#but it's somehow vanished over the course of the day so. worrying. no fever that i'm aware of

[rubberbandballqueen]

if i ever had a question for the mcelroys it would be “if there’s a disease with a major symptom being diarrhea, would a person with chronic constipation be looking for diarrhea or regular stool if they suspected they had caught it”

#it came to me on the shitter and i was like 'too bad yahoo answers is gonna die soon this feels like a mbmbam q' #but then halfway through writing this i was like 'wait a second. sawbones and *dr.* sidnee mcelroy' #in other news i have been coughing ever since i got back from my parents' trip so i've been monitoring my sense of smell #and taste and it's been pretty good but i checked the shampoo after washing my hands and lads i could not smell it #which is concerning bc this morning i could smell it and i could taste my sour patch kids #but it's somehow vanished over the course of the day so. worrying. no fever that i'm aware of #not even really sure whom i could have caught it from if it's the plague? #but i'm really glad i wrote a MASK ALL THE TIME even when we were HIKING OUTDOORS #bc the first minor hacks were coming on the last day on the road so it probably would have been incubating the entire trip if plague #idk my dad's been vaccinated for a while now and he says he's been kinda having a dry cough in the morning too #and it's not like a huge phlegmy phlegm cough either it's mostly a dry cough which is frustrating but it reminds me to hydrate #and my mom who has also recently received her second dose hasn't been coughing either so. we'll see #i had my dad cancel my eye doctor appt today but he made me come along to best buy for the phone repairs #he was like 'eh you're not coughing that much as long as you don't cough they won't know' #which like. hello???? bc i told him i didn't wanna go bc even if it's just a cold i don't wanna just go into public COUGHING that's so RUDE #the worm speaks

[sameheart-sameblood]

Live While We’re Alive

(gif by @rex-is-best)

pairing: commander wolffe x f!reader

summary: you thought being a newly recruited civilian doctor to the GAR was hard enough until you developed a hopeless crush on Commander Wolffe

words: 2.8 k

warnings: mature, some suggestive talk, mutual pining, medical exams, co-workers to lovers, a doctor having inappropriate thoughts about their patient 

a/n: I started writing this awhile ago and then lost all creative motivation but I've been in a Wolffe mood the past few days and sad we didn't get to see him in The Bad Batch so here we are. I'd like to apologize to my doctor dad and all medical professionals everywhere lol. Also, I had intended for this to end in smut but then got lost in feelings so there mayyyy be a chapter 2. We'll see ;)

read on ao3!

You want to fuck him. It’s been decided. This realization couldn’t have come at a worse time, though. You’re surrounded by Jedi and Clone Officers in a very important meeting detailing your next mission. But you only have eyes for one of the men and he’s currently standing at the head of the room giving a briefing to the holo of Master Yoda. It’s a testament to Commander Wolffe’s presence that you barely notice the little green Jedi Master he’s conversing with. Well, his presence and his extreme handsomeness.

When you’d first met him, you’d been truly intimidated. The other women you worked with nodded in understanding, whispering they had been thrown off by his cybernetic eye and prominent scar. But that wasn’t it. You’d noticed those things, but that wasn’t what made you uneasy.

It was the fact that he took one look at you and seemed to see right into your soul. You couldn’t explain it but you felt like with just a glance, he could tell your deepest insecurities. And stars, did you have a lot of those.

You had worked your way up through the medical field and had started your residency at the biggest hospital in Coruscant. After your training ended, you had secured a permanent job there. It had been difficult, to say the least. Though you knew you were qualified, even more so than most of your male co-workers, you still doubted yourself often.

Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi had come to visit you one nondescript Thursday afternoon, telling you of the need for doctors in the GAR. He said you came most highly recommended when he was searching for recruits but still, you thought a mistake had been made and that someone soon would realize and send you back to your normal life. It was a recurring nightmare you’d developed in the past few weeks that shook you from your sleep.

You had agreed to join the GAR, sympathetic to the cause and wanting to do your part. The next few weeks had consisted of you getting your bearings and meeting the rest of the staff at the base . Kix, the clone medic in charge, had helped you learn the ropes and had introduced you to all his brothers. At first, you had been overwhelmed by the sea of identical faces. As the weeks had gone on, you’d learned everyone’s names and they’d made you feel welcome, like one of their own.

The Commander and you had crossed paths several times. He was polite but distant. Not like you blamed him. He had more important things to do than exchange drawn out pleasantries. With each run-in, though, he seemed to be making more of an effort to be personable. Unfortunately, each conversation left you looking more and more like an idiot. Or a di’kut. The boys had been teaching you some Mando’a.

You were a medical professional, a well-respected doctor and yet Wolffe made you feel unsure of yourself. It had been so long since you’d had a crush that you didn’t realize this was what the beginning of one felt like.

*******

As you sit around the war room table, you feel even more like a school girl. Instead of paying attention to whatever Master Yoda is saying, you’re transfixed by Wolffe’s face. The hazy blue light from the holo reflects off his features, making him look ethereal. His scar looks even more prominent and you blush, remembering how often you’ve wondered what it would feel like to let your fingers trace it.   And his lips. They’re moving, responding to whatever the Jedi has said. They’re mesmerizing and now you’re thinking of what it would be like to kiss him. Or even better yet, to have those lips pressed against the plushier parts of your body.

You continue to stare until you realize his face has turned to you. It probably only takes you a second to come back to reality but it feels like an eternity. Somehow you’re able to respond to the question.

“Yes, Commander. All medical personnel are prepared for an 0800 liftoff. Kix will take his team with the 501st and I’ll have my staff along with the 104th. We’ll reconnoiter once we’ve landed on Hisseen.” The rest of the table nods, moving the conversation along. Wolffe stares at you for a moment, a hint of a smirk on his lips. You avert your gaze, finding the table a much safer object of your attention.

The discussion wraps up and Wolffe stands at attention, puffing his chest out, before Master Yoda disappears. Once again, your eyes are drawn to him. You’re not sure how but he makes something so mundane look indescribably attractive. Wolffe’s head turns in your direction but you’ve already bolted from your seat, hoping to cool down in the hallway.

Kix pushes through the crowd to get to you. “Hey, Doc. How’d the meeting go?” You shrug. “Nothing new to report. Just making sure we’re all set for our campaign.” He’s shifting back and forth, a sort of glazed look in his eyes. You realize he’s not paying particularly close attention. It’s the look of someone asking you something just so they can request a favor in return.

“Hmm oh yeah, that’s nice. Say, Doc, do you think you could cover for me for a few hours? I have some urgent business to attend to.”

“Since when is playing Sabacc with Fives and the boys urgent?”

“Since I remembered how terrible they are at it. I can make a real killing playing against them.”

You laugh. It’s true. You’ve come to love those men but a lot of them are really horrible at the game. You’ll need to give them a remedial course if you have any downtime on Hisseen. “Of course. What do you need me to do?” He rewards you with a huge grin. “Nothing hard! A few higher ups coming in for their physicals. Just the usual. Make sure they’re in tip top shape to get shot at by some tinnies.”

He gives you the list. It’s only a handful of men but the last one on it makes your blood go cold. “Commander Wolffe needs a physical?” Kix is oblivious to your inner turmoil. “Oh yeah, but he knows the drill. Honestly everyone can do it themselves at this point. We’re basically there to oversee it as a formality.”

You swallow down your apprehension and nod. “Sounds easy enough. Go have fun. And take it easy on them, will ya? Let them keep a little of their dignity intact” Kix just grins and shoots you a wave as he runs off.

*******

Your first few appointments go just fine. The officers are professionals and Kix was right, they could do these routine physicals with their eyes closed. You give them all your seal of approval and settle in to do your paperwork before your last, most anticipated patient arrives. The forms in front of you hold no interest and you find yourself checking the chrono every few seconds.

It’s not easy but you manage to finish your work. You set it aside and take steadying breath. Five more minutes and he’ll be here. You scold yourself. The Commander has never been anything but professional. You’re the one thinking these very unprofessional thoughts.

And you’re a doctor, for kriff’s sake. Your patients should be able to come to you without worrying you may be fantasizing about what they look like naked. But these are uncharted waters. It’s your first time having to deal with a patient you’re this attracted to. They really should take your medical license away.

Just as you’re thinking of packing it all up and handing in your resignation to the Jedi Council, a knock at the door snaps you to attention. Well, here goes nothing. You scold yourself once again for checking your reflection in the mirror before answering the door.

You had tried to adopt a passive, professional look to your face before greeting Wolffe but it must not have worked. “Everything alright, Doc? I’m not early, am I?” You shake your head.“Not at all. Punctual as always, Commander.” You beckon for him to come in and take a seat. You close the door, then sit across from him at your desk.

Your datapad hums to life and you busy yourself opening the appropriate forms you need to fill out. The weight of his eyes is heavy on you and your cheeks heat up in spite of yourself. You push on through as best you can.

“Well, Commander, how are you feeling today?” There’s that ghost of a smirk again but it vanishes so quickly you're not sure if you imagined it. “I feel like a million credits.” You giggle despite it not even being that funny. You’ve got it bad. “Glad to hear it. This should be quick then.” You gather your equipment and get to work.

First, you take his weight. Then, you listen to his heart. You press the stethoscope to his sternum, thankful you can do this over his blacks. He observes you the whole time. “And what about you? How are you today, Doc?” You risk a glance and meet his eyes. That was a mistake.

“Me? Oh-um just fine. Maybe not like a million credits but a few hundred at least.” You trail off dumbly but he humors you with a chuckle. You’re not sure you’ve ever heard that sound from him before. It’s like music to your ears. “Anything I can do to help? You do look a little flushed. Are you sure you don’t have a fever?” You avert your eyes again.

“No. I’m alright. It’s just, uh, hot in these uniforms. The coarseweave doesn’t breathe.”

“You sure? Maybe I should be the one giving you a check-up.”

You realize he’s toying with you now.

“That won’t be necessary, Commander.”

You move on to check his lungs. “Breathe in for me.” You move the stethoscope to his chest, then move it around a few different spots on his back. “You can call me, Wolffe. If you’d like.” He breathes in every time, not even needing prompting, ever the dutiful soldier, even when he’s teasing you.

“I would like that. Thank you, Wolffe.”

Next, you measure his blood pressure. You’re shocked that it’s so low. He sees the look of surprise on your face. “Something wrong?”

“Not at all. The opposite, in fact. Your pressures are great. I just thought with your lifestyle they might, understandably, be a bit higher.”

“What kind of lifestyle do you think I have?”

You’re backtracking as quickly as you can. “I just meant, your life as a soldier, it must be extremely stressful.”

There’s that smirk again. “It is. But you don’t get to be a Commander by not being able to handle the pressure.”

“Of course. But even so, if you’d like some stress relief techniques I can suggest some.” He hums as if really thinking it over. Thankfully there’s only one part of your exam left. Which is good because you’re not sure how much resolve you have remaining.

“Everything looks great. I’ll just do a head and neck exam and then I can send you on your way.”

You need to touch him for this part but you stop yourself, hands hovering but not quite meeting their destination. You feel like once you touch him, really feel his skin under your fingers, there may be no going back.

Wolffe sees your hesitation, then slowly reaches out to take your hands. You watch with wide eyes as he guides them to his neck. He looks up at you innocently enough but you can tell he’s laughing internally. You try to reign in control of the situation.

“Sorry, I just got distracted.” The Commander studies you but this time it’s in earnest. “Are you nervous? This’ll be your first time in an active war zone, right?” You had been anxious but not about that. But now that he mentions it, yeah, you honestly don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“Yes, I’m not sure what to expect. I guess you could say I’m a little scared.” Wolffe gently holds your chin, directing you to look back at him. “I won’t lie. It’ll be overwhelming and frightening. Battles can seem never-ending. But I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You’re staring into each other’s eyes and you don’t want to stop. But then he’s clearing his throat and gently removing his hand from your skin. You realize you’ve been resting your own hands on his shoulders this whole time. “Thank you, Wolffe. I do feel much better knowing you’ll be there.” You offer him a smile, hoping it conveys just how much you appreciate him looking out for you.

You begin your exam, gently kneading where his neck meets his shoulders, checking for any anomalies. Then you move to his throat. The throat you’ve so often been distracted by. It’s featured prominently in your daydreams. You move your hands along it, under his jawline. Having a man this powerful baring one of the most vulnerable parts of his body to you is intoxicating. Focus, di’kut.

Everything feels normal except for some knots you find resting right below the surface of his smooth skin. “Lymph nodes feel good. You’re a little tense, though. But I bet it’s from that bucket you have to wear most of the day.” He hums in thought. “True. But even so. Maybe you could give me some of those ideas for stress management?” He looks up at you with big eyes. There’s mischief in them but something else. Vulnerability?

You gulp audibly. “Of course. There are a few that work particularly well, um, like deep breathing techniques, going on walks, talking with friends, meditation, journaling, physical activity…” You’re rambling, fighting a losing game against your resolve. Wolffe thinks on it. “Physical activity seems like a good place to start.” His hands come up to gently cover yours that are still resting on his neck.

The sensation of his calloused fingers on your skin sends shivers down your body. You close your eyes, feeling the last of your self-control topple over. “Wolffe,” you whine “We shouldn’t…” He immediately drops his hands, worry etched on his face. “I’m so sorry. It’s just- I thought you wanted-.” He cuts himself off, snapping up to his feet and to attention. “Doctor, you should report me to General Plo Koon for immediate disciplinary action.”

Dank Farrik, you’ve just ruined everything.“Wolffe! No, I’m not reporting you to anyone. If anything you should report me for being so unprofessional.” His shoulders relax a bit but he still eyes you as if you’re a live grenade that might explode at any second. “What do you mean?” You sigh in frustration. This isn’t how you wanted to confess your feelings to him.

“I…want you, Wolffe. The second I realized that I should have asked to be re-assigned to a different battalion. Instead I thought I could push those feelings down and continue to do my job. Looks like that was a mistake.” You hang your head, avoiding his piercing gaze. He’s silent for just a moment but it feels like an eternity.

“So, you want me and I want you?” You nod your head, ashamed, as he continues. “Then what’s the problem, Doc?” Your eyes snap to his, not believing what you’re hearing.

“Isn’t it wrong of us?”

Wolffe sits down on the exam table again, genuinely thinking on it. “I don’t see why. We’re both consenting adults. We don’t work directly with each other- I report to General Koon, you report to General Kenobi- so there’s no real conflict of interest. The worst we’ll face is a little ribbing from the boys if they find out.”

You raise your head to look him in the eyes, needing to make sure he’s serious and that this isn’t some twisted joke. What you find staring back at you is hope and promise. He senses your trepidation and gently takes your hands in his. “I’m sorry if I came on strong. But the thing about this life is that there are no guarantees. Tomorrow isn’t promised and so I figured I’d rather go for something, someone, that I want and have my heart broken rather than regretting my inaction.”

Your eyes roam the scars on his face, evidence of just how true his words are. You’re heading into active battle tomorrow. One or both of you could be injured, or worse. You step towards him. He spreads his legs so you have room to get closer. You rest your forehead on his, breathing him in.

His hands come up to caress your sides. You take a shaky breath. He questions you softly. “Cyar’ika?” Ah, now that’s one of the new words you definitely remember. His vulnerability makes you ache and the decision to hand your heart over is an easy one. “You’re right, Wolffe. Might as well do some living while we can.”

*******

#commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x you #wolffe x reader #instead of becoming a doctor like my family wanted i decided to just write about being one who's slightly inappropriate instead #tcw fanfic #tcw #allie writes #my writing

[stellartales]

Xiao | Call My Name — 02

Chapter 02  — Shadow in the Wind

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ©justgenshin 

DO NOT REPOST,  TRANSLATE OR USE ANY PARTS OF MY FICS IN ANY FORMS AND CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

My fics are kept within Tumblr (@savagetrickster​ @justgenshin​ — I am both.) and ao3 but if you do see my works elsewhere apart from these two platforms, please notify me.

Disclaimer: It’s pretty obvious from what you have read in 01 but just for clarification’s sake, this story will not be following the game script. But I will draw ideas and inspirations from there.

Words: 1,734

Night fell hours ago. The moon was hung in full view for all to admire but the feeble light it emitted could barely be seen among the drifting wispy clouds. 

The only thing that was keeping the room illuminated was the tender golden glow of the fire sitting in the two standing lamps. 

Like every night ever since Wangshu Inn received her, a figure, right when no one was around, once again emerged from the shadows. 

His piercing gaze —  the only thing he allowed himself to touch her with — was contradictingly gentle as he accessed her pale face and listened to her breathing.

The tension on his forehead relaxed in what seemed to be... relief, at the absence of the harsh, shallow breaths he heard her fight to take when he found her.

He didn’t like how his steady hands shook then, with a strange…uneasiness, almost like fear. 

“Paimon will stay with her, thanks lady boss!”

Voices outside of the door snapped his focus back. 

“Simply ‘Boss’ will do, Paimon.”

His piercing eyes flickered back down to her and widened almost instantly to the sight of his outstretched hand, which somehow between his absent thoughts had ended up merely inches away from her face. 

Flinching his hand away as if he was scalded, the figure in the room retreated from the bed and vanished into the darkness like the wind.

The moon was hung in full view for all to see but the feeble light it emitted could barely be seen among the drifting wispy clouds. 

The only thing that was keeping the room illuminated was the tender golden glow of the fire sitting in the two standing lamps. 

Just like how it was before, the room was left empty once more. As if he was never there in the first place.

Quiet movements behind her eyelids reciprocated to the gentle touch of a light breeze curling against her cheeks like doting caresses. 

The sense of weightlessness was beginning to lift from her as dainty songs of singing birds and the soft creaks of wood started growing into her consciousness. 

She could hear careful footsteps as well and felt more than saw a presence hovering near her, its warmth brushing against her skin until something damp was placed between her brows.

Her forehead clenched in a frown against the new sensation sitting on her face. Her fingers curled into something cushy and velvety as a weak groan left her lips. 

Light beyond her eyelids beckoned her to open her eyes and so she did, squinting against the intruding brightness until she could finally adjust to the light.

Her vision focused into clarity and was greeted by a familiar stranger. 

“You are...?” She blinked in puzzlement as she racked her brain for an answer. 

Confusion marred a frown between her brows at the Inn’s boss who was standing over her with a mild smile — the fog in her groggy mind made it hard to answer the vague sense of recognition nagging her.

“Verr Goldet. Boss of Wangshu Inn.” The lady filled in the blanks helpfully, “Nice to have you back with us, Lumine.”

Wangshu Inn? 

She tried to wrap her fuddled head around the new information as a memory of her running away from Dark Hilichurls with Paimon flashed past.

“Wait, but I was…” She was pretty sure she was a goner then. “How did—”

“You were out for so long, Lumine!” A floating little figure flew right up to her face before Verr Goldet could finish.

Lumine winced instantly to the sharp rise in volume. 

“Shhh…You-You’re so loud.” She felt her head throb.

Paimon let out a small gasp and her face fell with a sheepish look. 

“Oops sorry, Paimon is just excited ��cause Paimon has been so worried...!”

“Sorry for worrying you, Paimon.” An apologetic smile sat weakly on her face. “But how long have I been sleeping?”

“And…” Her gaze shifted back to Verr Goldet, face scrunched in confusion “...how did I end up here?”

“Pretty long,” The lady boss merely nodded, “It’s been three days ever since Xiao-sama found and brought you to me.”

Xiao?

Her eyes widened. 

Then that voice she heard...

The thirst to answer all the questions in her head spurned her to sit up in one quick move, only to be greeted by a sharp jolt of pain in her leg. “—ah!” 

The giddiness swimming in her head made her see stars. 

“Easy there, Lumine,” Verr Goldet’s voice matched the gentle backrubs the hand on her back made. “Afterall, you just overcame quite an ordeal.”

“An ordeal?” She held her head. “What happened to me?”

“You were down with high fevers due to the poison from the thorns of a Yingxuē and thankfully, that toxin could be easily flushed out through perspiration.” 

“Ying…” The queasiness in her throat subsided. “...xuē?” 

Then it dawned on her. 

Oh right, it had totally slipped from her that her leg got injured all because of that bush and its stray branch. 

And that was when she heard him.

“But Xiao…” 

She still found it hard to believe — wasn’t that voice just a hallucination caused by the poison flooding her blood?

“Was he really there?”

Paimon nodded aggressively. “He was, he was!” 

There was a spark in her eyes, “Right after you fainted, he appeared out of nowhere, striking down from the sky like lightning and finished off the Hilichurls in one sweep of his polearm!”

There was admiration she’d never seen in Paimon for Xiao since she did not have a good impression of the adeptus previously. 

“...He was so fast Paimon could barely catch what happened!”

A chuckle turned her head back to the lady boss.

“That’s Xiao-sama for you,” Verr Goldet beamed, “He is afterall our mighty Guardian Yaksha; monsters are measly flies to the power of an adeptus.”

Lumine remained silent for a while. 

Strong gratitude resonated in her heart along with a nearly tangible ache of curiosity and wonder for the adeptus.

“Is he here?” 

A smile crept across Verr Goldet’s face. 

“If you know where to look.”

— as she made her way out the door, behind the opened door was a brilliant view of the sky.

“But…” A rush of wind blew through the door, “...whether or not you would find Xiao-sama, it will be all up to him.”

The lady boss's smile turned mysterious as she looked back at them.

The setting sun on the horizon waned in the gathering darkness of the approaching night. 

Guests residing in Wangshu Inn were mostly back from errands they had to run and settling down in the eateries the Inn had to offer. 

Of course, Paimon would never give food a miss especially when Verr Goldet just invited her for a second round of dinner. Somehow during the days when she laid in the room on the highest floor battling the poison in her body, the lady boss had grown familiar with Paimon’s huge appetite.

Verr Goldet offered her a second dinner as well but Lumine had other ideas. 

She had her fill in the room she woke up in and ordered a certain dish she insisted on paying, not wanting to be a freeloader but to no avail because— 

“Xiao-sama trusted us to take care of you so it would be rude not to honor his trust.”

—the lady boss insisted after leaving behind a tray of her dinner.

The simple white garb on her was loosely comfortable to move in, but the winding staircase up to the upper balcony proved to be a challenge when she had to limp on one leg with a crutch tucked under an armpit while holding onto a takeaway lunchbox.

It had been what felt like five minutes ever since she began climbing the stairs. The dressed wound on her leg throbbed every step she took; the struggle to move were evident in her harsh raspy breaths and the way the thin coat of sweat stuck her fringe to her forehead. 

Her other hand was clenched tight on the banister, knuckles white with effort.

And when she finally reached the top, she couldn’t help letting out a loud sigh of relief. 

Lumine squinted her eyes against a burst of wind from the gaping door as she hobbled out into the open. 

Her hair was blown back in the rushing wind and she could not hold back a shiver to the cool tickles of the ocean breeze.

“...Xiao?” She called out gingerly. 

There was nothing but the wind and the sweeps of the waves below. 

“It’s me, Lumine!” 

Her eyes wandered to the dark sky above her as she continued to limp forward. 

Her voice calling out to him kept scattering in the wind no matter how many times she tried or how loud she threw her voice into the wind.

Looking lost with sad eyes at the vast sky and the seemingly huge moon above, her voice grew weaker until there was no more.

Maybe this was how it is.  

Perhaps to him...

The hopeful glint in her gaze dimmed as she lowered her gaze to a cruel thought in her head.

...she was nothing but just a mere mortal. Simply an annoyance he had to grudgingly protect. 

— to make things worse, she didn’t even belong to this world.

Even so... 

Her shoulders squared; her resolve to thank him refused to let her give up. 

...just one last time. 

Then she would stop — this bitter promise sank her heart.

“Please Xiao," Lumine raised her gaze again,  "I know you’re out here. I’m sorry I’m back here again.” 

She hobbled forward.

“I know you told me to leave you alone but I just—thunk” She felt the leg of the crutch supporting her hit an uneven portion of the wooden floor beneath her feet.

Her crutch cluttered to the ground before she could adjust her grip.

A sharp gasp surged through her throat as she staggered forward.

The ground was rushing fast toward her, the box in her hand was slipping from her hand.

Horror sept into her widening eyes.

Oh no oh no, the almond tofu is going to—

Then as if materializing out of thin air, a firm hold appeared around her waist and tugged her up in one swift move against a warm, breathing wall that could talk—

“What are you doing?”

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How do you like this story so far?

—  published on 17.02.2021

#genshin xiao #xiao x reader #xiao imagines #xiao x lumine #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin impact xiao

[midgardsbest]

Imagine: You feel a bit off today and the argument with your boyfriend Loki doesn’t make things better. What happens when a Steve who doesn’t understand British slang and an overprotective father ruin your sweet plan to get him back?

N/A: Hello dearests, enjoy this new Loki x reader imagine and tell me what are your impressions about it. If you wanna. If you don’t then DEATH. TO ALL OF THEM. Jk. Hope y’all got that reference. 🤟

Warnings: BestFriend!Natasha, Thor is lovely as usual, Dad!TonyStark, Boyfriend!Loki, Language, Fluff, Angst and more fluff, a bit of passion, and British reader/use of British slang (pretty easy and self-explanatory)

Words: 1953

Waking up that morning was tremendously hard. You stumbled against any piece of furniture installed inside of your room by your father, Tony Stark. Well, he was your stepfather, technically, but you weren’t particularly fond of the use of that word.

Yawning your way into the kitchen of the compound, you avoided meeting eyes with Steve. He had been more stressed than usual in the last few days, probably given the upcoming mission. He lashed out at you the day before, or at least that's what you thought was happening.

"I think a cuppa would serve you right."

"A what?"

You looked at him as if he were stupid, but you knew it couldn't be that. "A cuppa? It's.. a cup of tea. You don't know that?" Given his expression, either he was a bit dumb or was just done with you for that day. "No. I like coffee. But thank you."

You weren't mad at him, of course. Nonetheless, ignoring him for a bit did sound like a better idea than trying to cheer him up with your British manners, if you could say. He did not look happy about that.

Staring at the emptiness of your black coffee (and almost gagging at the rough taste), you swallowed the smothering ache in your heart. What was it you were yearning for?

You couldn't place in your mind the exact reason behind this suffering, but you soon grew tired of it. With a pair of eyes following your figure left unnoticed, you dragged yourself up to your room to somehow get ready.

"What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know man. Shouldn't you be locked up in your room like Stark- and he's gone. Thanks for the chat, popsicle."

This was boring, wasn't it? It was raining outside. Perhaps if you were in a rom-com you'd be soaked wet, lightheartedly dancing with a cover of dreamy clouds in the sky, glancing at your boyfriend from time to time, pretending you didn't see his "this is the woman I'll marry" eyes consuming you entirely. However, you weren't the protagonist of a rom-com, much less of a poorly written fan fiction. Additionally, your dear boyfriend wasn't officially... well, your boyfriend, and he'd been ignoring you completely. Which hurt, but your pride defeated your consciousness and you didn't want to talk to him about it.

Then, an idea took place in your mind. You had an opportunity to get back your not-much-of-a-boyfriend, the Captain's shy smile and your fun. Some might say even something more along the way.

"I AM DONE. COMPLETELY, UTTERLY DONE."

You slammed the door of Natasha's office, ignoring the frightening look she gave you and pointed to the chair right in front of you with questioning eyes.

"You slammed my door shut, might as well."

Your eyes dropped unnoticeably. Someone would have noticed though, only he wasn't there.

"I gotta do something. Would you help me with it?."

"What would I help you with, exactly? Y/N, if this is one of your unsettled plans..." She leaned back on the chair, tapping the desk with her bare fingernails.

"No! You can trust me on this, Nat. Please do. I'll buy you some nail polish."

"What?"

"What?"

"WHAT?" Tony on the verge of an anxiety attack wasn't exactly how you thought this plan would go, even though him finding out was not part of it as well.

"Boss, your heart rate is increasing critically."

"Vacation's over. FRIDAY, let's go back to the compound."

You could hear their voices on the other end of the line.

You still didn't utter a word, already having made the mistake of asking your dad when he was bound to return from his "job thing" in Rome. You shouldn’t have said that, because "you never care about it", so it was either a party you were planning or a date. Besides, you might've mentioned the mission that you later remembered, you weren’t supposed to know about.

Your leg was trembling now, having realized the crap mistake you made. "Well shit."

"Y/N!"

"Oh, forgot you were still on. Love you, Dad, bye."

Natasha gawked at you, shaking her head slightly, arms crossed in front of her. This plan was a massive mistake. But it was your plan and you wouldn’t give up on it.

Around noon, Stark made his entry into the structure and went straight to your room, knocking on the door half a time and anchoring his feet to the ground with every step. Hiding your uneven breath, and thanking Nat for her wise advice ("just play sick", she said), you raised the sheets over your painted red nose.

Your dad searched for you in your cosy bedroom, just to find your teary innocent eyes full of greed for success. Maybe you did have a fever.

"Sweetheart, why didn't you tell me you were sick? I thought you were gonna run off to a party or something you kids do."

You shifted under the covers. Shit. That was the plan after all. You were going to coerce Steve into partying with you somewhere you knew Loki would find you, like perhaps that club just around the corner where he wore that leather jacket once. Big story. Regardless, it didn't mean much now that he just vanished from your life.

"I wouldn't have gone anywhere."

An aching cough caught your breath. You tried to keep your eyebrows from furrowing at the actual symptom. You never got sick. Not really, at least.

Tony's eyes were clouded with worry, not liking the sight of you in pain.

"This is what we'll do, kid. You get some rest and I'll have Steve make you some tea."

You sniggered: "Just don't call it a cuppa."

As soon as he left the room, Natasha came out of the bathroom. Your eyes felt heavy, but your mind was still somewhere else.

"You'd make a great actress, has anyone told you that?" she grinned. You liked Nat, especially when you knew she was comfortable enough to enjoy spending time with you. She was your first real friend here at the compound. Your father would keep you hidden here when you were younger, and even though he tried his best to never make you feel like you were alone, he wasn't around much, and always left you with Pepper or Happy, who you now knew as your mother and uncle.

You coughed once again, this time harder, and brought a hand on your chest.

Nat stared at you for a little while.

"You're ill."

"Yeah. And the sun's coming out. This day just couldn't get worse. Did I just manifest getting sick?"

When she stood up from the little chair that was at the side of your bed, she gave you a comforting smile, and then she left, leaving you in Morpheus' arms to fall asleep.

"Do you think perhaps it is best to wake her?"

"Don't be foolish, brother. She is much better like this."

"You mean she's comfortable?"

"I mean she's bearable."

"Ughh."

"Perfect! Lady Y/N, you seem to have awakened."

You looked at the Norse brothers standing at the feet of your bed, still feeling dizzy from your remarkable nap. You hadn't slept this good in a while.

"Thor. Yes. Woken u-uh..p." You stood up. You looked at them. You glanced at them once again.

"OH MY GOD." You quickly covered your face with your hands. Gods, Loki was in your room. He wasn't looking at you, but he was in your room. You could feel his coldness reaching up to your veins - and heart, not only making you feel sick in your stomach but also causing a complementary shameful headache.

"Is uhm... something wrong, Y/N?" Thor's warm voice grounded you slightly but never enough.

With a shallow breath, you released your hands, dropping them along with your head. Looking at the silk white sheets, you wondered if strangling yourself with them would solve anything.

"No, thank you, Thor. Could you just give me a minute to uhm... I need to uh... powder my nose."

He smiled. "Ah yes of course. We'll be in the kitchen."

Your breath hitched. You had to do something.

"Wait!" They altered their steps, this time you looked directly into Loki's ice-blue eyes. "Gotta speak. I mean- I- 'd like to speak to Loki. For a minute. If possible."

Thor adjusted the weight on his feet and then nodded, sizing the room with his comfortable aura.

The instant he left, that same energy vanished, leaving you and that subjugating man to war. A conflict formed of rivalry, an uneasy sense of fear for all that was yet to be said and a deep, desperate need for each other in all ways known to your kind.

You soon grew tired of the dreadful silence. "Are you gonna say anything or shall I speak first?"

"Speak." He kept on staring at the window.

You debated if getting out of the bed would be better for this argument.

"Don't. And there will be no such thing as an argument. I'm not going to force your decision."

You blinked at him. What? Did the ice get to his head?

"Pardon? What decision? And who gave you permission to read my mind, Loki? You left me. Alone. You didn't speak to me for a week. Like... out of nowhere. Just like that- What. Decision." You did get out of bed, now showing your white lace robe to him. If he were looking at you, you'd have felt naked under his gaze.

He kept silent for a while and you did not once stop beholding him.

"I thought you wished not to see me again." He finally witnessed you, completely, entirely, just like you knew he would. Just the way you longed for.

"Why? When did you ever get that impression from me? If I did something wrong please tell me but don't just... don't go away from me."

He attentively took a few steps closer to you. It looked menacing but you knew he was just calculating your next move. He was the prey. But it was you who kept still.

"The bar." The bar?

"What bar?"

"Last week, you brought me to a place. I wore a leather jacket."

Your eyes instantly watered a bit.

"Loki..."

"No. My actions were unnecessary and I shouldn't have- I-."

You broke, fully. You gave in to your heart and hurried to him, still too far across the room. You wrapped your trembling hands around him and almost fell whilst doing so. But he held you mightily, adapting to your action like a lock when it finds its key.

"Lokes... why'd you think that?" You tucked your face in his green and golden armour. "I lo- I know you didn't mean that. You didn't do anything wrong. Please. Is that why you weren't speaking to me anymore?"

Glancing up at him, your gazes met, lost in each other like you could both find your way home. "Yes."

You smiled softly. "Don't do that again. Just talk to me next time."

"There won't be a next time". At that, you frowned. Would he never go out with you again?

"What d'you mean?"

He caressed your cheek, hidden emotions revealed by the trembling of the movement.

"I'll do my best to not do you wrong ever again. It is a promise I'll keep as close to my heart as a dagger."

You giggled dreamily. "Please don't put a knife to your heart."

He moved you closer to his touch. "I won't. But if I do it'll be you who holds the handle."

"You cheeky bastard." And to that, he kissed you ardently, air unneeded for your lungs to work.

N/A: Any idea on what might’ve happened at the club? Also… Loki in a leather jacket.

#loki friggason #loki imagine #loki laufeyson #loki fluff #loki x y/n #loki fandom #marvel imagine #mcu x reader #marvel #marvel movies #thor the dark world #thor odinson #tony stark #natasha romanoff

[zmediaoutlet]

fic: the apprentice year

Here’s something I wrote for a zine, a while back. Maybe someone’s in the mood for quiet s8 angst.

(read on AO3)

It's raining when Sam crashes the car. Middle of the night, Texas somewhere. Not enough sleep, not that sleep could possibly help, and bad visibility, and this numbness that started in his gut but has taken over every part of him. Not the best conditions. Narrow two-lane highway, headlights blurring through the dark wet, and then there's a flash—white-and-brown and small, a dog?—and he swerves hard, and then it's—squeal of brakes, the tires sliding, a smash.

He breathes slow, both hands curled around the steering wheel. Car's still on, rumbling idle. His head hurts. Hard to see through the rain but it looks like he killed a sapling. He unclenches one hand from the wheel and touches his forehead—wet—and the windshield's cracked again, and he turns around in the seat to see the dog bolting off down the road. He opens the door and steps out into the mud and, yes. A broken tree, and a mile marker crumpled, and the paint all scraped up, and the windshield. He wipes his forehead again and his fingers are smeared red. He puts that hand on the car and then has to—his legs crumple—he crouches, letting the car take his weight, feeling the engine in his bones. He can't think, with the rain this loud. His head hurts. He says, out loud, "I don't think I can do it," but it's hard to hear over the downpour, and anyway, no one's there to hear. No one's there.

*

There's a mechanic down the street from a motel. The windshield will be three hundred and that feels like too much but then, who would Sam ask, who'd be honest. He asks them to repaint, too, so he doesn't have to see the gouges of his fuckup. The mechanic looks at his forehead instead of at his eyes. "You get that looked at, sir?" he says.

Sam walks through the damp morning to the motel. The clerk frowns at him but Sam puts a hundred in cash on the counter and then there's the room, dim with the curtains drawn. Two beds—why? Habit. He's been sleeping in the car so that people won't ask the question. Trying to sleep. He takes off his wet muddy clothes and runs a shower, hot, and there's mud on his hands and blood too and the cut on his head bleeds pink against the white tub, and he's so tired he wants to just sit down, right there in the bathtub and let the water pound against his face and make it so he can't think about anything else, so he can't, so he won't have to—but he can't. He has to pick up the car at some point. He turns off the shower and dries off and walks naked through the dim room to the bed closer to the door and he crawls under the blanket and puts his face into the pillow and thinks that he won't sleep, because how can he sleep in a queen bed in a motel room in a town he doesn't know without his brother. He can't possibly. He can't, but he has to, because his brother is dead.

*

It took a while to come to that conclusion. Dick was gone. The air, throbbing thick and strange. The room empty. Sam stood alone in that awful building with distant alarms wailing and his head and heart entirely still, because there had been a place where his brother was, and now he wasn't there anymore.

He did research. He asked questions. He prayed, and when there were no answers to his praying he burned acacia and camphor and blood-red petals of anemone and demanded a demon, but none came. He knelt on the road at midnight with dirt caked under his broken nails and was prepared to offer—what little it was worth, that he could offer—but no one arrived to take a deal. It was like the world he'd always known was there, that darker mystery that swirled under the daytime normalcy everyone else knew, had just vanished. Gone. He was finally free to live a life that was average, and safe, and boring, but what did it matter—how could it matter, without Dean.

There was booze but then there wasn't. There was a brief, considering moment when a dealer in Kansas City saw Sam's expression and offered relief, but it would've failed the same way the booze had. There was staying up until he had no choice but to pass out in the backseat and forgetting to eat and driving, nowhere, with no destination in mind, because what was there? A job, a ghost, a brutal and pointless putting of one foot in front of the other, when the only thing that had ever mattered, the only thing that had made the life he'd chosen worth choosing, was—

He drove until he nearly hit a dog, and hit a tree instead. He stopped not because he wanted to but because there didn't seem to be any point in driving more. He got a motel. He slept, because that was all there was left to do.

*

When he wakes up the room is dim with afternoon. The sun on the other side of the building. A reflection, from the vacancy sign outside, that throws up a white square on the wall. He watches it for a while, tracking how it moves slow over the wallpaper, thinning out as the sun falls. A slow eclipse, until it disappears.

What the hell, he hears.

He sits up, ignores the head-throb from moving. There, boots on the carpet, standing in the way of the bathroom, looking around like the motel's a surprise—six feet (forget the lie about the extra inch) and strong and beautiful as he ever, ever was—Sam swallows, drags in air that feels like it can't fit in his chest with everything that's roaring up in it—Dean frowns, and looks at him, and says, in a voice that sounds distant, Sammy, what the fuck.

Sam stands up and staggers. His head, god. He tries to step forward and it's Dean who comes to him, looking around, saying what's going on, where is this—are you— and Sam braces on the bedside table and reaches out but then Dean flickers, somehow, like a broadcast jolted with static, and Sam's hand curls in the air between them, his body flinching even if his mind doesn't quite get it yet.

Dean stops in his tracks and looks down. Spreads his hands, looking at the scarred knuckles and the more-scarred palms. Sam manages to get himself under control and stands up straight, and takes the step that means he's inches away, but no longer dazed from waking he can see: Dean's not here. Dean's not quite here. There's an almost-shimmery distance to him. A projection, on an inadequate screen. Sam looks at his face and just faintly the outlines of the room present are present, showing through him. A bitter taste in the back of his throat and he swallows, again, but manages to say, out loud, "Are you real?"

Dean looks up at him, brow furrowed. Could ask you the same thing, sport. Sam laughs, sort of, caught in his throat, and Dean's face changes. Jesus, you look like shit.

"Thanks," Sam says. Dean flickers again and it's nauseating to see the blank space where he was, even if he half-solidifies a second later. "God. I—can't believe this is happening."

Okay, but what is happening, Dean says, and looks around again. This isn't… He shakes his head and even half-there Sam can see the confusion, the annoyance at the confusion. His brother. His chest aches. I wasn't here. Where's here?

"Texas," Sam says. He still hasn't caught the name of the town. He reaches out because he can't not and his fingers brush—what? Nothing. The air's insubstantial because it's air. Dean looks down at his chest where Sam's not touching him and he says, very quiet, shit , and then he looks up and says shit, Sam , more loudly, and he reaches up and doesn't touch Sam's face because of course he can't, and it's only then that Sam realizes he's crying.

Hey , Dean says, and Sam shakes his head. "It's fine," he says, although of course it's not fine. Dean's eyes, concerned, and his nose with the bump Sam's so often traced with one finger, and his mouth, full and worried. He passes his thumb over where he ought to be able to touch Dean's bottom lip and Dean's eyelids flicker, his mouth parting. Sam shakes his head again, dizzy. Dean. He didn't think he'd see him again, outside of an afterlife he hadn't yet decided to try for.

Texas, huh? Dean says, after a few seconds. He smiles, fake devil-may-care, the expression that Sam's always loved and kind of wanted to smack him for, in equal measure. He looks Sam up and down, and raises his eyebrows, and says, guess it's true they make things bigger here, and it's only then that Sam remembers that he's naked, and even like this, a ghost or a hallucination or a fever-dream, Dean can make him roll his eyes. Dean's grin widens and he passes a never-there touch over Sam's bare chest. Hey, slugger, can't blame me for—

He disappears.

Sam stands there, alone, for a few seconds. He breathes deep, in and out. He passes his hand through the space where Dean wasn't and of course there's nothing there, and then he sits back down, on the bed, braced on his knees, looking at the faded plaid of the wallpaper and the day through the flimsy curtain. His face is still wet and so he knows—he hasn't cried, since that day, so he knows that something happened today that was different from all the ones that came before it. Dean's dead, gone, and yet he isn't. Sam licks his lips. That means there's—something to do.

*

He eats. He sleeps. He goes and picks up the car, and the mechanic looks less concerned when Sam takes the keys. He goes back to the room and reads a book, for a few hours, and doesn't remember a thing when he lifts his eyes from the page. He showers, again, before bed, and when he comes out the room is hot, and he taps the air conditioner and realizes, shit. Busted.

The clerk in the office is unhelpful. "I can move your room," he says, reluctant to do even that, but Sam's not leaving the room where he saw Dean. "Maintenance guy quit, so we're gonna have to call someone, might be a day or two."

Sam looks at him and chews the inside of his cheek. "You have the last guy's tools?"

He's never fixed an air conditioner but he knows how to use the internet. It turns out it's a little harder than the diagrams make it look. While he's got sweat between his shoulderblades and he's considering percussive maintenance that there's a huff of a laugh, behind him, and Dean says dude, you look like you're gonna have a stroke .

Behind him, raised eyebrows and amusement. A cut on his cheek—new? From what? "Sue me," Sam says, irritated. "I didn't go to HVAC school." Dean's grinning and the irritation washes away like it was never there. Sam steps forward and Dean's face changes, too, looking all over him. "Dean," Sam says, and feels— "Where are you? What's going on?"

Dean shakes his head. You know as much as I do, man. He hesitates. It's like—I've been asleep and I just woke up, but I can't remember what I was dreaming about.

Are you dead. The sentence forms under Sam's tongue and he swallows it. If Dean doesn't know then asking won't help, and if he is then Sam's sunk the same way he's been for the last month. Are you real is the next question, but then if he's not real then that means Sam's crazy, and Sam knows from crazy and, really, if he is, this is the best crazy he could hope for.

Dean's looking at him, not smiling at all, now. I miss you , Dean says, unexpectedly. He flickers—like he did before, a projection cutting out—but he's shaking his head hard when he resolidifies. Shit. I don't—I don't know what that is. I don't get it. You're right here and I'm missing you. How does that work?

"I don't know," Sam says, "but I know exactly what you mean."

The corner of Dean's mouth turns up, but it's not glad. Sam breathes out slowly, the hard knot of grief in his chest barely allayed. 

It feels impossible. Maybe it is. He doesn't try to reach out again and neither does Dean. Dean's eyes flick up to the A/C unit and he jerks his chin. You need to take out the compressor , he says. Check the fuse box. I can walk you through it.

Sam's eyes are hot. "I know how to check a fuse," he says, and Dean raises his eyebrows at him. "Not completely useless."

Prove it , Dean says. Bitch .

Sam rolls his eyes and turns away so Dean won't see that they're wet, and does.

*

Dean comes and goes according to some clock Sam doesn't get to see. Most days, Sam doesn't do much. He eats, showers, shits, sleeps. He watches bad daytime TV and not-much-better nighttime TV. He reads. He takes the car out on drives through the country. Flat around here, and what little green there is browning in the heat of summer. The office manager says he can stay at the motel for free if he keeps fixing things and so he does, and sometimes he's got his head under a kitchenette sink trying to figure out how not to dump backed-up foulness onto his face when there's a presence, all of a sudden, and his brother's voice saying why the hell are you using that wrench?

Sam's alone except when he's with Dean. The days smooth out into a routine. He wakes up sometimes and Dean's sitting there, on the edge of the bed somehow even though he can't really touch anything, and Dean'll say took you long enough, sleeping beauty , and Sam will roll his eyes and say, "Look who's talking, didn't you sleep through an actual earthquake once?" and Dean will grin and Sam will stretch out on his back and they'll bicker about the time in Portland, Maine, when Dad tanned both their hides for not being ready for the werewolf hunt at midnight, and they both insisted it was the other's job to set the alarm. I told you , Dean'll say, eyes crinkled like he's trying not to laugh, and Sam'll launch into his theory about how Dean's memory is shot from too much booze, and they'll waste the time, that way, ragging on each other. Other times Dean will be quiet, and so Sam will too, and they'll look at each other with their hands an inch apart on the blanket, and Dean will say, after a while, you remember? and Sam won't know what he's referring to, exactly, but he'll swallow and he'll say that, yeah, yeah. He remembers.

Moonlight makes Dean's face a strange, alien blue. In the day he's golden, gorgeous, cracks jokes and makes fun of the way Sam holds a screwdriver. Sometimes he has bruises; sometimes there's blood dried on the angles of his eyesocket. Once he shows up holding his ribs like something got him, wherever he is, and he just sits with his back to the kitchen cabinets while Sam fixes a garbage disposal and rambles about some time in Tulane when he dropped a ghoul and then banged a supermodel, that same night. "Oh, really," Sam says, pulling open the gears while he tries not to think about splintered bones, about the fragility of lungs, about the soft vulnerable edge of Dean's beating heart. "Tyra Banks or Kate Moss?"

Okay, Dean says, and does it sound thin? Hurt? So maybe not a 'super' model. But she was hot. He rolls his head to look at Sam and winks. Not as hot as some people, though. Don't worry .

"I was in a panic," Sam says, dry, and Dean chuffs laughing and then coughs, pained, and says, nodding at Sam's job, you're gonna want a 5/8ths for that , and in the next second he's gone. Sam braces his hands on the counter and breathes deep for a solid minute, bleeding inside his chest, before he goes into the toolbox, and gets the 5/8ths wrench.

*

The first time they were young, even if at the time Sam would've said otherwise. Their dad was gone and they were alone, really alone, for the first time in their lives—only, they weren't. They'd never been. An argument and a bad night and going out and finding Dean sitting on the hood of some wreck in Bobby's junkyard, and they'd said—he can't remember. Not everything. He does remember very precisely the moment when he gripped Dean's wrist and Dean looked up at him like he was surprised and Sam had said, you know, Dean, you know what I— and Dean had covered Sam's mouth with three fingers like it wouldn't be true, if he didn't say it. But then he tugged his hand away and he leaned up and kissed Sam, anyway, so it didn't matter so much, if Sam said it or didn't. That was the first time.

Over the years they fell closer together and farther apart. They hurt each other, sometimes so badly Sam thought it'd be forever broken and he'd just have to live that way, with his ribs split apart, bleeding where anyone could see. When they came back together it felt like nothing could ever split them up again. Not demons, or angels, or death.

The last time, they were in a cabin in Montana, and they were going to do something nuts in the morning. What else was new. It was quick, and then it was slow, and afterward Dean lay half-sprawled over Sam's chest, the two of them sticking together with sweat and worse, and Dean tipped his forehead against Sam's collarbone and sighed. This is such a dumb plan , he said, and Sam drew two fingers up from between his shoulderblades to the little soft hollow at the top of his spine, where his hair was shorn to velvet, and where Sam tended to bury his nose, when they slept in the same bed. When they let themselves do that. Yeah, Sam said, after too long, but when has that ever stopped us? Dean snorted, and rolled away, and Sam curled behind him that night in the too-small bed, and in the morning, for once, Dean woke up first, and he smacked Sam's shin and said come on, sleeping beauty, time to ride , and Sam groaned and got up and didn't think about it, much, and then that night Dean was dead. Gone, or dead.

He thinks about it, now. What he would've done, if he knew that was the last time he'd be allowed to touch his brother. What he might've said, if they'd had the chance. Before hell—before hell for both of them—they'd known what was coming down the pipe, and they'd been scared, and they hadn't screwed either time, or slept together, even. They sat, shoulder-to-shoulder, staying awake past midnight and through to dawn, and when it was time—they'd gotten in a goodbye, each of them, and Sam had ached to know how little that was. How it wasn't enough. This time—he didn't get a goodbye. He gets to look, but not touch. He gets to smile at him nearly every day and he gets Dean's jokes and his ridiculous stories and his safe, sure guidance, his eyes on Sam's speaking the promise they always gave each other—and it isn't, it isn't nearly, it isn't close, to enough.

*

Summer passes into fall, and fall into winter. Sam doesn't reach for the wrong wrench as often. He takes a drive through a cool twilight and when he opens the motel room door with a six-pack in hand, Dean appears one second later, looking out at the car through the window, and he says hey, how's the carb treating you?

He sits at the table in the room, taking the carburetor apart piece by careful piece. Dean looks over his shoulder, leaning on the table (somehow), pointing out where Sam's screwing it up (constantly). "Maybe if you weren't breathing down my neck," Sam says, and Dean snorts and says wouldn't have to if you'd ever paid attention to anything that wasn't Eskimo poetry , and then Sam tells Dean that Eskimo isn't an appropriate word to use, and Dean tells Sam that he need to clear the sand out of his vagina, and—it's not enough, but god if Sam isn't happier than he's been in—how long? Since the last time Dean was sitting right there, with his arms folded over the back of a chair, grinning at Sam and getting under his skin and just being—everything. Everything that mattered.

It starts to rain, before Sam's done. He leaves all the parts spread out and clean to dry on the table and sinks onto the couch with his beer, and Dean looking at him still from his backwards perch on the chair, and his grin softened down to something else. "What," Sam says, tipping his head against the wall. He's feeling mellow. In pain, maybe crazy. Content. Desperate. The usual. He's gotten used to it. Thinking maybe it'll be this way, ever after. Thinking he can handle it, if that's so. Dean's here even if he's not here, and that means that Sam doesn't want to be anywhere else.

Dean's got a bruise on his cheekbone, again. A cut on his lower lip. He looks tired. He flickers, precursor maybe to disappearing, but he stays. In the dim light he looks almost real. Almost present, like Sam could reach out and get his hand around his jaw and tell him everything he's ever thought, everything he ever wished for the two of them. How he meant it, when he told Dean there was nothing he wouldn't do. Even live, if that's what it came down to, just for the hope to see Dean's face, one more time.

The rain's loud, on the eaves of the motel. Dean hasn't said anything. Still just watching, his eyes steady. His mouth that soft curve. "What?" Sam says, again.

Oh, Dean says, quiet. You know.

Sam does.

#wincest #my writing #the formatting on this keeps feeling fucked but i'm just going with it #if i can't write right now #i can at least post stuff i wrote like six months ago

[captaincravatthecapricious]

After the Circus Part 4

Some thoughts from Tim.  I did not edit this, sorry.  

@janekfan

cw: strained friendships, arguing, fainting, dizziness, trauma, references to Jon's getting covered in lotion, disassociation, food mention, mentions of panic attacks (none in the story), canon typical season three Tim headspace (although he's being less mean!)

Tim’s eyes are burning.   He rubs at them absently.  Christ, his back hurts.  Elbow numb from pressing it into the break room table. 

He feels like he hasn’t closed his eyes longer than to blink since after Prentiss with those pain killers knocked him flat.  Feels like he hasn’t even blinked since Martin found out that Jon was kidnapped.  Didn’t even have that small bit of respite that is due to most creatures.  

He can’t take his eyes off Jon’s fragile form.  

He’s asleep on the couch.  Jon, that is.  Martin has dozed off at the table.  Chubby cheek smashed into it.  He’s pale, Martin is.  And tired.  There are deep circles under his eyes, almost starting to rival Jon’s.  Tim wants to brush the hair off his forehead.  Wants to tell him that it’s going to be okay, but Tim doesn’t believe that it’s going to be okay.  In fact, he’s fairly certain it won’t be.  Especially not after the Unknowing.  

Maybe… Maybe he could try.  For Martin.  Maybe.  

A quiet voice from deep within says that maybe he could even try for Jon.  Maybe.  

After all, what had Martin said?  Something about not letting the Circus claim any more lives.  A voice that sounds suspiciously like Martin whispers that that includes Tim’s life too.  

Imagining things.  

Christ, he needs to sleep.  

Nothing keeping him here now.  Not really.  Just… worry that he though he was done having.  

He really thought he could quell his care for his …the people who used to be his friends.  

The people he wouldn’t mind trying to be friends with again.  

Which leads him back to Jon.  Who he’s been staring at since …well he’s lost count.  

He’s asleep on the couch.  He’s shivering, but Tim isn’t going to take the blanket from Martin.  

Tim might almost want to care for Jon (while aggressively pretending not to care, of course).  But… but he hasn’t earned blanket rights.  Not after every hurt Jon has caused.  (The Martin in his sleep deprivation induced imaginings reminds him that most of the hurts were not caused by Jon.  Most, actually.  Jon caused some, but not most).  But Tim isn’t ready to believe that.  Or even if he believes it, not admit it for long enough to give Jon the blanket.  

In any case, Martin deserves it more.  Poor, optimistic, besotted Martin.  Tim tries to call him stupid.  Just in his head.  But a phantom, imagined voice (maybe Sasha’s?) shuts that thought down.  Christ, he’s losing it.  He needs to sleep.  Take a double shot of sleepy time cold medicine and hope that knocks him out.  

He’d do that now… but he isn’t leaving Martin here.  

And Martin isn’t going to leave Jon.  Not like this.  Not in a million years.  

Apparently Martin is A-Okay with someone stalking them and just going back to calling him a friend.  

Stop it, Tim.  Not helpful.  

And Jon really just looks frail and pathetic.  And that’s just made him angry recently, but right now… right now it makes him angry at the Circus.  

Which… not the best way to fix a friendship… if that’s even what he’s trying to do.  And he doesn’t know that for sure.  He isn’t sure of anything.  Head and eyes full of sand.  Burning and heavy and gritty.  Can’t think.  Doesn’t know if what he’s feeling makes any sense.  

The feelings don’t even feel like they belong to him.  Not at this stupid hour.  

What time even is it?  His phone ran out of juice, he thinks.  Died not long after Jon fell asleep again, before Martin fell asleep, before Tim took up his vigil.  Feels like he’s taking over for Martin.  Trying to care in his stead.  Trying to care enough that Martin will let himself get some proper rest.  

Which… which means Tim needs to do something.  And by something …well that probably means he needs to open his home to both Martin and Jon.  

Martin’s flat is too small for just one extra person, even as small as Jon, and there is no way in hell that Tim is going to let Martin alone with Jon.  Not when he knows Martin will give everything he has left to watch out for Jon.  Martin is quickly running out of things to give.  

Not that Tim has much to offer, but he can’t let Martin burn himself out completely on Jon.  

And Jon… well Tim hasn’t exactly been paying attention, but he thinks Jon is essentially homeless.  If him going back to sleeping on a shelf is any indication.  Or intending to, if he hadn’t passed out before reaching it.  

See, Tim isn’t that bad.  He brought Jon to the cot.  Miles better than a shelf.  

Probably, anyhow.  

Jon might have a mattress by now.  

He idly wonders if that hypothetical mattress would be like the one Tim used to host sleepovers on.  

Like the one Tim and Sasha and Jon shared on late nights after drinks and days full or research.  

And then he feels decidedly ill.  Because the Sasha in his memory isn’t the right one.  

He’d be sick if he had the energy.  

But he doesn’t.  

So he just readjusts and ;ays his head down on folded arms.  Back glad of the movement, but still protesting the new position just as much as the last.  

He’s decided, though.  When Martin wakes up, all three of them are going back to his flat.  

Until then he’ll watch the delicate rise and fall of Jon’s chest.  The rest doesn’t look easy.  Hasn’t since he got back.  Tim has to wonder if it’s been that way since Prentiss.  But he’s too tired to think.  Only has it in him to watch.  

Watch Jon whimper in his sleep.  Too weak to move about, like Tim knows Jon does when he isn’t weighed down by another person or his weighted blanket.  

He considers going to grab that blanket for Jon now, but he doesn’t have the energy to move.  (And a private part of him is worried that Jon will vanish if he looks away for even a moment.  Like he will be stolen away again.  Or that he will just… stop breathing.  Just fade away quietly without anyone to notice.  Or… care.  

So.  So Tim tries very hard not to think about where else he’s heard these words as he waits, and he watches, and he listens.  

When Jon wakes with a strangled scream, Martin nearly falls out of his chair.  Tim barely blinks.  Too tired to even move at that point.  He doesn’t want to think about how long he’s been awake.  

Martin’s by Jon’s side by this point.  A hand smoothing down his hair, and Jon’s crying again.  

Distantly he thinks he should probably try to get Jon to drink something or eat something.  Get some salt and water into him somehow.  But Tim is too tired to do that, and Jon’s crying too hard to do anything.  

Tim gives himself 30 seconds.  30 seconds to close his eyes, then stand up.  

He should be alarmed by the head rush that nearly takes him back down.  That’s not something he experiences too often, but… well he hasn’t exactly been taking care of himself.  

He trudges off to see if he can remember if he brought anything in with him.  If he did, he’ll grab that and anything that Martin might have brought in, and after that he’ll grab Jon’s weighted blanket.  

his feet feel like lead and he’s trying not to stumble over himself or the trailing blanket.  He’s got Martin’s bag over his shoulder, with the Tim’s water bottle and phone charger shoved in on top of Martin’s stuff.  Keys in his pocket.  Phone is his pocket.  Stifling a yawn in Jon’s blanket.  

He prods Martin with his shoe.  

“Come on, Marto.  We’re leaving.”

“I’m not leaving him!”  Loud and sudden and panicked.  

It starts Jon whimpering again.  

Pathetic, he thinks before he can stop himself.  

“He’s coming with us.  You can take the blanket or Jon, but either way, both are coming with us.”  

Martin glares at him in bleary suspicion.  “Where?”

“My flat.”

“Why?”

“So you don’t fall asleep at the table again.  And if that means getting Jon and you on my spare mattress or in my guest room, then so be it.”  

Martin slumps.  Partly because Jon is needing something or other, and early because …well… he looks basically dead.   

Tim can see when he gives in.  

Marin nods.  

Tim can also see when Martin realizes there is no way he can carry Jon, at least not until he’s gotten some proper rest.  And Tim doesn’t make Martin admit it.  

He hands off the backpack and the blanket, and scoops Jon up himself.  

Jon’s eyes flutter shut.  Heart racing against Tim’s chest, head lolling against his shoulder.  Fainted again.  It’s… starting to get worrying, in all honestly.  He hasn’t seen Jon this badly off since… well the few times he was running some truly scary fevers and the one time he didn’t sleep for an entire week.  

Jon isn’t feverish.  At least Tim doesn’t think he is.  Which means, it’s not a fever or it’s very low.  So Tim has to guess whatever Jon went through lead to a hell of a flare up.  

Nothing to do for that now.  

Maybe he can stop by a charity shop and get Jon a temporary cane tomorrow.  After he’s slept.  After he’s certain he won’t pass out from lack to sleep, himself.  

Get Jon a new cane, and hope Jon is up for solid food, because damn Tim wants crepes.  

He would sell his soul for some crepes.  

Martin is struggling to his feet.  Just as warn out as Tim.  

It isn’t a long walk to Tim’s flat.  He tries to hail a cab, but… he guesses it’s a weird hour on a week night.  No one is out.  

It isn’t a long walk.  

But Martin stumbles into him every few steps.  Trying to lean over to check on Jon.  

Jon is… conscious?  Maybe?  

But barely.  

He nudges Martin onto the couch.  Then drops Jon into his lap.  That should keep Martin from going anywhere.  

Then Tim drags out the sleepover mattress.  It hasn’t been out since… since Sasha was alive.  

Since before the Archives.  

It smells a little musty.  But… it feels like home as he tiredly wrestles some sheets onto it, and kicks his coffee table out of the way to make room for it.  

Martin stares at him uncomprehendingly.  

Tim leaves him to it.  

Tim fetches a lucozade for Jon, and two glasses of water.  

He goes and showers.  He brushes his teeth.  He throws on some sleep clothes.  

Martin still hasn’t really moved.  

Tim lifts Jon off his lap and onto the mattress.  He sets Jon down with more care than he can really take in right now.  And takes his place on Jon’s side.  

Jon looks to be sleeping, not unconscious now.  Good.  

“Marto you can shower if you want.  Feel free to find some clothes if you do.  Something should fit.  Or you can just… take a load off and join us.  Whichever.  But I’m going to sleep.”  

It’s been ages since he’s slept with Jon.  But… it feels like home.  Or… something like home.  He buries them both under Jon’s blanket, and under the spare duvet.  Drawing and arm around Jon, trying not to get lost in the tight feeling in his chest when Jon snuggles up close and tucks his nose against Tim’s clavicle.  

Tim pats the empty side of the mattress, and giving Martin something adjacent to a smile.  

When Tim wakes up.  Martin is sound asleep in some sweats that are oversized on Tim.  

He feels… heavy.  Both from exhaustion and from the weighted blanket.  

He can’t tell what time it is.  Blackout curtains are drawn against any light that could be.  It’s just… a dim grey… meaning there must be light spilling in from the kitchen.  Probably light out, then.  

Then… then he spares a glance for Jon.  Looking small and beaten in his arms.  

His eyes are open, and… he might actually be lucid this time.  

He makes a small question sound.  

It damn near breaks his heart.  

“Why are you being so nice?”  His voice is still wrecked.  It looks as though Jon might have burst a blood vessel whilst sobbing at the Institute, but he can’t be sure in this light.  Still.  It hurts.  

He also doesn’t have an answer.  

Pity is the wrong answer to give to Jon, and he knows it.  

But… it was some pity.  And some for Martin’s sake.  

He doesn’t know what to say.  

His silence, however is scaring Jon.  Jon who is starting to hyperventilate.  

“Hey.  Hey.  It’s okay.  I… I don’t know why.  But… I couldn’t leave you there.  And I couldn’t leave Martin even if I could.”  

Jon finally seems to notice that Martin is basically spooning him.  And makes a small sound.  

He looks back at Tim, a little teary.  

“Glad to see you awake, but maybe you should rest a little more.  I’d get you something to drink, but I don’t think I can get out without waking Martin.  But… but if you do need anything, I’ll risk it, so uh.   Let me know?”

Jon just shakes his head, and buries his face in Tim’s chest.  

Tim is… surprised.  Last time he was this close to Jon, Jon flinched away.  And that kind of makes him feel sick to think about.  And this… this makes something melt in his chest.  Something he hadn’t felt in a while.  

“Get some sleep, bud.  I’ll be here when you wake up.”  

Jon hmms, and Tim lets himself sleep.  

#the magnus archives #tma #fic #hurt/ comfort #whump #cw dizziness #cw fainting #cw strained friendships #cw suicidal ideation

[2-cute-4-school]

Fatum

Group : NCT

Pairing : Park Jisung x gn!Reader

Genre : fluff, a bit of angst in the beginning

Word count : 2K words | M.list

‘A fire that could burn down the entire world, but could never touch you.’

Before finally asking you out, you and Jisung had been friends for years. You always concluded that the time you’ve spent together was when you felt most alive, feeling your erratic heartbeat against your rib cage or the heat rising to your cheeks and forming a pink hue that spread across your face. Your bond with Jisung was so pure, like a modern fairy tale, a budding love story blossoming shyly under the soothing moonlight.

You told each other everything, every secret, every hidden truth you were too scared to reveal to the rest of the world. You trusted Jisung with your heart and in turn, he gifted you his on a silver plate. Despite the years spent attached at the hip, you still cherished every moment spent together, relishing in the other’s presence. So when you didn’t turn up at school one day, without a word to him or any of your other friends, he had every right to boil with worry.

“Look, I’m worried too, Jisung, but if you don’t stop bouncing your leg I’ll cut it off, don’t try me.”

Jisung forced himself to stop at Chenle’s hissed demand, but not even a minute later it resumed its action. Chenle sighed gravely beside him.

“We’ll go over after school, just stop already.”

“I just don’t get it. We always tell each other if something comes up.”

“I’m sure you’re thinking too much, it’s not good for your brain, you’re using it too much at a time.”

Chenle’s joke didn’t seem to light up his friend’s mood as he continued to stare blankly at the messy notes scribbled across the pages of his notebook. The doodles on the desks, made with your Sharpie seemed to glare back at Jisung, burning holes through the worn-out wood they decorated.

“Try to survive a few more hours without your sweetie pie, honeybunch, sugar plum.” Chenle’s tone was sickeningly sweet and Jisung couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Shut up, Chenle, not my fault your love life is drier than my grandma’s skin.”

Chenle gasped dramatically before slapping Jisung’s shoulder in fake hurt.

School hours seemed to drag on for longer than usual without your presence. Jisung dragged himself through class after class, his mind wandering the entire day to the visit he owed you as soon as school finished. Jisung swore the moment the bell rang, signifying the end of his last period, he bolted from his seat so fast the room spun for a few seconds. He barely had it in himself to wait for Chenle in front of the gate, shifting his weight anxiously from one foot to the other as he waited for his friend. He had to admit that patience wasn’t one of his virtues, but Chenle should have known that already when he decided to make him wait in such a situation. As soon as he was close enough, Jisung grabbed him, dragging him through the sea of tired teenagers, cursing at their teachers and homework.

“Slow down, slow down, Jisung.”

Of course his words fell on deaf ears as Jisung only seemed to speed up his pace and by the time they arrived in front of your house Chenle was already panting, leaning his hands on his knees, but Jisung didn’t spare him a single glance as he approached the door and rand the bell, hoping to see your face as soon as the door cracked open.

“So much for keeping fit.” Chenle grunted out before moving to stand by Jisung’s side.

They heard shuffling from inside and the doorknob turned downwards a moment later, allowing them to come face to face with your mother, whose tired features morphed into a soft smile at the sight of the boys. They both greeted her politely and before Jisung could ask about you, your mother beat him to it.

“Hello, kids, come in, I thought you might come around.”

She moved away from the entryway, allowing them to step inside the familiar house and take their shoes off before following your mother in your living room and sitting down on one of the sofas. Jisung pursed his lips, used to you skipping cheerfully as soon as you heard the door opening, knowing that it could only be them coming over. Instead, he was met with silence this time which unnerved him even further.

“Y/N hasn’t been feeling well.”

The boys’ heads snapped towards your mom, concern washing over their features. Their eyes ran over her stance, slouched over with dark bags under her eyes, they could tell she probably wasn’t sleeping well and stayed up to watch over you.

“I thought it would be better by now, but the fever isn’t going away. They’ve been in and out of it for a while. A doctor came over earlier and assured us that we can treat it from home, but if things don’t go well soon, we should go to the hospital.”

“Since when?”

Jisung’s voice wavered, worry settling deep down in his chest. You hadn’t told him anything about not feeling well so a twinge of hurt swiveled around, tickling his wavering heart.

“The fever appeared yesterday evening, but it was mild. It progressed overnight.”

Jisung fiddled with his fingers, torn by the desire to see you, to put out the fire in his soul, soothe the storm in his soul with just the sight of you. Chenle looked over at Jisung who was lost deep in between his jumbled thoughts and spoke up on account of both himself and his friend.

“Can we please go in?” He motioned towards your door, enlarging his eyes and jutting out his bottom lip at the sight of your mother considering his ask. The question seemed to also snap Jisung out of his frenzy.

“Please, we won’t take long.”

Your mother still hesitated, worried about the boys also getting sick, but once she met their pleading gazes she could only let out a sigh.

“Alright, I guess a quick visit won’t hurt.”

“Yes! Thank you!”

They both jumped up from their seats, turning towards the hallway leading to your room with rushed steps.

“And Jisung!”

Said boy stopped in his tracks at the mention of his name, craning his neck to look back at your mom who regarded his with a playful smile.

“No smooches today.”

His face heated up faster than he could turn back around as he stumbled over his words in an attempt to mumble out a reply. His ears were bright red, forming a contrast with Chenle’s hand that reached out to grip at them gently as the older boy let out a snort.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Y/L/N, not on my watch.”

Your mother let out a quiet chuckle as she retreated back into the kitchen, leaving the boys to their business. Jisung didn’t hesitate to twist the knob of your door and push it open, but he almost regretted it when his eyes landed on you. It wasn’t the first time he had seen you sick, of course not, but never to this extent. His heart fell and it felt as if he stepped on it with every stride he took forward. As he neared your bed, he felt all of his happiness drained from him. You looked so frail, paler than your usual healthy skin tone. You seemed to be sleeping, but it was anything but peaceful, a frown furrowing your eyebrows together, your fingers twitching from time to time.

Jisung shakily sat down on the edge of your bed, afraid that if he jostled you too much you would break into pieces right under his fingertips. He brushed his hand against yours, curling protectively around your freezing own, despite the sweat shining on your forehead. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Jisung was scared out of his mind seeing you like that.

The light of the sun shimming its way through the clouds seemed to fade even further away and the colors splayed around your room didn’t seem nearly as bright in Jisung’s eyes. The world looked duller from his point of view, paling at the same time as you, leaving him behind with a stuttering heart.

He barely acknowledged Chenle striding up to you too, his eyes fixed on your frame, too scared that if he dared to move away his eyes, you would vanish right before him like sand in the wind. Chenle threaded his fingers slowly through your hair, pushing away the loose strands covering your face and regarded you with soft eyes. Your frown seemed to diminish as you recognized the presence of your boys even while buried deep in your fever dream.

“Their lips are dried, where’s the water bottle?”

Chenle shuffled around for a bit, one of his hands never leaving your head as he stroked your hair gently in an unconscious attempt to lessen your pain. He bent down to pick the bottle once he located it but sighed at the sight of it almost empty.

“I’ll go fill it up, stay here.”

Jisung merely nodded at his words, his full attention never leaving you. His thumb caressed the skin of your knuckles, trying to somehow show you he was there, right beside you, loving you unconditionally and waiting for you just like a puppy waits for its owner with nothing but loyalty and unadulterated fondness. 

He sighed and attempted to sit up and bring your chair in order to rather sit down on it than supposedly squeeze in beside you on the side of your bed, but he froze as he felt your shaky but firm grip on his index finger. He stared in awe at the way your fist curled around his large finger, his hand dwarfing yours, reminding him of the way a baby holds onto their parent when unsettled.

His once faltering heart burst with overwhelming affection for you at your small action. The way you held onto him as if he was your lifeline, as if his presence could cure everything and shoo your pain away. Jisung let a grin spread across his face for the first time since he had arrived at school that day, lowering his forehead bashfully to rest atop your intertwined hands. as he cradled them with his other one, engulfing them.

“Oh my God.”

He couldn’t even put into words how much you affected him, the way you could play him on your little finger and he would be too caught up with loving you to ever complain. Warmth spread into his whole body, sparkles running across his skin delightfully and lighting up another fire in his heart. A fire that could burn down the entire world, but could never touch you, just the way he would stand through anything as long as he had you. He let out a breathy chuckle, in disbelief at himself for only realizing now just how whipped he was for you.

“Oh my God, Y/N, you can’t do this to me now when you’re sick.”

He littered kisses anywhere in his reach, soft like a butterfly brushed against your exposed skin. Jisung nuzzled his nose in your crooked palm, seeking out the familiar feeling of your skin pressed against his. He needed you the way he needed oxygen, the way a swallow needs its wings to feel the wind threading through its feathers and leading it to freedom. He needed you unconditionally, not even a breath in between the two of you.

“Get better soon, baby. Come back to me so I can love you properly.”

Jisung pressed a long kiss to the back of your hand, still gripping his finger firmly, grounding yourself. His lips lingered over the cold skin that slowly warmed up due to his touch, brushing it as he spoke to you in hushed tones, promising you the moon and the stars as nothing mattered to him other than having you back in his arms, healthy and smiling. 

And in that moment, with your fates knotted together, Jisung swore he would hold onto you until his last breath.

#cznnet #nct fluff #nct dream #nct imagines #nct jisung #nct angst #nct scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream fluff #nct jisung fluff #nct jisung angst #nct jisung scenarios #nct jisung imagines

[98prilla]

Unwanted

Listened to Logan’s playlist, so naturally, had to write some angst because oh boy does he need some love. I might write a follow up to this, if you guys want one, let me know!

AO3

Next

...

“Logan.” He startles at the voice. He hadn’t heard anyone knock, hadn’t heard the door open, though it must have.

 He's sitting at his desk, papers stacked and sorted neatly, the schedule in front of him, which he is comparing to the calendar on his computer, compiling the two, making sure all birthdays and holidays are listed, all social events and commitments and activities and work sessions are allotted time. Trying to make Thomas's schedule line up with their schedule, so the best suited to handle each potential situation is on hand should they be needed.

 It’s a headache and a nightmare but it’s his job, and he doesn’t mind it, truly. Finds it to be like a complex puzzle, rearranging and reworking the pieces until they snap together with a satisfying click.

 But he finds himself wondering more and more one simple question: why?

 Why keep making a schedule that will inevitably and always be tossed out the window? Why make and arrange plans when they will never be followed through on? Why keep speaking if no one is listening, why keep showing up if nobody cares, why is he needed at all?

 He isn’t, is the simple answer. The logical answer. So why does it hurt, to think of himself as unwanted, unnecessary, unneeded? He doesn’t have emotions. He doesn’t care. He is logic, he is a robot, he has always been a cold amalgamation of science and fact and blunt objectivism.

 A heart can’t break if it doesn’t exist to begin with.

 “Logan-"

“What?” He snaps, not looking up from his work, one hand rubbing his temple, the other tapping a pen against his chin idly in thought. “I have work to do, Deceit.” His eyes are blurring and he doesn’t think he’s actually comprehended what he’s looking at for the past five minutes, but it isn’t a lie. He has work to do.

 “You need rest. It can wait.” Deceit's voice is soft, inviting, but he shakes his head, regretting it as it starts to dully throb.

 “I’ll finish this then go to bed.” He replies, not even sure what he’s saying.

 “Logan, it can wait. You’re going to have to redo it in a few days, anyway.” He knows this. Knows that they will ignore the schedule, then wonder why they’re behind on work, and then he would be blamed and have to remake the schedule to fit everything in at the last minute until it became a hurried scramble to get it all finished and he’d be told to plan better next time. This is a fact.

 So why does Deceit saying it so casually, admitting out loud that his work means nothing, why does it hurt? He slams the planner shut.

 “yes, thank you for enlightening me, Deceit. I already know that my work is extraneous, but I just really needed someone to point out how stupidly useless it is tonight.” He doesn’t know where this angry, heated, bitterness is coming from, but it burns on his tongue and sets his stomach churning as he glares at Deceit, who looks taken aback.

 “if you would like to inform me on the proper use of the word infinitesimal or give me flash cards that I try to use to better relate to the others but only succeed in inducing mockery, that would be greatly appreciated. Otherwise, I am not in the mood for your company." His head is pounding now, and Deceit is looking at him with complete shock, and he can’t stand this anymore.

 “Logan, please-" Deceit reaches out, and he chokes back a bitter laugh, because of course Dee would be the only one who even cared to notice.

 “go.” He says lowly, almost a growl. Deceit hesitates. “Go!” he yells, loud and choked and fierce, and Deceit does, fleeing out the door in the face of his anger, which vanishes as quick as it came.

 He locks the door, sliding down to the floor, instantly overtaken by sobs as he buries his head in his arms, shaking from the force of them, wheezing as each sob only makes his head pound more, his vision blur and spots dance behind his eyelids, which makes him sob harder, which makes the pain grow. A vicious cycle, which he can’t seem to stop.

 Somehow, he manages to crawl his way to the bathroom, making it to the toilet before he throws up, hot tears tracking down his face as he spits the last of the sour bile. His head is resting weakly against the toilet seat, the cool rim balm to his aching, pounding head.

 The light is so bright, but he doesn’t have the strength to move to shut it off, the throbbing behind his eyes pounding in time with his pulse, spots of white jumping through his vision as he groans, throwing an arm over his head to block out what he can.

 Least listened to. Least appreciated. Least needed. Least loved.

 The truths eat at his heart, cloying decay in his chest, acid in his brain because what is the point of even trying? If no one wanted him at his very best, certainly no one would ever want him now.

 His head is heavy as the weight of the sun, swimming with stars and explosions of dark light that popped with agony and sends him gasping as his stomach churns. He barely notices the tears anymore, the exhaustion sweeping through him too much to resist, the emotions swirling through him too loud, and he is all too willing to let his mind shut down, if only for a few hours, so he doesn’t have to feel anymore. He wishes he never had to feel, period.

 “I can do that.” He doesn’t even have the capability of surprise anymore as gray streaked hair and electric green eyes come into view. “I can help.”

 He nods, too tired to do anything else, weakly reaching out a hand. Remus takes it, gently running his thumb over his knuckles, before lifting it to his lips, kissing it tenderly.

 Logan gasps, feeling… nothing, as everything drains from him. All the hurt and doubt and pain and loathing fades to absolutely nothing, leaving him empty and numb and his mind blessedly absently silent.

 “oh, Lolo.” Remus whispers, all the negativity and bad thoughts he’s absorbed from Logan cycling through his mind, and he feels the sting and pain of every one of them as if they were his own, the price of taking them to begin with.

 They make him want to tear out his intestine or jam pencils in his eyes or dig and dig and dig in his ears until he reaches his brain and can pull it out one gooey piece at a time, but he doesn’t. He sits, shaking with the effort of not until it passes, and he can focus on Logan, who had so much negativity in that pretty head of his that there had been no room for anything good, as evidenced by his empty, glassy eyed stare, eyes open and unseeing.

 “come on, Polaris. Let’s get you taken care of.” He murmurs, pushing back Logan's hair, wincing at the heat of his forehead. Carefully, he scoops Logan up in his arms. Logan doesn’t react, doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, and that worries him more than anything. “Go to sleep, starry night. Everything'll be better in the morning.” Logan's eyes slip closed without more coaxing, limp in his arms. He presses a soft kiss to Logan's forehead, finally getting a response as Logan lets out a soft sigh, head tilting so it rests in the crook of his elbow.

 ...

 He wakes slowly, head pounding, feeling like it’s stuffed with cotton. He tries to move, but the slightest shift sends nausea flipping through his stomach, and he retches, barely feeling someone help him sit up, holding a pail under him. His stomach is empty, but it still takes his body a few long minutes to realize it and stop its violent upheaval.

 After a long moment, be slumps back into whoever's arms are supporting him, squeezing his eyes shut against the too bright noise of the room, trying to ignore the shaky tears on his face. He still feels numb, mind a bit fuzzed and unfocused, and he shivers despite the warmth he can feel around him, it isn’t enough.

 “Here, starlight. Can you drink something for me?” Someone presses a cup into his shaky hands, helping him raise it to his lips. He manages a few shaky sips before his stomach protests and he shoves the cup away, not wanting another round of pain. He trembles, feeling himself pulled closer to the warmth supporting him. Without thinking, he buries his face against it with a wordless whimper, that movement making his head spin and pulse harder, his hands fisting fabric, squeezing in a futile effort to make the world stop rotating. He feels someone gently running a hand up and down his back, someone crooning softly, gentle pressure as someone rests their head atop his, pressing soft kisses against his hair.

 “remus?” he slurs, finally recognizing that voice now that the world was barely wobbling, the darkness of Remus's shirt against his closed lids a blessed relief from the too loud light.

 “Shhh. I’ve got you, polaris.” His tongue feels thick and dry, but he forces it to work.

 “Polaris?” he hears Remus chuckle softly, a hand brushing back his hair.

 “That’s the north star, isn't it? The guiding light in the oceans and oceans of space?” Logan murmurs an affirmative, barely lucid.

 “Well, that’s what you are, to me. Steady. Dependable. When everything is too much and too loud, you give me balance. You’re my guiding light, Logan. My Polaris.” Remus murmurs gently, not minding the wet spot he can feel growing on his shirt, instead continuing to rub Logan's back, murmur softly, until he falls back into an exhausted sleep.

 Remus looks up as the door quietly opens just enough for Deceit to slip through, closing it quietly behind him.

 “Any better?” he asks lowly, frowning as he sits on the bed beside Remus, Logan curled against him, practically on his lap. Remus shakes his head, eyes clouded with worry.

 “he woke up for just a bit. Hurled again. Fever's holding steady. Isn’t any worse, at least. Got him to drink a bit of water. He knew it was me and didn’t flip out, so I think we’re good on that account.” Deceit nods, running a hand through his curly, disheveled hair for the thousandth time, wincing as he pulls a knot.

 “If we can get some food in him, we could give him a dose of Benadryl, but not on an empty stomach like this, it’d just make it worse. I… gods, what do we do?” he breathes out, tucking another blanket around Logan.

 “This. This is what he needs.” Remus answers, looking down at Logan. “I felt it, dee. There was so much. It’s still rattling around up here.” Remus taps his head, biting his lip. “It still hurts, Dee.” Deceit softens, honey eyes meeting Remus's.

 “I know. Can I?” he asks, holding open his arms. Remus smiles, carefully shifting Logan out of his lap, the soft sound of protest quickly dying as he is settled against Deceit, who cradles him with all six arms, holding him, rubbing his back, teasing through his hair, stroking his cheek. Logan leans into it all, every touch eliciting a small sigh of happiness, a small breath of relief until the logical side has practically melted against him, as if he hasn’t felt touch in years.

 Remus wraps an arm around Dee, holding him as he holds Logan, encasing the two of them in warmth.

 “he feels useless, Dee. Unwanted. Unneeded.”

 “I know. And we will show him otherwise.” Comes the fervent reply, as Logan stirs uneasily in his sleep.

...

 He's not sure he's awake, at first. It’s warm. Cozily warm, and soft and he lets out a small breath as he shifts closer into the warmth, relieved as the world stays stationary, his head barely pounds.

 “Logan?” Deceit, he’s being held by Deceit.

 “I’m sorry. For yelling at you. I didn’t mean to, I-"

 “I know, dearie, it’s ok. Why didn’t you tell anyone you were so sick?” Deceit's hand is carding through his hair, and it feels so good, it’s hard to focus on anything else.

 “It was neither important or relevant.” He hears Deceit hiss.

 “You… Logan, you were nearly unconscious in the bathroom. You were burning up, you’ve been asleep or out of it for two days, how is that not important or relevant?” his voice is incredulous, and Logan looks up, puzzled.

 “it is as you said. Any work I do the others immediately undo, anyways. My purpose is irrelevant. I am irrelevant. Being ill and out of commission for two days is of no consequence. It did not affect Thomas, correct?” he asks, bewildered at the soft horror on Deceit's face.

 “No. That’s not true, Logan. I should know. It’s not nothing, not irrelevant. You scared us half to death. We need you. We love you.” He crumbles at the honesty on Deceit's face, and buries himself back against the side, shaking from the silent sobs.

 “Did they notice? Did they even care? Did... did anyone try and check on me?” He stammers out, knowing the answer from the hesitation in Deceit’s reply. He feels a second pair of arms wrap around him, not Dee’s.

 “I’m gone for five minutes, and you break him!” Remus mutters, practically suffocating him against Deceit’s shirt, but he doesn’t care.

 “not his fault... was already broken.” he chokes out between teary gasps, and Remus hugs him tighter, nestling his head against his neck.

 “You’re perfect. They’re the broken ones, if they can’t see that. If they can’t see how much you care, if they can’t see how hard you work, if they can’t see that you always, always give one hundred percent of yourself in everything that you do. If they don’t care about you as much as you care about them. If they won’t care for you like they should, I’m never letting go of you again. I’m never letting you feel that way again, Logan.” Remus is sniffling too, and Deceit lets out his extra arms, hugging both of them, kissing their heads.

 “Remus is right. You are amazing, Logan. You should be told that more often, be shown that more often. I... you should never think that your existence is meaningless. You mean everything, sweetling.”

 “i want to stay. I want to stay with both of you. I want... I want to be listened to, I want to be heard, I want to be appreciated, I don’t care if it’s selfish to want that, but that’s what I want.” he stammers breathlessly, oddly afraid that they will reject him for speaking his mind. When was the last time he said what he wanted out loud?

 “It’s not selfish to need love and attention. It’s not selfish to work so hard and then want to share it. You can stay, right, Dee? He can stay?” Remus asks, desperation tinging his voice, because he can’t stand it if Logan has to go back and he has to feel all of that all over again.

 “of course he can stay. If you’re sure that’s what you want, Logan. They won’t like it. They may be angry.” He points out. Logan lets out a breathy laugh.

 “If they get angry at me leaving, they should have made it clearer they wanted me so badly. And if they blame you for it, I will quickly dissuade them of that notion. I am sure, Deceit. I know it will change things. I know it will change me. But I am sure.” He feels Deceit smile, pressing his lips to his forehead for a long, endless moment.

 “alright, dearie. I’ll move your room. But later. Right now, you still need rest. I’m not taking a risk with your safety. I don’t know how much it will affect you, and you need to be at full strength before I move it.” His voice is soft and tender, and Remus squeals excitedly, rocking back and forth with Logan on his lap.

 “We can be temporary roomies! I know you probably think I’m a slob, but everything is just as organized as your room! Can’t be storing the spleens with the livers, that just doesn’t work. And, how would I ever tell the blood bags apart if I didn’t sort them properly? I mean, sure, I can taste test, but that’s just a waste of resources if I need to do it every time. And sometimes the positives and negatives are so hard to tell apart, such a nuanced taste.” Remus is surprised as Logan laughs, leaning back against him, looking up at him with teary, happy eyes, a small smile on his lips.

 “I wouldn’t mind that. It does sound like you have some rather fascinating experiments going on. I would love to help you compile your data and take notes. I have a feeling you are more interested in the action than the results.” Remus squeals higher, at a practically inaudible level of joy.

 “HE WANTS TO HELP! DEE, HE DOESN’T THINK I’M GROSS!” Deceit rolls his eyes.

 “So I gathered. I get the feeling you’re going to have a lot of work on your hands, Logan.” He teases gently, Logan’s small smile easing the worry in his chest, untying some of the knots there. He can tell Logan is going to be ok, eventually, now. Remus already adored him, had always loved Logan for never shying away from his thoughts or words, answering all his lewd questions honesty and with thought. Remus would fight tooth and nail to make sure Logan never doubts his worth, never feels unloved. Remus knows well enough how that feels to not wish it on anyone else.

 And he understood Logan, himself. He understood doing hard work and being unappreciated, unwanted, unneeded. He knew how hard it was to bottle that all up, to keep going despite it, to get up day after day when you had no one who cared.

 But they do. And Logan is here now. And Deceit will make sure he is happy and loved and needed and wanted and knows it, no matter what. No matter what Logan does or doesn’t become. He can imagine, what it will be. But he won’t worry now, not when Logan is smiling and happy and snuggling back against his chest, Remus snuggling tight on his other side. He embraces his two boys, gently wiping the tears away from Logan’s face, the side already starting to drift back to sleep, Remus clinging to him, petting his hair as head slumps against Dee’s shoulder.

 “Poor baby, still exhausted. He really needs to eat something, next time he wakes. God knows when the last time he actually slept was.” Deceit murmured, continuing to stroke Logan’s cheek, sensing how badly he needed the contact.

 “He’s coming off it. I think he just needs to sleep off the last of it, and he’ll be alright. He’s already better, Dee. So much better.” Remus answers, and he knows that Remus isn’t just talking about Logan’s illness.

 “Yes. And we will make sure it only continues to get better from here.”

#sanders sides #logan sanders #logan angst #deceit sanders #remus sanders #emotional hurt/comfort #sickfic #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #protective dark sides #angst with a happy ending #pre dark side logan

[imagine-loki]

Feels like Death

TITLE: Feels Like Death CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One shot AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine unexpectedly getting your period and having to explain it to Loki. RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 here

It was a series of unfortunate events that had you in your current situation.  You writhed in your bed, trying to find some position that was remotely comfortable.  But everything hurt.  It didn’t just hurt.  Hurt was too weak of a word for the aching cramps in your abdomen, the ones in your back.  You felt sick, nauseous, fevered and chilled at the same time.  

You shifted again in your bed, though this position was no better than the last one had been. You felt like you were laying in a pool of your own blood.  That may have actually been more comfortable than the tampon that felt like a rolling pin shoved up a very uncomfortable place and the pad that felt like laying in a wet diaper.  

Everything reeked and hurt and gods, you felt like you were dying. Or at least that ripping out your uterus yourself would feel less painful than what it was doing to you.  It had been months since it had been this bad.  The medication you were on usually kept you from even having periods most months.  This month was different.  You’d missed a dose of the shot while you were on a mission with the team.  You’d caught up on it later, but it hadn’t been enough.  Plus you were due for a real period.  

You groaned as you reached for the bottle of pain pills.  You were going to have to take them dry.  Getting up to get water was out of the question with how awful you felt.  

“Miss, breakfast is ready,” Jarvis announced.

That made you groan louder and curl into a tighter ball.  “Fuck off, Jarvis,” you grumbled as you whimpered in pain.  You weren’t going anywhere.

There was a pause where you could practically feel the AI’s offense at your words.  “Shall I tell the others you are sick?” He asked too politely.  Yup, he was pissed.

Somehow, you couldn’t find enough fucks to care. 

Fuck.  

Loki.

Loki didn’t know about periods as far as you were aware.  You’d been dating him for a few months now, but hadn’t had to tell him about this unfortunate part of being a midgardian female.  You last period had been before you’d started dating.  

He was going to freak out if he found you curled in a ball in your bed unable to move.

You tried to sit up, you wouldn’t have long before he came to try to find you if you didn’t show up for breakfast.  He worried over you during the best of times.  While you were skilled enough to be on the team, you still weren’t a god of Asgard.  You usually bickered with him that you were perfectly capable of handling yourself, and had even handed his ass to him in the training room before, but today you knew he wouldn’t listen or believe you.  

You managed to get to a mostly sitting position before the pain got too bad and you fwumped back among the pillows with a whimper of pain.  

There was a polite tap on your door.  “Darling?” Loki asked, concern in his voice.  Jarvis probably ratted on you for cussing at him.  Fucking stupid AI.  

Fuck.  You were out of time and still had no idea how to explain.

“Loki, I-“ you paused.  You couldn’t lie to Loki, even though a closed door he would be able to smell your lie.  You sighed and laid your head back down. 

“Darling?  May I come in?” Loki asked more insistently when you didn’t answer properly.  

You groaned something in reply.  Or just groaned in pain.  You couldn’t quite be sure which.  Regardless, Loki took your groan as permission to enter and opened your room’s door.  You looked up at him when he came in.  He was perfectly handsome as ever, even in the Midgardian clothes he’d taken to wearing after you’d finally convinced him that most people on Midgard didn’t wear court clothes from Asgard.  Or tunics.  Despite how hot he looked in them.  He’d worn sexy suits for two weeks straight after that just for spite.  Today he was wearing perfectly tailored jeans and a green shirt, his raven hair was down as he usually wore it, reaching just past his shoulders.

It wasn’t fair that he looked so stunning while you felt and looked like shit warmed over.  Your hair was a mess, you were too pale, soaked in sweat and beyond gross as you were bundled in your bed and blankets. You felt like death and you were sure you looked just as bad.  

You were extra sure about that point when Loki rushed over to your side, sitting on the edge of your bed and reaching for one of your hands. “Darling? What’s wrong?  Are you ill?” He asked you gently as he reached with his other hand to touch your forehead and cheeks, checking you for a fever.  

You blushed at the question.  Fuck.  You would have to tell him.  “It’s that time of the month,” you told him, hoping against hope that he would understand what the phrase meant.  You didn’t know if Asgardian women went through the same monthly woes as human women did.  Loki’s blank look made your heart drop and you fought not to groan, even as you curled in on yourself, whimpering in pain.  

“Darling, please,” Loki begged, hating seeing you in pain or hurting.  He cared too much for you.  This wasn’t an injury or a foe he could fight and he didn’t know how to help. “I don’t understand,”

You sighed and looked up at him.  Words fell from you in what you hoped was a coherent manner. “You get an abbreviated explanation since I feel like death,” you warned him.  He nodded his agreement, willing to accept whatever explanation you were willing and able to give him, any hint of how to help you. “Every month a woman bleeds from her vagina for a few days if she’s not pregnant. It hurts like hell, there’s a lot of blood, and cramping, and I feel like I’m dying~” you whined that last as your words became incomprehensible.  

Loki squeezed your hand as he took in that information.  You weren’t sure if he was as squeamish as mortal men, but he definitely accepted your words.  “What can I do for you?” He asked you gently.  He hated seeing you like this, you saw that much in his eyes.  

You didn’t know where to start. You were gross and hurting and so very gross and just wanted to sleep and you couldn’t.  “I should bathe, and change clothes, and the sheets, and find more paint meds, and…” you trailed off, babbling again.  Gods, you needed to control your tongue.

Loki gave you a gentle smile.  “Then allow me to help you, my love,” he told you gently.  You nodded weakly, unable to do more than mew and let him care for you.  He placed his hand against your forehead, the other against your abdomen where the pain was worst. His cold skin felt fantastic and you sighed in relief.  His hands started glowing green with his magic and you sagged with a moan as the pain eased, the cramps eased.  At least momentarily.  

“I love you,” you told him, not having other words for how amazing it felt to get some relief.  

Loki chuckled.  “And I love you, dearheart,” he said warmly.  That done, he carefully unbundled you from your blankets and lifted you into his arms bridal style.

“Loki?” You asked, though you didn’t fight him, your arms going around his neck automatically.

“Let me take care of you, darling,” he said gently instead of actually answering.  He carried you into your bathroom and you saw that he had magicked you a hot bath, filled with some kind of floral herbs you couldn’t recognize, but they smelled soothing and relaxing.  Loki vanished your clothes before you could protest.  “It isn’t as if I do not know what you look like,” he reminded you.  You’d had plenty of sex with him.  He was fantastic at it, after all, so of course he knew very well what you looked like.  He set you carefully in the bath and you sighed in relief.  

“This is amazing,” you said in a purr as you sank back and relaxed.  

“Soothing herbs from Asgard,” Loki told you with a warm smile.  He knelt next to the tub and slowly began to wash you.  You tried to protest that you didn’t need to be bathed like a child, but it felt so nice to not have to think or take care of yourself when you felt so much like shit.  “Let me care for you,” he repeated when you tried to protest. 

You were so strong most of the time.  It was hard to let your guard down, even to him, but you nodded and let him care for you. You knew he wouldn’t hurt or betray you, or think any less of you for the condition you were in.

He massaged your scalp as he washed your hair and you moaned in pleasure.  “You have magic hands,” you told him with a purr, relaxed and putty in his hands.  

Loki chuckled. “Yes, darling.  I’m quite aware,” he said warmly.  You could tell he enjoyed this, enjoyed this simple caring.  He was glad you trusted him when you were vulnerable.  

You don’t know how long you were in the bath.  Loki left you there for a bit to relax in the hot water and let the herbs from Asgard work their magic on you.  He eventually returned and helped you out of the bath.  “Are you up for getting breakfast?” He asked you gently as he used magic to dry you.  Soft fluffy pajamas formed around you and you sighed in relief.  You were comfortable for the first time since your period had started.

You looked up at him and fought back the nausea.  “I’m not sure…” you said, feeling queasy.  You wrapped your arms around his waist to lean on him and let him support you.  You really did feel like death and just wanted to curl up in your bed again.  

“Can you try?” He asked gently, pressing a kiss to your hair.  He knew perfectly well that you needed food to keep your strength up.  You sighed heavily, but nodded.  You couldn’t deny Loki anything.  

He helped you shuffle down to the common room, holding and supporting you, but not carrying you, as he knew you would hate to appear weak in front of the rest of the team.  They all looked up at you when you came in and all of them were on guard when they saw you, clearly concerned. They never saw you at less than your best, even when bleeding from injuries on missions.  

Yet, your own fucking body was taking you out of commission because it couldn’t behave and give you a break.  

You held onto Loki tighter, not wanting to explain, not wanting to deal.  “She feels like death,” he told the team, drawing the attention to himself.  The look in his eyes clearly told them all that they weren’t to question it or harass you.  They would be facing his wrath if they did.

You loved him even more for that. 

Loki led you to the dining room, past the team, and helped you sit down at the table there.  He brought you breakfast and you laughed when you realized that it was his favorite: pancakes.  Of course he thought pancakes would fix everything.  They were among his favorite Midgardian food, so he thought everyone should like them as much as he did.  

“Thank you,” you said, cheered up by his adorable love of pancakes.  You took a couple of bites before the nausea crept back up.  Loki took your free hand and started telling you stories.  He distracted you from the nausea so you could eat.  You had a feeling a bit of magic was involved too

Somehow the pancakes were gone and you were full and happy for the first time in any period you’d ever had.  Loki got you safely back past the team and to your own bed.  The sheets and blankets had been magically cleaned.  He slid into the bed next to you and pulled you into his arms.  He held you close, stroking your hair and telling you stories until you fell asleep in his arms, feeling as good as you could, with your body turned against you.

He continued to care for you through every moment of your misery, through the pain and nausea, suffering through all your symptoms and soothing them all away, until you could finally be yourself again.  

And you loved him all the more for every ounce of love and care he gave you those days.

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #submission #feels like death #nekoamamori

[bookandcranny]

Beatrice - Chapter Three

On a table in what she supposed was the dining room there was a floral centerpiece, dead and rotted. Freesias and baby’s breath were shriveled with blight and yet the dead petals remained frozen in place, refusing to fall. Gianna wondered if they’d somehow been preserved that way intentionally. She couldn’t imagine why, ugly as they were.

Soft footsteps padded across the tile behind her, and for a brief moment the anxiety resurfaced, seizing at her throat.

“Gianna?”

She took in a deep breath, letting floral sweetness flood her senses. “It’s me, Bea.”

Gianna was too stubborn to call out of work in the morning, but stubbornness only got her as far as until the gallery manager saw her flagging at her station and urged her to go home. The fumes from the conservators’ delicate chemistry could be dangerous on a good day if you weren’t careful, she reminded her, nevermind if you were already feeling sick. She wasn’t sick, just tired. At least that’s what she was telling herself. Still, she stopped by the drugstore just in case the faint nausea and light-headedness were indeed early signs of some bug.

On impulse, she also picked up some hair bleach and a box of dye. She hadn’t done anything new with her hair since before moving and her brown roots were starting to look more like branches. Normally this wouldn’t have bothered her except, well, for the first time in a long time there was someone she really wanted to look good for. If she was going to ask Beatrice out, first she needed to be in an attractive state of mind.

All her vanity was in vain however; by the time she’d arrived home whatever sickness had grabbed a hold of her was setting in in earnest, leaving Gianna feeling weak and off-kilter. With the last of her strength she managed to force down a couple painkillers along with a cold glass of water before collapsing into bed. 

When she woke up from her addled fever-sleep her skin was clammy and cold. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and forced herself to sit up, squinting in the dark of her surroundings. Something had woken her. The sound of that finicky overhead light blowing out after she’d passed out with it still on. Somewhere in between the passing out and now, night had swept over the city, but as was its nature, faint fluorescent light still streamed in from the world outside her window. She hobbled over and pried it open.

Though the breeze made her shiver, it also brought with it the sweetness she’d come to recognize as the combined scents of the Rappaccinis’ garden. The familiar smell revitalized her somewhat. Actually, she felt remarkably improved after just a few short minutes of sitting by the window. Maybe all this was just chemical fumes messing with her head. She’d never had a problem with it before, but she’d been working longer hours lately. That combined with the recent stress, of course it would leave her feeling poorly, she thought. 

Down in Casa di Rappaccini there were lights coming from every window and shadows moving before them. Gianna had never even entertained the idea of the family having company. Dr Rappaccini really didn’t seem like the kind of man to throw a house party in the middle of the week. 

Gianna pushed up the screen and went to climb down to her usual spot. It was only when she was hovering with her hands on the railing and her blanket still slung around her shoulders like a cape that she realized just how bad an idea that was. She was liable to break her neck or worse trying to climb down in the dark with a fever, and Beatrice certainly wouldn’t be gardening at this time of night. She was probably inside, socializing and having fun, impressing their guests with her vast horticultural knowledge and reciting poetry in Latin or something. Though it might get her attention, lurking around outside her party on the fire escape was not the way to get a woman to like you.

She returned to her apartment and to her bed, pulling the pillow over her head as if to guard against any more bizarre dreams. After a time, she managed to drift back into uneasy sleep, while violet eyes kept a watch on her window from below.

In the morning Gianna roused to a concerned call from work, but her groggy reply was more than enough to secure her another sick day. She went back to sleep for another couple hours, woke, forced down some more pills and some leftover stir-fry, slept, and finally woke again feeling not quite recovered, but at least somewhat rested.

She staggered to the bathroom and washed her face. Her skin was oily to the touch and her eyes were bloodshot but otherwise she didn’t look too bad, she thought. Recalling the night before, she went to sit by the window and indeed the fresh air made her feel worlds better. Whatever it was that was slogging through her system, she reasoned, couldn’t be too bad. Probably just some twenty-four hour flu or something.

As she leaned her head out the window she caught sight of Beatrice working in her garden as usual and she was out and shimmying down the ladder before she could remember her decision not to.

“Hey,” she called, her voice still slightly rasped with sleep.

Beatrice looked up and beamed at her, although her smile faltered slightly to see the loose curls plastered to her brow. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh, is it that obvious?” she huffed, trying to pinch some life back into her cheeks. “I’ll be alright, just a fever or something.”

“That’s why you weren’t here yesterday. I looked for you.”

Something in Gianna’s gut twisted hotly. “You missed me?”

“Of course I did.” 

It was a much more frank answer than she’d expected, and Gianna felt herself blush. No need to worry about her color after all.

“I was worried, I guess. You were acting sort of strange the day before. I thought I might’ve done something wrong.”

“No way,” she assured. Wow, I really am that obvious. “I was just sleeping this thing off most of the afternoon. I sorta thought you’d be too busy to notice, with the party you were having.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “My father was having one of his dinner socials. I couldn’t have gotten away for long either way but believe me, I would pick you over any one of his colleagues in a heartbeat.”

Gianna raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t that kind of thing hard on him? With his health, I mean.”

“He hires people for all the preparations and cleaning up after. Father can’t get out very much because of his condition, so this is how he… connects, I think. Otherwise he wouldn’t talk to anyone at all.”

“We all need to connect I guess.”

She nodded, looking away again. “He has his colleagues bring people for me too. Sons or nephews, you know. Boys he thinks would make a good match for me.”

“Oh. That’s… oh.”

“It’s sort of old fashioned, I know. I don’t really-- I don’t like any of them that way. You’re right though, we all need to connect. I used to think I didn’t need anyone else, but lately…”

Cautiously she met her gaze. Her brows were knit together like she was trying to piece together some puzzle in her mind. Gianna thought she should say something, offer some reassurance, but the image of Dr Rappaccini and his equally decrepit associates presenting her with an array of their eligible legacy offspring turned her stomach so sourly that she had to bite her tongue to keep from spewing something venomous.

Luckily or not, before either of them could speak there came a call from within the house.

“Beatrice, come here, girl!”

Gianna bristled but the young woman only turned and said sweetly, “Coming, Father!” She gave Gianna an apologetic glance and then added in a low voice, “There’s something important I want to talk to you about, but I don’t think I can do it here. Come over tomorrow?”

“You mean… like, in person?”

“Yes! Tomorrow my father is going to be out of the house from two to four o’clock. That doesn’t give us long but it’s the only time I can do it.”

Do what, she wanted to ask, bewildered and enticed all at once. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to just get coffee somewhere?”

“The code for the door is 5214. Meet me here. I promise it’ll be worth your time.” She fidgeted her hands together. Her eyelashes fluttered. “Maybe I can even show you around the garden.”

Something about the way she said that made Gianna suppress a shiver. 

“Of course I’ll be there,” she said. She hated to miss more work than she already had, but she doubted they would suspect anything. Even now her fingers trembled and some of that clamminess was returned to her skin, but oddly enough, she was feeling better than she had all week.

-----

The name placard next to the buzzer read G. Rappaccini. It didn’t sit right with Gianna, the conspicuous absence of the apartment’s other occupant.

Even though she knew she was expected, she felt compelled to announce herself. She pressed the buzzer and after a moment a quiet voice came through the intercom.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” she said.

“Oh.”

She frowned. “Is that still okay?”

Beatrice let out a sigh. It sounded thin and tinny through the crackle of the speaker.

“Yeah, of course, come on up. Do you remember the code?”

Gianna punched in the numbers and made her way to the apartment. At least this complex had an elevator, saving her the strain of the climb. She was feeling less shaky but at the expense of her appetite which had vanished and made her wary of taking on too much additional strain. Her heart was pounding as it was, watching the floor numbers slowly tick by and thinking about how soon the two of them would be in the same room for the first time. 

Beatrice had never been too eager to meet up with Gianna outside their customary rendezvous, which Gianna had always attributed to her not wanting to leave her father alone for too long. She’d never analyzed her motivations too closely because doing so would mean having to take a serious look at her own.

The truth was, Gianna was scared. This thing she had with Beatrice was different than any relationship she’d had before, for reasons she couldn’t confidently place, and she was afraid that somehow breaking out of the pattern they’d established between them would change things, would tarnish the magic of it somehow.

Too close now to turn back, she stepped into the apartment. Right away the high ceilings and lavish spaciousness inspired a pang of envy. The furniture was antique, yet in pristine condition, everything so clean and crisp that it looked like something out of a catalogue. Not exactly homey. There were several signs of life however: books piled up on an end table in the living room, dishes drying in a rack by the kitchen sink, a stack of empty boxes piled up next to the garbage can. 

There was no TV or telephone, though she supposed that wasn’t so uncommon anymore. But paired with the furniture and the sterile environment it gave Gianna the feeling of being cut off from the modern world entirely. The very idea was stifling to her.

On a table in what she supposed was the dining room there was a floral centerpiece, dead and rotted. Freesias and baby’s breath were shriveled with blight and yet the dead petals remained frozen in place, refusing to fall. Gianna wondered if they’d somehow been preserved that way intentionally. She couldn’t imagine why, ugly as they were.

Soft footsteps padded across the tile behind her, and for a brief moment the anxiety resurfaced, seizing at her throat. 

“Gianna?”

She took in a deep breath, letting floral sweetness flood her senses. “It’s me, Bea.”

Beatrice looked different. Most notably because she was wearing canvas coveralls that seemed to be too big for her, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows to make room for a thick pair of gloves. For all the times she’d watched her working in her garden, Gianna had never seen Beatrice actually dress like a gardener. It made her feel a little silly for dressing up herself. She’d, perhaps optimistically, assumed that the first time they met face to face without the span of the alleyway between them would be a special occasion worth dressing up for. Maybe Beatrice didn’t see it that way.

“Are you still feeling sick?” Beatrice asked. “You don’t look so good.”

Gianna forced a grin. “Don’t worry about that. I’m just happy to be here.”

“Here, sit,” she beckoned. “I wasn’t even thinking. I’ll make you some tea.”

“That’s okay, really. I’m not much of a tea person.”

“You’ll like this tea, trust me.”

Gianna found she didn’t have the energy to protest and soon she was sitting in the kitchen holding a steaming mug. It was far from her drink of choice, especially in the summer months, but she gave in and took a sip for politeness’ sake. 

It was good. More than good, it was delicious! As soon as it was cooled enough she drained half the cup in one go. Almost as soon as she had, she found herself feeling better. Her headache was gone and nausea abated. In fact, she was starting to feel hungry.

“Good, right?” Beatrice smirked. As if she had read her mind, she fished out a box of cookies from the cupboard and slid them across the counter to her. “It’s a family recipe, made with herbs from the garden. Everything that grows there is medicinal. You just have to know how to handle them.”

“That’s incredible,” she said between bites. Now that her appetite was finally back it seemed to be making up for lost time.

Beatrice flustered prettily. “It’s not hard when you get to know the plants like I have. The garden was my father’s before it was mine, we grew up together.”

“So the flowers are kind of like your siblings,” Gianna joked.

She beamed. “Exactly like that. Drink your tea. You have to drink all of it for it to really work.”

Gianna did so.

“I know I didn’t say it before,” Beatrice murmured. “But I’m really glad you’re here too. To see you, really really see you, I can’t… there aren’t words, Gianna. It probably sounds crazy but sometimes, when I couldn’t see you, when I couldn’t speak to you, I started to worry you’d disappeared and I would never find you again. Sometimes I even worried you were never real at all. That’s why I… I was afraid to invite you over here. I was afraid to break the illusion, to lose you.”

She stared, speechless, her mouth gone dry. 

“I know how that sounds, I just-- for so long my world has revolved around taking care of father. I didn’t think I could have this, didn’t think I’d even want this. Not as much as I do, at least.”

“Beatrice,” she whispered breathlessly. “I know how you feel.” She reached across the countertop to touch her gloved hand. “I know what it’s like to want something and feel like you shouldn’t. I know what it feels like to be stuck in the shadow of parents who don’t understand you. I promise, you’re not crazy, and you’re not alone.”

The girl made a wounded noise, half gasp and half whimper, and clamped a hand over her face. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what--”

“It’s okay.” She threaded their fingers together. “It’s okay.”

Beatrice shook her head. “Gianna, I have to tell you something. Something important. Before we get in too deep or you hear it from someone else, I want you to hear it from me. I’m not normal.”

“I know, you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“No!” she cried, frustrated. “I’m not--”

The door creaked open and she spun around, pulling her hand away. Standing in the doorway was the hunched form of Dr Giacoma Rappaccini himself.

“Ah, good,” came the rasping voice of the elderly doctor. “You made the tea. I trust you’re feeling better now, Ms Alexander.”

Gianna tensed, unsure of how to respond.

“Father, you’re home early!” Beatrice chirped with false cheer. “I’ll make you a cup too then.”

“No need,” he said with a dismissive wave of his leathered hand. He set down his bag and shut the door behind him. “I had some this morning, remember? Ah, you might’ve been out in the garden then. You have been busy today.”

She shrunk back under the weight of his stare.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, sir,” Gianna said stiffly with a hand outstretched. “I’m--”

“I know who you are.” His laugh was the sound of dry reeds in a breeze. “Gianna Alexander. I’ve been keeping an eye on you ever since you started to show an interest in my daughter. I was curious to see how things might progress between you two, but considering the circumstances I decided it might be time to intervene.”

“Father--”

“Beatrice,” he reproached. “Going behind my back? Making secret meetings? You know better than that. Apologize to our guest.”

After only a moment’s hesitation she turned to Gianna and said, “I’m so sorry, Ms Alexander.”

Gianna balked. “What? You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“I’m afraid that’s where you’re mistaken,” said Dr Rappaccini. “You see, there are proper steps to be taken in situations like this. My daughter should’ve spoken with me so I could arrange a proper interview. We could’ve had dinner. It would’ve been so nice.

“Instead, I had to find out what you were doing and pretend to leave my own home unawares just to get us all in a room together. I’m getting too old to play these games with you, Beatrice. It’s disrespectful to me and it’s disrespectful to our guest.”

“I’m sorry, Father.” Her voice had become empty, almost robotic, and she cast her eyes to the ground. Gianna felt a dawning sense of dread at the sight.

“Now then,” The old man pulled up a chair and sat with his hands folded over his lap. “Shall we get down to business? Beatrice, as you know, is a very special girl. In fact she’s the product of years and millions of dollars of research. 

“I’ve dedicated my life to studying the medicinal properties of plants and cross-breeding exotic species to develop into natural pharmaceuticals. Eventually I realized that no amount of remedies I could create in my lifetime would be enough to fix every inherent flaw of humanity, so I shifted my focus. Instead of searching for the perfect cure, I decided to create the perfect human being, one immune to mankind’s deficiencies. From my experience with altering and combining the genetic structures of various plants, I crafted a new, superior breed of human. Beatrice is the product of those tireless efforts.”

Gianna’s head was swimming. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dr Rappaccini smiled ruefully. “I’ve long accepted that I likely won’t live to see my quest come to fruition. It took trial upon trial just to bring Beatrice into the world, and she’s only the first step. More accurately, the first generation.”

He put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Someday, my Beatrice will be the mother to a brand new species, a new humanity. With their drastically increased lifespans, immunity to disease and disorder of the body and mind, and overall genealogical superiority, my creations will rapidly become the dominant species on earth, replacing the feeble excuse for intelligent life that exists now. And, well, with all that revealed, it’s obvious why I couldn’t let this little game of yours continue, isn’t it?”

He looked at Beatrice with an expression that was as a mockery of compassion.

“Socialization is fine, even healthy. I don’t blame you for that. It’s my own fault really, for not providing you with more enrichment and opportunities for companionship here at home. I’ll be more mindful of that going forward. In fact, if you want to continue these little play-dates I am in full support, as long as they’re supervised from here on out. Not for a while though, of course. That’s just what happens when you break the rules, my girl.”

Gianna stood up, slamming her hands down on the counter. “Are you completely insane? This is a person, your daughter, not a pure-bred show poodle!”

Dr Rappaccini spoke to her calmly, a faint amusement in his wrinkled features. “I don’t blame you for your anger, Ms Alexander, because I know it stems from ignorance. Beatrice is special but she also has a volatile, toxic nature the likes of which you can’t comprehend. She needs a guiding hand to help her control herself and make the right choice. Isn’t that right, Beatrice.”

“Yes, Father.”

Gianna stared at her friend in horrified awe. “Beatrice, you can’t possibly be okay with this.”

She didn’t move, she didn’t speak. She gave no indication she’d even heard her. It was as if she had been hollowed out, only the fragile husk of her remaining.

“You can throw as big a fit as you want,” Dr Rappaccini said snidely. “But as long as you are a guest in my home I have to insist you abide by my rules.”

Gianna glowered. She spared one last furtive glance towards Beatrice. Her chest ached. “Then I guess I’m leaving.”

--

next chapter

#writeblr #original fiction #horror romance #gothic #lgbt #rappaccini's daughter #my writing

[specter-speeder]

here’s a bad but wholesome horror fic by yours truly (angst, fluff, and v lil gore)

In which Danny pulls some true Paranormal Activity sh*t on his family. Only kind of makes sense, but let me be amused by this concept, okay? Post-reveal. Do I even have to say no Phantom Planet?

“I am a ghost. Fear me.”

Danny started to feel it a few days after his parents had closed the portal. It was time for the ecto-filtrator to go - when Jack and Maddie had designed it, they hadn’t anticipated the size of the Ghost Zone and its post-human population. It saw more traffic than it could handle, thanks to Danny’s fatal slip-up. They’d been working on a new containment system for the ectoplasmic waste the portal produced with each ghost that breached it, but installation meant disabling the machine for an entire week.

Without his ghost fights, Danny had become restless quickly. That much he could manage. He knew what would come next, though, and he wouldn’t dare let on to his family. Since becoming a ghost, he’d only felt this starved a few times before. It was one of his inhuman qualities he hated the most. His ghost half was yearning for fear. It was making him ill. Gave him a reason to miss his class’s 3-day team-building retreat. He’d insisted to Sam and Tucker that he had things under control— he wanted to think he did. Now, Sam and Tucker were gone, and Danny was battling fevered sleep for most hours of the day. He’d never felt so drained.

Call it intuition; Jazz knew this wasn’t the flu. Danny didn’t used to insist on hiding it when he felt like crap. In fact, the Danny she grew up with wouldn’t stop whining about it whenever he was sick. This had to be a ghost thing. She wondered if her parents messing with the portal was somehow hurting him, but Danny wouldn’t budge. He wasn’t going to help her understand. She’d been dialing Sam and Tucker all day - straight to voicemail. She’d just poked her head into Danny’s room, only to find him awake in bed and glaring at her, when she felt her phone buzz. She tiptoed further down the hall and checked the caller ID: Sam Manson.

Next thing Danny knew, his mom, dad, and Jazz were creeping into his room, forcing sympathetic smiles. Sh*t, what now? Maddie placed her hand on his forehead, he swatted it away, eyes narrowed.

“How’re you feeling, sweetie?”

“The same. Why are—“

“You don’t have the flu.” Jazz interrupted. Danny clenched his jaw.

“Jazz, maybe we could talk about this privately?” he muttered.

Jack crossed his arms. “Don’t be mad at your sister. We’re worried, too.” Danny’s eyes met Jazz’s, questioning. She sighed.

“Sam told me everything.”

Danny scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned.

“I told her how bad you were, and she’s on my side. You need help.” He shook his head, glancing at his parents anxiously.

“Look, guys... you can’t help me. Just get the portal up and running and—“

“You need someone to be afraid.” Maddie stopped him, her voice clinical.

Danny stumbled over his words, trying to answer quickly. “If the portal’s working, the ghosts can—“

“Danny, it’s not close to being done.”

Jack nodded in agreement. “Your friend said it would work, so... we thought maybe, you could scare us.”

Danny’s ears rung. They shouldn’t have offered. Sam should have shut down Jazz’s stupid idea, for his sake. He didn’t want to say yes. He really, really didn’t want to say yes. He blinked.

“You mean... use my powers to...”

“We’ll know it’s only you, so... how bad can it be?”

Everything in him was urging him to take the offer, against his own wishes. He could already feel energy prickling on his spine, cooling him off. Relief.

“Are you sure?” He asked blankly. Maddie was too quick to answer.

“Of course.”

“Really sure?”

She nodded hesitantly. Jack didn’t look so convinced.

Danny took a deep breath, cold anticipation churning in his lungs. It was all he needed, and there was no going back now. With a loud electrical pop, his room was pitch black. He sunk underneath his bed and let himself transform, the typical bright flash weakened to a dull glow. All was quiet.

“Danny...?” Maddie ventured.

Phantom’s ghost form appeared in front of them in a flash, for a fraction of a second. Wide-eyed and mouth ajar, both glowing entirely green and oozing fog. Expressionless. Maddie jumped, and the Fentons were in the dark again.

The lights flickered on, but Danny’s room was different. His bed was stripped down to the mattress. All that remained on his shelves were his model rockets. His books, other trinkets, his trunk— everything was gone. Maddie felt her heart pounding in her chest, Jack was frozen, and Jazz’s eyes fluttered open cautiously.

“Where...?” Jack breathed, inching toward his wife.

Jack glanced toward the ceiling, but as soon as he saw it, it all fell. Danny’s books slammed to the floor. His trunk was the loudest, hitting the ground with a bang and toppling open, sending various balls and sports equipment bouncing with supernatural strength. Everything glowed a faint green. Before the objects settled, the Fentons were struck by Danny’s sheets and bedspread, flying toward them at what felt like 100 miles per hour. Jazz couldn’t help but scream.

The force had shoved them through Danny’s doorway. When they finally threw the bedding off, Danny’s door slammed shut in front of them, cracking the frame. Maddie eyed the railing just behind them. She’d been sure Danny wouldn’t hurt them, but another foot and they’d have been hurled over it. She wasn’t so convinced anymore. Could he blame her?

Jazz knew this was her idea, but she hated what she’d unleashed. She felt anger bubble at Sam. Was this supposed to be a punishment for caring about her brother? She thought they were beyond that. How often was Danny like this? Did his creepy girlfriend encourage it? She didn’t know much outside regretting she hadn’t tried harder for another solution.

“Away from the stairs. C’mon, away from the stairs!” Maddie urged, grabbing Jack and Jazz by their sleeves and cautiously tugging them down to the living room. She could’ve sworn they left the lights on, but everything was dim now save for the light of the setting sun drifting through the windows. The trio huddled close.

Static crackled as the television switched on. “—has residents questioning the whereabouts of the infamous Amity Park ghost, known by some as Phantom. Next, we’re live with—” The nightly news quickly cut to a vibrant green screen, accompanied by a reverberating, high-pitched ring. Jazz clasped her hands over her ears as it grew louder, piercing the air. It filled her with an unmistakable sense of dread, hopelessness.

“Mads…” Jack whispered, raising a shaking finger. They turned to face the windows. One by one, each vertical blind swayed slightly, an unseen force moving across them. It’s just Danny—she repeated the phrase over in her mind, grasping for a sense of calm. The movement stopped.

“Is it over?” Jack looked to Jazz. She shook her head unknowingly, eyes fixed on the window. She could see people outside. Neighbors who wouldn’t think a thing of ghost activity erupting from their home. Jack held his breath as Maddie caught hers. Her sense of calm was torn from her as soon as she’d found it.

The sound of snapping wood thundered from the blinds as they abruptly slammed shut, sending Jazz scrambling back. Jack caught her as she tripped over the carpet, hoisting her back onto her feet. The din from the television was deafening, its screen casting a green light on the entire room. Where Jazz had slipped lay a smudged pool of glowing ectoplasm, reflecting bright green. Maddie was the first to notice. Her head tilted upward slowly.

Danny hung upside-down, slack-jawed. Thick ectoplasm filled his mouth, dripping from his lips and empty eye sockets. His ribs jutted from his barely-opaque torso, a mangled mix of white and green disappearing into a ghostly tail. Gutted.

Jazz and Jack followed Maddie’s gaze, only catching a glimpse of the horrific form before it vanished completely. Maddie shrieked Danny’s name, a piercing combination of anger and terror.

“Sh*t!” Jack wrapped his arms around Maddie and reached for Jazz’s hand. The growing pool of ectoplasm on the floor bubbled and crept toward them, forcing them toward the kitchen. He shoved his family through the door and slammed it shut. It oozed through the frame.

The kitchen looked normal enough, but none of them dared move. The lights had been spared, and everything seemed to be in its place. After a few seconds of silence, every cabinet was thrown open at once, omitting a hideously loud slam. Maddie yelped and Jack grabbed her protectively, every hair on his neck standing up. Jazz leaned against the table, on the verge of tears.

With the last bang, it ended. Danny reappeared in the corner of the room. A quick white flash and he was his human self again, hands pressed against the walls to stabilize himself. He looked up at his wide-eyed family, panting. They looked scared of him. Of course they looked scared of him.

“What the f*ck, Danny!?” Jazz shrieked.

“Language!” Maddie chided.

Danny’s eyes flicked toward the cabinets, still ajar. He’d seen too many scary movies. He raised both hands defensively, shrinking against the wall.

“I won’t do it again. Promise.”

A beat of silence was broken by Jack’s deep, bellowing laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Jazz hissed.

Jack shook his head. “Look at ‘im!” Danny furrowed his brow.

“This kid did all that? I mean, who knew you had it in ya?”

Danny shrugged uncomfortably, averting his eyes.

“I know you’re a ghost, but c’mon!” Jack chuckled, wiping his eye.

Maddie took a step forward. Then, another. She wrapped Danny in her arms and ruffled his hair. “You’re okay.”

Jazz relaxed, her shoulders dropping. She’d agreed to be scared. And sure enough, Danny had f*cking scared her. Less than a minute into the ordeal she’d forgotten why she suggested it in the first place. Now, in their mother’s arms, he looked so normal.

“Feel better?” she asked softly.

“Yeah…” Danny huffed regretfully, “I do.”

“Never again.” Jazz insisted, pointing a threatening finger. Danny shuddered and crossed his heart.

“Alright, alright. Leave him alone,” Jack intervened, cracking himself up. “Mads, you should’ve seen your face!” Maddie rolled her eyes and released Danny.

“Oh, you scared me, alright. I thought you were going for the china.”

“It’s a good thing I was there, eh Danny-boy?” Jack elbowed his ribs. Danny raised an eyebrow.

“Honestly? I can’t back that up.”

“No, really? Did you see me flinch?” Danny stifled a smile.

Maddie chuckled. “Enough jokes, Jack.”

“Not once!” he bellowed. Maddie gave Danny a slap on the back.

“Okay, back upstairs.” He blinked incredulously.

“I’m not cleaning your room!”

“Tomorrow!” Danny insisted.

“Tomorrow.”

Jazz smiled. Yeah, they’d be alright.

Jack shook his head. “How’d we end up with a kid like you?” Danny grabbed a bag of chips from the open pantry, his appetite returning. He waved a hand dismissively as he disappeared into the living room.

“Same way you ended up with a portal to another dimension in the basement!”

#danny phantom #danny fenton #phic #danny phantom fanfiction #danny phantom fanfic #tumblr said i can't go in the tags with Swears #boo #this is the first fic i've posted! #i didn't edit it #but it's been boppin around my nog for a while #things i like: #danny is willing to destroy his room EXCEPT for his rockets those stay put! #jazz thinks sam knew this would be a mess and just let it happen anyway #all the horror movies sam made her buds watch came in handy for better or worse #maddie is able to spot danny needin a hug a mile away #if someone drew gooey gory danny scaring his family i would die #disclaimers: #re: first fic i've posted i don't know how to format fiction and 200% did it wrong #i tried to do what looked right lol #if you have something to say about this fic pls say it to me hi #deleted moment: #the fentons get competitive and make danny tell them who was scarediest #and danny’s just like uhhh idk i was kinda busy being horrifying #mine #fic

[loki-hargreeves]

Good Omens Imagine - You Summon a Demon

Warnings: demon summoning, this is honestly just a crack fic, vulgar language, a moody demon Word Count: 2K Summary: Out of boredom, you decide to summon a demon, not believing that it would actually work. You end up summoning Crowley in your apartment. A very worried angel comes looking for him as well. That’s how you meet Crowley and Aziraphale. Author’s Note: This has been on my mind for a while now. I don’t actually know how to summon a demon so please excuse how I wrote it. It’s not meant to be taken seriously. Please enjoy <3

THIRD POV

It was a silly idea, truly. Y/N and her friend had been out at the nearest bar and after a few drinks, they ended up discussing paranormal stuff. Somehow the conversation morphed into the two of them planning on playing with the Ouija board Y/N had somewhere in her apartment, possibly hidden in her closet or underneath her bed to gather dust. In their tipsy minds, it sounded like a perfect plan.

As Y/N returned home alone, she remembered that. She decided to find the board and get it ready for tomorrow. But as she found it hiding underneath her bed, she got an idea.

What if she played alone? It’s not like anything would actually happen, but it could be fun nevertheless. Surely, she would laugh at herself about it afterwards. So that’s what she did. Y/N set up the board on the floor, lit up a few candles to set the mood. She turned off all the lights and covered the mirrors in her bedroom. In order to play, she quickly read the instructions. Just like that, she was ready to get started.

As much as she was convinced that it was fake, it still made her nervous. There was always that small chance that it would work, right?

“Okay, I’m calling in good spirits. No negative entities are welcome here,” Y/N started as the online instructions had instructed her. “If anyone’s actually there, I would like to play with you.” Gosh, that sounded so wrong, she thought.

She sat on the floor with her fingers on the pointer. After a few moments of silence later, nothing happened which relieved her. She sank her shoulders and smiled, feeling much more comfortable now that it hadn’t moved. “This is so stupid, it’s not like this board could actually summon a demon,” The woman laughed by herself, giving her words zero thoughts whatsoever. 

If only she had known the power of her words.

As if on cue, something happened. The pointer began to shake underneath her fingers which startled her out of her skin. Y/N let out a scream as she got up from the floor, watching in horror as the Ouija board shook wildly. That was not supposed to happen! “Holy fuck, shit…fuck!” Y/N whimpered in horror. Her eyes were glued to the board. Once it began to levitate, she almost passed out.

Was she dreaming?

Or was she drunk? Y/N hadn’t had that much to drink either.

Her heart was pounding so hard from fear that she felt it all the way up in her throat. She wanted to run away, but her entire body was frozen in shock. Her fight or flight response seemed to betray her.

A bright light came seemingly out of nowhere. It was so bright in fact that Y/N had to close her teary eyes. A few moments later, the light seemed to vanish, and she heard that the board dropped back on the floor. Terrorized by what she saw, she still decided to look at the board. What she saw next was definitely not a Ouija board.

There was a man, a tall man in fact, standing right in front of her. He had ginger hair, an all-black outfit and round sunglasses. Although the lenses were dark, she noticed that he had yellow eyes. Yellow! The man, or whatever it was, seemed annoyed. “Aw fuck! Couldn’t this have happened a little later? I was just in the middle of something!” The stranger groaned in a…British accent?

“What the fuck are you?” Y/N cried in fear, wanting to keep a distance between her and the man. 

“There’s no need to be so rude, damn,” the ginger man, creature, whatever replied to her. Shivers ran down Y/N’s spine. In her mind, she was convinced that she had just summoned death itself into her own bedroom. She wanted to scream and cry, to run as far away as she could, but she could only stand there as her world began to spin wildly. Her vision began to brighten until she saw white. A split second later, her body failed her as she lost consciousness.

The demon, Crowley, wanted to leave. But he had been summoned and now there was an unconscious woman on the floor inf front of him. As pissed off as he was, he decided to wake her up. Surely, the candles would burn down her house if he just left her like that. “Get up, will you?” Crowley sighed and squat down on the floor right next to her. He poked her body with his long fingers, noticing the details of her appearance. He wondered why on earth she had summoned a demon and why it just had to be him! Crowley had been at Aziraphale’s bookshop as he was summoned. Surely, the angel was worried as hell over his disappearance.

When his poking didn’t bring her back, Crowley cursed under his breath. He wanted to leave, truly, but he couldn’t. He had been summoned. He had to end this ritual she had started, and he couldn’t do that when she was in an entirely different world than him.

                          Y/N furrowed her eyebrows together as her headache grew worse, so bad in fact that it woke her up. Carefully, she rubbed her temples and moaned in pain. Did she really get such a terrible hangover over a couple drinks? She opened her eyes and noticed she was in bed, although she couldn’t remember ever getting in it. Then she heard two men talking. Quickly, she was fully awake, and she remembered what happened.

The man!

Y/N got out of bed and followed the voices. Although she was terrified, she was curious. She walked out of her bedroom and looked into her living room. There were two men there, talking until they noticed Y/N. One of them was the same man that appeared out of thin air. The other one looked much kinder. He had light locks of hair, big blue eyes and beige clothes. For a moment, it was perfectly quiet in her apartment. Little did Y/N know she had a demon and an angel in her living room. She was convinced at this point that this was a fever dream.

“Someone’s finally awake! Great. Now just end what you started so we can leave,” The ginger one broke the silence. He sounded angry which was indeed horrifying. Y/N didn’t know them or what they were capable of.

It made the other man sigh, “Crowley, can’t you see she’s terrified?”

What kind of a name was Crowley? Why was the other one so considerate? Nothing made sense to Y/N in that moment.  

The same man continued, “Hello, I’m Aziraphale and this is my friend Crowley. I know you’re scared, but I promise that you’re just fine,” Aziraphale tried to ease her mind a little bit as Crowley rolled his eyes in the background and crossed his arms like a grumpy child.

“How did you…where did you come from?” Y/N managed to say something despite her worries.

“You summoned me, remember? Aziraphale just followed me,” Crowley snapped.

Aziraphale couldn’t just ignore it when Crowley vanished into thin air right in front of his nose. Of course, he followed the demon! A little curiosity went a long way. “This doesn’t usually happen. You see, in order to actually summon a demon…”

“A demon?!” Y/N breathed out in shock and her eyes widened. It sounded absurd, but it would explain what she saw.

“He’s not a bad demon! You know, he used to be an angel…” Aziraphale tried to speak, but he was cut off again.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley hissed, angry that the angel had to mention it to this stranger woman.

What the hell was going on? Had Y/N lost it? She was beginning to believe that.

“As I was trying to say,” Aziraphale raised his gentle voice ever so slightly, “summoning a demon requires a lot of spiritual power. You didn’t summon him for no reason. Now would you like to introduce yourself, dear?”

Something about Aziraphale was so calming. Yes, the situation was absolutely wild and unbelievable. Y/N was scared because there were two men in her home claiming to be demons. But this man had a presence which helped her relax. It was so overpowering, so magical. “I’m Y/N,” She said surprisingly calmly. The closer Aziraphale was, she more relaxed she became.

“Alright, Y/N. It’s nice to meet you. I’m sure we can get to the bottom of this little mishap and then we can all go on about our days,” Aziraphale smiled so cheerfully, as if this situation wasn’t terrifying at all.

Crowley sat on the arm of Y/N’s couch and he crossed his long legs, “Why did you even summon a demon if you’re so scared?”

Someone wasn’t happy to be summoned. Y/N almost felt sorry for ever touching that Ouija board. “I didn’t mean to! I just…well, I didn’t think it would work, okay?” She defended herself honestly. “Also, how am I supposed to believe you’re a demon...an angel, whatever. This is crazy!”

“Oh, you want proof?” Crowley smirked, as if she dared him to do something. He suddenly stood up straight again, getting ready to give her a little fright.

On second thoughts, she didn’t want proof. She was terrified enough and even the sheer possibility that they were speaking the truth was absurd. It would confirm to her, a human, that demons and angels existed. That kind of information would surely mess with her head. “No!” Y/N took it back.

“Oh, such a bummer!” Crowley muttered. He was already getting excited over the thought of scaring her by showing her his true form. It’s not like it mattered anymore. She had seen him appear out of thin air so what’s another supernatural experience more on top of that?

Aziraphale felt his stress levels rise as he stood between the two of them. He couldn’t believe they ended up in that situation. But somehow, he was convinced they were supposed to find Y/N. There was a very high energy radiating from her which almost told the angel that she could be useful. As risky as it was, he wanted to be friends with the mortal. Perhaps she could have something to do with the doomsday?

“Can you please just end this and then finish whatever you have to with Aziraphale? I’m tired of this,” Crowley began to get impatient.

“How do I ‘end this’?” Y/N wondered. She truly had no idea.

Crowley hung his head low as he tried to stay calm. Was she for real? “Did you read any instructions whatsoever before you decided to ruin my day?”

Aziraphale almost giggled at the situation. Although it was serious, it was a little bit amusing. But he managed to bite his lips together to stay quiet.

“I read something online,” She admitted. Y/N was oddly calm now. So far, they hadn’t made any indications that they would harm her. Besides, when she passed out, one of them had moved her to her bed. If they wanted to hurt her, surely, they would’ve done that already. So, she concluded that she didn’t have to be as terrified as she was.

“Okay then do whatever you read. I hate being trapped in here,” Crowley admitted. Wow. He couldn’t have been any harsher, now could he?

“Okay, I end this session. Whatever. Is that it?” Y/N mumbled a little awkwardly. Both Crowley and Aziraphale looked at her quietly. Nothing seemed to happen, at least nothing visible to her eyes. Did it work? Y/N didn’t even know what was supposed to happen!

That’s when Crowley cracked a smile, “See? That wasn’t so hard!” It was as if some magical bonds had let go of him and made him ten times less moody. Good for him, Y/N thought.

“Now, how about we discuss how you got him here in the first place?” Aziraphale suggested excitedly. He was naturally curious, so this was all fun and games for the angel. As long as he stayed, Aziraphale stayed. They had a conversation to finish and it didn’t matter if they did that at the bookshop or this Y/N’s apartment.

_____________________________________________

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed this. Your feedback would be highly appreciated  💚

#Good Omens #Good Omens fanfiction #Crowley #Aziraphale #Crowley x Reader #Aziraphale x Reader #Crowley x reader x Aziraphale #Good omens reader insert #good omens imagine #crack fic #platonic good omens

[fieryfantasybooklover]

Creeping Corruption, Chapter 1 - The Death & The Reaping

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

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@lily-chen-deserves-better @zafirafox4636 @blackthorn-necromancy @ineedadrinkorsleep @friendlyneighbourhoodreader @idontgetit-whydoihavetosaymyname @themostawesomehuman @brotherlipsmackariahs @girlwhohatesstuff @daisyherxndale @tessagraycarstairs

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It started slowly. Slowly, ever so slowly, it crept in. Never killing, only ailing people for a few days. With a small cough perhaps. Or maybe a stomachache. The most worrying thing however, was that iratzes didn’t help. And neither did anything else. Runes vanished into ill Shadowhunter’s skin as they and the others gathered waited in anxious anticipation for the aches and pains plaguing them to vanish. But they didn’t. Herb mixtures and concoctions vanished down throats, leading to the same result. Finally, the Shadowhunter would be sent back to bed to rest, not knowing what else to do. Sadly, that was only the beginning.

The disease started spreading about a year after it first appeared. Shadowhunters, who had managed to boost their population in the previous years, began falling sick at an alarming rate. The Council, Clave, Covenant, and Consul all turned blind eyes to the pain and pleas of grieving families. Families who awoke to their loved ones dead in their beds. Brave, strong Shadowhunters that had been felled in their sleep by a creeping corruption. The dead showed no outward or inward signs of disease. They were simply… dead. Given time to grow, shift, and evolve, the illness worsened. Fed by ignorance, apathy, government corruption, and callousness. Soon, the ones who died first would be the ones considered lucky.

Finally, when so many died that it could no longer be ignored, true hell descended. Forced into quarantine, families huddled in their Institutes, praying that they would avoid the evil gaze of this plague. Very few did. Communication was forbidden. Leaving the Institute was forbidden. Retrieving food from the outside world was forbidden. A civilization that had been around since the dawn of time took less than one month to crumble into anarchy. The people who hid early thought themselves lucky. Biding their time, they waited for this to blow over so they could emerge and greet the survivors. But by the end of this, there would be nothing and nobody left to greet.

All across the world, agonizingly slowly, the Institutes fell silent. One by one, the lights of life residing there were snuffed out and the magnificent structures stood empty. Somehow, despite the layers of restrictions and procedures and caution, the plague snuck in. It always found a way. And once it was in, nothing could stop it. Its victims fell prey to awful hallucinations, violent fevers, and extreme paranoia. Once it breached an Institute, everyone there was at risk. Once it breached an Institute, everyone there was lost. Lost with no chance of salvation

The Los Angeles Institute was the first to succumb in the USA. Huddling in its halls, haunting the empty dusty rooms, the Blackthorns, Kit, and Emma prayed for survival. When they awoke to find Dru lying silently in her bed, no longer in the world of the living, all hope was snuffed out like a candle. All the family could do was watch as their loved ones perished, one by one. Emma was the last one alive in that building. She was preceded by Ty and Livvy, who died side by side, as they always had been. Tavvy had vanished without a trace, never to be seen again by the living. Kit had also vanished. Emma died hugging Julian close, all the while shaking, freezing cold and burning hot at the same time, wondering why this was the place and time her life and so many others had to end.

The New York Institute was next. It was an Institute that fought violently on its way out, but lost in the end anyway. Alec was not there, as he had gone to live with Magnus, but everyone that was there battled the plague in every way they could. But after weeks and weeks of self-imposed isolation and not seeing another living person, barely eating and drinking enough to survive, and no news of the outside world, Clary, Jace, Isabelle, and Simon and the other teenage Shadowhunters let the plague take them. No longer mustering the will to fight, they left the Institute and let it take them and rip them apart. After that, the remaining Shadowhunters ceased to live. Becoming bags of bones and skin, they ceased to live and simply existed. But with time, even their souls would cross the barrier between the living and the dead.

Magnus, Alec, Rafe and Max were holed up in Magnus’s apartment. It was going surprisingly well. The kids were healthy as were Magnus and Alec. There were even days that the couple dreamed they could survive and live on even if others didn’t. However, karma struck back and theirs was a special surreal nightmare when Max and Rafe vanished without a trace. One day there, the next day gone. Magnus and Alec, searching for them as best they could, eventually gave up and stopped looking. Sitting alone in the dark New York apartment, Magnus and Alec slowly wasted away, Magnus’s magic doing nothing to stop the advance of this terrible disease once it struck Alec and took his life within the day. Hugging his love close, Magnus closed his eyes, and saw no more.

With the Shadowhunter world crashing and burning, the mundanes immune and unknowing, Tessa, Jem, and Mina held steadfast against the outside world in their home. And they were somewhat successful. They outlasted the rest of the Shadowhunters. However, even Jem and Tessa, who had conquered and beaten many obstacles in their lifetime, could not beat this. One day, they awoke to find Mina gone. Their precious, beautiful daughter, disappeared. Gone. Vanished. Sobbing, Tessa clung to Jem, who hugged her close, all the while silently sobbing. However, both silently agreed that they couldn’t give up. So the pair silently went back to their daily routine, vowing all the while that they would unravel this deadly mystery.

It took so little time. Every single Shadowhunter that walked the Earth died, and not even in peace. Some took their own lives from the hallucinations or the paranoia. Others perished from the fevers. Some just went to bed and never woke up. The worst were the ones who allowed their mind to be twisted and reworked, made to see everyone as an enemy. The ones who’s psychology ended up being the death of them. But no matter how, no matter why, and no matter when, every single Shadowhunter died. But maybe that’s inaccurate. The children didn’t die. They vanished, just as if they had never been there, leaving wailing, blood, and pain behind. And of course there was Tessa and Jem. The lone warrior survivors in a world that was about to become worse then even imagination could conjure. Who knows. Maybe, if the problem had been addressed earlier, a cure could have been found. But now we will never know.

#i am so sorry #julian blackthorn #emma carstairs #livvy blackthorn #ty blackthorn #tavvy blackthorn #kit herondale #mina carstairs #jem carstairs #tessa gray #max lightwood bane #rafe lightwood bane #clary fairchild #simon lewis #jace herondale #isabelle lightwood #Shadowhunters #megans writing

[zuzu-firequeen]

Fire Queen

Fire Queen Masterlist

~Zuko X OC~

~ The Truth ~

After a week of moving all of our things to the new apartment, Zuko was starting to feel a little better. His fever broke and he could sleep all night for the first time in a while. Zoir cartwheels in the new spacious living quarters as Iroh and I stand in the kitchen and stir the pot of jook. “Mother makes this a lot. I assume you taught her everything?” Iroh smiles, “I can not take credit for that. She simply learned everything from Ursa.” I narrow my eyes. “Who?” “Zuko’s mother. They were close. Very close.” “She never mentioned it.” Iroh flashes a sad smile.

Zori runs up jumping onto the counter. “I’m glad I have my own room.” She stretches her arms groaning. “Me too, you’re a kicker.” I pinch her nose lightly, laughing.

“What's that smell?” I turn to see Zuko entering. He smiles at me, wrapping his arm around me and kissing my head. “Good morning.” “Hi.” I bite my lip begging my cheeks not to flush. Iroh smiles at the action. “It's jook. I'm sure you wouldn't like it.” Zuko bows over the pot, inhaling, as Iroh steps back.

Zuko smiles surprisingly. Someone slept well.

“Actually, it smells delicious. I'd love a bowl, Uncle.” The banished Prince picks up and holds out a bowl. I smile watching as Iroh eyes his nephew in suspicion. “Now that your fever is gone, you seem different somehow.” Iroh ladles some jook into the proffered bowl. Zuko takes the bowl and holds my side again. His smile grows as he looks to Zori, then down at me, then to Iroh. A wide smile plastered upon his lips.

If my father and mother would’ve stayed in this timeline would I have met Zuko naturally? My family lived in their home. Our mothers were close. My father was a trusted General up until the Fire Lord asked him to perform unspeakable acts. In a perfect world… were Zuko and I meant to be?

“It's a new day. We've got a new apartment, new furniture, we have Zori and Truble in our lives, and today's the grand opening of your new tea shop. Things are looking up Uncle.” Zuko high fives Zori before moving to the table and kneels, sipping from the bowl and looking out an open window. I smile as I watch him gaze at the city. Iroh bumps me with his elbow lightly. “You did that, you know.” I shake my head. “No, there was always good in him.” “He needed your help to get it out, Truble. Thank you.” Iroh sits next to his nephew and speak as Zori and I stay put at the counter. “You’re staring.” Zori teases as she brings the bowl to her lips. “Yeah, I am.”

~

The King is seated on his golden throne. His bear Bosco rests his chin on one of the throne's arms. Azula, Ty Lee, and Mai are kneeling at the foot of the dais, still disguised as the Kyoshi warriors.

“Look, Bosco, the Kyoshi Warriors are here to protect us. Aren't you excited?” The King speaks gleefully as he tugs playfully on Bosco's cheeks, who yawns. “It's been a difficult week for me. My most trusted advisor, Long Feng, and his Dai Li agents tried to take control of Ba Sing Se from me. Plus I heard a rumor from them that a terrorist is slumming in my kingdom. Fire nation blood running in their veins.” The king shivers at the thought.

“It's terrible when you can't trust the people who are closest to you. We will risk our lives to rid the kingdom of this worry.”

“But there is good news. As we speak, the Council of Five is meeting to plan an invasion of The Fire Nation this summer. On the day of a solar eclipse.”

Azula's eyes widen slightly at these last words. “Really? Now that sounds like a fascinating and brilliant plan.”

~

-Zuko-

Uncle and I overlook the business inside the tea shop. Truble talking to citizens and earring bright smiles in return. “Who thought when we came to this city as refugees, that I'd end up owning my own tea shop. Follow your passion Zuko, and life will reward you.” His eyes never leave Truble’s figure bustling around. He nudges my arm, winking.

“Congratulations Uncle.” He smiles around the shop. “I'm very thankful.”

“You deserve it. The Jasmine Dragon will be the best tea shop in the city.”

“No, I'm thankful because you decided to share this special day with me.” He puts a hand on my arm. “It means more than you know.” I reach over to give him a hug, mostly to his surprise.

“Now let's make these people some tea.” He chuckles. “Yes! Let's make some tea!”

~

-Truble-

“I need two honey leafs, and one jasmine,” I say as I pass Iroh and clip the order to the sting. “This is great!” He chuckles as he brews several pots at once. “Did I have all this before?” I place droplets of honey into the cups and pour the tea. “No. It was about this time where your journals stopped before you burnt the thing.” He hums smiling. “Good choice too.” “Whatever you say, old man.”

I walk over to the table setting their tea down as I glance at Zuko at the table across from mine. His eyes lock with mine as he makes his way towards the back. I follow him with a small smirk. I giggle as I jump on his back as he passes through the doorway. “Hey!” He chuckles laughing.

I get back on my feet and lay my hands on his shoulders. “I want to tell you tonight.” Zuko’s eyes widen. “About you? Are you sure?” He runs his finger over my golden pendant. I place my hand over his kissing his hand. “I do. I want to tell you as much as I can.” Zuko leans down connecting our lips.

“It’s a date.” He whispers as he backs away.

~

Inside a room of the palace, a smiling Ty Lee is looking in a mirror. She is wiping the last traces of her Kyoshi makeup from her face. Mai is seated next to nearby, still working on her own face. Azula paces the floor behind them.

“We have been presented with an extraordinary opportunity, girls.”

Ty Lee smirks at her friends teasingly. “Mai finally gets to wear makeup that's not totally depressing?”

Mai rolls her eyes followed by a deadpan voice. “Ha. Ha.”

Azula walks to a window. “I'm talking about conquering the whole Earth Kingdom.” The two girls turn with shocked looks. Azula starts again, staring out the window. “For a hundred years the fire nation has hammered away at Ba Sing Se from the outside. But now we are on the inside, and we can take it by ourselves.” Ty Lee bites her cheek. “Aren't we here to find that girl though? Your dad was… really really mad about that.” Azula rolls her eyes. “You don’t think I can do both at once?”

Ty Lee smiles, “Gosh, you're so confident. I really admire that about you.”

Azula smirks looking out the window again. “From the inside, we're in the perfect position to organize a coup and overthrow the Earth King. The key is the Dai Li. They know where Savrar Kamie is hiding. Whoever controls the Dai Li, controls Ba Sing Se.”

~

I flatten out the white silk with the golden dragons smiling. “I knew this would look amazing on you.” Zori smiles as she snuggles in the bedsheets. “It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever worn.” Zori smiles at my figure. “You’re really going to tell him?” “Not everything. He can’t know about the timelines, but everything else? This?” I flick my hand letting the purple flames dance in my digits. “I’m tired of hiding it.” Zori walks up hugging me. “You’ll make the best Fire Queen.” I laugh, “That’s a stretch.” She shakes her head.

I walk out of the room seeing Iroh and Iroh only. I furrow my brows looking around. “Is he showing me up?” Iroh smirks, shrugging his shoulders. “I hope not. I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of those flames.” I smirk blowing fire at him, a rare talent he taught me long ago. “Watch out little dragon.” I beam laughing. “You called me that when I was little.” Zori jumps on the counter next to Iroh. “You sure you don’t want this?” She pushes the Fire nation emblem towards me. “Maybe next time. I feel overdressed already.”

~

-Zuko-

Down in the tea shop I set up the table awaiting her arrival. What will she say? Where did she come from? Who she really is? What four elements is she gifted with?

“Well, now I look very out of place.” A soft voice rings through the empty shop. I turn on my heels to see Truble, and my jaw nearly reaches to the floor. I graze over her figure. The beautifully crafted silk and the golden accents dance upon the silk with grace. The end of the gown flowing as loose flames each step she takes. Fire Nation. I knew that much. Leaving me with more questions now than before.

“Truble.” I breathe out as I walk to her. I grasp her hands and admire her again. “You’re so beautiful.” She smiles bringing her hands to the collar of my robes. “And you, my Prince, look very handsome.”

I look down at the dress and draw against the golden and red stitches. “This is a Fire Nation dress.” “It is. I told you. There is a lot to learn.”

We sit and as we continue our night she begins unraveling the story. “Savrar and Killo Kamie are my parents.” I open my mouth to say something but close it in confusion. “My father… He had abilities the Fire Lord needed. He asked him to… get rid of a child. A baby, but he refused. That’s when your father ordered both him and my mother to death.” “The tale the nation knows of is they vanished.” She grabs her necklace. Her family crest. I stare at the pendant realizing what this is. “But that’s not what happened, was it?” She smirks letting a small laugh go. “I didn’t expect you to know of other tales.” I nod. “My father does hate yours.”

She laughs, “Trust me. I know.”

A thick silence fills the shop. I grab her hand as she stares down at the floor. “Truble, it doesn’t matter what has happened in our pasts. Given they have brought us here, but when we met I felt like it was the start of a new life. So please tell me everything, love.” Her eyes swell and her smile grows.

“Are you sure, Zuko?”

“More than anything, Truble.”

She stands up and walks to me, lowering to the floor and resting on the chair next to me. “Do you trust me?” She asks with worry. I kiss her lips quickly and run my thumb against the pale skin of her cheek. “Of course.” She bites her lip sighing. “Okay, okay. So, don’t freak out, just relax, and if you want me to stop just… Well, I don’t actually know how to stop it. So just… trust me.” “Stop what- ah!” I gasp as she places her hands on the sides of my head. I feel as I’m falling and when I stop I see two figures dashing down the halls of the palace. “Mother.” I gasp, reaching for her, but she passes through me. She’s accompanied by another woman with a swollen belly. “You know she’ll have your looks.” My mother laughs hooking arms with the other lady. “Sav is convinced she’ll have his hair.” Mother laughs, throwing her head back in joy. “She’ll be trouble that one.”

The setting falls into a violet smoke, fading into the throne room. A beaten and bloody man is forced to kneel in front of my father. A man with blazing fire hair identical to Truble’s. “Savrar, I trusted you to come back with my prize, but you arrived empty-handed. I demand to know.” The Fire Lord stands, towering over the General. “Did you slaughter him,” He states, in no way was he asking. He was simply demanding what he wanted from thin air.

Savrar looks up at my father with eyes hard as stone. He stands, meeting my father’s height. The men glare at each other. “You dare defy-” Savrar spits in the Fire Lord's face before throwing him on the ground.

He sprints away down the hall as I run after him. He’s caught by Uncle Iroh and pulled into a room where they shuffle around in chaos. "Hurry darling, please." He pushes his wife as she grabs a few belongings. She turns to Uncle in thanks, wrapping her arms around him. "Thank you for all you have done." He nods holding her at arm's length. "Now go. Good luck."

Killo places her necklace around her neck and holds her husband as he closes his eyes and rotates his hand in a circular motion in front of him. The pendents glowing a deep purple, winds pick up in the room, blending loose papers and such in with the current. In a split second everything stills.

The setting has once again changed and all I can see for miles is black trees and smog covering the sky. Fire blazing the treetops, and the air close to non-existent. “Can’t I take a break? I’ve been doing this since the sun rose.” I turn around to see a little girl in tattered Fire Nation clothes. “Truble, you must do without question or complaint. That is the only way you will achieve this fate.” I know that wise voice. I peer over and see a weak old man hunched on a log, his hand shaking as he sips tea. He looks so broken. “Uncle.” I gasp walking over to him and looking at him closer. His hands… His palms are burnt, and scars line his arms. He looks up meeting my eyes and smiling. I gasp falling back in my butt. “Tea?” Truble walks through me and takes the cup. “You can do this, Truble. You can save everyone.” The little girl sways her feet. “Maybe.” He pats her back with a shaky hand. “Back to it.”

They fade away and an older Truble stands across from me. I look behind me and see Savrar standing strongly. Uncle leans on the cane nodding. “Begin.” Truble rushes towards her father, turning and pushing her arms forward and releasing the most beautiful violet flames I’ve ever seen. In no time she takes Savrar down.

Iroh and Savrar stand in the moonlight gazing at the fire lit city. “She’s ready you know.” Savrar nods, “And your nephew?” What? Where was I? Iroh looks at the sky with tearful eyes. No. “She will save him, but for now, all I can do is remember him.”

The sunlight rips away at the setting and Truble stands at a cliff. I step away from them to the edge of the cliff. "I'll see you soon, Iroh." "I'm sure I'm looking forward to it this moment." He steps forward, struggling as he does. He places his hand on her arm squeezing in assurance. "Truble, you have a destiny greater than any of the souls in this land. Go back and save him."

"Wait! I'm coming! Don't leave yet, Truble!" Zori runs over with packs on her back. "I'm going with you." "Zori, no. You could get hurt, I'm sure your mother-" "She knows. Now shut your trap. Let's go fix this."

She pulls out her own golden pendent and clips it on her shirt. "Well then. I guess this is... goodbye." Savrar nods with a sad smile. "Only for now my trouble maker. It will only seem like a minute for us when you succeed."

Truble grab Zori's hand and look down at her. "Are you ready, kid?" She nods excitedly. "Let's go find the Avatar."

I feel ground under my feet and I open my eyes to see the green grass under my shoes.

"Zori... we did it." Truble smiles, picking a blade of grass. "I've never seen grass before." She says running her fingers over them.

"This is beautiful!" Zori cheers looking over the vase environment. "Now let's see where we are,"

"This way to Ba Sing Se."

I gasp, opening my eyes. I stare into Truble’s eyes in confusion. “What… are you, Truble?” She removes her hands and fiddles with them. “My father calls it Time Bending. He was the first to open a bridge between time and venture into their timeline. I’m able to do the same.” I look at her hands and grab one. “And your fire?” She ignites a small flame in the middle of her palm. “It’s hotter than regular fire.” I start feeling the intense heat from a foot away. She closes her hand nodding. “Truble. What happened to me?” Her eyes meet mine and sorrow fills them. “You were killed in turn for Iroh’s freedom.” I shiver to look at the table. “I see.”

My destiny truly means nothing. How could my own blood think so little of me to slaughter me once they ran out of prison food. Pathetic. I bite my lip in anger. “I’m sorry, Zuko.” She mumbles. She grabs my hands kissing my palms. “I can help you, Zuko. We could do this together.” I look at her with suspicion. “End the war?” I scoff watching her nod with a small smile of hope. “Overthrow the Fire Nation with the Avatar, and you take your rightful spot as Fire Lord.” I let out a huff. “And… I could be your Queen.” I look up at her with a growing smile. “My… Fire Queen?” She nods, a blush coating her cheeks.

“I love you, Zuko.” I stop breathing as she finishes her sentence. “I know you might not feel the same and that’s-” I pull her close, catching her lips. I put my hand on her cheek keeping her close. “Say it again.” She grins against my lips. “I love you.” I peck her once more smiling. “I love you, Truble.”

#prince zuko #zuko x reader #zuko x oc #fire lord zuko #zuzu #zuko imagine #fire bender #fire nation #azula #aang #avatar aang #avatar the legend of aang #avatar #avatar the last airbender #the avatar returns #air bender #water tribe #water bender #katara #sokka #suki #kioshi

[nico-di-genova]

The Plus Side to Food Poisoning

Prompt: “What the hell are you doing on the bathroom floor at three in the morning?” 

Carlos gets sick, TK’s there to help him feel better. 

Warnings: Sexual content (implied) and (kinda?) detailed throwing up.  

     “What the hell are you doing on the bathroom floor at three in the morning?” TK grumbles when he comes stumbling into the room. He’s groggy, wiping at his eyes with obvious exhaustion, and not aware enough to realize the sweat beaded on Carlos’ forehead, let alone his dinner in the toilet bowl.

     The man had come over a little past eleven, a simple ‘you up?’ text sent thirty minutes before that. Carlos had been going over some paperwork, long enough that he was beginning to get a headache from staring at documents for so long, so he’d ignored the small part of him that told him he was mad at TK, and texted back. There hadn’t been much conversation for the rest of the night. Last week’s dinner fiasco was never discussed, he spent most the time insanely turned on or trying to force down the quiet voice that told him he was making a mistake. TK didn’t want a relationship, that was fine, it was fine.

     Nausea rolling through him in waves, he leaned his head back against the wall, turning slightly to meet TK’s bleary eyed gaze, “I don’t think my dinner agreed with me.” He tried to smile, a small twitch of his lips, just to add some humor to the situation, but his stomach rolled dangerously, and the smile vanished as soon as it appeared.

     TK at least looked a little concerned, which was more than Carlos had been expecting from him. He shifted from one leg to the other, shoving his hand in the pocket of Carlos’ police academy sweats. They looked annoyingly good on him, low enough on his hips that Carlos had a hard time not staring at the bit of hair that peeked above the waistband. For a hookup, he was getting far too comfortable wearing Carlos’ clothes.

     He considered the offer; some company would be nice, but he knew TK was only asking out of politeness, “nah, I’m okay. You can go if you want.” 

     He’d judged from TK’s previous behavior that the man was trying to keep this strictly sexual. Anything that could be considered affectionate seemed to be outlawed. Nursing your sick booty call back to health on the floor of his too small bathroom seemed like a step too close to relationship territory. The last thing he wanted to do was scare TK away, the guy was kind of the best sex he’d had in years. And, he was still holding on to the idealistic hope that one day they’d actually be able to sit down and talk about something other than how good Carlos was at blowjobs. Pathetic, yes, but he’d always been a bit of a hopeless romantic; especially where doe eyed boys with emotional issues were concerned. 

     TK seemed to consider his options, biting on his bottom lip and looking at Carlos with something akin to pity. His hair is a mess, sticking up at odd angles. They’d been pretty rough tonight, more so than usual. Maybe, not that he would ever admit this, Carlos was mad. He’d sucked hickeys into TK’s skin a bit too aggressively, nipped at the underside of his jaw, pulled at his hair until the man was hissing in pain. It had been hot but looking back he couldn’t help the shame that unfurled low in his gut. It didn’t help his already upset stomach. 

     As Carlos considered his behavior over the past week, TK had arrived at his decision. 

      “Hold on,” he said, then turned on his heel and left. 

     So that was it. This is what he’d gotten himself into. Twenty-seven, single, hooking up with the son of the fire captain, and still somehow deluding himself into thinking that this was anything more than what it had been from the beginning. He’d go back to work tomorrow, probably exhausted and feeling worse for wear, do his job and maybe, if he was lucky, run across TK on a call. They’d make awkward eye contact, and that would be it. At least until nighttime came around and the man found himself wanting some company, and, like a dumbass, Carlos would let him crawl right back into his bed. He should be smarter than this, he usually was, but something about TK was magnetic. He couldn’t seem to get away. 

     Another wave a nausea came, this one enough to send him lurching forward, barely managing to get his head over the toilet bowl before retching violently. By now, there wasn’t much left in his stomach, just the last of his meal and the stomach acid that burned as it came up. When it was over, leaving him shivering and wrecked, he fell back against the wall. Exhausted, and desperately wishing that he had enough strength to at least go get a blanket from his room, he let his eyes close for just a second. 

     He didn’t even hear when someone came back into the bathroom, too tired to focus on anything other than the fevered heat of his skin and the buzzing from the lightbulb above his sink. 

     “Hey, Carlos? Are you okay?” TK’s voice was laced with clear worry. Carlos wasn’t sure what shocked him more, the fact that he’d actually come back or that he seemed to be genuinely concerned. 

     Opening his eyes he was met with TK balancing a glass of water, a small container of TUMS, and a blanket in his arms. The sight was almost enough to make him cry; TK seemed to have read his mind. He hadn’t left. That seemed like something. 

     This time when he smiled, weak and grateful, it stuck, “you’re staying?” 

     TK eyed him quizzically, “of course. I can’t leave you like this, dude.” 

     He was here out of obligation then, nothing else. Of course he was, he was a first responder, trained to handle medical issues. So Carlos was a patient. He couldn’t even feel hurt, not when he was too busy accepting the stuff from TK with a quiet ‘thank you’. The blanket was like an anchor, keeping him from floating off further into his subconscious and immediately warming his chilled skin. He was still in nothing but boxers, and he’d always had the bad habit of keeping his thermostat in the 60s.

      TK stepped further into the room, sliding down the wall to sit next to Carlos, and offering him the glass of water with a soft smile. Even in the too bright light, dark circles under his eyes, and the darkening patches of skin on his neck that stood out in stark contrast to the rest of him, TK looked like a dream. He was maddeningly cute, in the way that only boys from movies were. 

     As Carlos sipped on his water, and chewed on a few TUMS, the pills turning chalky in his mouth, TK watched him. There was something weird in his gaze, some tenseness that seemed to worsen as the silence stretched on. 

     Finally, he said, “my dad used to do this for me.” 

     If there was one flaw to TK, it was how frequently he would bring his dad up in conversation. It was a bit of a mood killer. 

     Carlos nodded, “what? Help you deal with a stomachache?” He held up the container of antacids, “seems like he really knew what he was doing.” 

     TK laughed, but it sounded too forced, too tight. He turned away from Carlos, distracted by a loose thread from his sweatpants. Carlos watched as he picked at the fabric, anxious and unsure. He’d cuffed the legs of the pants, probably because he was shorter than Carlos, it made him look even more like a small child. Like he was a kid who was about to get scolded by the father he mentioned far too much. 

     He huffed out another laugh again, “no, uh-. With withdrawals actually.” 

     The words hung heavy. TK didn’t explain further, just let the weight of what he’d said sink in. Carlos couldn’t lie, he was kind of shocked, and it probably showed in his expression. He’d known TK was hiding something, it was clear in the way ran away from anything he couldn’t control, but Carlos would never have thought it was something as serious as drug addiction. 

     “Oh.”

     “Yeah,” he’d pulled even more of the thread loose and was beginning to twist it around his fingers. 

     “Are you-?” 

     “Clean? Yeah.” 

     It’s here that Carlos is confused. Was TK expecting him to respond to this news terribly? Call him a junkie, or kick him out? He was too quick to answer, too scared to actually meet Carlos’ gaze. It made Carlos ache for him, for whoever had treated him so terribly that he felt like he had to act this way. 

     “Actually,” he presses, “I was gonna ask if you were okay.” 

      TK pauses, fidgeting fingers stilling for a moment. When he looks at Carlos it’s with a bit of shock and confusion, “oh um-. Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. It was a few years ago, and I relapsed in New York before we left, but I’m good.” 

     It didn’t sound like he was good, not really. But Carlos didn’t want to press the issue. If TK wanted to talk to him, he would. Carlos wasn’t going to force more out of him and make him uncomfortable. It was enough that TK had trusted him with this, it was more than he would have been willing to say just a week prior. Plus, as much as he loved getting to know this city boy, with the enigma and mystery wrapped around him like layers, Carlos was also tired and felt like absolute shit. The floor of his bathroom wasn’t really the place for heart to hearts. 

     “Okay, well, thanks for telling me.” 

     TK nodded, pressing his lips together, “no problem.”

     It was such an awkward exchange, the sign of two men that had absolutely no idea how much they could trust the other yet. But it seemed significant, a shift in the dynamic, a sign that TK was a least willing to make this more than the occasional hookup. 

     With the medicine and the water in his system Carlos was beginning to feel minorly better, he at least didn’t feel like he was going to vomit at even the slightest movement. The blanket was working wonders as well, warm enough to have him beginning to lull off, head beginning to slump down toward TK’s shoulder. He might have fallen asleep like that, completely content to have TK as a pillow, not at all caring about the crick he’d have in his neck by morning. But TK, ever observant, noticed his situation and of course had to comment on it. 

     “Why don’t I help you get to bed?” He was already beginning to move, shifting so he could stand. 

     Carlos grumbled in annoyance, pulling an amused smile from TK. 

     “C’mon tough guy. There’s no way you actually want to sleep in here.” 

     There was no arguing with that logic. He accepts TK’s outstretched hand and lets the man pull him to his feet. When he started to waver slightly, still nauseous enough to have no sense of balance, TK was there. Solid and sure, he kept one arm wrapped around Carlos’ waist, the other pressed to his chest, and guided him back to his bed with ease. 

     In his sleep addled, sick muddled, confusion Carlos reached out for him again the moment he was lying in bed. He just managed to catch TK’s wrist, warm and even thrum of his heartbeat beneath his skin. He held on tight, even though TK never tried to pull away. 

     “Stay?” he asked, just barely managing to find the man’s face in the dark of the room. TK looked conflicted, and Carlos braced himself for the inevitable rejection. He’d pushed too far, expected too much too soon. 

     “Yeah, okay.” 

     His voice is laced with clear surprise when he says, “yeah?” 

     “Yeah. My dad would probably lose it if I went back home this late anyway.” 

     It sounds juvenile. Something a boy would tell him in high school, but he doesn’t even care because TK’s actually going to sleep in his bed for once and probably still be there when he woke up. Who knew food poisoning could actually be a good thing? 

     When TK curls up next to him, snaking an arm around his waist and pressing a quick kiss to the back of his neck, Carlos thinks he’s probably just dreaming. Even if he is he’s too content to care. TK Strand seems to have a heart after all, under all the secrets he hides himself under. Dinner may have failed, something that came on too fast, but maybe they don’t have to be just about sex. Maybe there’s hope for them yet. Carlos is sick enough that he lets himself dream, and he falls asleep with that hope clutched tightly in his hand, and TK’s breath warm on his back.

#idk why i enjoy writing for these two so much #but they've quickly taken over #I wanted to write some more carlos focused stuff #kind of how he might be viewing tk since he doesn't know much of what's going on with him yet #tk strand #carlos reyes #tarlos #911ls fic #911 lone star #my fic

[hitbythunder]

The Roll of Thunder -3

A Thor x Reader and later some Loki x Reader story

Summary: After Frigga’s and Loki’s deaths, Thor struggles with his grief and blames himself for the loss. Barely able to manage his emotions, the god helps the other heros on Earth so that he can stay away from Asgard - a place which only reminds him of his pain. When the team acquires a golden sphere from a mission, however, Thor is forced to deal with his past. She has black hair, pale skin and a pair of emerald eyes which haunt the god in his dreams. Could she be Loki?

Warnings: non-con in later chapters

~º*º*º~

Against his better knowledge, Thor stepped forward, his fists clenched and his face dark, and when he passed the low coffee-table the woman half-jumped smoothly behind the large arm-chair next to the couch so that he couldn't grab her easily. “You shouldn't walk on this earth as your whole existence is an insult to my brother!” It was barely a whisper, a mere low growl full of anger and Thor wasn't sure if she understood his words. But from the way she trembled she seemed to grasp his threat and the god was pleased to see pure dread in her eyes. Suddenly the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway and quickly as a cat the woman ran over there to hide behind Steve the very moment he entered the living room, her tiny figure vanishing completely behind the larger man. The Captain was confused for a second as the female rushed behind him but then he looked over to Thor and knew leaving them alone was a mistake. The big blonde glared at them, every muscle of his body tensed, stretching the dark-blue t-shirt he wore to the maximum. Even the air seemed to become dry and crackling because of his fury and Steve shoved the little woman further behind him.

“Thor, I suggest you leave or this will become ugly. I don't want to fight you but if you don't calm down you give me no choice.” The Captain said sternly , hoping that the god was open to reason and would regain his senses. “Please, Thor!”

Breathing heavily he stood in place like a column, his piercing blue eyes sparkling dangerously and he even thought about summoning Mjolnir.

But then what? Fight the Captain, my friend, who is unarmed at the moment? No! Thor thought to himself before he made up his mind to leave it at that. Slowly the tension in his body declined and he turned around to stomp off towards the elevator. When the metal doors closed again, Steve sighed in relief and turned to the shivering being behind him. “I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have left!" He said and hoped that Natasha wouldn't find out somehow. "Jarvis, where is Thor now?"

"He is currently in his room, trashing some furniture." The AI replied instantly in its usual calm voice. A look of concern and confusion crossed the Captain's face because he could not grasp the reason why the god detested this woman. She didn't do anything to him but he desires to kill her... 

"I guess we should stay here on this floor then." The kitchen area was taboo for now as it was on the same floor as Thor's room.

 ***

When Natasha came back to the tower, she hurried towards the living room because Jarvis had informed her about what happened in her absence. Steve was watching some TV while the Kitten curled up beside him on the couch and slept peacefully. Not wanting to wake her, the red-head sat silently down beside Steve and whispered: "Thanks for protecting her but next time you better pee yourself before you let them out of your sight." Steve almost chuckled aloud. "So you know. Well, sorry about that. But I just don't get it why Thor acts so hostile. I mean look at her!" Both observed the sleeping female next to them, her breathing steadily and her expression soft. "Why are you protecting her?" the Captain asked all of a sudden and Natasha hesitated before she replied. "She reminds me of myself before I was trained to become an assassin. All childish innocence had been taken from me and afterwards was only pain and fear until I didn't feel even those anymore." Natasha stared at the floor while Steve pondered over her words, the quiet muttering from the TV being the only sound in the room.

 ***

The next evening, heavy raindrops splashed against the large windows of Stark Tower, as if the heavens were weeping for the Norse god who wouldn't share a single tear. Jane had called. Due to her work she was in New York and had wished to meet with him – talk about things. Jane always wanted to talk, to discuss and to analyze matters and Thor loathed it. But he had agreed and about two hours later, the brunette exited the elevator on his floor. He welcomed her nicely, as did the other Avengers, but they didn't kiss before both vanished in Thor's room.  Natasha and the Kitten were in the kitchen preparing some food when Jane rushed past them over an hour later, her eyes watery.

"Now we know why it's storming outside. Looks like Thor ditched her." Tony commented when she was gone while Natasha only shrugged. Her teammates love affairs were none of her concern. Outside a wild thunderstorm roared, darkening the night-sky.

This night the little female could not sleep because of the weather, being too nervous because she knew it was him who caused the thunder. This woman named Jane seemed to be his mate, he was gentle to her but even she ran from him, crying and frustrated. But why is he so gruesome to me? The little Kitten wondered before sleep took hold of her finally. Also in her dreams, the blue eyed blonde pursued her, chasing after her with his hammer and in pure fury, causing her to revive the moment of agony when his lightning hit her. The rest of the night she was befallen by a strong fever, sweating every last drop of water out of her body.

The next morning, Natasha shook the woman gently to wake her, a worried expression on her face. "Kitten, are you alright? You are feverish..." she assessed when she touched her heated forehead and decided to let Bruce know. "Rest some more, I'll be right back." But Bruce couldn't do more than to take her temperature and advice more rest.

"I won't risk side effects because of some medicament. We don't know how her body reacts to them."

 ***

It was lunch when Natasha went to see the Kitten again and luckily, her fever was gone. “So how is she?” Steve asked worriedly when the red-head returned into the kitchen while Tony sipped his coffee. “Completely fine. What ever it was, it's gone.” she answered and opened the fridge to get some food for the other woman. “Perfect, I wouldn't want her to miss the party tonight!” Tony commented joyfully from the side, meeting Steve's puzzled gaze. “A party?” “Yes, we had some severe missions the past weeks – all successfully completed – and that demands for some serious celebration!” the scientist cheered. “For once you have a point.” Natasha admitted because she was definitely in the mood for some merriment – and she needed an occasion to wear her new dress anyway. “But is it wise to have Kitten among a bunch of strange people?”

“She's already living with us, who could be worse?” Tony retorted and walked towards the elevator. “What about Thor?” Steve interrupted but the billionaire only shrugged casually. “We'll keep him and Kitty apart or we could disguise her as your evil twin-sister!” Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes while Natasha sighed. “Thor is not stupid, Tony.” “Well he has his moments … Anyways, don't worry, it will be great!” Tony replied and vanished inside the elevator.

***

Several pearls of sweat glided down his massive body as he moved quickly across the training grounds, swinging his hammer wildly. In order to maintain his godly physique and his honed skills but also because he loved it, Thor trained every day for at least four hours, sometimes even more. Additionally, it proved to be a successful means to calm his temper and distract his mind, which he needed direly after his talk with Jane yesterday. She had accused him of neglecting her, having her wait for two years after his first visit on Midgard and now that he was living with the Avengers he avoids her still. Sadly, these reproaches were merely the hurtful truth and the bitter end of their relationship was overdue. Thus the god told her to leave and never come back for him. Of course it hurt that they would walk separate ways now but Thor was also relieved, had this relationship been more a burden than a blessing of late. After realizing this simple fact, Thor's mood was bright today and he didn't feel the need to moon over her. Thus he trained joyfully, each swing of the hammer with such vigor that if he let go it would crash through several walls. This training reminded him of Asgard, where he had often sparred with his friends in the sands, sweating and laughing.

The fond memories brought a small smile onto the gods lips when he took the elevator to his floor, panting and exhausted. He was in dire need of a shower and the prospect of cold water rushing down his hot skin seemed incredibly marvelous.  But when he entered the bath next to his room, his mood darkened abruptly when a small woman stood in front of the tub and Thor was stunned by the sight. A white towel wrapped around her slim figure was all that concealed her curves while her slender legs were bare for the god to behold. With her wet black hair combed back neatly and her emerald eyes locked to his, she resembled the God of Mischief more than ever.

By the Nine, she looks exactly like him...

Paralyzed by her fear she didn't move and stared up at the blonde giant who blocked the way outside. Intently she watched every twitch, every reaction of him, hoping to find an opportunity to slip past his large body. She noted the pearls of sweat on his skin, causing his shirt to stick to his broad chest and rippled abdomen, his heavy breathing and the tension in his muscles because of the training. Thor was terribly confused by the emotions rushing through him right now. On the one hand, there was grief and anger for being so bluntly reminded of his deceased brother, additionally to the fear that she could be one of Loki's tricks. But on the other hand, standing half-naked in front of him, the towel pressing her small breasts together to form a lovely décolleté in which a pearl of water vanished, she was a truly arousing sight – too arousing for Thor as he could already feel her bewitching effect on his lower parts. A minx just like Loki... he thought to himself, remembering how gracious and elegant his brother had been, how beautiful compared to him. Secretly, Thor had always admired Loki's slim yet trained figure, combined with those long slender legs and those honed features. The second prince had been the champion amongst the ladies in Asgard but he didn't make as much use of his royal position as Thor did in order to bed lovely maidens.

Suddenly and without warning, the little one rushed forward and tried to get past him but Thor reacted in time and caught her by the left arm, yanking her back before him. “You... Enough of this deceit! Tell me, what are you!” His voice was a low hiss and he leaned down to intimidate her further, their faces only inches apart. Not able to withstand his staring, she turned her head and averted her gaze but Thor grabbed her chin with his free hand and forced her to meet his piercing blue eyes again. “Tell me!” he urged with more anger in his voice, his grip on her arm and chin tightening, causing her to shrink back in fear. “P..please...” At first, the god couldn't believe his ears when he heard her voice, but her lips had actually moved to form a single word – her first word and it was a pleading. Unintentionally and as stunned as he was, Thor loosened his hold on her for a split second and the little woman made use of it and quickly slipped past the larger man. He tried to grab her in the hallway but she was beyond reach and then vanished into Natasha's room. Damned... While he was under the shower, Thor decided not to tell the others that she had spoken to him because he wanted to ask her some important questions first and alone. He tilted his head back and ravished the cold water running down his face while he thought about how to proceed before his mind drifted off to other topics – tonight's party amongst them.

***

The three floors of the living room were crowded with chatting guests and the atmosphere was relaxed and merry when Thor exited the elevator to join the ongoing party. Dressed in a casual pair of black jeans combined with a grey shirt and a crimson jacked on top, he looked very handsome and more of a gentlemen than a warrior. For once, his hair was combed and tied back loosely – his mother would be happy to see him dolled up like that. Several ladies smiled enticingly at him when he made his way towards the bar, flattering the god's ego just like the ladies did in Asgard when he was a young prince.

“Do we know each other, Sir?” Tony quipped and eyed the god beside him, whom he had rarely seen in such elegant attire. “Look at you! Dandified from head to toes. Is that cologne I smell on you?” Tony added and Thor chuckled, swaying the drink in his hands before he retorted in a half-serious tone. “My punches will hurt no less in this garments.” “Oh come on, that was a compliment! And you have to admit that you look ravishing – not as much as me though.” With a cocky smirk, the billionaire sipped at his strong drink when Steve joined them. “Where's Pepper? I haven't seen her in a while.” “Well, running her own company now, Pepper has a tight schedule. That's the side effect of success I guess." Tony explained almost melancholy. "At last we agree on something." Thor put in and Steve dared to dig some more. "I've heard that Jane is the best in her field of science.." "Indeed. And now she can focus on her work entirely." With one gulp the god emptied his glass and put it down onto the bar. "And I shall have more time for other merriments!" Thor added and smiled widely at them while Tony put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"That's my man! Where's the Whiskey?" "Another fruitless attempt to best me in drinking?" Thor chuckled in amusement, had none of his friends managed to drink him under the table yet. Midgardian alcohol was far less potent than the one served on Asgard.  "Hell yes! And no pretty lady can stop me from my mission!" Tony boasted, eager to win this time, while he refilled their glasses. The Captain could only smile at Stark's optimism but then he noted two figures appearing on the upper floor of the living room.

"And what about those two?" he said, causing the other men to follow his gaze to the top of the stairs, their eyes widening at the sight. Natasha looked stunning in her black and white dress, which emphasized her curvy yet trained body and to soften the outfit her fiery red hair was falling in large locks. And the woman beside her was at least her equal. The three men were surprised what drastic change the right choice of clothes plus a little make up could achieve. The Kitten wore a dark-blue sundress, which was tight at the top but more loose from the hips downward, with a white ribbon around her waist matching her pumps. Her black hair was floating freely down her shoulders, the tips framing her emerald eyes and pink lips.

"Looks like Kitten has become a tiger." Tony whispered to Steve when the two ladies graciously descended the staircase and walked towards them. "You may pick up your jaw from the floor, Tony." Natasha quipped before she walked around the bar to make her special 'vodka-romanoff' – a hefty drink which could easily knockout the strongest man. "I'm not used to some tight clothes around your body except your leather suit, forgive me the staring." The billionaire replied casually and gestured her to make him a drink too while Steve tried to occupy Thor's attention in a conversation to keeping him distracted. But the god was only half listening to his friend, shooting quick glances over to the black-haired woman beside him whenever possible. As soon as Natasha was done behind the bar she decided to search for Bruce and took the Kitten along, not wanting to leave her around the guys alone. Thor sighed silently and engaged more into the conversation with Steve. I need her to be alone...

During the evening, the Kitten noticed how Natasha flirted with the friendly scientist, at first only subtle but after another drink her attempts became rather obvious and the Kitten decided to give them some privacy. Thus she strolled through the crowd of guests towards a large window in a more quiet corner of the room. She had refrained from drinking as Natasha had advised her, which allowed her sharp senses to detect the man approaching her. He won't hurt me in front of all those strangers? She thought to herself when she turned to face the tall god behind her. As soon as he had noticed that she was alone, Thor crossed the room. He almost hurried over to her because he couldn't let this opportunity slip.

“You owe me an answer, little one.” He kept his voice low but there were definitely determination and harshness in it. “What are you? And more importantly, do you know a man named Loki?” he added and looked deep into her green eyes as if boring into her soul with his own piercing blue orbs. All he received as an answer was a shake of her head – referring to his second question he supposed. “Good.” Although that didn't mean that she was not a creation of his brother, Thor felt a little bit relieved, which the Kitten sensed too. However, the god wondered why she didn't run from him this time like she had earlier today and assumed that she felt safe because of the guests present, knowing that Thor wouldn't hurt her now. Clever little thing...he thought when he noted the sudden change in her expressions and color of complexion. Her pale skin seemed almost as white as the ribbon of the dress and she put her hand on the glass to steady herself, her gaze blurry and averted from him now. Then she brought up her free hand to touch her head as if she was in pain and it was that exact moment when Thor noted the few small golden scales on her upper arm. Have my eyes missed them when I met her in the bathroom?

“Help...” she whispered, interrupting the god's trail of thoughts before she collapsed in front of him.

#thor x reader #loki x reader #the roll of thunder #fanfic #romance and drama