jaz? Jazzy?!” he calls out. His eyes alight on her crumpled form and he launches himself towards her, ignoring the pain that flares up in his ankle. “No! No. Jaz? Jazzy? Jasmine?!” he cries out.

Her eyes flutter slightly and blood trails out of her mouth. Her eyes are hazy, and he carefully moves her head to his lap, tucking her hair behind her ears. He chokes back sobs that wrack his entire body.

Jasmine feels so cold, but she doesn’t focus on that. He needs to know. She has to make him understand. It hurts but she pushes through the pain. “You. N-No. F-Fault.”

Stuart blinks the tears from his eyes. “Of course, it’s my fault. You never would have been out here if it wasn’t for me.”

Jasmine coughs slightly and she knows she doesn't have much time left. “I. L-Love. Y-You. Y-You. B-Be. O-Okay.” She can’t get any more words out and her heartbeat slows down.

“Jaz…I love you too. Don’t leave me. Please. Just hold on.”

There’s no response, but he continues pleading long after her heart has stopped. He knows logically that she’s gone but he just can’t think about that. A mere second after her heart stops, he lets out a blood curdling shriek. He feels like he’s on fire and clutches at his chest. Tears stream down his face and the pain becomes too much.

Darkness.

✶ 🔎 ❤︎ 🔍 ✶

The wind picks up. Lightning flashes over and over again. Thunder roars and the trees sway faster and faster. Stuart’s head slowly falls forward from its upward position. The shadow trembles in terror as he locks eyes with her.

Sparks are born. Sparks are not made. Stuart’s skin begins to heat up. His eyes begin to glow and his flash brighter than ever before.

“I. Loved. Her.” He doesn't raise his voice, but he might as well be yelling for how clear and sharp his words are. “She was everything to me. I would have ended my life without her. After I lost her, I broke but I did not shatter.”

The shadow tries to move but can’t so much as twitch. It watches as black tendrils rise up behind the spark totaling four. Four shadow tails.

“You come here and pretend to be her. You dig into my insecurities and pretend to be her, but you are nothing like her. Jazzy was good. She was the sun to my darkness. She was the warmth to my cold. She was the softness to my jagged edges. She was the hope to my jadedness. She never called me Stu-Boo.”

Stiles watches his brother with pride and sends that pride to him.

Stuart uses the pride from his twin to push on. “Umbra non est lux. Non tenebrae dies. Tu macula es in terra. deleo te. Adiuro te. finem tibi faciam.”

As the last word leaves his mouth, the shadow jerks and opens its own mouth in a silent, muted shriek. There’s a burst of white light that brings both sparks to their knees as the clearing is engulfed in heat.

Stuart shudders, his eyes closing in relief. “Liber sum. Liberavi me. Omnia, quæ ego sum, fregi vincula. Non tenebar amplius tenebris et umbra. Ego enim sum tenebrae. lux sum. Nam umbra sum. Ego sum scintilla.”

✶ 🔎 ❤︎ 🔍 ✶

Time seems to still and there is no sound. Stuart can’t even hear his own breathing, but he feels…His eyes flutter open slightly and then widen in surprise. Fresh tears spill down his cheeks. “Jasmine.”

Jasmine’s light smiles at him, and he shudders when her lips graze his forehead. She’s so warm and as her light surrounds him, he feels the last traces of darkness leave him. He’s free. “I love you, Jazzy,” he whispers, letting his eyes fall shut once more.

✶ 🔎 ❤︎ 🔍 ✶

When Stuart opens his eyes again, Stiles is kneeling in front of him. There’s a small fox next to his brother's leg that then wraps itself around Stiles’s neck like a scarf.

Stuart is stirred from his curious stare at the fox and stills when the older twin cups his face. The amber eyes, identical to his own, are full of so many emotions that Stuart can’t even begin to identify them.

Stiles brings their foreheads together and sniffles before clearing his throat. “Optime occurrit, Scintilla Gajos,” he whispers. “Well met.”

“Optime occurrit, Scintilla Hale.” Stuart feels something click into place at his words. “Well met.”

#steter #teen wolf #stilinski twins #stuart gajos #stiles stilinski #angst #past character death #past injury #revelations #latin #polish #heavy angst #spark stiles stilinski #spark stuart twombly #at our ex-spence: ch. 25

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