its just beneath the skin


The Hospital | Part 11

Dedicated to moekumo, who is in cahoots with me with this AU.

Belated Happy Birthday Kumo! I’m sorry I’m late T^T this is part ½ of your gift and part two is prooobably gonna take a little while.



Summary: Kuroo meets you amidst the hustle and bustle of the campus bar and for the first time in centuries he becomes intrigued || prequel to Monsters
Pairing: Kuroo x Reader
Rating: T (Warning: mentions of blood)
Word Count:

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long. I’m horrible, hopefully this is okay? Please let me know what you think. 

Originally posted by alvsjo

Keep reading

fic: peace of the grave

summary: After the death of Bonacieux, d'Artagnan gives Constance the space to breathe, and endures his own ghosts in the process.

warnings: pretty damn big spoilers for season 2, obviously.

sister fic to mithlomi’s beautiful torrentshows d'Artagnan’s reaction to Bonacieux’s death. Not only did we think that d'Artagnan’s grown up enough by now to give Constance time, but I loved the suggestion from hippity-hoppity-brigade’s suggestion that d'Artagnan would be more than a little unnerved by Bonacieux’s death-curse… Plus I want to see d'Artagnan become more of a leader in the garrison, so that happened too.

For the usual crew - thefemalemusketeer, mithlomi, sweetlyfez, sensoryinputpatterns, why-this-kolaveri-machi and hippity-hoppity-brigade. The latter two I blame for the brief Porthagnan insurgence.

Heexpected relief. He expected joy, celebration, tears of relief – for himself,for Constance, for their love that is finally, finally free. He expected everything good.

 He didn’t expect this.


“You let her go?” Aramis’ voice is disbelieving. “Alone?”

D’Artagnan is practicing against a shadow, twisting his sword in his hand until it becomes molten light. Step – step back, off to the side, parry, thrust, twist again. There is blood trickling down his arm, and the burgeoning beginnings of a bruise at his eye. He has sparred with Athos until the older man refused to strike again; he has wrestled with Porthos until his bones are limp and his friend stated outright that he would not lay another hand on him; now he practices. He practices until his hands are raw.

“She needs this time,” he mutters. His eyes are fixed dead-ahead, on his imaginary opponent. “You don’t understand Aramis. I can’t – I can’t be with her right now, I can’t be there piling all my…my expectation on her. I’ve done that enough. She needs time to be a widow, not just my lover. She needs that much.”

“No, it’s the right thing to do,” the older man murmurs, and then grins, quick-silver, back at their friends. “It’s just not what I was expecting from you.”

His words are paternal, almost proud. And yes, maybe d’Artagnan has grown. Grown a little more, enough to see that willing and wanting and loving are not enough; that maybe standing back and letting go are as equal signs of love as pursuit and eagerness and daring deeds. He knew that. Knew that that moment in the inn – Constance’s voice gentle and tentative, I’m glad we can talk like this; as friends, and he nodded, and accepted that in his heart; that friendship hurt but loosing her hurt more, and if she wanted nothing more he would be glad to give her that much, and if she wanted his heart he would do nothing but wait, hands outstretched, ready for her to take it.

Sometimes pursuit is not enough.

He’s glad he knows that now. Still, there is a part of him that mourns that stupid Gascon farmboy who thought he could grasp the moon by doing nothing more than taking it, and all the pain he endured – and caused, never forget that – to find out the truth.

Constance needs her time. She has lived with the man for some five years before d’Artagnan ever crossed her way; it would be an empty woman who felt nothing for that. She needs space to feel this, and d’Artagnan…d’Artagnan can do nothing but give her that.

For now, all he can do is practice. Thrust, parry, step back, dance to the side, parry again…

He twists, turns, slices his sword forward; and just as his blade pierces where the dueller’s heart would be, he blinks; and his imaginary opponent is wearing Bonacieux’s face.

The sword falls from his grasp. He turns; staggers; wretches.

Keep reading

  • Ghost!Obi-Wan: I think she's *Rey* trying to get into his mind again. *amused*
  • Ghost!Padmé: Is that wise?
  • Ghost!Anakin: One way to find out, let's use our Force Ghost power to look into his mind too.
  • [Inside Kylo's mind]: The secret side of me, I never let you see, I keep it caged, But I can't control it, So stay away from me, The beast is ugly, I feel the rage, And I just can't hold it. It's scratching on the walls, In the closet, in the halls, It comes awake, And I can't control it, Hiding under the bed, In my body, in my head, Why won't somebody come and save me from this?, Make it end! I feel it deep within, It's just beneath the skin, I must confess that I feel like a monster, I hate what I've become, The nightmare's just begun, I must confess that I feel like a monster, I, I feel like a monster, I, I feel like a monster...
  • Rey: WTF!? ∑(;°Д°)
  • Ghost!Obi-Wan: Σ(=_=;)
  • Ghost!Padmé: Σ(=_=;)
  • Ghost!Anakin: Ah, I kinda miss that good ol' song...