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terrm9 · 3 years

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Fall On Me

Words count: 4 200 Warnings: mentions of fertility issues, other than that just fluff Author’s note: This is the fic I have thought so much about. I have written something, then stopped, then written again, thought about it and considered for so long if I should post it or not. I have never been this nervous posting something, probably because there is a big part of me in it - therefore, any kind of feedback will be greatly appreciated!

After four years of dating and their first year being married, Chiara and Ethan find out that there are still surprises in store for them.

Important notes: My MC (Chiara) has been diagnosed with an immune system disorder that makes it close to impossible for her to become pregnant. It has been stated in Destination fic as well as in Already Gone series, but for those who haven’t read those, it’s important to know that so you understand the context.

There are three more important notes at the end (they would kind of ruin the experience if you read them in the beginning). PLEASE read them, especially the first one, it is really important to me.

*** *** *** ***

As Ethan stepped into his office, the sight of sleeping Chiara on a couch didn’t even surprise him. It was the fifth time in the last ten days. She would throw an apologetic smile at him along with a muttered “I just need to catch a quick break” and half an hour later, he would find her fast asleep in his office.

At this point, surprise has been replaced by worrying. Ethan knew his wife and he knew that she could go weeks without rest. This behavior was strange, to say the least.

He approached the couch and knelt next to it, gently brushing the hair off her forehead. Placing a soft kiss on it instead, he whispered: “Chiara, are you okay?”

She opened her eyes slowly at first, obviously confused about the whole situation. Realizing what was happening – again – she sat up rapidly, trying to come up with a good excuse.

“I am sorry, Ethan, I must have fallen asleep. I just wanted to sit down for a while and-“

“It’s okay,” Ethan cut her off and took a seat next to her, hugging her waist. “I’m just a little worried about your constant tiredness.”

Sighing, Chiara rubbed her eyes and leaned into his chest, shaking her head slowly.

“I am fine. It’s just… ever since we’ve gotten back from the Europe, the work has been crazy. Two weeks and I feel like I need another vacation.”

Visiting Europe has become their habit through the years. It started with a trip to Tuscany on Chiara’s third year of residency, continuing with a quick trip to France after getting engaged, honeymoon in Greece and finally this year, when they decided to spend their first wedding anniversary on a three-weeks long roadtrip through Scandinavia, finished with four days in The Basque Country, so that Chiara could pursue her dream of visiting Guernica, the village on Picasso’s painting.

Chiara was right about the work being absolutely crazy ever since they’ve gotten back and throwing a glance at the paperwork on his desk, Ethan was very well aware of the exhaustion they both felt. Still, he managed to get through his days without needing a nap.

“Let me draw your blood so that I can run some tests. Maybe it’s just iron deficiency, but I want to be sure,” Ethan murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head. “And go home to sleep.”

She turned to him, brows furrowed as she shook her head again.

“Absolutely not. I am fine, just a little weary. Just make me a cup of coffee and I’ll be fresh.”

Ethan stood up to make her the coffee, however he had no intention of letting her stay in work. He would bet that she was just ‘resting her eyes’ while he was turned to the coffee machine. As a doctor, there was one particular idea about what her exhaustion was about. Noticing such symptoms with anybody else, he would be absolutely sure. But this was Chiara he was thinking about and so he didn’t allow his mind wander into the direction it was tempted to.

“I am serious, Rookie. You are no use here, hardly keeping your eyes open. Drink the coffee, let me take your blood and go home to rest. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

She rolled her eyes and took the cup from his hands. Just as she was about to sip the coffee, she scrunched her nose in an utter disgust and looked up at him.

“Did you change the brand? This smells… ugh, I am not as demanding as you when it comes to coffee and even I can tell that this smells worse than the cafeteria coffee.”

Ethan bit his lip to hide the jitteriness overwhelming him at those words.

It was the same coffee brand they’ve been ordering for more than three years.

It was all adding up.

He shrugged as casually as he could and said: “Yeah, I tried a new roastery and it’s disappointing. Lets get you out of here, shall we?”

Chiara wanted to fight him, to stubbornly stay and prove him that she was more than capable of working, but she had to admit that she’s probably never felt as exhausted. And the vision of their king-sized bed was way too tempting.

Relucantly, she nodded and followed Ethan into an empty patient room to get her blood taken.

To say that Ethan was nervous would be an understatement. He could’ve gone home a long time ago and instead he found himself pacing back and forth in his office, waiting for a nurse to page him that Chiara’s results were ready.

Still, when his pager went off, he all but jumped on the spot.

Seven minutes later, Ethan thanked the nurse and clutched the results in his hand, fighting the urge to read them right then and there, not quite believing his own self to be able to not to break down is the results confirmed the diagnosis he suspected.

Breathing heavily as he reached his office, he sat down on the couch – the very same Chiara was sleeping on just hours ago – and with trembling hands opened the file to see the results.

His eyes widened and just then, his vision turned blurry. New lump formed in his throat and his heart kept beating as if his dear life depended on the rate it was beating. His hands trembled so hard now that the file fell on the floor.

He was right.

Ethan could feel the tears damping his cheeks and falling on the fabric of his navy blue pants and he realized that he couldn’t care less about crying while at work.

Throwing his head back, he stared at the ceiling, letting the tears fall down freely, his heartbeat slowly calming back to normal.

He knew he needed to go home and share the results with Chiara. He just didn’t know how he should do such a thing.

Chiara’s peaceful five-hours long nap has been interrupted by the sound of keys clinking in the door.

Stirring lazily in a blanket, she sat up and smiled softly as Ethan walked into the living room.

“You look exhausted. Hard day?” she asked, patting the seat next to her. “Come here.”

Ethan slumped down on the couch next to her and kissed her cheek instead of answering, his mind a battlefield of ideas on how to tell Chiara. As a doctor, he knew that he needed to be honest and straightforward. As a husband, he didn’t feel comfortable throwing such a bomb into her face as if she was simply a patient.

Noticing how lost in his head Ethan was, Chiara grew concerned.

“Did something happen, Ethan?”

He blurted his next words out before he gave any of his battling ideas a chance to win.

“I’ve got your test results.”

“Am I dying?” Chiara laughed, putting her hand on his bouncing knee to calm him down. After Ethan refused to look back at her, she sensed that something was indeed wrong. “Oh, I am dying, aren’t I?”

Chuckling, Ethan finally turned to look at her and kisser her temple. “You are not dying.”

“But?” Chiara raised her eyebrow while Ethan took the hand on his knee into his own, stroking Chiara’s knuckles softly with his thumb.

Taking a deep breath, he stuttered: “I… we… you are pregnant, Chiara.”

Chiara’s face grew paler than he’s ever seen it and there were big drops of cold sweat on her forehead. Ethan squeezed her hand to stop it from shaking, but with no success.

At last, Chiara let out a choked whisper.

“What kind of sick joke is this?”

For a second, Ethan almost felt offended by her accusation, as if she didn’t know him, as if she didn’t know that he would never joke about such a thing. Then, however, he recalled his own reaction when he found out just an hour and half before and could understand the Chiara’s one.

Instead of another word, Ethan reached down to grab his bag from the floor and pulled Chiara’s file out. Handing it to her, he made sure to point his finger at the row that indicated the elevated level of hCG in her blood.

Her eyes widened as she recognized what he was showing her and she gasped audibly, looking up at Ethan and down on her own file, back and forth until she found her lost voice.

“But… how? That’s impossible.”

“Nobody has ever said that it was impossible, only that your chances were extremely low, close to none.”

Chiara started to reminisce the last days, trying to connect the dots now that she knew the result.

The extreme fatigue, waves of nausea here and there, those could easily be read as literally anything else. She missed her period, but her cycle has never been regular, so she hardly considered it anyhow important, especially knowing that travelling has always made things even more irregular for her.

“Did you know?” she whispered as she turned to Ethan, who was staring at her intensively.

“I didn’t know. I became suspicious few days back, when you wouldn’t let me go anywhere near your chest,” he grinned. “Together with the exhaustion, the possibility of pregnancy found its way into my mind, but I didn’t even want to think about it, knowing how very unlikely it was. It was your disgust with the coffee today that made me almost sure that you were, in fact, pregnant.”

Chiara stared at the results again, not quite absorbing what they were saying. For almost six years, she believed she could never be pregnant.

“You need to see your gynecologist tomorrow, of course,” Ethan cut the silence again. “But as Dr. Ramsey, I can say for sure that you are pregnant.”

He scooped her into his arms so that she would sit on his lap and hugged her shocked form tightly. Chiara’s lips were still slightly parted and she was blinking just a little bit faster than usually as his words – and their new reality – sank in.

When it finally did, she wasn’t able to contain the emotions any longer.

First sob escaped her mouth, followed by another and so much more, accompanied by huge tears falling from her eyes.

Ethan gently pulled her head closer so that she was resting it against his chest and peppered her hair with soft kisses. Even though his share of tears has already been shed in a privacy of his office, feeling Chiara’s shaking body as she cried all those happy, surprised tears, he couldn’t help but cry along quietly with her.

“I am going to ruin your shirt,” Chiara mumbled against his white Oxford, noticing how her mascara stained it.

Ethan let out a quick laugh, his voice thick with emotions as he replied: “I couldn’t care less.”

After what could have been minutes or hours, they breaths steadied, however their positions haven’t changed at all.

They were both quiet for a long time and one could say that they were lost in their own thoughts when really, they were both lost in the very same thought.

Parents. They would become parents.

They talked about adoption on a regular basis at this point, both open to the idea that two or three years from now, they would go for it, that they would become parents to a kid that was left alone.

But those were talks about future. Hypothetical.

This was real. In less than a year, they would be parents to their very own newborn.

“Are you happy?” Chiara whispered, looking up at him with a gentle smile on her lips.

Ethan kissed her forehead before responding.

“I can’t imagine being happier.”

Biting her lower lip, Chiara asked again: “Are you also a little bit…scared? Because I am.”

Laughing loudly at the adorable confession, Ethan nodded: “God, I am terrified. Being a father, that brings so many possibilities to screw it up.”

Chiara cupped his cheeks and pulled him down for a kiss, their first real, deep kiss that day and as his tender lips moved over hers, she knew that there would be no better father for her child than Ethan Ramsey.

One of the perks of being in her sixth month of pregnancy was the fact that her belly could easily serve as a tiny tea table. Right now, a large bowl of popcorn was sitting on her rounded torso as she was sitting on Bryce’s couch.

“The poor kid,” Bryce muttered as he noticed.

It was another Bryce & Chiara movies Wednesday, a habit that started even before Chiara and Ethan got together and carried on through the years.

With her third trimester slowly approaching, Chiara has been even more insistent on attending those, knowing that once she would give birth, they wouldn’t be able to watch a whole movie in one sitting.

“How is Ramsey? I haven’t seen him in the hospital this week,” Bryce asked as he put a glass of water in front of Chiara and played with a remote control to find the movie on Netflix.

“He’s busy with paperwork, so he mostly stays in his office these days,” Chiara explained. “Other than that, he has read two books about child’s development this week, so I guess everything’s as usual.”

Bryce laughed loudly and just before he pushed the ‘play’ button, he turned to Chiara: “Do you remember when you told me about not being able to have kids all those years ago?”

Chiara nodded, that day somehow still fresh in her mind.

“I told you back then, that you only had to find someone whose sperms will be stubborn enough to beat your own stubborn immune system, remember? Well, I was damn right,” he grinned smugly, earning a popcorn thrown into his head from Chiara.

On the other side of Boston, Ethan and Naveen just finished their meals and moved into the living room, glasses of scotch in their hands.

A comfortable silence accompanied them, their talks about work already finished.

Taking a few gulps of his drink, Ethan leaned into a couch with a soft smile on his lips.

“It’s going to be a girl,” he let out finally, his soft smile soon turning into a wide, happy one.

They only found out yesterday. Ever since beginning of the pregnancy, they couldn’t decide whether they wanted to know the gender of the baby or not. After long discussions – and Sienna’s suggestion that they should do a blood tests that would reveal the gender, give the results to her without looking at them so that she could organize a baby gender reveal party – they came to the agreement that they would only find out if the ultrasound would show it. And yesterday, in Chiara’s 25th week of pregnancy, the doctor informed them that their ‘princess’ is growing beautifully.

Neither Chiara nor Ethan wanted any kind of baby party organized – much to Sienna’s disappointment. This pregnancy – most likely the only one they would ever get to experience – has been such precious, sacred thing to them that they tried to keep everything as private as possible. They found joy in their bubble of emotions only two people who never believed would be this lucky could feel.

“A girl!” Naveen clasped his hands together and beamed even brighter than Ethan. “A granddaughter!”

Ethan nodded, the warmth in his chest expanding even more at Naveen’s words.

“Have you decided on a name yet?” he asked, his curious nature not letting him keep the question to himself.

Shaking his head this time, Ethan said: “Since the beginning, we’ve known that if it was a boy, he would be named Dorian after Chiara’s father. There have been some ideas about girls name, but nothing seemed right so far.”

The first idea they both had was Dolores. It came naturally to Ethan, knowing that she named her son after him and that his friend’s name deserved to be celebrated. Still, he didn’t want to be reminded of the tragedy every time he would talk to his daughter. Chiara has been very supportive about the name Dolores, knowing better than anyone what it felt like to want to name her child after someone important to her. But she never insisted. She could tell that simply thinking about Dolores Hudson made Ethan’s heart ache and she would never push the name on him.

“You seem lost in your thoughts,” Naveen commented. “Are you worried that your daughter will inherit your insufferable stubbornness?”

Ethan laughed at that, raising an eyebrow at his mentor and his friend.

“As if you didn’t know Chiara. The kid is going to be insufferably stubborn no matter who she takes after.”

The truth was, he did wish their daughter would take after Chiara. The idea of raising his own little self terrified him more than he would ever admit and on the other hand, the idea of having someone else as bright as Chiara in his life made his heart happy.

“Well, no matter who she takes after, it’s safe to say that she will be a strong girl,” Naveen smiled, raising his glass. “Beating all those odds and finding her way into your life, she is already a bigger rebel than any of us. She will be a warrior and a mighty one, I am telling you.”

When Chiara returned home, she found Ethan deep in a research on his laptop.

He registered her presence only when she sat down next to him, taking a glance on the screen only to find yet another study about children.

“Hey,” he kissed her cheek and closed the laptop. “Did you have a good time?”

She laid down, putting her head into his lap. “The movie was terrible. I could feel my braincells leave my body. Other than that, yeah, it’s been great. Bryce is so excited about being an uncle to the ‘little queenie’. He said, to quote him, that he will make sure she sees him as an example of how gentlemen should treat their ladies, so that when she is dating she doesn’t settle for anything less than what she deserves.”

“That’s really… nice of him. Thoughtful,” Ethan nodded; however, his furrowed brows didn’t quite match the words. “I don’t think we need to talk about dating just yet, though.”

Of course he will be that kind of a father, Chiara thought, laughing.

“What were you reading about?” she decided to change the topic.

“Oh, I’ve been looking up baby carriers online and so I decided to read some articles and studies about them.”

“Baby carriers, huh? I never took you for someone who would want that.”

Ethan shrugged, fighting the temptation to read her all those articles. Instead, he went with simply pointing some interesting information.

“It helps to build a healthy attachment between a child and their parent. You know, you are carrying her in your body for nine months, you have a possibility of breastfeeding, you two are naturally connected. As a father, I would like to… increase my chances of bonding with my child properly,” he swallowed harder that he wanted, hoping that Chiara didn’t notice just how nervous about this whole attachment thing he’s become.

He was so excited to meet their daughter, to hold her in his arms, it sometimes surprised even him.

But there was another part of him. The one that constantly doubted his ability to be a good father. For such a long time he didn’t believe that he could ever find himself in the role of a parent and he got used to the idea, no matter how painful. He used to remind himself that it would be for the best if he never had them, that as a man unworthy of his mother’s love, he wouldn’t know how to be the parent his children deserved.

Everything has changed with Chiara in his life and now he was about to become a father. And he was scared that it would be the one task he would fail. He tried his best to be prepared – reading books and studies and articles, watching videos on how to bath a newborn and taking notes about how many layers of clothing was suitable for various temperatures. He made arrangements with Naveen and his team so that everyone knew that he would be stepping down as a head of diagnostics once the baby is born, with Aurora becoming the director of the team.

For more than fifteen years, he’s been building his career and he’s been proud of what he achieved. But there was no feeling connected with his career that would make him as proud as the idea of being a decent father.

“According to these studies, the position they are in while in a carrier helps the newborns with their colics and also there are children that don’t like being in a stroller and the carrier helps them to fall asleep.”

Chiara nodded, noticing absolutely clearly how nervous and overwhelmed Ethan was. She also knew why, even though he would never share his concerns with her.

“I kind of believe that. When I was born, I was the perfect baby. You know, the kid that everyone envied when my parents talked about me. I slept most of the day and then the whole night, I never cried, I smiled at everyone. My parents would joke that sometimes they forgot they had me. And Liam was very similar from what I can remember – and what my mother told me. He was such a cutie and even if he couldn’t fall asleep or calm down, a little bit of bouncing in a stroller and he would be fine,” she laughed softly as she was reaching the end – and the point – of her monologue. “My parents were so proud. They always said that they could only create the good sleepers that never cry. Probably encouraged by the belief, they decided to have a third child and God, Alicia was such a difficult baby. She would always cry and never sleep. The only thing that calmed her down enough to sleep was when someone carried her in their arms and walked around the house – so that’s what my parents did. All the time. Sometimes, when they’ve gotten too tired or needed to do something, they would put her into my arms – let me remind you that I was seven – and I would be in charge of walking around the house. I bet they would appreciate the baby carrier back then.”

Ethan chuckled softly while stroking Chiara’s wild hair and after a while decided to tell her the real reason he even browsed the internet this evening.

“I might have found a name.”

After Naveen left, something he’s said resonated with Ethan.

‘She will be a warrior and a mighty one.’

Ethan never cared about meanings of names, he didn’t even know the meaning of his own name until this evening. And yet, despite his best principles, he decided to search girls names that meant warrior or ‘strong, mighty’.

And he found it.

Mighty in battle.

It clicked.

“What name do you have in mind?” Chiara asked.

“Matilda.”

Chiara didn’t even try to suppress her surprise, expecting anything but Matilda. What surprised her even more, she loved it on the first hearing. It indeed was the one.

“I have also thought about the name a little bit,” she admitted. “I found one that I would love to be a second name for her.”

Nodding, Ethan encouraged her to spill it.

“Nekane.”

“Nekane? I have never heard of it.”

“It would be surprising if you did,” Chiara smirked. “It’s the Basque form for Dolores. And you know, since now we know for sure that our daughter has been conceived in Spain, I think it would be rather fitting. It would still carry the honor of Dolores, just in a different form.”

Matilda Nekane Ramsey.

They both loved the sound of that.

It sounded like their daughter.

After sharing another silent moment full of love, peace and understanding, Chiara decided to go to bed and Ethan promised to follow her as soon as he’d finish the study.

When Ethan stepped into their bedroom, Chiara was already asleep, lying on her right side. Climbing to the bed, he laid down on his left side so that he could face her. Suddenly, not knowing how the idea has gotten into him, he was shifting down slightly until he reached her round stomach.

Moving the fabric of her cotton shirt higher, he put his hand over her belly and did something he had never done before.

“Hello, Matilda,” he whispered nervously. “This is Ethan speaking. Your father. Or your dad, as you will probably call me. We have never really talked before but the annoying knocking you hear sometimes, that’s me stroking your mom’s bump.”

He paused for a while, composing his thoughts.

“I am sincerely scared about how this whole father thing is going to work for me, but I promise you as I am trying and I will by trying for the rest of my life. I have done a lot of bad things in my life, Matilda and I can’t take them back. They are part of who I am. But looking at your mother and thinking about you makes me realize that both of you are part of who I am too. And I don’t know in which point of my life the universe decided that I have shared enough kindness to earn your presence but I must have done something right to deserve you in my life, right?”

Kissing the skin of Chiara’s stomach, he added: “I just really hope you inherit your mother’s patience and kindness so that you will forgive me every time I fuck things up.”

Biting his lip, he grinned to himself before saying one last thing to his Matilda.

“Please don’t tell your mom I said ‘fuck’, she would be furious.”

*** *** ***

1) as someone who is mother herself, I realize that topics of pregnancy, infertility issues, children in general are extremely sensitive - in this particular fanfiction, Chiara has gotten pregnant against the odds while on vacation. PLEASE note that I, by no means, am trying to say that if you are suffering from fertility issues, taking a vacation/reducing stress/changing the environment would definitely help you. There are some cases /that I know of/ in which it did help, however I would never dare to say that it’s the solution. I just need to make sure that I acknowledge how difficult and sensitive the topic is.

2) I really, really wanted to write a pregnancy fic, I had this idea in my head for very, very long time. However, I also absolutely love the idea of Ethan and Chiara adopting a child (I think especially Ethan would be fond of it, since he knows what it feels like to grow up without a parent) and so here is a little HC for after this story - Matilda is indeed the ‘miracle’ and their only biological child and when she is around six years old, Ethan and Chiara decide to adopt ophraned twin girls Luna and Siria. Purposefully girls, because I can see Ethan not trusting women after his mother leaves him and feeling like no woman could ever love him truly and boom suddenly there are four women in his life that love him more than life itself and he is proven wrong every day.

3) the story about the name Matilda is so funny/tragic that I have to write about it - I love the name, always loved and believed that I would name my daughter Matilda one day. My man hates the name so it’s off the table and I always knew that little Ramsey would be named Matilda to pursue my dream at least fictionally. When I was looking for some photos at David Gandy’s IG, I found out that his very own daughter is named Matilda. Whoa. Then, I was on a search for a faceclaim for Chiara and boom - the girl is named Matilda. Ooops. And only when this fic was finished and I googled the name Matilda for some reason, I found out that there is kinda popular person named Matilda Ramsay and I was just like okay screw this. But I couldn’t bring myself to change the name, so here it is. Sorry not sorry.

Taglist: @takemyopenheart @maurine07 @senseofduties @mercury84choices @flightlessbirdiee @udishaman @honeyandsunfl0wers @ohchoices @adrex04 @queencarb @archxxronrookie @choicesfan10 @whatchique @drariellevalentine @gryffindordaughterofathena @mvalentine @doilooklikeiknow @custaroonie @secretwolfdreamertree @jamespotterthefirst

#also I could've named the fic COUCH #since 90% of the story happens on some #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfiction

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dorminchu · 3 years

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Insult to Injury: The Director's Cut — Chapter 01

Note: All right, it's been a hot minute since I uploaded anything substantial in regard to this fic. So I'm going to try something a bit risky! I've archived Insult to Injury as you all know it, with the exception of a few errant reblogs outside of my control. But that's neither here nor there; I am very excited to present to all of you all the definitive version of this fic — the Director's Cut, if you will. ;)

Fandom: James Bond Characters: Madeleine Swann, Lyutsifer Safin, various OC(s) Relationships: Madeleine & OC(s) Warnings: Strong language, intense scenes of violence, general cynicism. Rating: M Genre: Crime/Drama Summary: A troubled psychologist desperate to escape her past criminal ties finds herself drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall]

[Ao3 | FFNet]

— ACT I —

“Everything which is done in the present, affects the future by consequence, and the past by redemption.” — Paulo Coelho

— Episode I: A THOUSAND DETAILS —

In the sterile comfort of her office, Dr Madeleine Swann stared blankly at her computer monitor. The notification that her application as a psychologist consultant with the Médecins Sans Frontières had been sent six days prior blurred with lack of focus. The location of the mission in question was Conakry, Guinea. Her contract duration would last from the start of May to the end of August; just shy of two months away from now. There was an additional caveat:

All non-ECOWAS foreigners are required to have a valid Guinean visa and a vaccination card in order to be granted entry. Yellow fever vaccination cards are verified upon entry into the country at Gbessia.

Approval for the visa necessitated a seventy-two-hour window of clearance. And it would be at least four weeks until she heard back from the Human Resources Office—up to six if she were unlucky. She sat erect and the movement alone was enough to incite a sharp stab of pain into the back of her head. Through the window the sun cast a reddish glare, obfuscating the monitor and warming the nape of her neck. She shoved her face into the heels of her palms while the pressure in her skull abated to a dull throbbing.

Usually she made a habit of drawing the blinds. There were already enough odd complaints about her office being too cold and sterile passed along by the secretary. It had been a stressful enough week that Madeleine saw no reason to keep the shutters closed, so her clients might have something else to focus on besides four polished wooden walls and the analog clock.

What came off to most outsiders as a cool and direct manner of conduct was simply pragmatism. She had a laptop computer used primarily for sending emails. She recorded the bulk of her notes on patients by-hand and revised by means of portable recorder. She kept no photographs in her home nor office. The casual anecdotes she provided to her colleagues were ostensibly as droll as her taste in décor; though her efforts to blend in had largely gone unappreciated.

There wasn’t anything else immediate to review for tonight. She wished a curt good-night to the secretary before donning her coat and exiting into the crisp evening air.

⁂

It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the clinic to the flat. Above her head the clouds hung grey and pregnant with snow. By the time she had ascended the staircase and opened the door to her apartment her fingers prickled. Numbness seeped into her skin. She’d never much cared for the colder seasons.

“You’re back early,” said Arnaud—a fellow Sociology major from her college days. After graduating from Oxford, Madeleine had taken his offer to return to Paris and transfer over to the 8tharrondissement with the understanding that they would be rooming together. Her colleagues back then often referred to them as friends-with-benefits as Madeleine had showed little interest in dating before. After three years of cohabitation, her co-workers at the office wondered how she and Arnaud remained so cordial while balancing their careers and relationship.

“Yes.” Madeleine hung up her coat, noting that he had not yet changed out of his own. “I submitted my request with the MSF a week ago. If I am accepted I’ll be working as a psychologist consultant. In that case, I’ll be out of the country until August at least.”

“Well, you’ve never landed a position that didn’t suit you.” Madeleine smiled politely. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks.” She looked away from him towards the window. “You could open the blinds. It's very bright in here with the lights on.”

“There’s hardly much to look at when the sun is in your eyes. Isn’t that what you say?”

For the most part, Arnaud was easy to live with. Neither of them required financial support and he was of equitable social standing. Her relentless volunteer work did not always lend much time to get to know his inner mind. “It’s late. Are you going out again?”

“No, I got back first. And it’s fortunate. You looked awfully cold when you came in.”

“I can hardly control the weather. And you needn’t worry, I always carry a key on me.”

“Madeleine, we live together. It wouldn’t be right to avoid you. But you know, if I were going out to an unscrupulous club it would make for a pretty good story.”

“Hm.”

“And knowing you,” Arnaud continued, “you probably won’t be going out drinking. The sunrise disturbs you in the mornings, and you woke up before I did, at seven. I assume you’ve been busy all day. In just a few weeks you’ll be working that much harder. You ought to get some rest while you can.”

“So,” a little cooler, “you’ll be another mission?”

“Most likely.”

“All these countries must seem the same after a while.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. When was the last time you volunteered out of the country? 2011?”

Arnaud laughed. “Jesus, this isn’t a competition.”

“But it’ll give you something to talk about to your friends while I am away.”

Arnaud said nothing. Madeleine frowned. She went into the other room and began to change. He could not approach her in the same casual manner as his peers, nor dissect her outright. His life was one of prestige as well as privilege, and Madeleine could not foster any underlying resentment towards him for acting in his nature. The silence held, strained. Then Arnaud said:

“It’s always been important to you. That’s what should matter.”

⁂

In two weeks’ time she got a response from the HRO; the initial interview was scheduled shortly thereafter. By the middle of April she was making preparations to depart. Thanks to Arnaud’s tactic of avoidance she had little reason to tell him the details. No one would know where she was headed unless they broke inside her laptop and hunted through her mail. The situation in Guinea had kicked into mainstream awareness back in February for a week or so before gradually sinking back into obscurity.

Reports from several news outlets cited the emergence of an outbreak primarily affecting South Africa. Originating inland, a mysterious illness that revealed itself first with fever and spells of vomiting, then gradually ate away at the flesh of those afflicted and bore their bones and muscle, vulnerable to further rot. More emboldened journalists had taken to calling it the Red Death on account of this. Neither a cure nor a place or origin had been discovered.

The situation had not improved in the last two months so much as stabilised. Madeleine had been assured several times over email and electronic conference that those working in the field had already taken precautions, and she’d be instructed further on what to do upon her arrival. She was issued a few pamphlets and strongly advised to vaccinate before boarding the flight. Which she had done, but it was very kind of them to remind her.

In spite of Arnaud’s apparent disinterest, his last words to her before she departed had been: “Last year it was four missions. I'd never seen you so tired. I wish I knew what you’re trying to prove.”

After managing to get some sleep on the plane she touched down Conakry International Airport around mid-morning and contacted the Project Coordinator; a shorter man in his mid-forties with a photogenic smile and toupee. He clasped her hand in both of his clammy ones and said: “Very glad you've made it, Doctor. We need you on-site in twenty minutes. Make sure you are ready.” Her luggage was dropped off on the second floor of the Grand Hotel de L’independence, where she and the other MSF members would be rooming. The staff were polite enough, though their attention was fixed on the Project Coordinator.

Her room was spare and a little dingy, and the only means of fresh air came from opening the window and polluting the room with outside noise, but it was at least reasonably clean. A fine sheen of sweat was building on her skin. No reason to delay the inevitable.

Upon reaching Donka Hospital she met up with the rest of the team, most notably the Medical Coordinator, and the Psychosocial Unit. It soon became apparent that there were still not enough medical doctors to handle the influx of infected. An isolation ward had been established before the MSF’s involvement, but they were reportedly at full capacity; the workers in there were clad in full-body personal protective equipment. Another section of the grounds had been set aside and fenced off; rows of tents all lined up, reminding Madeleine distantly of a prisoner’s accommodations. No matter where you went the stench of rot always seemed to hang pervasively in the air.

She was paired off with another psychologist by the name of John Herrmann; American, around her age. He was of a friendlier disposition than she was used to, introducing her semi-formally to the rest of the group before adding:

“So, one thing you should know now, we’ve been having problems with the electricity on site as well as the hotel. There’s no running water either.”

“This isn’t my first mission with MSF. And I lived out in the countryside when I was small. I know how to look after myself.”

Herrmann smiled. “That’s fair.” He scratched his neck. “The mosquitoes are worse. Bug nets won’t help worth a damn. Make sure you close your windows at night, I had to learn that the hard way.”

“I see.” The humidity combined with the smell off-road were already becoming intolerable. But she did not want to appear so snobbish or weak in front of someone she would be monitoring for the next three months. “I won’t go any easier on you just because you are unaccustomed to the environment.”

“See ,that’s the kind of attitude we need around here!” He clapped a hand on her back; Madeleine regarded him levelly until he relented. “Good to have you on the team.”

The other members on the Psychosocial Unit were as amicable with Madeleine as the situation permitted. None of them got on her nerves as much as Herrmann. His enthusiasm was never to the point of seeming false or obsequious, but he remained just enough of a go-getter to piss her off. After a week of monitoring them she came away with the impression that Herrmann was genuine. He had been consistently genial with the clientele and hospital staff alike, no matter the severity of their condition. She saw no reason to socialise with him outright. The most he ever noted about her mood was: “You’re pretty reticent for a psychologist consultant.”

“I’m here to do my job. That’s all.”

Herrmann shrugged. “I can respect that. We all deal with the situation in our own ways.” He paused. “I can see why the Project Coordinator wanted you. You’re handling this situation a lot better than I would have.”

“Thank you.”

“The workload must be insane compared to what you’re normally used to. I know it took me time to adjust—" he stopped as Madeleine threw him a look of confusion “—what is it?”

“Back home, I am usually referred to as what one would call a workaholic. Or didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Oh, hey, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No offence taken.”

The higher temperature was not so bad as the humidity that slapped her in the face whenever stepping outside—according to the forecasts, it was only going to get worse within the coming months. There was no manner of ventilation or air-conditioning in the hotel so often times she had to draw the curtains and keep her hair back. She resigned herself by reminding herself that it was better than sleeping in a tent.

There wasn’t much time to be hung-up on much else besides her assignment. The members of the Psychosocial Unit all looked good on paper, but they betrayed their inexperience through a shared level of idealism towards the mission that Madeleine deemed ill-fated. She did not blame them. Young, perhaps fresh out of school, looking to make a difference in the world without truly anticipating the gravity of the situation. Their time spent observing the crises of the rest of the world through the lens of journalism and outside empathy could not compare with the experience of actually sitting down and listening to the stuff their patients talked of with prosaic seriousness.

It often sounded outrageous when Madeleine played back the recordings, taking down notes in the quiet, stuffy hotel room. Mortality was an expected outcome, and the implication of negligence by their government a common topic of discussion among patients. Most conversations were conducted in French or else by way of an interpreter, though the antagonism in the voices of these patients needed no translation.

There was a growing disparity between the narrative put into circulation by the news and what was happening in the field. According to several members of the MSF and the staff at Donka, the media blew the problem out of proportion. The people whose condition had kicked off the “Red Death” story had been subjected to long-term exposure. Most of the patients that came through were not in that same condition, but it created an illusion of immediacy that incited concern in the public eye and a need for donations. Government officials wanted to cover up the severity of the situation as not to detract from any potential business opportunities; until the MSF got involved, they were only employing the most rudimentary of safety procedures.

This latter revelation had shaken up the Psychosocial Unit considerably; Dr Herrmann had lost his patience with the Medical Coordinator. To this end, he’d apologised profusely to Madeleine afterwards though she would hear none of it. Whatever he felt about the situation was not necessarily invalid, but out of consideration for their patients, he would not bring it up again.

Herrmann never held it against her. So Madeleine busied herself in her own work. Whatever quiet camaraderie forged between the other MSF members was not her business. When pressed for advice, she would talk calmly, carefully with the rest of the team about what would be optimal but never overreach. In the sweltering nights and throughout the early morning, Madeleine would pore over her notes, listening to the passing automobiles and indistinct conversation carried over by civilians.

⁂

June crawled by. Currently the MSF were in the process of dealing with a new influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs) from the surrounding prefectures and villages, all of whom had to be tested and separated from those not stricken with disease. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff and Medical Unit, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the start of the year.

The atmosphere within the hospital was not improving. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients. Allegedly there had been several attacks on neighbouring villages; a consequence of the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force Sécurité/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of Kerberos, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.

Their Project Coordinator called them all in for the sake of reviewing protocol in the event of an attack. Outright criticism of the government’s method in handling the situation was discouraged. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, she presumed they were either too naïve or willing to look the other way.

The only exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Francis Kessler; a stoic older man with thinning hair and glasses. He and Madeleine had cooperated a handful of times beforehand, at the discreet behest of the Medical Coordinator. Madeleine had found nothing wrong with his conduct. A diligent worker, he acknowledged her judgement fairly but did not overextend his gratitude. Outside of his work he was straight-laced and reserved and wouldn’t be seen socialising with any of the younger MSF who all talked about him as though he were some out-of-touch stick-in-the-mud. As the situation in the hospital became more dire he would stay behind on-site, late into the evening. Whenever they had a break, he would disappear on calls. Once he came back late by only a few minutes and apologised to Madeleine.

“I was supposed to be sent home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.” He did not sit down, his attention turned towards the path back to the infected ward. “It’s madness. We’ve already waited until things are too severe to think of bringing in a proper security detail—who the hell does the Project Coordinator think we’re fooling?” Madeleine ignored him. “Dr Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me you’ve been involved in volunteer work for a while.”

“Five years, as of March.”

“Perhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.”

“I’m flattered. But it’s fortunate that I was not selected for my personal opinion.”

Kessler chuckled. “You’ll go far.”

Madeleine had no interest in pursuing this topic any further. “Who were you speaking to?” He froze up, didn’t answer immediately. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But you leave often enough on calls, and it appears to be taking a toll on you.”

Comprehension dawned on his face, his shoulders relaxed. “Just my wife. This past month has been no easier on her. But I find that it can help somewhat, just talking to someone outside of this element.” Madeleine nodded stoically. “I’ve never seen you contact anyone outside of your unit.” Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she wish to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect as she could in the clinic back home, and Kessler seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response.

“I’m living with a friend. We graduated from college together.”

“And you keep in touch while you are abroad?”

“He tends to lead his own life while I am away.”

“That’s a great deal to ask of someone.” Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. This was not a man that emoted often; now the thin mouth was set, and the eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. “Few women your age would devote themselves to a thankless vocation as this. Not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you want to settle down.”

Madeleine’s smile did not touch her eyes. She hadn’t even mentioned the nature of her relationship to Arnaud. “We have an understanding, that’s all. Besides, I don’t bother him about his social life.”

Kessler shook his head. In a few minutes they were back to work as usual. By the end of the day, Madeleine resolved to let him dig his own social grave without further interference.

By the time July rolled around Madeleine found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unit’s personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a total lack of progress.

She left the window to her hotel room cracked most nights, afraid to open it completely. Alone with her own mind and the recorder. The conversations now circled back readily to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from looming insurrection.

Madeleine stopped the recording. She checked the time and cursed under her breath. Just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. A month and a half from now she would be on a flight back to Paris. Her mind wouldn't settle on either direction.

Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Francis Kessler. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, but as Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:

“…I’ve been saying it for weeks, and they dismiss me every time. These wounds are the result of prolonged exposure from chemicals. We’ve seen evidence of IDPs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the PMCs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the Project Coordinator refuses to bring this up? We’re putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we don’t know if we need—and even so, it won’t be ready for another week. There’s not enough time to justify keeping silent….”

Madeleine closed the window carefully. She’d never been one to intrude on family matters.

⁂

When Madeleine exited her room the next morning, she found the Project Coordinator waiting for her in the hallway, along with the head of security from Kerberos and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.

The vaccines had arrived earlier than anticipated, around three or four in the morning. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if all had been accounted for and subsequently realised it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of Kerberos the losses were minimal. Several doctors had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. Others, such as Drs Kessler and Herrmann, had been less fortunate.

Now there was additional pressure from the hospital doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining vaccines would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack, but as a failed interception of an attack by local terrorists, stopped by the FSPs.

“Dr Swann.” The head of security, Lucifer Safin, gave Madeleine pause. His accent would presume a Czech or Russian background but his complexion and eye colour invited room for ambiguity. The MSF on staff commonly referred to him by surname; perhaps Lucifer was simply an alias. What set him apart was his face. Gruesomely scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw, though the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. In spite of the weather, Madeleine had never seen him without gloves. “I understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr Kessler?”

His manner wasn’t explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-water—met only with your reflection.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, “but that was nearly five days ago.”

“You were instructed to monitor him during that period by the Medical Coordinator?”

“That’s correct.”

Safin glanced at the Project Coordinator. “I’ll speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

Safin nodded. They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct. He had a rifle strapped to his side. Madeleine tried to avoid concentrating on it. Her attention went to the window. She'd forgotten to lock it.

“Dr Swann.” The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, it was more as if his very face were made of porcelain and had suffered a nasty blow, then glued together again. “What was the extent of your relationship to Dr Kessler?”

“I did not work with him often. We talked once or twice but that was all. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit. From what I could tell, he never made an effort to befriend anyone.”

“But you were asked to monitor Dr Kessler.”

“I was requested to do so on behalf of the Medical Coordinator. There were concerns that Dr Kessler was somehow unqualified to continue his work. In observing him, I had no reason to suspect he was unfit for the position psychologically.” Safin said nothing. “The only issue I could see worth disqualifying him for, was that Kessler and the Project Coordinator had very differing views on protocol.”

“He spoke to you about his views?”

“He expressed to me once, in confidence, that he did not understand the Project Coordinator’s hesitance to bring in a security detail.” Safin’s attention on her became sharper. “He also told me he’d elected to continue volunteering here past his contract duration, just to ensure the operation was successful. That was my only conversation with him outside of a work-related context. You would be better off asking the other doctors about this.”

“We have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de L’independence. At around one in the morning, Dr Kessler exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. Then, a minute later, you were at your window.”

“Oh, yes. I have been forgetting to close it. With so many longer days, it can be difficult to remember these things.”

“Your room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.”

“I was reviewing my notes from that day’s session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me from my work, so I got up and closed the window.”

“Do you commonly review your notes in the early hours of the morning with an unlocked window?”

“I just wanted some quiet. I leave the windows open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh as well as humidity.”

Safin’s expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. This was not a man you wanted to be on opposing sides with. Madeleine kept any apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.

“Look. Without information about Dr Kessler’s lifestyle outside of the MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. I was assigned to survey him. He showed no signs of dereliction in his work, and to my knowledge kept his personal views separate from his work. Whatever he said to me during outside hours was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor immediately.”

Safin held her gaze. She did not dare avert her face. Then he said: “Thank you for your cooperation. The Project Coordinator is waiting for you downstairs.”

The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Unit was cut down from four members to three. Another inconsequential day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That night Madeleine laid back on her bed and watched the shadows on the ceiling stretch over peeling paint until daybreak.

When she’d arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. As long as you are here, you are just Dr Swann the psychologist consultant. Your father is many miles away and he won’t contact you again. No one else will come looking for you in a place like this.

With a guy like Safin around she was undoubtedly safer than she would have been with the FSPs alone.

Safer, but no longer invisible.

⁂

July brought hotter weather and brittle peace—the vaccines had finally arrived. The wing of the hospital that had suffered the terrorist attack was still closed and they had lost several more staff members wounded in the initial attack. Madeleine and the remaining MSF were encouraged by the Project Coordinator to take earlier shifts. Progress remained steady but there was no clear resolution in sight. The stench of rot imprinted into Madeleine’s senses to the point where she no longer consciously registered her own nausea. Discontent among the staff continued to bubble under the surface on account of the closed wing and bad press.

It couldn't last forever.

A week away from August. Just another humid morning at six AM. Madeleine rose and prepared herself mentally for the day ahead. Stress kept her mind working late into the night, but her position with the Psychosocial Unit barred her from working overtime in the hospital. She was overwhelmed with keeping up the pace, not yet to the point of exhaustion.

There was an inordinate of activity on the road outside as she got dressed and left the room. She put it out of her mind.

Outside the hotel she met up with the Medical Coordinator and a few members of the Logistics Unit. They spent about ten minutes standing idle in the humid air, too weary to speak. The streets were usually empty this time of day.

An unremarkable black Jeep pulled up. The Medical Coordinator opened the door and was about to step into the car when it happened. The Medical Coordinator’s head burst over the interior of the vehicle and Madeleine. The body slumped like a doll to the dirt. Madeleine wanted to scream but could not. She turned and found herself facing down the barrel of a rifle.

Around a dozen men with guns, sans insignia, circled them. The man who had fired addressed her harshly in French: “Where are the rest of the MSF? Why are they not at the hospital?”

“I don’t understand.” Madeleine could see another group of men approaching from the rear. A massacre, onset.

“We’ve been waiting for months for a solution, and you have been injecting us with a useless vaccine.” He aimed right at her sternum. “Your doctors gave them all false hope for months. Now the MSF have abandoned you.”

“You have been protecting them!” the insurgent roared, levelling his weapon. “All this time! You knew why they were here, and you allowed them to experiment on our families like dogs!”

The man at his left turned and fired. The insurgent fell dead. “That’s enough.” One of the men from Kerberos in plainclothes. A dozen more in military gear materialised as if from nowhere. “There is no need for additional bloodshed,” said the plainclothes. “Release them now or you will be shot.”

All around her at once, gunfire. Madeleine didn't wait to see who had fired first. She prostrated herself, hands clasped over her neck, breath clogged in her throat.

All sound ceased. Her head continued to ring. Her eyes were open but she did not process the colour staining her skin, on her clothes, the smell of it. She hadn’t been shot. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

Heavy footsteps approaching. She closed her eyes awaiting the kiss of metal at her temple.

“Dr Swann.” Madeleine shrunk away instinctively from the gloved hand upon her forearm. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Another soldier pulled her upright. Sight of blood on dry earth briefly mixed up with blood spattered across wooden floorboards. Madeleine went limp. Ushered into the backseat of an unmarked Jeep, she could not stop trembling. Shoulder-to-shoulder with another man she recognised as head of Logistics, Peter Miller. The door slammed shut, jolting her back into her own body. Sound of the ignition set her into trembling. Miller’s naked hand materialised on her shoulder. His voice overtaken by the roaring in her ears. Madeleine bowed her head into her hands like a child, whispering: “Ne me tuez pas. Je n’ai rien fait. Je ne sais rien.”

#no time to die #madeleine swann #lyutsifer safin #several ocs #crime drama #fanfic #fanfiction #multichapter #canon is gonna joss this into the sun probably #haha... unless?#slow build

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simplyclockwork · 4 years

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I am a huge fan of your writing. I would love a post season 4 fic where we see John and Rosie move back to 221b. Sherlock has an accident and breaks an arm and a leg. As he is wondering how he will take care of himself John turns up to collect him from hospital like its the most natural thing in World that he will take care of Sherlock. The focus is John wanting a chance to redeem himself. Happy Johnlock ending please. I’m over 18. Smut optional!

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Hi, anon! Thanks for your patience with me filling the prompt. Hopefully, you like what I’ve written :) Please feel free to send a prompt anytime!

You can also read your prompt on Ao3 here. The rest of the fill is below the page break.

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It’s only been a couple of weeks since John moved back to Baker Street, with his few belongings and infant-daughter in tow. Sherlock is still adjusting, and so is John, while Rosie bounces about the place like a tennis ball. She provides a perfect distraction, a much-needed buffer between John and Sherlock, who are still trying to find their way back to something considered normalcy.

Whatever their new normalcy is, Sherlock doesn’t know. He just hopes they find it soon because the unresolved tension hovering over 221B is starting to drive him mad.

Things are different. Better than they were before when John… well, that was before, and this is now. Sherlock tries not to dwell on their brief tilt into insanity. Mary, the aquarium, Culverton Smith, Eurus and Sherrinford. Each has taken a toll on Sherlock in one way or another. Things are different. John works at the clinic more often than he joins Sherlock on cases. He has a daughter to provide for, and his evening spent in a well with chains around his ankles has made him somewhat skittish.

Sherlock can’t blame him, not when he feels a little skittish himself—but he’s the world’s only consulting detective. It’s him, or it’s no one, and he’s got a bit of life left in him yet. Casework feels strange without John at his side, but John hasn’t been there in any consistent capacity since Sherlock returned from the dead, so he adjusts.

Sherlock’s had more madness than most, more than enough for several lifetimes. These days, Sherlock tires more easily. Moves a little slower, reacts a little later. Retirement is a word he starts to hear more often, echoing in his Mind Palace and staring back at him from the bathroom mirror when he pokes at the new wrinkles in his face and as he tugs at the silvered hairs appearing at his temples with increasing frequency.

It is pure irony that on the day Sherlock decides to slow down on the more challenging cases, to focus on fours and sixes and the life he hopes to build with John and Rosie, he has an accident.

The case is a straightforward kidnapping that Sherlock solves in minutes. The kidnapee, a young woman in her 30s, named Alice Forbes, is taken from her London flat by an ex-boyfriend. Sherlock leads Lestrade and his team to an old building with a decommissioned lift. Narrow and festooned with disturbed cobwebs, the shaft is dark and accessible with a rusted but sturdy-looking ladder.

In hindsight, Sherlock should have known it was too easy. Should have waited, should have let Lestrade’s men go before him. But, true to his impatient nature, he is the first to rush down the ladder.

And he’s the first to fall when one of the rungs, eaten through by rust and time, gives way beneath his hand, sending him to the bottom of the lift shaft. The fall isn’t far enough to kill him, but it is far enough to break bone, and Sherlock winces at the double crack he hears before agony and fire spill through his left arm and right leg. A cross-body break, of all things, arm trapped beneath him and leg striking a cable at the wrong angle.

“Sherlock?” Lestrade’s voice reaches him from above, invisible in the dark, and Sherlock clenches his teeth to resist the urge to scream.

Definitely multiple breaks, he can tell. Nothing hurts like a break, and right now, Sherlock is ablaze.

“Don’t climb down,” he manages to reply, voice wavering and strained with pain. “One of the rungs broke. Could be others.”

“Fuck,” comes the reply from above. “Are you okay?”

Sherlock squints in the dark, wetting his dry lips with his tongue as he takes stock of his body. At least the two breaks, possibly a mild concussion, and sweat rising on his brow. Shock. “No,” he finally says, swallowing around the taste of bile. “I need an ambulance.

Lestrade spits another short curse. “With how much you hate going to the A&E, I take it that it’s bad?”

“Rather bad,” Sherlock replies, trying for humour and just sounding weak and ragged. “I believe I’m going into shock.”

Instead of answering, Lestrade starts barking orders. Setting his temple carefully against something cold and metal, Sherlock blinks in the dark and takes in his surroundings. A shape shivers and sags against the wall of the lift shaft not far from where he lies. Given Alice’s lack of response to the shouting, he’s not confident she is anything like okay. Only the constant shivering tells him she’s still alive, and he clears his throat before shouting, “Make that two ambulances.” Swallowing, Sherlock sucks in a breath at a ripple of agony from his leg and adds, “I found Alice. Alive, but not conscious.”

“Got it,” Lestrade calls back. A light shines down, and Sherlock squints. He can’t make out Lestrade’s face, and likely the DI can’t see him either, but the beam from the torch is a point of light in the dark, and Sherlock fixates on it. “We’re gonna get you out, alright?”

“That would be preferred,” Sherlock replies, trying for venom and only sounding tired.

A rope snaps down next to his head. Tossed from above, it hangs in the air with a silent expectancy. Staring at it, Sherlock hopes Lestrade doesn’t expect him to climb up the offering. When it begins to shake and wiggle, he knows someone must be climbing down. A small, shaky sigh escaping his lips, Sherlock tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, though whether the comfort is for his benefit or Alice’s, he doesn’t know.

As his mind begins to darken and drift, he feels a pang of guilt for not letting John know where he’d be today. Sherlock has time for one last passing thought of how he’ll manage with two broken limbs, whether or not John will even bother to visit him at the hospital, and if this little stunt will shatter the tenuous connection between them before everything fades away.

***

The faint drone of voices draws Sherlock out of his head, and he opens his eyes to bright lights and white coats. He blinks, squints and blinks again, waiting for his vision to clear. When it finally does, he finds a young woman standing over him with a small smile.

“Hello, Mister Holmes,” she greets, and Sherlock blinks once more before she introduces herself. “I’m Doctor Seif.”

“Hello,” he replies, his voice rough. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “Concussion?”

Doctor Seif nods in sympathy. “Mild, but enough to knock you out. You came in and out of it until we set your leg, then we lost you for a bit from the pain.” She pats his shoulder with a gentle hand. “Your left humerus is broken, but not severe enough for a cast. So we’ve done a splint, but your leg will need a cast.” Moving to set his chart down, she pauses and turns back, adding, “We called your brother—he was listed as your emergency contact. We spoke to his aide, and she said he would be here once he finishes with a meeting.”

Sherlock waves a hand, dismissing both her words and the faint pang he feels at the reminder that John is no longer his emergency contact. “He’ll turn up. Always does, just like a bad penny.” Doctor Seif laughs.

“I have two older sisters. I know just how you feel.” Tapping his chart, she tilts her head. “Now, let’s get you fixed up and out of here, shall we?”

Sherlock’s smile is small and strained, but an attempt nonetheless. “Certainly.”

***

The cast is bulky, and his arm aches in the splint, his pain barely impacted by the basic painkillers. But Sherlock refused anything stronger, and he grits his teeth hard against the discomfort as a nurse helps him into the protocol-dictated wheelchair. Doctor Seif stands next to him with a script in her hand for prescription refills. She hands both the slip of paper and a crutch to Sherlock once he’s seated.

“Let me know if anything changes or you experience worsening pain or signs of infection,” she says, waiting for Sherlock’s tired nod. “Otherwise, I’ll see you in a few weeks to evaluate the arm. Good evening, Mister Holmes.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock says in a quiet voice. He is exhausted, his body heavy with fatigue and faded adrenaline. He tilts his head toward the nurse, who begins wheeling him out of the room and down the hall.

They make it only a few feet before footsteps sound behind them, and a panting voice calls out, “Sherlock!”

The man pushing his chair pauses, and Sherlock turns his head to see John trotting down the hall toward them. Bemused, Sherlock glances at the nurse, who shrugs. He turns his attention back to John, who pulls up in front of them with a sigh.

“Sorry,” he gasps, straightening with his hands on his hips as he pulls in a loud inhale. “Took me a bit to get Rosie to her babysitter’s, then there was traffic, and…” John shakes his head. “But nevermind that, I’m here now.”

Sherlock stares up at him. “You’re… here?” he repeats, confused. John’s brow furrows, first with confusion, then with understanding.

“Of course I’m here. Greg called me, then Mycroft.” His frown deepens. “Was surprised to hear he’s your emergency contact.”

Sherlock’s eyes dart away, and he doesn’t reply.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the nurse cuts in, his voice reluctant, “but I need the chair, so if I can wheel you outside…”

“Yeah, of course,” John says, picking up where the words trail off. “I can take it from there.”

The three of them continue down the hall, the nurse pushing Sherlock in the chair with John at his side. They walk in silence, with Sherlock darting quick, bemused looks at John from the corner of his eye. John either doesn’t notice or pretends not to, and Sherlock is grateful for whichever it is.

Once outside, the nurse stops, and Sherlock starts wrestling with the crutch, the chair, his own body until John quietly murmurs, “Can I help?”

Sherlock pauses and glances up at him before nodding once, a stiff jerk of his head. Something like relief and gratitude passes over John’s face, there and gone too quickly to verify. Before Sherlock can take the opportunity to study him, John moves around to his side, the one without a splinted arm, and loops his hand gently around Sherlock’s torso. John helps him onto his uncasted foot, slips the crutch in place, and keeps close as Sherlock tests out a little hop forward. He is clumsy and awkward but mobile and shuffles along slowly. John stays close, helping where he can, one hand resting light and ready on the small of Sherlock’s back.

When Sherlock finally raises his head, coaxed forward by John’s quiet voice, he sees a silver car and freezes. John almost bumps into him and stops just in time, steadying Sherlock.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, tilting his head to look at Sherlock’s face.

Brow furrowed, Sherlock blinks at the car. “You bought a car?”

“Yeah, last week,” John says, relief in his expression. “Easier with Rosie, you know? And paying less rent, well, I thought…” he shrugs, letting the words trail off.

Wordlessly, Sherlock nods and lets John lead him off the curb and toward the car. John opens the door and coaxes Sherlock to drape his uninjured arm around his neck, helping him scoot down into the passenger seat.

Once John is next to him, sitting behind the wheel and waiting for Sherlock to finish getting settled, he doesn’t seem to know where to look. When he, at last, opens his mouth to speak, he and Sherlock talk over one another.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way here.”

They both go silent and still, staring at one another. Blowing a loud exhale out through pursed lips, John breaks the standoff first.

“First off, I’m glad you’re relatively okay, considering.” Sherlock braces himself for the angry words, the dressing-down. But John just looks at him with a small, tentative smile, and Sherlock stares as John quietly says, “And of course I came.” He clears his throat, eyes darting to the windshield before they return to Sherlock’s questioning face. “I know things have been… well. I know it’s not like it was before, but I… I want to try.” Swallowing hard enough to make his throat bob, John looks at Sherlock with a mixture of hope and uncertainty in his eyes. “I know I have no right to ask for it, but I want a chance to show you things are different.” Hands clenching slowly inward then outward in his lap, John’s voice drops. “I want to show you that I’ve changed.”

“John…” Sherlock starts, only to find he doesn’t have any more words. John seems to understand, a slight smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“I want to redeem myself, Sherlock,” he says and holds up a hand to silence the protests he can no doubt see rising on Sherlock’s lips. “Don’t tell me there’s nothing to make up for because we both know that’s not true.” The small smile fades, and he reaches out to slip his fingers over Sherlock’s where Sherlock’s hand rests on the centre console. It’s unexpected and entirely welcome, and Sherlock blinks down at their hands before looking up at John. “I’m here because we’re a team.” His eyebrows twitch upward, and he adds, “Just the two of us, right? Against the world?” His smile is small and hopeful, and Sherlock feels a rush of warmth at the sight and the words.

“Of course, John,” he replies, nodding. “Just the two of us. And Rosie.”

This time, John’s smile is firm and confident, his laugh pleased and just a little surprised. His fingers curl between Sherlock’s knuckles with gentle but firm pressure. “Just the two of us and Rosie,” he agrees. His eyes glitter, and Sherlock’s lips twitch upward in quiet acceptance.

When John starts the car and guides them out of the parking lot, their fingers stay slotted together on the centre console.

#johnlock #ficlet #prompt #simplyclockwork #Anonymous

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29-pieces · 4 years

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Whumptober day 21 - Good Omens

Day 21: Hypothermia Fandom/Setting: Good Omens, post Apocalypse Read on AO3 Read on FF.net For nellsnail56, hope everything’s okay, hon!

~*~

Aziraphale watched his breath evaporate into the bleak emptiness of the forest in a puff of condensation. He imagined the breath carrying all the way up to Heaven, maybe even to God's ear Herself, hearing his desperate plea for help. It didn't work like that, of course. For one thing, Heaven wasn't actually up so much as elsewhere, and for another thing, God didn't make a habit of rescuing him from these dreadful scrapes he always seemed to find himself in.

She did, however, seem to have a habit of ensuring Crowley was in the right place at the right time.

Aziraphale hoped and prayed that trend would continue today. Soon. Er, rather immediately in fact.

The angel shivered again, eyelids fluttering. He knew he had to stay awake or he would discorporate for sure... but... he was just so tired... and he was just so cold... His head lolled to the side and the jarring sight of the dead human nudged him back awake. The hunter's expression was frozen into a face of shock, marred by a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. It was so cold that the human's face was already blue, no blood trickling from the wound. Aziraphale felt only a very little bad for having killed the man, but then again not so terribly bad that he wouldn't do it again.

"C-Crowley," Aziraphale chattered, adding his pain-filled voice to the breath carrying his prayers to whoever might hear. "H-h-help... h-help me..."

Though he knew it was useless, Aziraphale tried once again to lift himself off the icy ground. Enormous white wings splayed over the forest floor on either side of him, feathers tipped in frost that might otherwise have been beautiful if he didn't hurt so awfully. One wing curled up slightly at the command of his swiftly numbing muscles; the other was useless. Aziraphale twisted his head to look at that one, the one that stretched through a small trickle of water at the bottom of the gully he was in. The ice had already frozen over the appendage, attaching him to the ground. And he had no strength to pull himself free.

Closing his eyes, Aziraphale willed a miracle to thaw the ice, warm his frozen bones, and wash away all the pain. The metal ring wrapped around his wrist thrummed, preventing him from using the slightest bit of angelic power to help himself. Aziraphale choked on a sharp sob of pain and gave up. The hunters might not have succeeded in their hopes of killing him themselves in this twisted hunt of theirs, but it was going to end him all the same. Frozen and helpless, alone in the middle of the winter woods, and oh gracious this was never how he'd imagined his end.

Aziraphale tried to force his eyes open, but his lashes were already icing over and it took too much work to fight them open. At least, he thought fuzzily, the cold was starting to drift away, replaced with a blessed nothingness.

~*~

"Aziraphale!" Crowley bellowed into the evening gloom, shivering violently and cursing everything in sight. Killing the human hunters who had kidnapped Aziraphale for their game had warmed him for a moment, but he was cold-blooded and it was actual torture being out here in sub-freezing temperatures. He couldn't turn back though, not until he'd found the angel.

Drawing a bit of Hellfire from his connection to the Pit, Crowley tried not to shudder at the evil keeping him warm. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted again. "ANGEL! Where are you?"

The hunters had been only too happy to answer his questions once they saw his fangs and his fury; they'd sworn the hunter with first dibs at taking a crack at the angel hadn't come back, which at least meant he hadn't won. They were out here somewhere. Leaves crunched, the frozen forest litter crackling under Crowley's feet as he half-jogged through the woods in growing desperation. It was getting colder by the minute and he knew if Aziraphale had been more or less rendered human, out here without proper protection from the cold, he would never survive the night.

Then he'd be sent to Heaven, and Gabriel wasn't likely to allow him another body, and they'd probably toss him in a jail cell and throw away the key. Did Heaven even have a jail? Well, they'd probably build one for the angel who'd screwed up the Apocalypse. Either way, Crowley had to find him, fast.

The demon's eyes swept over the landscape, watching the colors rapidly turning cooler. A hunting blind was tucked into a little copse of trees packed tight together, traces of heat still inside from where the hunter had been sitting, waiting. So it must not have been too long ago, or the colors would have faded into the rest of the background. Crowley stumbled to a stop and looked wildly around. He was on a ridge. If the hunter had shot Aziraphale from here...

Crowley hurried to the edge to peer over. His eyes widened.

"Angel!"

Aziraphale lay on his back, unmoving, as Crowley scrambled down the embankment to reach his friend. The angel's eyes were closed, but Crowley's reptilian vision showed him the barest hint of warmth still. There was time, he told himself over and over. There was time, he could still save him. The demon splashed to a stop next to the motionless angel, taking in the predicament. The human was very dead, a crossbow at his feet and a pistol missing from an ankle holster. But there were no wounds on Aziraphale. It seemed that the hunter had missed; the angel had not. Good on him.

Nothing else was good, though. Aziraphale's wing was frozen to the ground in the pool of water, the fingers of his outstretched hand a sickly blue-grey of frostbite. His wrist still bore the metal ring that blocked his powers, which Crowley immediately ripped away and crushed into pieces in his furious grip. Carefully, the demon used just enough Hellfire to melt the ice around Aziraphale's wing, sweating with the concentration of not letting a single bit of the flame come near the actual feathers. It was ticklish business but he managed to free the wing (with a good bit of ice still attached, but they could worry about that later).

Without a second of hesitation, Crowley gathered the terrifyingly cold angel up in his arms and flew.

~*~

Bitter cold.

Mostly frozen water running over his wing, trapping him in ice.

Chattering teeth, pins and needles in his skin.

Everything fading, confusion...

...nothingness...

Crowley.

Crowley? Aziraphale blinked his eyes blearily open to see the demon hovering over him. He seemed to be saying something, but Aziraphale could only stare blankly. The words washed over him, something about miracles, something about heat. The angel considered reaching out to calm his obviously distressed friend, but his joints felt locked in place. He held still, not even moving when Crowley waved a hand in his direction. Aziraphale wasn't sure what he'd done—wasn't that the demon's way of miracling things?—though some part of his foggy mind told him the wet fabric against his skin had disappeared. His wings were still out though. They were so cold. He should really put them away, the sodden feathers couldn't be a good thing, but Aziraphale was too tired.

Now Crowley was crawling onto the couch with him, wrapping his body around Aziraphale's, which felt like it ought to be improper since Aziraphale had nothing on, but that thought was too much trouble to articulate. The demon's teeth were chattering; the poor dear, he had to be freezing, he got cold so easily, and yet his body was like fire against Aziraphale. It burned, and the angel instinctively tried to pull back with a whimper.

"S-sorry, angel, it's all I've g-got, you g-gotta warm up or you'll d-d-d... you'll d-die."

Hmm, the words were starting to make sense again. Aziraphale didn't move as Crowley pulled a heavy blanket over them, his heart sluggishly pounding in his ears as though the blood was just starting to flow anew. A minute later, he whimpered again as his fingers and toes began to burn in earnest.

"Ang-angel, will you p-please come b-back?" Crowley groaned next to him. His skin felt like it was pulsating against Aziraphale's, a current of something that felt too much like Hell for comfort. Where he made contact with Aziraphale's wings, the slightly charred scent of smoldering feathers filled the cabin.

The hunters' cabin. Yes, there had been hunters. They'd put that horrid bracelet on him, it kept his wings exposed and the rest of him helpless- wait, he'd been in the woods. Aziraphale blinked slowly, looking around again.

"Crow-ley?" he croaked.

The demon froze, then lifted himself off of Aziraphale to regard him. The absence of his warmth made Aziraphale shiver, so Crowley quickly lay back down.

"You with me, angel?" he demanded. "C-can you miracle your wings away yet?"

Oh. Yes, he really ought to do that. They were so cold, putting them back in the ethereal plane would be good, wouldn't it? Or could he just use a miracle to warm them up? Oh... oh, that's what Crowley had been saying when he first woke. Yes, he was cold, he needed to warm himself up- good lord, Crowley was freezing himself to get Aziraphale warm! The angel inhaled sharply as his mind struggled through the hypothermia-induced fogginess.

He had to close his eyes and focus with all his might, but Aziraphale finally felt his wings disappear from the physical plane, and much of his discomfort along with them.

"C-Crowley," he murmured, teeth starting to chatter now as his body seemed to regain feeling, the cold coming back with a vengeance. "S-so... c-c-cold..."

"Good," the demon said. "Good, that m-means it's working..."

"You're f-freezing..."

Crowley snorted and didn't move. "Leave it to you to worry about that," he muttered. "C-can you miracle the rest yet?"

Aziraphale tried, he really did, but he was still hazy and exhausted and after a second he slumped and jerked his head to indicate a negative. "S-sorry," he whispered. "You d-don't have to-"

"S-shut up. Is the H-hellfire too much? K-keeping it low but y-you need heat..."

Aziraphale shook his head. The Hellfire glowing under Crowley's skin did hurt, but so did his hands and feet even without that, burning worse as feeling returned.

But he was alive. The Hellfire and shared body heat did the trick, along with the more ordinary fire Crowley eventually got up to stoke, and the dozens of thick flannel blankets he procured from nowhere, and the hot tea he all but poured down the angel's throat to help warm him from the inside. Gradually the mind-fog disappeared and Aziraphale tiredly brushed the rest of the cold away. Eventually he would want to go home and get out of this awful place.

But for now, he was finally warm, and well taken care of, and Aziraphale closed his eyes to the sight of Crowley settling in beside him to watch him through the night.

#whumptober2020 #no.21 #hypothermia #good omens #fanfiction #aziraphale whump #crowley to the rescue #shared body heat

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maple-writes · 3 years

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WHG 14: post games 3

whg tag list: @ratracechronicler (Alvira) @concealeddarkness13 (Zenith), @nightskywriter , @rhikasa , @the-moving-finger-writes , @aeslin-writes @knmartinshouldbewriting , @pen-of-roses @timefirewrites

(skipping right to the stealing part cause I couldn’t think much to add to the practice scene)

###

Shine gave us the directions to the facility where the shockers and other equipment were stored. It stood non-descript and heavily guarded just outside the main part of the city. Zenith and Elvira had gone ahead, leaving me hidden in a little dark alley just outside the loading bay. I peered out as far as I dared as nerves crawled up and down my skin. How long had they been gone for? Did something happen?

Someone stepped out into the street and I ducked my head back in with a sharp gasp, but then I recognized Elvira’s voice. A moment later they rounded the corner, Zenith dragging a struggling guard with him. I scrambled back, gesturing for him to bring the man down to the far corner of the alley.

I turned to face our victim, curling my fingers at my sides. “Sorry about this.”

He didn’t have time to react before I snatched the soul from his chest, holding it tight in one hand, tighter than what had to be comfortable, but I didn’t want to drop him. Didn’t want to make Zenith hold him down again. The guard flared cold against my skin, panic shooting up my arm and quickening my heart.

Now Zenith. “Ready?”

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

I plucked him into my other hand. Stiller, calmer than the other, he still buzzed and chilled the blood running away from my hand, running up through my shoulder and into my heart until I pushed him into the guard’s empty body. As soon as he started to move, I steadied myself and forced the guard’s soul through the wall of my chest, working him through the muscle and bone to settle beside my heart.

Immediately, I winced as the guard flared out from my chest, pushing against my lungs and trying to claw back out through the muscles binding my ribs. You! You’re that, that tribute, shit. I hunched over, holding a hand over my chest as I fought to catch my breath, to take it back from his attempt at control. He probably didn’t even know he was doing it. Don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me. I won’t. You’ll be fine.

I took a deep breath, pushing him back beside what was left by my own half soul. He protested, but slowly succumbed enough for me to look back up with a nod and a quiet thumbs up. Zenith nodded back and started to slip out of the alley, but Elvira held back.

She glanced back at me. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Right. I nodded again. I forgot sometimes how it must look from the outside. Shaking and sweating with uneven breath and clenched teeth. She didn’t look fully convinced, but there was a plan we had to follow, so she left, following Zenith out towards the building.

I leaned back against the wall, resting my head against the worn cement. It was silent, silent besides the pounding of my own heart in my ears. My chest ached, heavy with the guard’s soul where it didn’t belong.

What are they doing? Where are they going? What’s going on? I turned my head, half my own idea, half his, blinking down the alley the way they’d gone. Panic knotted tight in my stomach, organs twisting in on themselves and my skin crawled up and down and up and down. I closed my eyes and forced my gaze ahead again. It’s fine, everything’s fine. They’re going to go in, take something, and come back. That’s all. That’s all.

Is it about that girl? The girl? The tribute, Lynne. Yeah, her and the other Lynn. I swore under my breath. I probably shouldn’t have told him that, but really, how hard would it have been to put two and two together. Not very hard. Exactly.

I sighed, letting my shoulders fall as my heart started to get a hold of itself, slowing, slowing enough to calm some of the tremors running up and down my arms. Without meaning too, I let out a groan and massaged closed eyes. Fuck I’m so getting fired after this.

Huh? I shuddered as disappointment crushed deep on top of my chest, heavy and guilty. I had one job, just one job and then one guy comes along and drags me away like nothing! I hunched over, resting my hands against crossed legs. My heart started up again, halfway back to it’s fast-paced panic. I took a deep breath, and then another. Easy, relax. To be fair, Zenith is very strong. Easy, relax.

I shook my head, hands starting to shake even as I opened and shut my fingers. I’ve never been fired before. What am I going to do? My hands went to my head and my eyes widened, staring, staring down at the cement, fingernails digging into my scalp. What am I going to tell my wife?

Come on, I shook my head out, taking control of my arms back and setting them back in my lap. It’s not like it’s the end of the world or anything. I counted on shaky fingers. I mean, I’ve been fired from like, five different places. It sucks, but it could be worse. I guess… Honestly you could probably do better than guarding torture devices anyway. I frowned. Torture devices? What else would you call those shocker things, the ones fitted to Lynne and Lynn?

The guard stilled, settling quiet and cold just under the base of my throat. I could still see them, up on the screen and trying their best to act like they weren’t in pain in front of the entire country. Like nothing was wrong, and they weren’t in pain. Oh. Oh is that what was in there? Probably not the only thing but yeah, yeah that’s what we’re here to take.

There was a shipment, a small one. I stood at my watch in the loading bay as some of the higher ups chatted over the delivery. Boxes marked as an electrical hazard. My boss laughed,laughing along with the others, one a strange man I’d never seen before with silver hair and red eyes. Probably some new fashion I guessed. I strained my ears to try and hear what they were talking about, anything to chase away some of the boredom eating at the back of my mind, but they were too far away and too drowned out by the echoes against hard cement.

I can’t believe someone would do something like that. Really? I couldn’t help but laugh, just a little in spite of it all. You can believe they’d send tributes to fight for entertainment, but this goes just that little bit too far? Yeah, but… I sighed, letting my eyes slide closed. It feels different when I’m involved. My hands went up again, this time massaging the sides of my head. Fuck, I don’t even like this job that much and now I have to live with this. I blinked. Maybe this is for the best then, an excuse to find something better.

A grin spread across my face, wide and mischievous. What if you got hurt today, on the job, and were able to collect some kind of compensation while you look for a new job? Nerves jolted through my arms. What are you suggesting? I shrugged. It probably wouldn’t be out of the question to call this an injury. You were forcibly ripped from your body against your will after all. Maybe you need a few days to recover. Maybe this is something you weren’t trained to handle safely by your employer. I shrugged again. I don’t know, I don’t work there.

I sat up straight with a sharp breath. Shit that’s genius. Least I can do for putting you through this. If I could ask a favor though, could you let us get away before you put it in motion? Fine. I smiled. Thanks. My name’s Asher, by the way. Though he probably already knew that, with the whole being a minor celebrity for a few weeks thing. I laughed. Yeah, that sounds familiar. I’m Ryan.

Time went on, or maybe it didn’t take too long. It was always hard to tell like this. But my eyes grew heavier, and my arms shook when they moved. It’d been a while since I’d taken someone in for this long, and then I hadn’t been running around in the snow for weeks beforehand.

Finally though, Zenith and Elvira returned. I smiled up at them, trying but failing probably to hide the tiredness weighing on my eyes. “All done?”

Zenith nodded. “We were seen, so we should probably get out of here quickly.”

Be more surprising if they hadn’t been seen. I barely stopped the joking grin he tried to put on my face.

“We got away with it for now,” Elvira added, almost as if trying to reassure me we weren’t about to be picked up and arrested right this second. “But I agree, We ought to hurry.”

I nodded. She was probably right. I waved Zenith other to his body. “When I put you back please stay quiet like we talked about okay?” Had I said that out loud? Yeah you did. I shook out my head. Lets just get this over with.

Hold still and it’ll be faster. Me? Yeah. Ryan stilled, drawing himself into the center of my chest, brushing up against my sternum. Perfect. I caught hold of him and he slipped smooth through my body and kept still as could be expected as I held him in my hand. I took Zenith out of Ryan and pushed both souls back into the right bodies.

For a moment, I watched them, leaning forward in case something went wrong, but when both opened their eyes and seemed to be more or less themselves, I leaned back against the wall with a sigh. It worked. My heart slowed, my breathing quieted, and every muscle felt heavy and tired and all I wanted to do was close my eyes. Was I this out of practise? No. I took a deep breath and forced myself to stand, bracing against the wall. It’d just been a long time since I had to do anything like this in this kind of situation, so far from home, away from everything I usually counted on. Usually people were already dead but did that matter?

I shook out my head and followed the two of them back, glad I didn’t have to do the thinking to find our way back. But even still I stumbled on the concrete, and my legs trembled. Zenith must have noticed, and he held his arm out to help me along. I didn’t think twice before taking the offer. If I leaned too much of my weight on him, he didn’t say anything.

When we got back I let Zenith and Elvira handle the debrief and slipped away back to my room. Curled up under the blankets it didn’t take long for me to fall asleep. When I woke later, it was quiet outside, and when I sat up I noticed an enveloped just inside the door, probably slipped under while I was out.

I picked it up and brought it back to the bed, opening it up as I settled back down. inside were two papers, one handwritten and the other typed.

The handwritten one was on top. Ginger sent this for you but I didn’t want to wake you. -Triel

Ginger? I scrunched my face as I unfolded the second note.

Hey Asher,

Triel tells me you and Cirrus survived. I’m very glad to hear it, I was worried. I hope you’re doing alright, and I wish I could be there to help you more but I have to lie low until the investigation concludes that I did not have a hand in any kind of illegal extraction cover up and the case is closed. They’ve already interrogated me twice so I don’t think I’m yet in the clear. This can’t be easy for you, and if you need anything you can reach me for now through Triel. She’s very good at staying covert. I have not told Striker that either of you are alive and I advise you to do the same until everything winds down. Look after yourself, don’t push yourself too hard, and I hope to see you soon.

So their cover story, that had been Ginger? I re-read the note, typed out in such an uncharacteristically impersonal font. She could be arrested for what she did, or worse if they’d decided to let the Shades try things out of her instead. All for me? I swallowed and rubbed my eyes with the back of my sleeve. At least she was being careful about it. But, did I really have to hold back on telling Striker I was alive? My shoulders fell as I found his nurse ID in my pocket. How long would he have to wait? It wouldn’t be the first time I’d had to stay away from him for his own safety, but, but this time… This time didn’t feel so certain. Last time he at least knew where I was. Last time we could talk over the phone, and I could see him once Charlotte had delivered Ginger’s webcam to the cabin. This time he was completely in the dark, mourning lives that hadn’t actually been lost.

But Ginger was probably right. It was for the best to keep him out of it a little longer. I sighed and laid back down, staring up at the ceiling. Just a little longer, then a little longer after that…

#whg 14 #writeblr hunger games #asher #just chilling with the guy they kidnapped lol

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minsyal · 5 years

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[Mutual Feelings Pt. 13, Revali x Reader]

Author’s Note: I ain’t sorry.

Summary: Who knows? We can only go up from here, right?

“No.” You called out to whoever was knocking. The knocking persisted despite you barricading the door with stacks of books and unused chairs that had been left in the hall days prior. Ink dribbled across your desk, large blobs of black liquid obscured your old workpapers that were now crumbled and torn. They didn’t matter anymore.

The old book given to you laid open on the board in front of you. Its pages were tattered and picked at, ripping slightly at every seam and corner. It had to be in here somewhere. Keumi had passed a few weeks ago and you hadn’t bothered to return to the Village as facing Seoi was something you had no desire to do. The least you could do for her was stay away. Afterall, that is what she wanted.

“Open up!” It was a male’s voice, Revali. He had been visiting often after the incident. The majority of the time, he was already on the grounds for Champion-related events and had found your room at the direction of a few gossiping maids. The talk had taken an upward spike in the castle after your return. Very few would stop you, but those that would always asked about your relations to Revali. It wasn’t any of their business. Plus, nothing was official. Nothing was going on.

“No.” You repeated with the same monotone sound.

“Then I’ll break the door down.” The door began shaking, almost comically. The hinges creaked and squeaked as the handle juggled this way and that as the assailant attempted to grant himself entrance. The nob turned and stopped, then turned the other direction. “Excuse me?” He must be speaking to someone outside. His voice became muffled as you assumed he walked away, possibly giving up. You should have known him better than that by now.

You traced the map in front of you, a small line linking your route in the desert to the other locations of materials you gathered for the elixir. Everything had been done exactly to the “t” as per the book’s instructions. How could it have gone so horribly wrong? You had been trying to contact this supposed “medicine man,” but each and every Zora you spoke to couldn’t identify where he resided nor where he was currently. The bowl the elixir had been made in was encased in glass in the corner of your room. The cage you used in the desert was next to it. Maybe you had miscalculated something there? Perhaps the material used to encase the flower was incorrect… or maybe there wasn’t enough water flow.

Shaking your leg at a swift pace, you studied the excess materials. The minerals were all fine, they were typical ones used in medicine. The greenery was fresh when used, now dried and pinned to the wall. You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut to ward off the third headache of the day. It wasn’t even lunch yet, just past breakfast in fact.

“I hope you don’t me letting myself in.” Revali stepped through your window, a gust of wind swirling the loose papers around the room.

“Revali!” You rose to your feet, jumping to grasp every paper. He paid no mind, trotting over to the unmade bed where he sat down and crossed one leg over the other. His eyes scanned the room, he had never been in here before. Your desk was a mess, stacked high with new books and papers while older ones were stacked in front of the door. The bed he was sat on was inlaid into the wall, a few trinkets were posted and sat on shelves. He noticed the drawing of him you had done around the time the two of you first met, the extensive studies on the Divine Beasts, and the group photo you had been left out of at the time.

“Good to see you too.” He chuckled, making himself comfortable. “When did you last sleep?”

Too homed in on your work, you brushed him off.

“When did you last eat?” Persisting, he kicked one leg over the other and continued ruffling up your blankets. “When are you going to answer your lover?”

Eyes wide, you shot him a confused look only to get a proud one in return. He gave you a tight-lipped grin, closing his eyes. “We aren’t together.”

“The castle gossip travels fast. According to everyone out there, we are.”

“Well, we aren’t.” You turned back around and focused on a small passage hand-written in the book.

“Whatever you say, but that’s not my opinion on it.” He hummed. “Clear this out from your door while I’m away. I’ll be back.” He motioned to the junk near the door. Kicking some stuff from his path, he pried the door open and left.

While there is currently no evidence of the ability for revival from death, it has been recorded in legend regarding the Goddess Hylia and the Hero. Given this knowledge, there is chance that this phenomena is existent in Hyrule. Mouthing the words as you read, you groaned. There was nothing telling you what to do. You had been attempting to find a way to bring her back since you got back to the castle after her death. Nothing was turning up.

The attacks on travelers and villages rose as the Calamity’s power grew. Red ash would rise from the ground some nights, the clouds would rush as if in a hurricane, and low growls could be heard echoing from the castle’s depths. The moon would turn blood red on nights like these. Nobody would go out.

Another ceremony was scheduled for tonight, but you had no intent of attending. The King had never required you be present for any of them, only present when he needed updated information on how the scientist’s research was coming. You hadn’t heard from Purah or Robbie in a few weeks. It was hard to when they didn’t live on castle grounds.

The book turned up no trails to follow, no leads to take. Tossing it aside, you scrapped everything on your desk relating to Keumi. It was over. She wasn’t coming back. Throwing your window open, you let the cool air flow in and swirl around the cramped room. Laughter resonated from the upper levels; the stomping of feet signaled they had just begun their celebrations. The rich aromas of mouth-watering dishes were swept through the air, a sweet smell blanketing the area.

With a renewed sense of direction, you grabbed everything you had relating to your updates on the Divine Beasts. Opening the book you kept on Medoh, you began writing. In the margin, you wrote: Resurrection = possibility?

Revali wandered the halls as he attempted to recall his way to your room through the maze of sprawling entryways. He passed kitchen staff carrying platters of steaming-hot foods. Snatching a plate from one of them, he continued on his way. Finally arriving at his destination, he tried the door. To his surprise, it gave way with ease.

“Still buried in work, I see.” He looked more put together than he typically did. A new garb was wrapped around his figure, dawning the blue color of royalty and the crest. His old one was hidden beneath it. It was far gaudier than his original. Gold speckled the trim, thin silver chains were attached to shoulder pieces, and his braids were done differently.

“Here.” The plate clacked against the wood of your desk. “Now, I need to get this off. It’s rather…” he racked his head for the words he wanted, “not me.”

Metal clinks rained down upon the room as his shoulder pieces and the new garb landed in a pile along with your discarded work. A plate clanked against your desk, its smell alluring. Tearing your focus from your papers, you eyed the plate. It was steaming. A perfectly grilled pork steak sat on wild greens with a side of rice from Hateno. The smaller plate held a slice of decadently rich chocolate cake that looked to have been prepared just minutes ago. Caramelized sugar dripped over the sides, gliding down to the chocolate shell below.

“Would you mind undoing these?” His braids whipped around in your face as he turned his back to you. “I would, but I don’t want to.” He continued speaking as you moved to detangle the intricate designs. “You know, the ceremony was as dull as ever. I had searched the crowd for you, but I suppose expecting you to breach these walls was rather idiotic of me.” He tossed his head to the side, eyeing you. “Have you had enough tea lately? Have your teeth gone yellow yet?” When you didn’t respond, he continued on. “I do really think you need to rest more. Your lack of sleep is troublesome.”

“I’m fine.” You finished the last braid, leaving the ribbon strewn into it on the floor.

“You’re not. You need sleep…” he pondered for a moment, taking a deep breath before stating, “Keumi would want that.”

The beating of your heart thrummed in your chest loudly. Your breathing stopped, catching in your throat, suffocating you. A cold sweat broke out upon your brow and at the nape of your neck. Your determination turned to anger as you pushed yourself up to your desk, turning your back on Revali. “Don’t talk about her.”

“It’s what she would have wanted, and you know that.” He approached the back of your chair, the heat radiating from his body only adding to how uncomfortable you had become. Your leg bounced up and down as you attempted to work out the tension that grew within you. It felt as if vines were climbing up your spine.

“Revali, stop.”

“No.” A firm grip held your shoulder as he attempted to tug you around to face him. “Face me and listen. She didn’t die so you could sulk around here all day.”

You had enough. Pushing up from your chair, you disregarded it as it went tumbling to the floor. “Shut up!” More than anything you wanted to slap him. You wanted him to go away and never come back. Why was he here anyway? What did he really care?

“You need to listen to me. Quit acting like a child. That will get you nowhere.”

“She wouldn’t have died if I hadn’t tried something so risky!” You jerked your shoulder away from his grasp and immediately began gathering a few notebooks in your arms.

“You did what you had to!” He said firmly, stepping to block your exit.

“I did something stupid and I ruined a family.” You choked back the tears that were brimming your eyes. “They’ll never get that back, Revali. It’s all my fault.” You had grown considerably quiet, almost whispering.

“It’s not.” His tone had weakened a bit, his stance was softer. “Come here.”

Crashing into his arms was more comforting than you had expected. He rubbed circles into your back as he walked the two of you over to the bed. “We’re going to fix this.”

“How?” Your words were muffled by his thick coat.

___________________________________________________________

“Excuse me?” An unfamiliar voice called as the door creaked open. Revali’s head rose from his spot on the bed.

“Yes?” He called back, keeping his tone hushed. A gentle wing covered your head, stroking your hair down. The motion coaxed soft snores from you and put a loving smile on his face.

“The King requests your presence in the dining hall, sir.”

“Give the King my deepest apologies, but I have to decline.” A moment passed as the guard pondered what to do. He was taken aback by Revali’s answer, expecting him to join him in an instant.

“Of course.”

The door closed as a hushed silence fell upon the room once more. It had grown dark in the castle, the only light in your room came from the candles that threatened to extinguish themselves in the melted wax below. The papers remained scattered across the floor along with the chair that was still overturned. The meal he had brought had grown cold, hardening with each passing hour. But none of that mattered.

What mattered was what lay softly upon his chest, breathing deeply as exhaustion finally gave in. What mattered was the little moments that prospered from your twisted and tangled history. What mattered was the way Revali’s chest swelled when he thought of you and how his heart grew as he finally admit something to himself. It was true.

#revali x reader #revali imagine #botw #revali botw #botw fanfic #loz botw #mutual feelings

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remywrites5 · 5 years

Note

hiiii i really love your blog and i may or may not have spent the weekend binge reading your posts.... 😂 anyway i’ve had a kinda shitty day and i was wondering if you could maybe write something with james x regulus? if not that’s totally fine haha thank you!!!!!!

Hi nonny! I’m pretty sure this ask is like years old and I’m really sorry it took me so long! You probably don’t even follow me anymore but if you do I hope your days have gotten better! But either way here’s a little something for you:

***

“Oi, Jamie,” Sirius said, poking his head into James’ room. “Just a reminder that my brother is coming to visit for the weekend.”

James groaned. “Sirius, no!” he complained, shutting his chemistry book. “You’ll disappear with Remus for the entire weekend and I’ll be stuck babysitting your brother, who I’ve never even met!”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “First of all, Reg is only a year younger than us, you won’t be babysitting anyone. Second of all, we’re all going to a party at Mckinnon’s tonight so you won’t be stuck alone with him the whole time.”

“Just part of the time?”

Sirius shrugged. “I mean I’ll do my best…”

“God, you’re the worst fucking friend,” James grumbled, opening his chemistry book back up and attempting to cram for his test later that day.

“Oh and Jamie?”

“Yes?

“Don’t be a prick, alright?

Sirius ducked out of the way as a chemistry book went flying towards his head.

***

“Honey, we’re home,” Sirius sing-songed as he arrived back from picking Regulus up from the train station. James sighed and got out of bed, figuring he might as well try to be nice to the intruder. It wasn’t that James was opposed to people visiting for the weekend, it was just that Sirius and Remus were attached at the hip, and James hadn’t been making any progress with Evans. He knew it was selfish, but he hated other people being happy when he was fairly miserable. The last thing he wanted to do this weekend was hang around some snotty-nosed younger sibling.

He stepped out into the hallway and saw the Black brothers together for the first time. It wasn’t hard to tell they were related, same inky black hair, same impossibly high cheekbones, matching grey eyes. But where Sirius was all rough edges and rock and roll, Regulus was all smooth and posh. Unlike Sirius, who kept his hair long and shoulder length and a decent amount of stubble on his face, Regulus had his hair styled, cut short on the side and long on top to fall into his eyes in a very chic way. He was also clean-shaven and James could only imagine he had all kinds of fancy potions and after-creams to give him that effect.

“Hello,” Regulus said, holding his hand out to James, already being ever so polite. “You must be James. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” James said, making the handshake a little rougher than was strictly necessary.

Sirius grinned broadly and threw his arms around each of their shoulders, drawing them close to him. “My two brothers, together at last!”

“Gerroff,” James growled, shoving Sirius away and into Regulus.

Sirius shrugged and hugged Regulus more thoroughly. “I’m so happy you’re here!”

Regulus blushed, his eyes meeting James and then darting away quickly. “Yes, you kept saying on the ride over here.”

James snorted. “I’ll put some tea on.”

***

The party was already in full swing by the time they’d gotten there. Marlene lived in a flat off campus with a few other girls and even though it was bigger than the dormitories, it still couldn’t really fit the amount of people currently occupying it. Just moving around the party was like swimming through jelly. James had spilled at least a cup and a half of beer on himself just from trying to navigate the party.

As predicted, Sirius ditched them the moment they got to the party and he found the familiar head of his favorite tawny-haired nerd. James hadn’t exactly been keeping the closest eye on Regulus since then but he was slightly alarmed when he realized Reg wasn’t close by. “Fucking great,” James mumbled to himself, trying to finish his drink just as someone knocked his elbow and the entire contents of his red solo cup splashed over his face. “Fuck this.”

James edged his way towards the door and somehow managed to get it open. Getting outside was a relief, being able to smell something other than booze and sweat. He shoved his glass up to the top of his head and lifted his shirt up to wipe his face clean. When he replaced his glasses, he noticed a figure in his periphery. He turned his head to find Regulus leaning against the building smoking a cigarette. He looked a bit like an ad from a magazine, the way his leg was bent so his foot could rest against the wall behind him, his face tilted back to reveal the pale expanse of his neck. James swallowed thickly. He was absolutely not going to fancy his best mate’s little brother. Regulus was Off Limits.

James walked down the front steps of the building and stood in front of Regulus. “Does Sirius know you smoke?” he asked, raising a judgmental eyebrow at the younger man.

“Is it his business?” Regulus countered, taking a long drag from his ciggy and blowing it intentionally in James’ face in a very obvious fuck off.

James waved his hand in front of his face to clear the smoke and exhaled loudly in disapproval. Christ, he sounded so much like his dad. “You’re nothing like what I imagined.”

“Yeah?” Reg said, flicking ash onto the ground below. “What were you imagining? A toddler?”

James shrugged. “You hear the words little brother and you’re not exactly what people picture, alright?”

“Sirius never showed you a picture of me?” Regulus asked, sounding a little hurt by the prospect.

“He has,” James said quickly, not wanting to give Reg the wrong idea. Sirius actually talked about him a lot, constantly worrying about Reg being stuck at home with their awful parents while Sirius was at University. At least next year Reg would be joining them and Sirius could stop being so concerned all the bloody time. “I just think most of the pictures he’s shown me were from when you were a lot younger. Still had your spots.”

Regulus smiled and took another drag. “He’s shown me pictures of you too,” he said, his smile becoming a little more sinister. “The one when you fell asleep drunk and he glued the deer horns to your head.”

James groaned in humiliation. “The next time I see Sirius he’s a dead man!”

Regulus laughed and dropped his cigarette, sliding his designer shoes over it to put it out. “What are friends for, right?”

“Yeah,” James said, trying not to sound sad as he said it. He was happy for Sirius and Remus, he really was. The first few months of Uni had been torture, watching Sirius and Remus dance around each other, both clearly interested but not saying it. It had been a relief to see them finally get over their shit and get together. But that didn’t mean James didn’t miss the old days of the three of them being friends, not that they weren’t still friends, but things had changed.

***

Sirius, of course, went over to Remus’ after the party, leaving James to get Regulus set up on their beat up old sofa. He pulled out the only spare blankets they had, just a thin sheet, and did his best to make it look comfortable. He showed Regulus how to work the telly, in case he wasn’t ready for bed, and then disappeared into his own room.

His curiosity got the best of him and he found Regulus’ instagram fairly easily. He thanked his lucky stars that it wasn’t a private account because having Reg know that he was looking was a bit too embarrassing. He began scrolling through the pictures and felt his mouth go dry. Reg knew how to take an amazing photo. James stared in disbelief that the same guy that was currently on his shitty sofa, watching what sounded to be That 70’s Show, could be the same person in these photos.

His eyes were glued to the screen as he swiped through picture after picture, his body heating up in response. Not good, he thought, trying and failing to remind himself that this was Sirius’ younger brother. Kill me now.

He was just about to slid his hand under the covers and do something about the ache between his legs when the door to his room opened. James dropped his phone in surprise and sat up, hoping he wasn’t tenting the blankets in an obvious way.

Regulus made his way over and slipped into James’ bed without asking. James stared at him, his throat working to try and swallow, and he watched in horror and Reg made himself comfortable.

“What are you doing?” James asked, his mind racing, trying to think of anything to make his erection go away.

Regulus shrugged. “It’s freezing and your sofa is a piece of shit.”

“Then go sleep in Sirius’ bed,” James said, dragging his hand over his face. This could not be happening to him.

“It would still be freezing,” Regulus rationalized, sinking further into the blankets. “This way we can share body heat.”

James stared at him incredulously.

Regulus sighed. “Don’t be such a baby, James. Just think of it as survival mode, right?”

James nodded and got back under the covers, taking care that no part of him was touching Regulus. “Good night,” he said awkwardly, his eyes wide open. He didn’t think he’d be getting much sleep.

“Good night.”

***

James woke up feeling good. He was warm and comfortable, and except for the arm he was sleeping on that had gone numb, he felt wholly relaxed. It took a moment for his brain to clear the fog and realize that he was spooning Reg. His nose was pressed against the nape of Reg’s neck and they were slotted together from that point of contact down to their feet. James’ crotch was pressed against Reg’ bum and Christ there was no way he couldn’t feel how hard James was.

Regulus began to stir, his body shifting and James’ hand flew up and grabbed him by the hips to still him. Reg turned his head and smiled wickedly. “Problem, Potter?” he teased, moving his hips just to be a little shit.

James ripped himself away and tore the covers off, heading into the bathroom. He turned the water to as cold as he could stand it and stood under the spray. Not good, he thought having a crisis right there in the shower. Sure, he’d been attracted to blokes before. This wasn’t a sexual identity crisis because James was bi and proud and would kick the shit out of anyone that had a problem with that.

The issue was that this was Sirius’ brother and James was fairly certain Sirius would never forgive him. And more importantly Regulus was only there for the weekend. There was no point to be getting all hot and bothered about it. Except that next year Reg would be at this school with them. Shit, James was so utterly and completely fucked.

Once he’d calmed down, he stepped out of the shower and slung a towel around his waist. He ventured out into the hallway and found Regulus waiting for him. “Have a good cold shower, did we?” he asked, his eyes shinning knowingly.

“Fuck off, Reg,” James growled, pushing past him towards his room.

“You liked one of my pictures,” Reg said to James’ retreating back.

“What?” James asked, spinning around, droplets falling from his skin onto the floor.

Regulus took a step towards him but didn’t close the distance between them any further. “Last night, you liked one of my pictures on Instagram. That’s why I came into your room. I thought maybe you had done it on purpose, but I guess it was just an accident, huh?” Regulus laughed awkwardly and scratched at his eyebrow idly.

James processed what Reg had just said, trying to get past his mortification at having done something so stupid, and went right to Reg coming into his room after knowing James was stalking him online. “So last night…” James started, trying to think of the night words. “Just what were you hoping for?”

“I don’t know,” Reg responded, staring at the floor. “Something like this morning except without the part of you running away like a frightened deer?”

James stepped closer, bridging the gap between them a bit. “Why?” he asked, reaching out and tugging Regulus closer by his sleep shirt. Reg stumbled a bit but went willingly. “You don’t even know me.”

Regulus blushed prettily and ducked his head down. “I feel like I do,” he murmured softly. “On his visits home Sirius would talk about you constantly. You were almost like – fuck – like a fairytale character to me. I kept pressuring Sirius for a visit because I wanted to meet you. God, you must think I’m a stupid little kid with a crush. Please, don’t say anything to Sirius about all this. He’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“Then how will I tell him we’re dating?” James asked, smiling mischievously.

Regulus shook his head. “Please don’t take the piss right now,” he begged softly. “I don’t think my ego can handle it after this morning.”

James cupped Regulus’ chin and forced the younger man to meet his gaze. James smiled kindly and traced Reg’s full lips with his thumb. “I wasn’t taking the piss. Although I should probably warn you that I am a bit of a cock-up. I don’t think dating me will be the fairytale you imagined.”

Regulus bit James’ thumb playfully. “I don’t care,” he said, smiling at James. “Even the beast had some good qualities.”

“I notice you’ve cast yourself as beauty in the scenario.”

“You don’t think I’m pretty?” Regulus said, batting his eyelashes.

James chuckled. “I think you’re gorgeous,” he said honestly, “And also trouble.”

Regulus grinned. “You don’t mind a bit of trouble, do you, James?” he challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“Not at all.”

#jegulus #i write things #background wolfstar #university au #I've been writing a lot of those lately #long post #fluff #I actually wrote something where they don't kiss #it feels wrong

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kindness-ricochets · 4 years

Text

The Feast of Sankt Nikolai

Working title: Sinterklaas in Ketterdam

Corporalki: @flowerboynoah @sassysaltysarcasticstupid

Materialki: @imjustsomebodyelse @rootcellars [x] @sargents

Summary: Several years have passed since the Ice Court job and the winter holidays are approaching! For Jesper and Wylan, this means a chance to take a break from business and spend time with family—including Marya; Colm, visiting from Novyi Zem; Inej, on a brief stop from hunting slavers on the True Sea; and Wylan’s half-sister. But Ketterdam never stops. Wylan should be focused on convincing the rest of the Merchant Council to approve spending for public education… and he would be, if he weren’t distracted by a body on the docks in Hanraat Bay.

Merriment, merchers, and murder—’tis the season, Ketterdam-style.

Ao3 Link

In four and a half years, many things had changed for Jesper Fahey. He no longer lived in the Barrel, though he still lived in Ketterdam, and he was no longer a university dropout, but approaching completion of his degree. His body had taken pity and finally allowed him to grow a beard, though he was clean-shaven for now. It was more the knowledge that he could, if he wanted, have a beard. He kept his hair long, in Zemeni-style braids.

As he strode past two members of the stadwatch, he nodded in greeting and the men nodded back, familiar. He did not pause his stride. That was one thing that hadn't changed: as ever, Jesper was running late. He hurried up the stairs to the second story.

Jesper still dressed Barrel-bright, though. He had lost his jacket somewhere—in the pub? By the time the cold pierced his shirt, he had been too far along to turn back, already behind schedule—but his wine-red shirt and plaid trousers set off his paisley brocade waistcoat delightfully. A man could be a responsible university student and maintain his style!

Even as he heard voices spilling out from the theater where the Merchant Council held meetings, Jesper continued to lament the loss of his jacket. It wasn't a particularly nice jacket, but it was a particularly chilly corridor.

Sodding Kerch, he thought.

Six years of living in Ketterdam might have made him as familiar with the city as any nativeborn Kerch, but he would still curse their tight-fistedness on the heating budget. It was a government building, for the Saints' sake!

Jesper opened the door and slipped onto the balcony. Other observers crowded in; though he tried to edge closer, he knew he wouldn't be getting a prime spot. Instead, he craned his neck to get a view. At least the acoustics were good. The moment he opened the door, a crisp voice had washed over him, pitched to reach the rafters. He knew for a fact that voice was pitched to reach the rafters. He had been present for the elocution lessons.

"…that this proposal diverts badly needed funds away from the city, away from Ketterdam's hardworking denizens, on a project we do not need!"

"Do not need?" repeated another member of the Council. Jesper recognized the voice—Hiram Schenck. Voice like a frog, with a face to match. Schenck was true Kerch. All that had value had value in coin.

"Podge," Jesper muttered.

A second Councilman added, "Kerch needs its defenses. Kerch needs its safety. Or we may as well call ourself Shu Han!"

Boreg's logic sounded good, at least enough to earn murmurs of disapproval from the gallery. They did not wish to be called Shu Han. Well, neither did Jesper. He still woke up in a cold sweat sometimes from dreams about the kherguud. It didn't matter how many reasonable intellectual arguments he heard; Jesper did not hate the Shu, but their Fabrikator-modified soldiers left him with a deep fear of them.

"We have the Council of Tides," replied Wylan.

"Clever thing."

"Shh!" whispered someone beside Jesper.

Jesper didn't care. Wylan was clever, and just as Jesper needed reminders from time to time that he was safe, Wylan needed reminders that he was smart. Some wounds took a long time to fade. The Council of Tides and Merchant Council had their own power struggles, but those were carefully concealed from the public.

When he first saw Wylan, Jesper thought of him as a lost prince. He still saw Wylan that way, in his more romantic moments, simply no longer lost—found, cleaned up, made a man but never made a king. And today, Saints, his prince was shining.

"We have a more than formidable arsenal! What do we show the Zemeni and the Southern States if we insist our trade routes need more protection? They are our allies! What do we show the people of this city if we bankrupt their children's schools to pay for weapons to sit and wait for a war that may never come? Kerch must learn its lessons from Ravka, see how that country suffered from its wars and learn not to court our own."

"And if the Fjerdans should recover well enough to enter the fray?" asked Naten Boreg.

Fjerda was a changing country, but its strong military tradition prevailed. Had he not been over the figures again and again to prepare Wylan for this, Jesper might have felt the fear of that statement. He knew Wylan was frustrated down there. He must want to throw out the arguments he used with Jesper when they were alone: Kerch had a strong enough military now, they were strong at sea, Schenck's arguments had more to do with his mines than his fears! Jesper simply saw it as a sound approach. When you have Kerch's sole ruthenium mine, naturally, you argue that Kerch needs ruthenium. Needs weapons. Made sense. But his sweet, optimistic revolutionary continued to believe people ought to think of the greater good.

"We trust our allies in Ravka—"

"After what they did just a few years ago?" Schenck cut in. Jesper nodded to himself. He didn't like Schenck, so he had been particularly amused when the man thought he had pulled one over on the king of Ravka and brought home false submersible plans.

"Even so," Wylan insisted.

"The Ravkans have no love of the Fjerdans, either," offered Karl Dryden. "If Fjerda builds up its weapons again, Ravka is at the greatest risk."

"Our junior members seem to forget that the duty of this Council is to protect Kerch," sniped Boreg.

Jesper smiled. "Idiot," he muttered happily, earning himself another shush.

"My esteemed colleague," Wylan said, addressing Boreg with those silly, adorable merch manners, "the schools you would take these funds away from for one more submersible, they have already shown to benefit the children of Ketterdam. Fewer children are dying and more are finding their way into apprenticeships with even a year or two of education. Do we want to protect against an attack we might not face instead of continuing to fight dangers we do? Dangers like malnutrition and disease? These programs do protect Kerch, because what is Kerch—"

"If not her people!"

The line had put Wylan's name in the paper a few years ago. Years on, they still weren't tired of it. They broke the protocol of silence to shout it at him. With him.

Wylan had timed his speech perfectly. The bells announced three-quarter chime. The Merchant Council would be getting restless, would want to get home to their warm parlors and suppers.

Jellen Radmakker banged his gavel and called a vote.

Jesper already knew how Wylan would vote, and Dryden would follow as he often did. Dryden was not an impressive man in his own right, so he followed after Wylan—not openly, he was clever enough to deviate some and not look like a follower, but only on the smaller votes. When Wylan was this worked up, Dryden would follow. Similarly, Schenck and Boreg would oppose. Hoede would probably follow Wylan's side, Smit the opposing. Hoede, Dryden, and Wylan had come into their positions at close to the same time, but only Wylan, the youngest by far, had anything to bring besides more of the same. Hoede and Dryden tended to follow him more often than not.

When it came to the final vote, there were six for the military expansion and five against, with Van Aakster abstaining. Jesper still felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins, barely down from the kick it got when Van Aakster abstained. Abstained! Wild card!

A man could have as much fun at a political debate as he could at the card table if he looked for it.

The final vote cast was Radmakker's, and it drew an uncertain reaction from the crowd.

"Draw," announced Radmakker, "the Council will reconvene for an emergency session to resolve the matter at seven bells and half chime tomorrow. So ordered."

He banged his gavel, and with that, the meeting was adjourned.

"What was that?" someone in the gallery muttered.

"Waste of time," replied another.

"A damn show," complained a third.

Jesper let the crowd carry him along, listening as the discussion continued. Overall the people seemed malcontent with the outcome. He was inclined to agree. All the build-up to a cliffhanger? He was ready to be elated! He was ready to be furious! He was not ready to be postponed for a day. The Council would be especially fussed at the loss of a holiday. Sacred is Ghezen, but the winter holiday was apparently even more sacred than commerce.

On the first floor, Jesper fell back and let the crowds thin before starting against the tide.

He wasn't actually allowed in the Council chamber. No one was but the Councilmen, despite the stadwatch posted by the door recognizing Jesper. He didn't bother arguing. A few of the Councilmen passed, greeting him by name. Even those who didn't like Jesper or didn't like Wylan had accepted that the two were a pair. Merchers to the last, they kept their manners. Jesper was almost impressed not only by how many cast nervous glances at his revolvers, but how many managed to greet him anyway. Just for Wylan, Jesper did not antagonize the merchers. He could have casually pushed up his sleeves and given a glimpse of the crow and cup tattooed on his right arm—but the weather today was too cold for that, and Jesper was actively trying not to alienate the people Wylan had to work with.

Speaking of whom…

"Jes!"

Wylan's face lit up, a sight Jesper only had a moment to enjoy before Wylan was hugging him like it had been weeks rather than hours since they were last together. Jesper would never get tired of that.

"How was it?" Wylan asked, pulling back, searching Jesper's face for answers. He was sweating, pupils wide, marked the way Jesper used to be after an hour at the tables. The only difference was that once Wylan's jitters wore off, Jesper knew he would want—need—holding and soothing. Wylan didn't actually like public speaking. It happened to be necessary to his aims and he was good at it, but he didn't like it.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine now that you're here, my blessing," he said, pressing a kiss to Jesper's knuckles.

The endearment had rankled some the first time Jesper heard it. He knew Wylan meant it literally. Wylan had always accepted Jesper's powers more easily than Jesper himself accepted them. Maybe from someone else it would have been too much, but this was his Wylan, coupling the term with an open, adoring look, and Jesper had seen no choice but to accept that to Wylan, Jesper was a blessing.

"Come on," Wylan continued, "tell me everything. Where's your coat?"

The words were barely out but Wylan began removing his own coat. He had changed in the past few years, too—grown in confidence and just grown . Now they could kiss without Wylan standing on tiptoe.

By size alone, the idea of Jesper borrowing Wylan's coat was not absurd.

For every other reason, it was absolutely absurd.

Jesper stopped Wylan with a hand on his shoulder. "I don't need your coat," he said, straightening the lapels. He let his hands linger, brushing a fingertip against the necklace tucked under Wylan's shirt, eliciting a soft sigh from Wylan. Then he resettled the coat. The cold might bother him, but it wouldn't make him susceptible to illness. He was zowa. He was Grisha. Whatever you called him, that seed of magic kept him immune to germs and other feeble nonsense.

"Right, right," Wylan said. "I want to hear all about your exam!" he concluded, lacing their fingers together.

Jesper laughed. "No, you don't," he said.

"I do!"

No, he didn't.

"You've been waiting for the end of the semester since two weeks in," Jesper retorted. Usually Wylan had eagerly helped him study, listened to Jesper read off his class notes and textbooks and latched onto the information as easily as he had reports and business correspondence. This semester's course in public administration had challenged both of them to the edges of their patience. Necessary, for his goals, but dull as rocks.

That wasn't fair. Wylan liked rocks for their history. Jesper was less impressed with sedimentary striations, but he appreciated the shiny rocks they sometimes gave one another.

"Then I'm pleased it's here," Wylan said.

"I passed and it's over?"

Wylan brought their linked fingers to his lips for a kiss as they stepped outside. Jesper swallowed a shiver. The kiss was nice. The air briefly made him wish he had accepted Wylan's coat.

"You did great."

"You always say that."

Wylan shrugged. "You always do great."

"Excuses."

"I'm sorry you're so brilliant, Jesper."

And with that, their game had begun.

"I'm sorry you make such a great study buddy."

They had a lot of games between them. Mostly they were things Jesper did, like when he would hold Wylan and demand a toll to release him, but this one Wylan had invented. The apology game. No one stated the rules. They simply evolved and were and Jesper loved it. He loved how fun their games could be in better times and the framework those games gave them when bad memories threatened to overwhelm either of them.

Wylan snickered. "Study buddy," he repeated.

"One of your many talents."

"Unlike wordplay, which is clearly your kingdom."

"Mm," Jesper replied, feeling Wylan begin to lean against him. The adrenaline was fading. Jesper unlaced their fingers to wrap his arm around Wylan's shoulders, inviting Wylan to lean more into him. They had been together for nearly a year when Wylan finally hit his growth. He was still the smaller of the two and fit tidily under Jesper's arm. Very convenient, especially at times like this. The public meetings were necessary but they wore Wylan out—not that Jesper had any complaints, either about his closeness, or about the warm windbreak he made. This was truly not the weather in which to skip one's coat.

When Jesper directed them toward a coffee house, Wylan shook his head. "We can't, Jes. Let's stop off at home instead. You need a coat."

"I'll be fine," Jesper objected, though he wanted his coat. Stubbornness required him to object.

"Jesper Llewellyn, we are going home or I will buy you a new coat, but we will not go to Second Harbor without a coat on you."

"You're not fun when you call me Llewellyn."

"I'm sorry, my love. One of us has to be practical and it's not going to be you."

Jesper snorted. "Sure, Mister Practical, the guy trying to convince the Kerch Merchant Council to invest in its schools over its weapons."

"Just you wait, that vote's going my way tomorrow morning."

"Mm, all right. Home it is. Just think what people would say if Councilman Van Eck went around with his husband in a shabby coat."

"You're not my husband yet."

Jesper laughed. "Of course, gorgeous. Just one more ring and I'll stop being hilarious."

#grishabigbang #six of crows #six of crows fanfic #Jesper Fahey #Wylan Van Eck #Ketterdam Politics #my writing #gvbbcreation

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the-pancake-writes · 6 years

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Snippet: Prince Yugi/Bodyguard Atem AU 7 - The Temptation

Sequel to “Another Ball”

For a complete overview check the contents page

If you saw this post you already know about this AU of mine. The title basically says it all. Prince Yugi, body guard Atem, forbidden love, drama. ;D

Last time we all concluded that Atem is a frickin DUMMY for rejecting Yugi like he did. But luckily someone else is there to cheer him up...

Another alarm for @spiritualpuzzleshipper and @yamisonarbtleh!!

Yugi adjusted the sleeves of his white shirt.

“It feels so strange not wearing two undershirts after all these months”, he said. A maid helped him into a dark blue vest with floral embroidery and buttoned it up.

“If it stays this warm the snow should be melting away within a week or so. Some even say they saw the first crocuses on the palace grounds”, she said.

“Already?”, Yugi said, not sure whether to be sad or happy. While he was looking forward to spring it’d also mean that soon he’d have to leave Dareia, his home country, and travel to Kallias. No specific date had been set yet but he and his mother had agreed that he should be on his way by the beginning of spring.

While the maid tied his cravat knock sounded.

“Yes?”, Yugi said and a servant entered and bowed.

“Excuse me for interrupting, my prince. But I have a message from Royal Protector Sennen. He says he can’t come to your appointment in the library in the evening. He’s not feeling well”, the servant said and his words sent a sting through Yugi’s heart. Atem had been skipping their reading sessions and rides for over two weeks now. Yugi gulped, gritted his teeth and decided that this was the last time Atem rejected him like this.

“Well, I have a message for him too. He doesn’t need to come up with any more excuses because all our regular appointments are from now on cancelled”, he said. Both the servant’s and the maid’s eyes widened. Yugi never used such direct and harsh words, not even with people he disliked.

“I will deliver it, my prince”, the servant said and withdrew. The maid finished the knot and Yugi sat down on a chair, arms crossed, while she helped him into his shoes.

Since the last ball all Atem did was exercise at the gym. He had never been particularly sociable but he had at least spent time with Yugi and a few of the royal guards. Yugi had tried to approach him twice but Atem had mumbled things Yugi had barely understood and upon asking him to repeat himself, he had just walked away. Yugi had hoped that Atem would come around himself but if he decided not to, Yugi had no intentions to be pushed away every day over and over.

Had his request to teach him that special Kallian dance made Atem realise how little he actually cared for Yugi? Had Yugi misinterpreted how much Atem enjoyed their time together over the past three years? Had he guessed that Yugi was in love with him and now things could never return to the way they had been…? The thought gave Yugi a cold shiver.

Once the maid was finished, he checked himself in the mirror, grabbed his notepad and dictionary from a chest of drawers, and left the room. The usual morning scents of tea, bread, and marmalade were still wafting through the corridors as he walked. At least he’d get to spend the morning with Lord Otogi who was the exact opposite from Atem: welcoming, open, and charming.

While the thought of Atem made Yugi want to hide under a blanket, Lord Otogi made him laugh, sometimes even feel warm and fuzzy inside when he gave Yugi another compliment about his beauty or intelligence. He felt lighter already when he approached Lord Otogi’s chambers and saw his red-haired maid waiting for him. She curtseyed.

“Welcome, your highness”, she said with a smile that made her look even more gorgeous. “Please follow me.”

While the rest of the palace still smelled of breakfast, Lord Otogi’s chambers had the usual fresh but sweet fragrance. The maid lead Yugi into the same drawing room as always. Lord Otogi was spreading a map over the low table before the couch. When he saw Yugi he stood up and greeted him with open arms.

“My prince! So good to see you again!”

“It’s only been one day”, Yugi said with a smirk but actually happy about Lord Otogi’s enthusiasm. After placing his notepad and dictionary on the table they touched each other’s upper arms and pecked each other’s cheeks. Yugi enjoyed the Kallian greeting by now, especially the rush of excitement that came with it. The rest of the palace would no doubt be scandalized but it was their little secret…

“What’s today’s lesson?”, Yugi said as they sat down. The maid poured them cups of tea and withdrew.

“I would like to teach you about the different regional dialects of the Kallian language. It can be a rather confusing subject, even for native speakers, but there are a few things you should know”, Lord Otogi said. He began to talk while pointing at Kallias’ different islands but Yugi couldn’t concentrate.

Was Atem exercising as usual? How would he react when he received Yugi’s message? Would he be sad? Angry? Relieved? Had Yugi’s words been too harsh after all…? But if Atem cared about their appointments he’d try to talk to Yugi one of these days! Right…?

“My prince?”, Lord Otogi said and Yugi turned his head. “Is everything all right? You look worried.”

Yugi gulped. Atem always said something similar when Yugi was upset, even if the hints were so subtle no one else picked up on them…

“Yes…well…it’s something personal. I don’t want to burden you with that.”

“I wouldn’t mind. And I can assure you that everything you say will stay between us.”

Yugi chewed on his bottom lip. It would be inappropriate to talk about something private with his teacher. But weren’t they pushing the boundaries of what was appropriate for Dareian standards with every lesson already? Besides, Yugi had no one else he could tell this sort of thing…

“Well…it’s…it’s Atem”, Yugi said and played with his cravat. “He’s acting so different since I’m preparing for my mission in Kallias. He doesn’t even want to spend time with me any more. We used to be so close and all that rejection…it hurts…”

“I see”, Lord Otogi said, leaned back, and crossed his legs. “While I can’t claim to know Atem better than you he strikes me as a rather protective man, which makes him perfect for the position he’s in. But I assume that since you spend most of your time here at the palace he feels rather…useless. Maybe it bothers him so much he doesn’t feel deserving of spending any casual time with you.”

“Y-You don’t think there’s more to it…?”, Yugi said, his voice hardly louder than a whisper.

“What more could there be?”

Yugi looked to the other side.

“I…I don’t know”, he mumbled.

“In any case, I don’t think he has any bad intentions. I’m sure once we leave for Kallias and Atem can do his usual job everything will turn back to normal.”

Back to normal… Did Yugi want that? And if not, what did he want…?

“Don’t look so sad, my prince. Look, spring is almost here. Maybe we can take a ride one of these days and search for crocuses?”, Lord Otogi said.

Oh…yes, that’s a lovely idea”, Yugi said without meaning it.

“I must admit I’m not used to spring coming this early. Is it always like this on the continent?”

“Yes, this is actually pretty nor…” Yugi said but stopped when he turned back to Lord Otogi. He had rolled up his sleeves, taken off his cravat, and opened the first three buttons of his shirt.

“I didn’t know. I should have dressed differently today. But anyway, back to our lesson. About this region…”, Lord Otogi said and bent towards the map. But Yugi couldn’t stop staring. His fingers were digging into his pants, his posture perfectly erect. “Is something wrong, my prince?”

Yugi flinched.

“I…uhm…you know…men here on the continent…we usually don’t show…anything below here”, Yugi said and tapped his neck. Sure, women now and then wore ball gowns that were cut lower but men? Never!

“Really? Then what do you do in summer when it’s really hot?”

“We…uhm…sweat?”, Yugi said with an insecure laugh. His breath stopped and his temperature rose when Lord Otogi placed an arm on the backrest behind him and moved closer.

“Say, is this making you uncomfortable, my prince?”, Lord Otogi whispered and his voice danced down Yugi’s spine.

“W-Well…not uncomfortable…but this is rather…new”, Yugi said, trying to look at Lord Otogi’s face but his eyes kept darting back to the elegant arches of his collar bones.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to it, my prince. When it’s warm in Kallias men wear their shirt open all the time. On particularly hot days some men might not even wear a shirt at all.”

“What?!”, Yugi said, both in shock and fascination.

“But the latter only applies to commoners who have to do hard work. You won’t see so many shirtless nobles”, Lord Otogi said.

“Oh…all right then”, Yugi said, not sure himself if he sounded relieved or disappointed.

“You know, my prince…I wouldn’t mind if you took a closer look in order to get used to the sight. After all, I can’t have you be all distracted and confused should you meet with a Kallian noble on a warm day”, Lord Otogi said and chuckled. Yugi smiled awkwardly and tried not to stare immediately at the area in question. How smooth and silky Lord Otogi’s skin looked…even a small part of his chest was revealed…and under his shirt collar a black line peeked out.

“Is that…a tattoo?”, Yugi said and pointed at it.

“Oh, yes. It is”, Lord Otogi said and tugged on the shirt collar to uncover an ancient symbol.

“Oh!”, Yugi said and added at Lord Otogi’s confused look: “I…I’m pretty sure Atem has the same tattoo at the exact same spot. What a coincidence!”

The last time Yugi had seen it had been in his office when they had talked about the blue, little book. But Yugi had seen it multiple times before when Atem had scratched his neck.

“It’s no coincidence at all, actually”, Lord Otogi said with a smirk and turned back to the map on the low table before them. “I’ll tell you another time. Now back to the lesson, yes?”

Yugi frowned at Lord Otogi’s evasive reply and decided to press for a clear answer at a later point. That idea was forgotten quickly, however.

He found himself unable to resist staring at Lord Otogi’s exposed skin. Lord Otogi didn’t seem to mind at all and just continued with the lesson. Yugi pinched his own arm for his lack of control several times. He had a mission, a mission! But what did a few looks matter…? Yugi’s inner tingled with a type of hunger he didn’t know.

That circle of fascination and restraint continued throughout the other subjects Lord Otogi talked to him about. But whatever Lord Otogi taught him about certain holidays, traditional songs, and the old temples, Yugi didn’t remember any of it. He was either memorizing every spot of Lord Otogi’s neck and chest or scolding himself for trying to do so. After a while, Yugi too felt like his clothes were too warm.

“It seems you’re not all that concentrated today”, Lord Otogi said and closed a book with illustrations of old temples. Yugi looked away and played with a strand of blond hair.

“I-I’m sorry”, he mumbled. Of course his distraction was more than obvious! It could only have been worse of he had been drooling!

“Don’t be. We all have such days. Maybe a more practical lesson would be more suitable?”, he said, stood up, and stretched a hand out to Yugi. “We could practise your dance skills.”

Yugi’s heartbeat quickened at those words. Getting even closer to that alluring body of Lord Otogi? He should decline, say he needed a moment to cool down, resist the temptation! But instead he took Lord Otogi’s hand and rose.

They walked a few steps to the area before the fireplace. Yugi had to suppress a shiver when they got into the starting position, which was almost identical to that on the continent – only much closer. Their upper bodies almost touched.

“Let’s start with the Mirage, shall we?”, Lord Otogi whispered and Yugi could only nod. Even though it was a slow dance Yugi’s breath deepened after a few minutes. He tried to focus on the steps but made many mistakes and apologised several times. His cheeks were burning with shame but Lord Otogi smiled.

“It’s no big deal, my prince. Just focus on me”, he said and Yugi bit his bottom lip to keep himself from saying:

“But that’s the problem…!”

Now the revealed parts of Lord Otogi’s chest and neck were even closer and so were the strong arms that held him. Because of their difference in height Yugi was even on eye level with the naked spots.

His hand clung to Lord Otogi’s shoulder in order not to lose his balance…but wouldn’t it be easy to let his fingers brush over the exposed areas and make it look like an accident…? Would that even be necessary? Would Lord Otogi just let him…no, what indecent thoughts!

Yugi felt dizzy and shaky but he didn’t want to sit down. He had never been this close to another person and never felt this much excitement crawl over his skin. They weren’t even doing the real dance steps any more and just swayed to the left and right.

Yugi didn’t know how but Lord Otogi made him trip but before he could fall Lord Otogi pressed his body against the wall. Yugi’s heart drummed against his chest, his fingers digging into Lord Otogi’s shirt. That helpless gesture of clinging to his only source of balance even revealed more parts of Lord Otogi’s chest and Yugi gasped at the sight.

“Goodness, how clumsy we are today”, Lord Otogi whispered. His forehead almost touched Yugi’s and his black bangs brushed his face. Yugi tried to answer but all words were stuck in his throat.

He had never been this close to that handsome face…those emerald eyes…those beautiful lips… One of them would need to move their head only a little forward…

But before Yugi could think any further, Lord Otogi glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and said:

“Look at the time. Our lesson is over already.”

“Wh-What?”, Yugi said.

“I know. How quickly time passes when you enjoy yourself”, Lord Otogi said and gently let go of Yugi.

Yugi grabbed onto the mantelpiece in order not to fall. While Yugi was still struggling with standing straight, Lord Otogi grabbed his notepad and dictionary from the low table and handed them to Yugi. They felt a lot heavier than earlier.

“Don’t worry, my prince. We will continue right where we left off”, Lord Otogi said with a wink. “So, would you like to go search for crocuses one of these days? Maybe we could take a ride and you can show me the outer garden? I heard it’s really beautiful.”

“Y-Yes. I’d love to”, Yugi said with a nervous chuckle. “I’ll go check my schedule and tell you when I have time.”

“Wonderful”, Lord Otogi said, placed his hands on Yugi’s upper arms and pecked Yugi’s cheeks. Heat sizzled through his body yet again. Yugi’s knees wobbled when Lord Otogi whispered into his ear: “I’m really looking forward to taking a ride with you.”

Yugi somehow staggered out of Lord Otogi’s chambers, through the corridors and into the royal wing. Yugi closed the door to his bedroom behind himself. Was he having a fever dream? He was feeling hot and dizzy and what just happened couldn’t have been reality.

Maybe Yugi had misunderstood it all! Maybe none of it would be considered inappropriate in Kallias! No, not even in Kallias could it be normal to press another person against the wall and look them in the eyes like that… Unlike Yugi, Lord Otogi had been perfectly secure and relaxed, as if he had done this sort of things a dozen times already.

Yugi’s inner leapt at a realisation. Lord Otogi had done this sort of thing a dozen times already. Maybe even more! Nobles in Kallias didn’t have to wait until marriage to… Goodness, Lord Otogi had already…spent the night with someone! Several people! Lord Otogi had to be an expert on the matter! Surely a night with him would be…

Yugi turned the key behind him, placed his dictionary and notepad on a chest of drawers beside him, and dashed towards his bedside table. In the bottom drawer he found the blue little book.

He sat down on his bed and opened it with trembling fingers. He turned to the third section, which was between men only. He drew a sharp breath at the page he landed on. It showed one man on his back, his legs spread with the other one between them.

He held the book as close to his eyes as possible without the picture becoming blurred. He couldn’t help but grin as he imagined what it’d be like to be the one on the bottom. He lay back, dropped the book, and clumsily opened the buttons of his vest and shirt. His hands ran over his skin, his eyes closed.

If only someone else’s fingers could explore his skin…! His shoulders, chest, stomach… Yugi spread his legs and imagined another man right between them, just like in the illustration… Their naked bodies rubbing against one another… Waking urges in Yugi he thought he didn’t have… Making him feel so hot he believed to be melting…

Yugi’s hand slid inside his pants and he had to bite his lip to suppress a moan. He moved his hips up and down in a way that was so new but felt so natural. Waves of hot and cold swept through him as he squirmed beneath that imaginary man…

Another man…tearing Yugi’s clothes apart in his desire…kissing him everywhere…his neck, jaw, and finally his lips… Yugi would open his eyes and see…

Yugi shot up and almost fell from the bed. He was panting and believed his heart had stopped. He hadn’t seen Lord Otogi’s face in his fantasy. He had seen Atem’s.

Now that he thought about it… He had imagined the skin of other other man darker than Lord Otogi’s. The body had been slim but muscular and Yugi knew few diplomats who were well-trained.

Yugi’s bad conscience made his intestines turn into stone. How dare he include his bodyguard in his sinful dreams?! Surely Atem would be disgusted! The thought of Atem’s revolted face drove any aroused heat out of him like a sudden snowstorm.

Yugi stood up and washed his hands in a bowl of water in a corner. Now he was glad he had cancelled his and Atem’s library appointment earlier. He wouldn’t have been able to look him in the eyes anyway.

Yugi dried his hands with a towel and cursed Lord Otogi for awakening these feelings in him in the first place! But as Yugi buttoned up his shirt and vest he knew he could only blame himself for being so susceptible to Lord Otogi’s advances.

“I am the prince of Dareia”, Yugi said to himself when he was fully dressed again. “That’s the path the gods chose for me and I can’t allow myself to deviate from it. Ever.”

He walked back to the bed and took the blue, little book from a pillow. He had been in perfect control of himself before he had smuggled it into the palace. It was the source of his sinful desires and without it his mind and soul could be clear again. He should burn it or throw it away.

But instead he stuffed it back into the bottom drawer of his bedside table and shut it.

“The gods forgive me”, he mumbled with a heavy heart. “Even though I don’t deserve it…”

#snippet #prince yugi au #puzzleshipping fanfiction #blindshipping fanfiction #offershipping #dont worry atem will be back in person next snippet #oh otogi #you are teasing the prince quite a bit arent you #hes so much fun to write lol #btw yugi is washing his hands in the end #good boy!!!! lol

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shemakesmeforget · 6 years

Text

15 fics under 1K kudos

We all know how tempting is to sort fics by kudos, so I'm doing that lol I hope you all enjoy this underrated gems. I might do a part 2, I'm definitely posting a list for wips tomorrow (these are all completed fics btw). I have some moodboards coming, but for now you can check here and for other fic recs here. Okay, let's go!

How to Surprise Your Fiancé With Pork: An Honest Walkthrough by Viktor Nikiforov by Orchids_and_Fictional_Cities (@orchids-and-fictional-cities)

Canonverse, Rated T, 5K

The thing with Viktor is that once he’s set his mind on something, there is a very very minuscule chance of him not following through on said thing.

He wants to do something for Yuuri: partly as a Valentine’s Day gift, partly as a prelude to Worlds, and partly ‘just because’. It’s somewhere between dwelling on the abstract thought of Yuuri’s hunger as a competitor, and watching the younger skater on Facetime with his mother back home, that an idea starts to form..

This is how Katsuki Yuuri, the love of his life, the apple of his eye, the fire of his loins et cetera, ad infinitum, finds Viktor when he walks into the door: standing precariously with one foot on a barstool and the other on top of his counter, frantically fanning at his smoke detector with a magazine.

• This is hilarious, sweet Viktor... he tries so so hard (also I relate to this more than I would like lol)

voices carry by spookyfoot (@spookyfoot)

Canonverse, Rated T, 4K

God Chris is loud, Victor thinks, half of his glass of vodka sloshing onto the floor as another rhythmic thump sounds against the shared wall between his and Chris’ rooms. Would the hotel allow him to change rooms so late at night? He could probably manage it no problem, but his toiletries are spread all over the bathroom and by the time he packs those up Chris and his…guest should be finished.

He’ll have to wait it out.

A moan floats through the wall. Victor’s not sure if it’s approving his plan or warning him to give up while he still can.

He pours himself some more vodka.

“Fill me up,” Chris's Fuck Buddy (CFB) says.

Oh god. Victor takes a long pull of vodka from his glass.

For once, Chris is quiet enough that Victor can’t hear anything beyond a murmur. And he thinks that’s that until—

“Fuck a baby into me,” Chris’ bedmate moans.

Victor chokes on his drink.

_____

Meet cute by way of pregnancy kink

• *heavy breathing* seriously?? You're giving us Yuuri doing the walk of shame and YUUCHRIS??? beware I laughed so hard I cried, so much secondhand embarrassment.

Lay Your Head by kiaronna (@kiaronna)

Canonverse, Rated G, 2K

By the time they end up sharing a bed, they’ve already slept next to each other everywhere else.

• I LOVE this trope so much omg, you’re in for a treat A DELIGHT.

overture for two (me & you) by oh_fudgecakes (@asideoftrashplease)

Canonverse, Rated E, 21K

Plagued by his poor performance at the GPF, Yuuri’s disastrous free at Japanese Nationals ends not just in eleventh-place, but deals him with a lasting injury, resulting in him retiring before the events of the show. He becomes a commentator, determined to move on from his uneventful skating career. Yet, a series of chance meetings with a smitten Viktor and his own yearning for the ice keeps drawing him back to competitive figure skating.

In which everything's different, but it all ends the same anyway.

• Commentor!Yuuri owns me lol (all Yuuris own me), a great balance between angst and humor.

Lead Me To You by luni

Canonverse, Rated E, 68K

Victor Nikiforov, Russia’s living legend of figure skating, is forced to take most part of the season off because of a rather serious injury. A comeback, no matter how exciting or unexpected, is never easy- especially when the person who is supposed to help Victor through most of it is none other than Katsuki Yuuri, former ace of Japan, now retired.

• Role reversal!! Coach Yuuri!!!! angsty af but oh dear they're crazy for each other.

Ode To Apollo 13 by cerebella (@badkisser)

Space AU, Rated E, 66K

Yuuri Katsuki has his first and only breakup, and reacts the only way he knows how: board a starship and live out the rest of his life in outer space, millions of light years from the home planet he loves.

It doesn't work.

• Getting back together is a trope I really enjoy, also friends with benefits *praying hands emoji * Particularly I like the flashback to their school days and, if you squint, you have some sweet yuuchris too <3

were stars to burn by xylophones (@xyloophones)

Space AU, Rated T, 7K

How should we like it were stars to burn

With a passion for us we could not return?

“I’ll call,” Viktor promises, “I’ll write, I’ll send holo videos, I’ll–– I’ll–– I’ll––”

He doesn’t say “I’ll stay if you ask” but he thinks it. He thinks about asking Yuuri to wait for him.

He won’t.

(But he thinks about it: Yuuri, pointing up at the night sky and saying “there’s the love of my life, among the planets, among the streaks of light above us.”)

• I dont wanna say I cried like a baby because that would be insulting to babies. So sad and beautiful.

Follow Me Down the Milky Way by Skowronek and voxofthevoid (@kaja-skowronek and @voxofthevoid)

Space AU, Rated E, 17K

When decorated space officer Viktor Nikiforov is sent on a mission to bring down an infamous smuggler, he does not expect to be swept off his feet by a pole dancer as mysterious as he is deadly.

Yuuri Katsuki simply tries to make the galaxy a better place with as little collateral damage as possible, but that's easier said than done when a fleet commander's son sneaks into his ship and a pretty officer with a thigh fetish is after his head and dick both.

• BAMF!Yuuri <3 finally Yuuri's thighs get the appreciation and love they deserve. Very sweet and funny!

quantum entanglement by minsyah (@pockybugi)

College/Coffee Shop AU, Rated T, 17K

For some reason, the man—Viktor—sits in front of him, silver hair flouncing as he settles comfortably into the chair, introducing himself as Yuuri’s new math tutor with an easy smile.

And Yuuri, 25 years old with a Ph.D. in Applied Mathematics…doesn’t correct him.

(Viktor mistakes Yuuri for a high school student struggling with Geometry. Yuuri’s too awkward to figure out how to tell him otherwise.)

• I'm still laughing so hard. The ultimate meet cute! Yuuri is a dork, my sweet child.

Can you, not? by shereadsthestars

College AU, Rated M, 7K

"Stop moving," Yuuri hisses.

"I'm not moving," Viktor hisses right back, causing Yuuri to roll his eyes.

"Yes, you are," he says, adjusting himself to the best of his ability so as to accommodate Viktor's incessant shifting. "Or I wouldn't have told you not to."

"Whatever," Viktor breathes, then, without missing a beat, "Go out with me."

"No."

• Viktor is so in love, Yuuri tries very hard to not fall in love but everything works out in the end. Cute angst? cute angst!

faking in secret by DefiantDreams (@gia-comeatme)

College AU, Rated T, 14K

It gets kind of difficult when you’re simultaneously fake dating and dating in secret at the same time.

Yuuri and Viktor make it work—until they don’t.

• FAKE SECRET DATING GOOD GOD. This Yuuri omg!!!! oblivious heartbreakek to the max. Adorable and hilarious.

Foresight, not just foreplay by myoue (@cofferi)

Roommates AU, Rated M, 6K

There’s no way I could have casual sex, Victor says, I’d fall in love immediately.

• Friends with benefits is my weakness and oh?? This fic???? I adore how they dance around each other. Just wonderful!

life with the dull bits cut out by thishasbeencary (@yoyoplisetsky)

Actors AU, Rated T, 9K

Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katuski have been best friends since acting school. Viktor got his big break early, and brought Yuuri on to every exciting event and premier in his career. As Yuuri's career takes off, he does the same with Viktor. They do everything together, and act like they've known each other for their entire lives.

Their fans think they're in love.

(Spoilers: They are.)

• This fic literally made me cry at work, friends to lovers is my favorite trope ever and mutual pining AND OMG THIS IS SO CUTE I WANNA CRY AGAIN, amazing.

The Viktor Nikiforov Affair by YankingAwry (@rvancoogler)

Heist AU, Rated T, 13K

Viktor tries wooing Yuuri. Yuuri will not be wooed. And then there's the small matter of Viktor being a Russian master criminal art thief extraordinaire, Yuuri being the Interpol agent assigned to handle him, and the imminent theft of a hundred million dollar painting.

There's tension throughout the whole fic, Yuuri tries do hard and Viktor tries the hardest.

• The fic I didn’t know I needed BUT I DID, such a good read! this Viktor must be one of my faves, hands down.

Comes Love by Multiple_Universes (@witharthurkirkland)

Burlesque AU, Rated M, 46K

People in the audience would crane their necks to watch Yuuri sit and calmly sip his drink. He’d raise the glass to his lips and down its contents slowly, as if the gold liquid was honey and not champagne. Or he’d get a cocktail and drink it through a straw in a way that would make the men around him break out into a cold sweat. Then he’d cross his legs and recline in his seat and it didn’t matter what was happening on the stage: every eye in the room was on him. The regulars often said that no one could cross their legs like Eros did.

That night he sat in his usual spot and watched the stage with unseeing eyes. Two weeks of someone leaving a bouquet of roses would make anyone curious. He’d always find them in the same spot. There were always seven of them. And they always came without a note. But Yuuri knew they were all from the same person.

A Burlesque AU with Yuuri as a performer and Victor as his admirer.

• Are you ready to experience the best visuals of your existence? *fans self* This Yuuri is just too powerful, def too much to handle (praying for Viktor). Strip and fluff is now my new religion. It was angsty at times but overall it was very sexy and cute, so lovely.

#me: i should study no more fic for today #*does this list instead*#oh well #yuri on ice #fic rec #yoi fic rec #also i realized i'm a cry baby #ps these are all victuuri :)#also formatting this was the worst but know i tried hah #chel fic recs

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from-the-clouds · 6 years

Text

Broken - Steve/Reader

Gif originally by @toney-starks

Playlist * Masterlist

Summary/Request from @barnestans: 'room mate falls in the shower and breaks an arm’ with Steve!! Give me Steve being super proper and polite but also hilarious!!

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Broken arm.

AN: YEE! Little bit of humor, fluff, angst, everything. Another prompt for @barnestans prompt night!! I haven’t written anything I’m this proud of in awhile, so please enjoy Y/N and Roommate!Steve

This situation wasn't something any normal person your age would have to experience, but somehow, it happened. What the hell? This stuff only happened to senior citizens, or so you thought.

You could only really blame yourself, though. For the past weeks, you'd been overworking yourself. You were staying at work late, hardly eating since you were so busy, fueled by coffee and energy bars. Essentially, you were burning the candle at both ends.

It was a Friday night, and you were home later than normal. Steve, your roommate, who usually spent his weekends in drawing, locked inside his room, had already arrived at home. You could hear the faint sound of Frank Sinatra playing through the crack under his door, his record of choice for when he was sketching.

Gently, you rested your head against the wall of his bedroom, listening to his desk chair creak as he shifted his his weight, a sharp inhale through his nose. You'd lived together almost a year now, after he responded to a Craigslist ad you had posted when your old roommate, a friend from your previous job, moved out. The dynamic between the two of you was perfect. He was incredibly introverted, as were you, but you'd had plenty of nights where you stayed up talking after watching your favorite TV shows together, him sitting across from you on the armchair in your living room, his fingers clasping the neck of a beer bottle as you tipsily listened to him tell stories from college. He wasn't draining to be around, like most people.

He was handsome, you'd known that initially when you met him. But that wasn't why you fell in love with him. Maybe you were crazy. Maybe it was just the idea of him that you liked. But he was so close all the time, so kind and quiet and gentle. There weren't many men like him. And the handful of times he'd brought someone home after a date, only a few months after he'd moved in, had nearly broken your heart. It had been awhile since he'd done that, though, and while it was foolish to let those things effect your relationship, you couldn't quite help but feel relieved that he didn't appear to currently be dating. Stepping away from his bedroom and across the hall to yours, the wooden floor creaked as it settled underneath your feet.

"Welcome home, (Y/N)," You heard Steve call from inside his room, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Happy Friday.”

"Thank you," you found yourself smirking, too.

"I hope you're going straight to bed," he said. "I've barely seen you at all these past few weeks," His voice was quite muffled by the door, but you could still picture him sitting at his desk, pencil to notepad, not even looking up as he spoke to you, reading glasses perched on his nose.

"I'm showering first," you chuckled, and he didn't respond, but knew he had heard you.

Opening up your bedroom door, you found it in a bit of a disarray, your clothes scattered all over the floor as you'd left it this morning. Shucking off your coat, you tossed it in the chair next to your bed, which usually was where you deposited clothes that weren't dirty that you were too lazy to hang up.

Next you entered your bathroom, where you turned the shower to it's hottest setting, water on full blast. You didn't have the luxury of a bathtub, so you'd have to make do. This evening, you were primarily focused on curling up with a cup of tea or hot chocolate, maybe a glass of wine...or maybe both.

After undressing, you stepped into the shower, steadying yourself with the handle. Your least favorite part about this apartment was how slick the shower was when it got wet. You usually wore flip-flops for more traction, but tonight you didn't really care, you wanted to get out of the shower and into bed as fast as possible.

The hot water was intoxicating, running over the tense muscles in your back as you turned your neck to both sides, eyes closed, savoring every second of bliss. A contented sigh left your lips lazily, as you tilted your head back to let the water wash away the tension between your eyebrows. It was like curling up in a warm blanket, so maybe that's why you seemed to suddenly black out, the next thing you knew you were on your stomach, one arm bent awkwardly underneath you, screaming in pain, your head pounding.

A whimper passed your lips when you tried to stand, your arm was bent at an angle you didn't know was possible....probably because it wasn't. You realized with horror you were unable to move, and you must have hit the shower knob on your way down, because the water was now freezing, almost dangerously so. There had to be a way out of this, had too. There was no way in hell you were going to call out for help.

The pain in your arm seemed to only get worse, however. Tears were pricking at the back of your eyes, partly from pain, partly from embarrassment. You didn't have a choice.

"Help!" You croaked out meekly. That wasn't going to be enough. Your whole body was trembling from the cold water. "Steve!" You called for your roommate. This might as well happen today, you thought to yourself. So much for your crush. After this you'd have to change your identity and flee the state.

After managing to holler his name a few more times you heard the bedroom door open.

"(Y/N)?" you heard Steve call. Your bathroom door creaked open. "Are you okay?"

Your only view was the tile wall of the shower, and you thanked God that at least you'd fallen on your stomach, so he didn't see every part of you. It saved you a bit of humiliation, as if that were possible.

"Stop!" You commanded. "I think....I think I broke my arm....or something. I can't move. I don't know."

"It's okay, let me turn off the water. It's freezing in here," Steve shivered, but his voice was calm and even. You were crying pretty hard now, a mixture of embarrassment, pain, and stress, and you hoped he couldn't tell.

"Don't look at me!" You blurted out.

"I'm not-" you heard him sniff. "I'm not going to look at you," he said. His voice moved closer to you, and the shower water turned off, abruptly.

"Please don't look at me," you repeated. You felt something soft drape over your back as Steve covered you with a towel, kneeling next to you. Turning your head, you were able to finally look at him. He was wearing gray sweats and a white t-shirt.

"It's okay," he murmured, and you felt his palm rest on the small of your back, a gesture that was supposed to be comforting that only made you more flustered. "What happened?"

"I- I don't know. I think I passed out. All the sudden I was on the floor and I can't....I can't move. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," he repeated himself, but a small smile was playing on the edge of his lips.

"Don't laugh at me, Steve, I'm serious!"

"I'm not," he said, but then the smile broke fully on his face.

"Steve," you whined, a fresh batch of tears starting.

He grew serious then, the smile falling from his face. "It's okay, (Y/N) don't cry." He leaned over you so his eyes were level with yours. "Can you roll over onto your back for me?" he asked. "I promise I won't look at you."

You nodded, and he helped you, the towel that had once provided you with some modesty now lying damp on the floor. But he grabbed it and adjusted it so it laid across your front, helping you into a seated position with your back against the tiles. Gingerly, you tucked your arm against your chest. "Is it bad?" you asked. "I can't see."

Steve glanced down at your arm, suddenly paling and covering his mouth with his hand. "Yeah it's...." he gagged, squeamish. "It's bad."

"Jesus Christ," you said. "The toilet's over there."

"I'm sorry I don't like-" he glanced at your arm and gagged again.

"Then stop looking at it!" You scolded. "If you vomit on me right now I seriously don’t think I’ll ever be able to come back from this.....gross."

He started laughing then, doing an absolute shit job of hiding it from you.

"Steve, what the hell?" You said, feeling like crying all over again. "It's not funny, it really hurts."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," he apologized, but had to stifle another laugh

Dejected, your head fell back against the tiles and you bit your lower lip.

"I'm going to have to take you to the hospital," he said. "Do you want me to get some clothes for you to put on?"

"Please," You murmured. "Whatever's at the top of my drawer."

For the few minutes he left the room you prayed that this wasn't really happening. It had to be some type of nightmare. You willed yourself to wake up only to realize that it was all really happening.

"Okay, here," Steve re-entered the bathroom. Despite the circumstances, you couldn't help but notice how handsome he was, especially now that his cheeks were a little flushed from everything going on. It made you feel humiliated all over again. "I got some sweatpants from your drawer, I figured those would be easy to put on. And I brought one of my sweatshirts, that way I can just put it over your head and you don't have to worry about moving your arm...okay?" He asked. "And I'll help you with your shoes, alright?"

You nodded, sniffing, reality setting in that you wouldn't get to spend your evening in, cozy in your bed. Now you had to face a hectic, germ-infested hospital, likely alone once Steve dropped you off. "Let me help you up, alright?" He crouched in front of you. "Put your hand on my shoulder, hang on to me," he instructed and you obeyed, leaning forward to shift your weight onto your feet as you leaned against him, his body solid and sturdy. When you finally rose to your feet on wobbly legs, your bare feet slipped again on the slick tiles and you gasped, expecting to hit the ground. But instead, Steve caught you, both his hands on your waist. Your towel had moved to the side, however, and his hands were on your bare skin. The warmth of his body against yours caused you to shiver, a for a brief moment your eyes caught his, until he cleared his throat, his eyes flickering away.

"Just hang on," he said. "Let me get you out of here."

You obeyed, and you finally made it out into your carpeted bedroom where he helped you into the clothes he’d found. He was incredibly polite, his eyes never leaving yours or wandering elsewhere as you wriggled into the dry garments. He used an elastic to squeeze the excess moisture out of your hair and twist it into a bun. It looked awful but you had to admit you didn't really care. And somewhere along the way silent tears had begun to flow steadily, after he had helped you into some tennis shoes and sat you on the living room coach, disappearing to grab your keys.

"Oh, (Y/N)," he returned from the small hallway leading to your bedroom. "Don't cry. It’s all fine, it’s not a big deal."

You wished Steve would stop being so sweet and gentle, as he was making it nearly impossible not to fall in love with him. He helped you to your feet again and gingerly embraced you, your head against his shoulder, his hand rubbing your back. "It's going to be okay, you're okay," he soothed. He smelled like soap and aftershave, it was so intoxicating you almost felt smothered. In any other circumstance, it would have you reeling.

"Can you just take me to the car?" you mumbled into his shoulder. While you appreciated his comforting gesture, the pain was becoming a bit too much for you to handle.

He nodded, and helped you into your shared garage. The car ride to the hospital was mostly silence, save for the whimpers of pain you let out whenever Steve hit particularly large bumps. Each time you made any noise in discomfort he flinched, apologizing profusely.

Luckily, when you arrived at the emergency room, Steve dropped you off and you walked in, sighing in relief as you were finally alone. The emergency room was relatively empty, and you were in luck when they took you back right away, seating you on a cot and assuring the doctor would be in soon, a nurse immediately starting an IV with pain medication to help with your discomfort.

You saw the curtain rustling to your room moments later, and perked up, expecting to see a doctor, but instead it was Steve, a backpack slung over his shoulder. "Wow, they got you in really quickly. Sorry, it took some time for me to find parking."

You stared at him incredulously. "I thought you left."

He sat in the chair next to your bed. "No way," he said. "I wasn't going to leave you alone."

"Steve, I'm sure they'll take me into surgery, you'll be here all night," you argued.

"Yeah," he answered. "And someone's going to have to drive you home."

"Seriously," you responded. "I appreciate everything you’ve done tonight, but you don't have to do this."

"Well, I'm going to," he argued. "Because I care about you, and I'm not leaving you here all alone."

Because I care about you. His words echoed in your brain, and you suddenly couldn't think about arguing with him anymore.

"Had you taken care of yourself the past few weeks, maybe this wouldn't have happened," he said, his tone sounding disappointed.

"I know," you answered. As much as you hated to admit it, Steve was right. He put his glasses on and took out his sketchpad and pencil, balancing it on his knee as he continued his work from earlier, the sound of pencil scratching against paper oddly soothing. Your head fell back against the pillows, exhaustion setting in as your body finally reacted to being at rest. Your left arm, the one that wasn't causing all this trouble, settled next to you, and you felt something warm press into your palm.

Steve squeezed your hand tenderly, reassuring. "Don't worry, you're going to be fine."

"Thank you, Steve," you said softly, your eyes slowly closing as you relaxed for the first time that night.

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unholyhelbig · 6 years

Note

werewolf bechloe prompt - beca gets injured (sprained ankle maybe?) during bellas practice and has to sit out for a while. were!chloe gets protective while beca is injured and beca wonders why. it doesn't help that jesse checks in with beca often. (where beca doesn't know chloe is a werewolf yet)

[A/N: Another Post relationship prompt, I like it! They’re cute when they’re two puppies in love. Anyway, I really do enjoy this whole Were!Chloe thing. Let me know what you think, and send in more prompts!]

The pain shot through Beca’s ankle with a deep vibration. The sharp intake of air that pushed past her lungs was enough of a telling sign that something wasn’t right. The guttural growl sounding almost like a drum line at this point- unforgiving and assaulting on the other girl’s ears as Beca dropped to her knees with a thud.

Stacie was quick to grasp onto her friend’s upper arm, watching as her face contorted into what could only be described as unseen pain. They were in the back, Chloe having heard the whole thing as her stomach dropped at the sound of bones grinding together in an unnatural way.

“Aubrey, hold!” Chloe stuck her hand out, effectively jamming it into her counterpart’s mid-section, a rush of air accompanying the glare on the flawless woman’s features. Most of them not having noticed the commotion in the back of the room yet.

“Chloe, what in the fresh hell-“Deep forest eyes moved to neon blue ones. Ones filled with shaved worry. She didn’t get an answer in response, but she didn’t’ need one. Even with her uptight attitude, she knew something was wrong the minute she saw Beca with her hands cupped over a throbbing ankle- a leggy brunette rubbing slight circles on her back.

Aubrey opened her mouth to object to the quick movements of Chloe, the compassionate girl dropping down to her own knees as she slid across the back clad floor- not wasting more than a few seconds on doing gravity’s work. “Bec’s what happened?”

“I don’t- ah!” She grumbled, her stubborn attitude taking over as she tried to apply pressure to the limb.

“Her ankle rolled,” Stacie said, earning a few glances from the room. “Almost took me down with her.”

“Stacie,” Aubrey finally spoke, a water bottle in one hand while the other balanced carefully on her hip. “I want you to take Beca to the infirmary. It’s probably just a sprain, but better safe than sorry.”

“I don’t need to go to the infirmary, I’m fine.”

Chloe shifted her hard gaze back to the tiny DJ, a deep growl ripping through her chest. The usually peppy ginger had never emitted a sound like that before; not sober anyway. That night in the pool a few weeks ago had been privy to a few deep notes- but that was during a ballad. Not now. Not in the middle of a random conversation about an injury that just needed some ice.

It had so much power behind it that it almost made the younger woman cower. The usually strong and confident Beca wanted to lower her head and quiet her thoughts at the commanding noise. Aubrey drawing in a sharp breath herself, as she relented once more, having been used to this kind of dominance when it came to her best friend.

“Or,” She sounded out, the room quiet as Chloe never broke her stare with Beca. “Chloe you take Beca. You know the Choreography already. It can’t hurt to miss an hour or two.”

“Great idea.” She said slowly with care. Her stare still lingering as it flashed against the woman in front of her. There was a certain amount of primal worry behind her eyes that it almost made the DJ forget about the feeling that moved through her body at the snarl.

Part of this stayed with her as she allowed the ginger to warp her arm expertly around her midsection, pulling her to a standing position all while Beca breathed through clenched teeth, careful not to put any weight down on her damaged ankle. Her own grasp instinctively clinging to her captain’s chest as she gripped onto the fabric of her shirt for some stability.

“Text me updates.” Aubrey barked out.

“Sure thing.” Was the only response she got before the younger woman took a few steps forward. She was patient as Beca hobbled along, limping with every other step. She winced each time; breath hot against the nave of Chloe’s neck as Beca stuck her tongue through her lips in concentration. A look she got during the spinning of a few mixes, or even when she really wanted to participate in her studies.

Chloe shivered against the chilled wind that almost instantly dried the sweat that had collected at her collarbone. Beca feeling the effects as well as she cuddled closer to the older woman. This was getting them nowhere- the two singers standing at the top of a long edge of steps, Beca staring down at it like it was Mount Everest instead of a flight of stairs.

The taller woman pulled away slightly, earning a disgruntled noise that was soon countered by a sigh as Chloe scooped her up- barely giving it a second thought as she pulled Beca flush into her- the tiny DJ squirming in response as she squinted her eyes in shock. “Put me down.”

“Hush,” Chloe chided, taking the first step down. It was harder than it looked. Not for the added weight, Beca was fairly light, and Chloe could handle more than her fair share. She couldn’t really see the steps though, making it tougher to feel out where the next drop was. “You’re not getting down these stairs without some help.”

Beca wanted to object. She wanted to do everything in her power to do things on her own. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t because not only was it impossible to walk- but the growl Chloe had emitted still stuck with her like the wrong kind of double-sided tape. It instilled fear- or something more. Maybe even respect.

Once they reached the bottom step, Chloe still refused to release the younger girl from her hold. She felt safe, safe enough to keep her reservations for herself. Her breath was shallow, the onsite infirmary across campus as she was almost lulled into a slight slumber. Again, her cold nose pressed close to Chloe’s collarbone as she breathed in her musky scent.

“Stay quiet,” Chloe whispered suddenly, breaking the silence as Beca knit her eyebrows together, she started to lift her head away from the woman’s chest. Letting a small grunt out as she felt the ginger press her face back into her. “Bec’s.”

She was confused but did as she was told, keeping her eyes closed as she felt Chloe slow to a stop. She could smell the aftershave and hear the labored breathing of another, curling closer to her prince as she stayed silent. She listened to Chloe’s heart- something involuntary. It was pressed right against her eardrum as it thudded along with her words.

“Jesse, hey.” She said, adjusting her hold slightly to get a better grip. “You okay? You’re looking a little pale.”

There was bite to her words. Bite mixed with faux worry and something more that Beca couldn’t quite pull from her statement. Not with her eyes clenched shut and breathing purposely slowed. But it was something.

“I just,” he panted a few more times, “Beca got hurt? Do you need-“

“No” Chloe cut him off curtly, the noise of his sneaker sounding off against the pavement as she hugged Beca closer. It was the possessiveness. The domination in her slight growl that got him to back down almost immediately. “It’s a sprained ankle, Jess. She’ll be fine. I’m just taking her to the Infirmary.”

“She must be heavy,” He stated, earning a grimace from the younger girl. Chloe felt this against her, stifling a grin herself as she adjusted her hold once more. “Are you sure you don’t need help, she is my-“

“Your what?” that same biting growl had returned to her stature as she let out a thick rumbling sigh, hugging Beca closer to her frame. Again, the possessive style of her statement sending undeniable chills down the DJ’s spine. She didn’t know where Jesse was going with this, either. But she knew that whatever he was about to say wasn’t as appealing as the claim her captain had made over her.

“My uh,” He stammered out, an audible step being taken back. “My friend. Just… just let me know if anything changes, alright? Hopefully, it’s just her ankle.”

The last part was mumbled as he walked away from the two women, confused more than anything. Confused at the strong stance that had just blocked his attempts at getting to know his friend better. But even more, confused at why Beca hadn’t made an objection in the first place. From what he could tell, no one took possession over the tiny woman except herself.

“Sorry,” Chloe started walking again, Beca blinking as her eyes got used to the overcast in the usually clear blue Atlanta sky. “That kid bothers me.”

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #bechloe fic rec #bechloe #requested #werewolf au

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human-monokuma · 2 years

Text

I posted 3,131 times in 2021

113 posts created (4%)

3018 posts reblogged (96%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 26.7 posts.

I added 17 tags in 2021

#roleplay: end - 5 posts

#present day - 2 posts

#chapter 3: end - 2 posts

#to be continued - 2 posts

#no wonder monokuma failed so badly. - 1 posts

#meh. sure. let's go. - 1 posts

#you don't have to tag me. - 1 posts

#i'm going to use my other blog. is that ok man? - 1 posts

#yakuza game boss themes baby! - 1 posts

#damn. someone gives naegi a fucking hug already! our poor baby is suffering emotionally! - 1 posts

Longest Tag: 126 characters

#i meant he had the body of a female while having a male penis. and no vagina. unless i'm making a mistake here. am i mistaken?

My Top Posts in 2021

Event: Killing game’s past. Chapter 4: A Promise to be Kept.

Tsuya’s voice: “Stop it! Get off of her!”

???: “Kahahahaha! How sad! All of your hard work and it amounted to nothing! Now you get to see your poor mother be turned into my bitch!”

Boy’s voice: “P-Please! D-Don’t make me! I don’t wanna!”

Tsuya’s voice: “N-No...! D-Damn you! Stop it!”

Woman’s voice: “Tsuya. You...Must live....”

Tsuya’s voice: “MOTHEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!”

“MOTHER!!!” *Tsuya wakes up in a cold sweat.*

See the full post

323 notes • Posted 2021-08-27 16:50:54 GMT

*Jordan wakes from a restless sleep and series of weird dreams. He looks around and gets a feeling. Something is off.* he leaves his room to see if anyone else is up.*

*As Jordan leaves his room, he sees Tsuyam writing in his slept book with Me sleeping on his lap.*

Tsuya: "Hey Jordan." @thepersonaking56

357 notes • Posted 2021-07-26 12:56:46 GMT

Event: Killing game’s past. Prologue

A couple years ago. Some time before the tragedy.

*Somewhere in Italy, a group of people are gazing upon the leaning Tower of Piza. One of the people stood out in the crowd. He can be seen drawing the tower in his book.*

“Hehe. Another interesting landmark. I wish I could make something as great as that someday.”

Tour guide: “Hey Tsuya. Come on. We’re heading to head the next stop.”

See the full post

446 notes • Posted 2021-07-17 09:37:49 GMT

Event: Killing game’s past. Chapter 2: Beautiful Hell.

*Tsuya was still in Me’s room. He wasn’t taking Thomas’s execution well. He was spinning and turning in the bed. He sounded like he was speaking to someone in his dream. Or rather, a nightmare of a burning hellscape..*

Tsuya(In his dream): “I’m sorry! I....I DIDN’T MEAN TO FAIL YOU! I TRIED MY BEST TO SAVE YOU!”

Thomas’s voice: “You let them all die. You left them all to die.”

Hamilton’s voice: “Why don’t you just burn in hell?”

Tsuya: “Guys! Please! I-”

Voice: “Help me.”

Tsuya: “Huh? W-Who’s-”

Voice: “Help....................MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

See the full post

776 notes • Posted 2021-08-02 17:04:29 GMT

Event: Killing game’s past Chapter 3: Loving Sorrow’s Curse

*Tsuya wakes up first in the morning. He looks at Me, sleeping soundly next to him. Tsuya rubs the little one’s head and goes to write in his journal.*

[It’s the day after another class trial. We’ve lost more friends in this horrible game of death and betrayal. In the past few days leading up to that fateful day, I’ve been having weird dreams lately. I don’t understand them, but I always feel like I’m being sent back in time. I can’t help but wonder. Why am I having these dreams? Are these really my past memories? I-] *Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.*

See the full post

788 notes • Posted 2021-08-19 06:35:58 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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leasspell-dael · 6 years

Text

NaNo Update - Day 30b - KH: Locked Out

This is a work-in-progress, belated 2017 NaNoWriMo update; part 3 of 4. Read at your own risk. This should go without saying (NaNo), but ROUGH DRAFT! Feel free to point out any errors you find, or ask questions.

Previous installments can be found here at the Masterpost.

Summary: Divergent timeline: The Keyblade doesn’t leave Riku. Sora arrives in Traverse Town, not a Keyblade Master, but merely another refugee. Meanwhile, Riku allies himself with Maleficent, knowing he’s being used, all in hope that she’ll be able to help him find his missing friends.

Thankfully, no one was around to see his battle, even Anastasia busy inside her shop and not mindful of what was happening outside.

Sora made his way home. With no new injuries and no gossip to sweep ahead of him, his adventure was a silent shadow looming over him.

His neighbours said hello pleasantly as he passed, and he tried to do the same, sure he must be falling short. He felt cold to his core and shaky to boot. The cold sweat he'd broken out in had dried, leaving him feeling sour and unwashed.

Luckily, Mako wasn't home yet, so he was able to take a speedy shower to warm himself up and make him feel human again.

A mug of tea in hand, he settled into their sitting room, where his eyes fell upon the map hanging on the wall.

The plaza where he'd just been attacked was marked with a dark smudge. There were other smudges in other spots on the map, although none in the Fourth District.

Heartless sightings, perhaps? He did recall that Anastasia had warned him about the plaza...

Now. Where was Merlin.

Sora was very familiar with both the First and Fourth Districts by now, so he definitely wasn't in either of those areas.

The second district had a few hand-drawn annotations, obviously added after the map had originally been produced. A happy-face over one of the shops--

--based on similar markings on particular shops in the First District, likely indicating a good friend--

--a bell over the clocktower, side-by-side with a lightning bolt and a crudely-drawn Heartless. There were also several more of those dark smudges, including one in front of what was marked to be a hotel that had a frowny face followed by two exclamation marks.

Looking closer, there was another frowny face drawn over another smudge on some roofs near the Third District.

The Third District only had one frowny face, with a stylized fire next to it, followed by a single exclamation mark. There were more smudges than the First District, but not as many as the Second.

Sora sighed. Where was Merlin?

Why hadn't he just asked when the wizard turned up for the consult at Aerith's?

Well, obviously because Sora hadn't realized how difficult the man would be to find!

Wait a second...

On the map. Well, off the map, technically.

A post-it note was stuck to the wall above the map, near where the Third District's frowny-face was found.

It didn't say anything useful, like 'here are directions to Merlin's house so you can learn magic'.

It was another crude drawing.

A small round hut with a chimney sticking out of the top, smoke lazily dancing to the sky. Some round oblong circles coming down from the hut, leading to a dead-end on the map.

Sora squinted closer. Was it a dead-end?

It was at the edge of the map, that was for sure. But when he looked closer, the lines on the map didn't indicate a wall.

They indicated a door.

Gotcha.

When Mako came home, she told Sora an amusing anecdote about Cid swearing up a storm when he discovered a burnt out lamp upon leaving at the end of the day.

"Oh, really?" Sora inquired politely.

Crossing the plaza the next day to reach the Third District was nerve-wracking, but nothing untoward happened.

Well, unless you counted Cid and a man apparently named Sam cursing up a storm as they disassembled the light Sora had totalled to replaced the charred wires.

Sora returned their greetings cheerily, but didn't stop to chat.

He may have whistled a little. Nothing to see here folks.

The Fourth District was lit by the warm glow of lanterns, but the Third District was lit by the harsh glare of fluorescent lights.

Having memorized his route from the map that morning, Sora didn't pause much to sight-see, but he still took in whatever he could.

Stretched from the occasional high corners would be the remnants of bunting from a long-ago celebration.

Or, thinking of the proliferous bunting in the Fourth District, maybe it had existed from the moment of the District's creation, and had faded away with time.

Walking the streets was a little spooky. The lights were bright, but not omnipresent. Shadows lurked in many dark corners. In odd places, decorative fixtures would break up the monotony, but there was an almost sinister feel to some of them.

Most common were fountains that depicted people and animals. Who were they? Were they memorials?

There was no one around to ask, even if he had been willing to stop to ask.

It wasn't the complete absence of people that it sometimes felt like existed in the First District--people only seemed to go there if they had specific business, and then only directly to their destination--but it was a far cry for the... the social atmosphere of the Fourth District.

It wasn't that there wasn't anybody around--there were signs of life everywhere, from tools and toys lying around to smoke rising from chimneys to the occasional twitchy curtain.

No, there were people here; they were just scared.

Remembering the frowny-face that Sora suspected indicated his own previous Heartless encounters, Sora could understand that fear.

He felt it himself.

All the same, he kept walking.

When he found his dead end, there was a red-hued mosaic at the end. Without thinking about it, Sora raised his hand, encase with a magical warmth, and the mosaic fell back, revealing a stone passageway behind.

Walking down the cool, damp corridor was a bit nerve-wracking, especially once the door slammed back into place, but Sora could feel the wards snap back into place with it and felt himself relax.

This was a safe place.

The pebbled shore crunched under his boots as he approached the floating paving stones that would allow passage across the underground lake to the small island where the hut drawn on his post-it note sat.

A grin spread across his face.

He'd found it!

Surely, Merlin would be inside.

Jumping adroitly across the stones, they moved to and fro, sometimes counter to their initial speed and direction. Sora narrowed his eyes when he reached the other side of the path, turning around to stare at them.

Before his eyes, the moved steadily and surely, back and forth. No, they were totally innocent enchanted objects that would never try to dump someone in the icy-cold waters of the lake.

If they'd had mouths, butter wouldn't have melted in them.

Shaking his fist at the stones good-naturedly, Sora shook his head in amusement and and made his way to the hut.

Ducking under the curtain draped across the entrance, Sora was buffeted by pure sense memory.

Warmth from the fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. The smell of herbs used in various potions, and the potions themselves bubbling merrily over the fire.

Books piled on every free surface (and some that weren't free based upon what he could see peeking out from under the piles), and Sora could already feel his hands turning the pages to absorb the knowledge within.

The taste of tea on his tongue, at first barely tolerated, but gradually becoming something he looked forward to.

Sora felt faint, swaying back and forth in the entrance.

"Easy there lad, let's get you settled before you fall down, hmmm?"

A hand at his elbow, deftly guiding him through the narrow path between towering piles. Up onto the raised platform in the centre of the room, before settling him down into one of the three plush chairs.

Blue was across from him, already pouring him a cup of tea.

Once he was sure Sora was settled, Merlin took his own chair, accepting a cup from Blue was absent thanks.

Nobody spoke while Sora tried to get his bearings.

It was the greatest surge of memory he had received since he'd woken, and was still barely anything at all.

Yet when he looked around Merlin's study, he got a definite homey feel from the place.

Not the feeling that it was home, just that it was the kind of place that could be home.

And just beyond his reach, something else.

Closing his eyes, Sora tried to grab the memory that was taunting him just out of reach, but the closer he got to it, to farther away it seemed.

In frustration, he pulled back, letting himself fall into a meditative trance.

The hut was empty. A redhead looking wistfully at the walls from the entrance. She meandered around the perimeter, her hand idly tracing the walls, as if she could will their drawings into place on the walls here from home by sheer force of will.

“That musty, closed-in air, with just a hint of water from the outside creeping in. It feels safe. Like a sacred place that you put your all into protecting, even if you don’t understand why. Even if you don’t succeed.

“Right, Sora?”

Sora's eyes shot open.

That had been Kairi. One of his friends he had been searching for. What had she been doing here? Why had no one told him about this?

Or had her presence here been a secret?

They had... drawn together? Back on the Destiny Islands?

He scrubbed his hands through his hair in frustration. None of this made any sense.

"She was here in spirit only, not in body," Blue spoke, her words slicing through his confusion, even though he hadn't asked the question aloud. Sora's head shot up in startlement.

Merlin looked quite bewildered himself, but Blue just had a secretive smile as she looked down into her tea, swirling the dregs in the bottom of her cup.

She clucked at the wizard, but winked at Sora.

"Many times the knowledge I receive is burdensome, but sometimes it is something I can share."

When Merlin looked like he was going to continue sputtering, Blue patted him on the hand comfortingly.

"It was not for you, my dear, do not fret so."

Merlin sighed in exasperation, but finally let it go.

If it wasn't for Merlin, then it was definitely for him.

He'd have to mull that over. He wasn't sure exactly what it meant.

Still, it was comforting to watch the two of them interact as he pulled himself together, squabbling amicably over some obscure piece of magic or other.

Eventually, Sora was ready to join in.

"Did... Did I come here often?"

"More days than not," Merlin confirmed, brushing his hand down over his beard, a twinkle in his eyes behind his spectacles. "You were an eager student, often excelling in your studies at a rate which I had not anticipated. But I think you knew that, didn't you?"

Suspected maybe.

"Your trick with the wards yesterday was inspired," Blue informed him, a proud chuckle escaping her. "I'm glad my book came in handy."

Book?

So the day passed with them catching Sora up with what he had forgotten, and what he'd been desperate to know.

Merlin explained what he had taught to Sora, the knowledge he'd been drawing upon unconsciously already. They set up a review schedule so that Sora would have a better conscious grasp of what he could do.

Blue had given him a book about wards to read on his trip. Somewhat contritely, Sora explained that he must have lost it in Castle Oblivion. It certainly hadn't been in his pack when he'd gotten home. Or during the trip home for that matter.

Luckily, the Fairy Godmother wasn't angry about it. "It will turn up when and where it's needed, I'm sure. I'm just glad that it served its use in this case. It'll be interesting to see what else you drew from it when you did read it."

The best part of it all? They talked to him about Ventus.

"Yes, the boy's running around town with Yuffie, helping to kill off whatever Heartless they can find now that the Keyhole has been sealed. Who knows, maybe the town will begin to come alive again?"

Apparently Ventus had stayed with Merlin and Blue for a few days before Yuffie set him up with a place of his own in the Third District.

They talked for hours, much like Sora had with Huey, Dewey, and Louie. And when it was time to go, Sora was almost reluctant to leave.

"Don't be foolish. You can always come back tomorrow. In fact, you'd better after we've planned to assess your skills!"

So he was ushered out of the cozy little nook, hidden off the edge of the map. But it was okay.

He could come back.

Once more walking the streets of the Third District, heading for the gate that would take him back to First, Sora felt a grin light his face as jubilation rose through him.

He had friends and family he could come back to visit at any time.

And Ventus hadn't left.

Ventus hadn't left.

With a whoop of joy, Sora ran the rest of the way back home, swinging around poles and sliding down bannisters whenever the opportunity arose.

He felt like he could do anything.

Assessments with Merlin ran for an entire week, and when they reached their end, Sora felt a lot more comfortable with what he could do.

Merlin seemed satisfied that Sora hadn't lost any skill when he'd lost his memories.

"In fact, you may find yourself even more creative with your magic now that the restrictions of what you 'know' lifted. It'll be interesting to study, for sure."

They set a standing appointment for Sora to drop by at least once a week for further lessons, and an open invitation to come by more often than that if he felt like it.

"And you guys should come visit Fourth District! There's a play starting next month; you'd probably really like it!"

Okay, so Sora had no idea if they'd like it. But the crew had begged him to help spread the word, so he was doing his best.

Traverse Town was supposed to be a community, but right now everyone was segregated into little pockets in different areas.

It was time for people to start reaching out again.

So, according to the map, Merlin's study was the only thing of interest in the Third District.

Not to say that he didn't know anyone else there, just that none of them were the close companions he had elsewhere. And as a purely residential district, there weren't any shops or businesses for him to visit.

Which meant all he had to do was explore the Second District, and he could go back to making deliveries, based upon the criteria he'd set for himself.

Talking with the triplets, he'd been informed that the promenade was really the only place in the Second District where anything happened.

"Although, the Gizmo Shop might be back in business. The clock did start chiming a while back."

So, despite the sprawling, multi-storey district, there actually wasn't a lot of area to cover, all things considered.

Deciding to start with the potentially manned Gizmo Shop, which would allow him to get the worst of the Heartless infested areas out of the way in the beginning, Sora began his journey.

The shop was empty. Oh, all the machinery was moving, but there was no one there. Not even any Heartless.

Shrugging it off, he made his way back along the promenade, stopping in at the occasional businesses he crossed until he reached the hotel.

Still no Heartless.

Taking a breath, he walked in.

Like so many places in Traverse outside of the Fourth District, it was empty. Unlike many of those places, there was a feeling that someone was just around the corner, waiting to come it. Or perhaps they had just passed by.

Magazines on a coffee table in the lobby, the pile slightly askew.

A small table against a wall with a pad of paper, a piece ripped off unevenly as someone took a note they wrote with them.

A clock at the end of the corridor keeping the time, because there were people here who would need that.

The receptionist desk seemed to be unmanned, a curtain drawn across the cubby behind the desk.

Nadir had quietly slid out a new stack of sketchbooks from behind his curtain.

“To pass the time. You can put up some art here when you come back.”

Sora hadn’t even known Nadir knew about his hobby. It was weird.

Unlike most of his flashes of memory, this wasn't just an emotion or a piece of knowledge. It was a few moments of full memory, including Sora's own thoughts on the topic.

Strangely, the thing that Sora took from it the most was a new sense of panic.

He hadn't brought any of his pictures with him!

Feeling ashamed, even though he knew there was no way he could have known he was supposed to before that moment, he slunk over to the desk with his head hanging low.

"...welcome back..."

Sora started to wave, but aborted it at the last moment, feeling silly. "Hey, Nadir. Um... How have you been?"

"...business has been good..."

"...Right. Listen, I wanted to thank you for the sketch-books. They've come in really handy." Sora would know a lot less about his life if it hadn't been for them. "If you still want me to bring some pictures by, I can do that in the next few days..."

He couldn't imagine it taking longer than that to get the deliveries going again.

"...look forward to it..."

And that was it. "See ya later, Nadir!"

Sora left.

It was the first time he hadn't either had to explain or at least talk about his memory problems. It was a little freeing.

Whistling a happy tune, Sora continued his jaunt, when sudden movement on the roofs caught his eye.

It was in the distance, but it looked like two people were travelling across the roofs. If Sora squinted, he could just make out that they were Yuffie and Ventus.

It was tempting to climb up, to see if he could catch up to them. He had so much he wanted to tell Ventus--about what he was doing, about what he had learned.

But it wasn't time yet. Sora was beginning to get the feeling of solid ground beneath his feet, but that didn't mean Ventus was yet. They both had to be able to stand on their own if they didn't want to drag each other down.

Once they had that solid foundation, then they could work to keep one another up. But first they had to know who they were as individuals; not Sora&Ventus.

Soon, though.

Sora knew people who knew Ventus. Merlin and Blue. The triplets, once he got in contact with them. He could feel out Ventus' state through them once he was ready himself.

And who knows? Maybe Ventus would seek him out first.

Needless to say, with all of this running through his head, he was more than a little distracted as he walked in the door of MS Accessories.

tbc

Feedback always welcome!

#nano 2017 #fandom: kingdom hearts #media: fanfic #dael writes #kh: locked out #status: WIP

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