#I will blow past a three sentence limit don't test me

[birgittesilverbae]

Avatrice: pro athlete in the sport of your choosing

When Beatrice crosses the finish line and punches the air, her next movement is to glance back over her shoulder. There's no green bib coming down the hill, just red and yellow crossing two-three in her wake. They embrace, turn towards her, but she only has eyes for the final jump.

The fourth skier never arrives.

She unclips one ski, kickslides her way towards the holding area at the side of the field. “Mary!” she bellows, giving up and unclipping her other ski, leaving it and her poles in her wake as she thunders across in unwieldly boots.

When Mary looks over to her, her face is pale.

“Where–” Mary opens her arms to Beatrice, but Beatrice stumbles to a halt when she catches sight of the screen just over Mary's shoulder.

“She went down,” Mary says, closing the distance between them and turning Beatrice's face away from the screens. “She went down, and she didn’t get back up.”

Beatrice doesn’t remember the medal ceremony, wouldn’t have believed it happened without the gold around her neck. It’s a blur of tears instead, of Mary shutting down interview requests and hustling her to a waiting IOC vehicle.

And then she’s sitting in the back of a minivan with a weight around her neck almost as heavy as the stone in her gut.

It doesn’t feel real.

She’s an Olympic champion wedged into the back of a van, and Ava's not beside her, not sharing in the glory.

She slowly comes out of the fog to Mary loosening her ski boots and shunting them around into the trunk. Beatrice tries to tie her duck boots, but the laces keep going in and out of focus. Mary removes her hands gently, wraps her fingers around a thermos instead and tightens the laces herself.

send me a three-sentence fic prompt to willfully abuse

#I will blow past a three sentence limit don't test me #warrior nun #mywn #myfic #sister beatrice #shotgun mary #I'm realizing now that I've conflated two prompts whoops #I mean it's background avatrice? oops #real low point following-directions-wise for me here ehhhhhh #ask meme #anon

[shelby-love]

KELLY SEVERIDE

Skeletons and Whatnot.

Requested: yes

Prompts: none

Warning(s): none

Author’s note: I feel like this is rubbish, but I also feel like it’s not. 50/50 (1.6K words - might come back to edit it tomorrow)

Also you can see how tired I am (it's 4:30AM) I mean what is this title??? GOOD NIGHT.

~

"That's not possible. Check again."

"But I already did! Like a million times!"

"Adam, I swear to God-"

"Alright, alright…" Your colleague mumbled, turning on his chair to run the data yet again.

While he sat on the chair, looking through files he didn't have a clue about, you were leaning against the wall and shaking in your boots. Your heart hammered and your palms felt clammy.

Not possible. I killed him.

"No look it says right there," Adam declared; proud of himself for being able to gather information like this on his own. "Some girl named Lucy Riggs pawned a gun she got off some guy named Jon Prescott.

You squinted your eyes at the information that made no sense. "Get to the point."

Adam visibly swallowed, "Turns out the guy's name isn't Jon. Shocker. It's actually Parker Torres."

Your blood ran cold at his words. A million thoughts raced through your head. You wondered where he was, what he was doing… The questions that evaded your mind are usually normal, but here, when you thought about the dark man of your past, the questions seemed to be anything but normal.

"What about the gun?"

Adam clicked away until a picture of a metallic gun popped out. "Smith & Wesson Model 64 revolver."

Next thing you knew, a chain of vulgar profanities escaped your mouth, and you couldn't stop them. Ruzek's eyes widened ever so slightly at your lack of composure. "Mind telling me what this all about?"

You took a deep breath. "My skeleton escaped the closet."

***

The lack of information you found within the last couple of days was mind blowing. The only lead you had was the gun that wasn't even in your possession, having gotten lost in a misfit of undocumented sales.

Lucy wasn't of help either. The poor girl just wanted to get rid of her husband's gun, saying everything but useful information along the way. "If he wants a gun, then he better get a good one… A new one too! I don't want that piece of garbage in my house. God only knows who used that gun!" Lucy told you, just 48 hours ago. Those exact same words.

She was right about one thing.

That dammed gun went through so many hands and took double more lives.

And you didn't even have a lead.

"You look like crap," Kevin Atwater teased, handing you a steaming cup of coffee.

You didn't even manage to smile, looking at him through your shades that were, so far, doing a great job at concealing the bags under your eyes from the world.

"Rough night?"

"Mhmm."

Kevin didn't know that you no longer lived with Kelly. The temporary solution to your problems turned out to be moving back to your own place. Putting Kelly in harm's way, no matter how much he thought otherwise, was something you didn't want to do. The comfort of his bed and body were replaced by a thin blanked and an uncomfortable dining chair.

Dozens of glass decorations were laid out all over your apartment. On every window still, next to every door… On every surface, really. You slept on the dining chair 5 yards from your front door with a pistol strapped to your back, a shotgun under the chair and a rifle wrapped around your two arms, acting as a teddy bear for every time you dozed off.

Friends from Interpol would call here and there, with nothing more than sad news.

Hank Voight was pulling out every contact from his little notebook, but not even they could solve your years long case.

You wanted to throw up.

"Hey Kev."

"What's up?"

"You still friends with that FBI agent?"

***

"Second floor clear," The grip on your radio loosened after the second you needed to inform your team about your situation had passed and you moved on upstairs. You could hear them respond in the same matter as you held your gun with both hands and carefully climbed up the stairs.

You didn't let a sound slip your lips as you trekked the stairs up to the very last floor, save for the attic. For a drug house, everything was eerily quiet. It didn't feel like someone left in a hasty hurry.

It felt like as though there was no one there in the first place.

Your need to report that to your Sergeant faded away quickly once you saw smoke. It seized your full attention within a few seconds.

Smoke grenade was your first guess. Nasty things but nothing new.

That was, until you took several steps closer and the smell of the source journeyed through your nostrils. It clicked in your head immediately. Three years of being a squad lieutenant's girlfriend can do that to you. The scent of fire is nauseating and sweet, putrid and steaky, or something like leather being tanned over a flame. The smell  of it can be so thick and rich that it's almost a taste. Kelly's words rung in your head, and  you pulled your radio to your mouth.

"Call CFD! There's a fire on the third floor!" You informed, shielding your eyes. "Stand down! I repeat –"

Things went black after those words.

***

"We have a detective trapped on the third floor," Voight informed the first responders. "That's where the fire started."

Wallace nodded, "Squad 3, take the third floor."

Unlike Wallace, who had found his source of information in Voight, Kelly Severide had found it in Jay, who stood on the street visibly stressed. "Jay where's Y/N?"

Jay frowned, "She went to scope ahead. She was on the third floor when the whole place just blew up…"

"She could be unconscious right now," Kelly muttered. "Squad 3 let's go!"

Kelly Severide was already in the burning building when Chief Boden found out just who was trapped upstairs. "Dammit."

***

"Y/N?!"

Kelly's patience was thinning by the second. Knowing that his time is limited and that the place could blow in a stronger matter at any moment, he paced toward your unconscious body expeditiously.

Noticing the angry streak of blood that came from your nose had his heart in his throat. You were twisted in a way not normal for a human body to be in, catching him off guard the moment he laid his eyes on you.

Despite all that, Kelly still swooped in to grasp your limp body in his arms.

The stress of the last few days he went through didn't come close to a match with this very moment. "I'm coming down chief!"

For a moment Wallace wanted to bark back, but he bit his tongue. Love makes people do crazy things.

He knew that better than anyone.

"Get the hoses ready!" Boden announced and turned to the Intelligence.

"She'll be okay."

***

You were okay.

Maybe even better than you thought possible.

"Kelly wake up."

You smiled cheekily at doctor Mannig, who stood by your hospital bed, waiting for Kelly to wake up with the same thin line of patience as you.

You woke him up with a slap to his shoulder.

Natalie was beaming, her eyes sparkled despite the fact that she was the doctor to the most heavily guarded patient in the whole city of Chicago. "I think congratulations are in order."

"What do you mean?"

She winked before handing you the tablet, "You're 11 weeks along Y/N. Congratulations you two."

You shook your head wildly and pressed a palm to your mouth, acting out what your defense mechanism wanted you to do. "Oh God…"

"Really?" Kelly asked next to you. He had already grabbed your hand and gripped it tightly, holding you to the ground of your new reality. "Are you for real?"

She nodded, "The tests don't lie. I'm so happy for you two."

Natalie hugged you both closely before disappearing back into the crowded ER.

"Hey," Kelly murmured, grasping your chin with his index finger and thumb. "What's wrong? You're not happy? I thought…"

You shook your head immediately, stopping him from saying something that was untrue. "No, Kelly… I'm really happy."

Two heartbeats within one body. Your body.

A child that was going to take after you and the man you loved most in this world…

You felt so incredibly lucky at that moment.

Yet so guilty.

"Our baby could've died today…"

Fresh onset of tears attacked your eyes, pushing through until the moisture was dripping down your face, and you tried to muffle the hiccups with your hands. Everything started to make sense.

"Baby you didn't know…" He tried to calm you.

You shook your head violently, dropping his attempts into the water. "I should've known better. We didn't use protection... Then I felt so sick last week."

"Y/N-"

"But I was so obsessed with Parker Torres that-" You couldn't even finish the sentence because the guilt turned into anger. "God I'm so stupid!"

"Babe, look at me," Kelly's voice hardened yet the hands with which he cupped your face were gentle and comforting. "You didn't know, so none of this is your fault. If you knowingly went in there that's when it would have been your fault."

He kissed your tears away and gave you the softest smile ever. "Do you want to have this baby with me? Because if you don't, we can…"

You stopped him with a kiss.

You were venerable in the moment of the kiss, yet you never felt more at home. In this kiss is the promise of years of love and the sweetness of life. No one mattered at that moment. Not Parker… Not anyone. Only you two and the vow you just shared.

The next few weeks will be hard, that much you knew. You were introduced to a new reality and priorities shifted. The hunt for your skeleton will continue in the hands of the people you trust most and as months go by the light will greet the darkness of your tunnel.

But the next few years, you see nothing but light and happiness.

No skeletons to torture your life, but a baby and a soulmate to make it better.

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