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valberryy · 4 years

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efficacy. — zhongli

hi!! this started out as an oc fic, but i thought i'd convert it to a reader insert!! i tried to change some of the more "explicit" oc info, so hopefully it's fine now!

pairing: zhongli x gn!reader

content warnings: mentions of blood/injury/death, contemplations of/vaguely attempted murder, slight swearing. if these topics are sensitive to you, i'd recommend clicking away.

[Name]'s life would be nothing without order. They found a certain comfort in routines—working at the bookshop with Jifang in the afternoons, working for their less-than-legal clients once night fell. There was an odd kind of safety they found in it, in completed contracts and crossed-out bounties on a board: as they wiped the blood off their blade at sunrise, they found themself glad they no longer lived at the whims of ice, and snow, and migrating deer.

Tonight was odd, though.

A dagger twirled deftly between their fingers, and [Name] raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the informant sitting before them. A mask and hood alike obscured his face, and he seemed almost to hesitate slightly beneath their burning gaze—a newbie, then, or a fool.

"So?" they asked, their voice like a whip-crack in the silence. "Don't waste my time."

"Apologies," he said, and [Name] had to resist the urge to scoff. At another raised eyebrow the informant dug through his things and passed them an envelope.

Gingerly, they tore it open. "...Wangsheng?" they muttered to themself, before glancing back up. "I trust you have the right compensation?"

A stiff, "Of course," was their only response.

The knife between [Name]'s fingers stilled, before it became embedded in the cheap wood next to their now-client's head.

They stood, gave an almost-mocking flourish of a bow, and walked off without another word.

ii.

[Name] did not glance up from the shelf they were restocking when the footsteps of another customer coming up the stairs came into earshot, only saying a gruff, "Welcome," as they grew closer.

Their only response was a content hum, and they resisted the urge to sigh in relief that this particular patron wasn't a chatterbox.

The minutes trickled by in comfortable silence, as the man—for he was a man, [Name] learned, as soon as they looked up and towards his direction—browsed through their selection. The only sounds to be heard were the blowing of the breeze and the idle chatter of people walking past.

"What a fine collection you have," he said, and turned to face the counter they were seated behind. At the sight of his face they were thrust back into two nights ago—an unpleasant evening in a dingy old house, an envelope in one hand and a cheap knife in the other.

Not now, they thought to themself. Not now, when the blood can seep into the floorboards. The smell will hang for days.

"Thank you," they elected to say in reply. "...Will you be buying?"

He nodded, a thoughtful hand on his chin. "Indeed. The entire stock, actually."

[Name] faltered. "The entire…?" They coughed into a fist, regaining their composure and leaning forward on the counter. "That's going to cost you, sir."

They could almost see the excited sparkles around him as he opened his mouth to speak again, and whatever thoughts they had on how elegant and refined he seemed were thrown out to sea.

"Yes, of course," he began, "there truly is no treasure greater than knowledge, after all—there is a subtle nuance to the art to capturing a moment in time so vividly using just words alone…"

As he continued to ramble, [Name] rested their chin on their palm. The daggers concealed beneath their clothes were cool and heavy on their skin—a constant reminder, a subtle threat.

When his voice trailed off they gave a small, polite smile, standing upright again. "If you have the Mora, there should be nothing stopping you, sir."

The faraway, almost dreamy look in his eyes grew lucid at the mention of Mora. "Ah, of course. Mora," he said, and started patting his pockets searching for his wallet.

When neither of them heard the telltale clinking of coins, they glanced at each other almost exasperatedly.

"My deepest apologies—"

"...No, it's okay—"

The knife still burned against their skin, but they brushed it aside for a moment to grab an unwrapped copy of a book under the desk. They held it out to him, their face blank but the faintest, faintest hints of amusement dancing in their eyes.

He was…interesting. Dead men can rarely boast as much.

"Take it," they said, simply.

His eyes seemed to widen in pleasant surprise. "Are you certain?" he asked, and at [Name]'s casual shrug in the affirmative he gingerly took it from their hands.

"Thank you kindly," he said, raising the package in the air and inspecting it. "I'll have to repay you, for this."

They looked at him again, and thought of the envelope from the other night, thought of how they could almost feel his pulse as their fingers brushed just seconds prior.

"I'll hold you to it, then, sir," they elected to say.

Not now, not now, not now.

iii.

On his lips played a gentle smile that [Name] couldn't help but to distrust.

"There's a restaurant I believe you'd like," he had said. "Allow me to treat you for lunch, as thanks."

Their head had thus begun to swim with backup plans and what-ifs. Did he know? Was this some elaborate ruse to poison them? Surely not, right? They had been so careful up until now, too…

They blinked away their initial surprise and canted their head to the side. "Where?"

At that he went off onto another tangent, just as long as the ramble he had gone on a few days prior. [Name] found themself zoning out, glancing at where they knew his jugular was beneath his collar—or perhaps poison during their impromptu outing would fare better?

No, they scolded themself, there would be witnesses at a restaurant.

"...Don't worry, of course, I'll be sure to bring the Mora this time around," he said with a velvety laugh, and [Name] suddenly found themself back in the present.

They leaned forward on the bookstore counter, an eyebrow raised. "I don't even know your name, Mister Philanthropist."

Another smile graced his features, then—apologetic this time, and he outstretched a hand for them to shake. "My apologies," he said. "I am Zhongli, consultant for Wangsheng Funeral Parlor."

Gingerly, they took his hand in turn. They could feel the rhythmic beat-beat-beat of his pulse under their fingers.

Soon, they thought.

"Call me [Name]," they said, and forced themself to smile.

A few days later, it just so happened that both of their schedules were free.

"Would you still be willing to indulge me?" Zhongli asked—he had been visiting more often lately, and it just so happened that many of his visits happened to be on the days [Name] was there, as well. Jifang seemed curious, and honestly they were as well—did he enjoy their company? Was there something about their short, curt responses that didn't turn him away?

Or maybe he was planning something, too?

Nevertheless, despite their raging paranoia, it wasn't like they were in much of a position to complain. Jifang seemed content at their new, distinguished guest, and [Name] took it as an opportunity to learn more about him for the time being.

"...If you so wish," they said, plucking the book he was holding out of his hands to wrap it for him.

"Only if you do, my friend." Damn him and his deflection. "But it is my firm belief that the generous receive what is due to them, in time."

They hummed idly as they thumbed through the book he had chosen—something or other about the natural beauty of Inazuma—and then glanced back up at him.

And that was how they found themself here, they supposed.

Their table was relatively silent compared to some others, but it was by no means uncomfortable or awkward. With the idle chatter of other people and the clear sky above as a backdrop, the two dined in comforting silence—only the clinking of ceramic against each other to be heard, and to [Name]'s surprise, no traces of poison to be found whatsoever.

As the sun began to dip down the horizon, and all their food had been finished and the bill paid, the two found themselves taking a stroll down by the docks. Zhongli's gaze was trained ahead, while [Name]'s flitted about cautiously.

"Forgive me if I'm prying, however…" he began, "...But you're not a native, are you, my friend?"

A jolt, then, a bolt of white-hot fear running through their limbs. Did he know? Did they give themself away?

"I'm not," they said. "I was born abroad."

A satisfied hum was their response, and when they turned to glance at him, they found the smallest of smiles on his face.

"It's getting late," Zhongli said. "Thank you for today. I'd like to do this again, with you."

[Name] took pause at that. They thought once again of the envelope hidden under their drawers, and the knives hidden under their clothes.

They thought about the way Zhongli rambled on about whatever tale it was the storyteller across the street had spun—how "that indeed is one interpretation of it, but in the original text, the author actually meant to imply that…"

There was a pang of what almost felt like guilt in their chest, at that.

"...And I, you," they said, finally, "...my friend."

iv.

Perhaps stumbling into your supposed assassination target's home half-bloody with an arrow sticking out of your side was not the brightest idea, but in [Name]'s defense were two things: first of all, they had no fucking clue it was Zhongli's in the first place, and secondly, they couldn't exactly keep running from their angry former client with an arrow sticking out of their side.

And thus whatever levels of discretion they normally would have had were thrown out the window as they climbed into Zhongli's in the dead of night, and probably knocked something over in the process (if the new bruises were anything to go by).

(To be fair, they had been calling each other friends for a while now. Is this what friends did? [Name] couldn't be sure—their shady friends weren't exactly the best examples, after all.)

They had just sat up and groaned in pain when Zhongli came in, alarmed first at the noise and then at their sorry state.

"...Sorry," they muttered through gritted teeth. "Thought the place was empty—ow, shit! I can—I can do it mysel—"

"Nonsense," he said, his voice and hands firmer than they had noticed before. "...I still haven't repaid you for your favour to me, after all."

They stopped for a moment, at that. "...I thought the lunch was repayment?"

Somehow, Zhongli found it in himself to laugh, albeit tensely. From where they were sitting, they could see his face a lot more clearly than they had before—the tenseness in his brow, the flecks of gold in his amber irises, the way his nose crinkled at the density of the smell of blood.

"No," he replied, "that was a thank you."

They hummed, before hissing in pain again. "Pull the other way; the arrowhead went in at an angle—"

"Ah, yes, my mistake…"

[Name] continued, "I suppose this is your repayment, then?"

They only barely hid their surprise when he shook his head again.

"I'm doing this because I want to, [Name]."

(Somehow, they liked their name better when hearing it from him. Was it the timbre of his voice? Was it the appeal of hearing your name from a man who was supposed to be long-dead?)

"...I see."

As he sealed the last of the bandages and allowed them to adjust their clothes, he helped them over to what they assumed was a guest room, of sorts. He helped them to take a seat on shaky legs, and placed a firm, almost comforting hand on their shoulder.

"Promise me you'll be more careful, my friend."

They glanced away, their face oddly warm. Wasn't blood loss supposed to do the opposite? "I can't guarantee that, Zhongli."

He followed their gaze over to the floor, and then glanced back at them. "If not that, then I'd at least ask you to…rely on me more," he said, and something about the sincerity in his voice struck them as odd.

They almost wanted to burn that envelope in their drawers when they went home.

[Name] glanced back up at him, forcing themself to face his questioning gaze.

"...I'll try."

But only for you.

+1.

In [Name]'s life, there exists a line they do not dare themself to cross. On one side stands sweet Jifang from the bookshop, the tenacious Traveller and their friends, and the ghosts of their loved ones from Inazuma; and on the other stands themself and their other shadowy benefactors.

The first to tread the line between the two was Zhongli—who, despite the bounty on his head, still managed to maneuvre his way into them somehow being able to call him their friend.

Honestly. The Seven damn him and his stupid charisma, and his stupid voice, and his stupid encyclopedic knowledge of silk flowers.

When [Name] woke up, they were not in their home.

Through their shock they failed to register the bandages wound around their torso, and bit back a yelp of pain as the wound threatened to reopen. In the dark they could see their overwear folded neatly on the bed next to them, and Zhongli asleep, slumped over in a chair.

Suddenly, they were acutely aware of the old bone knife under their clothes—their only souvenir from home, unstained by blood for years, and years, and years.

Would Zhongli be its first, then?

Quietly they stood and dug through their folded clothes until they felt it—the uneven blade, the worn-down grooves near the hilt. They skulked their way over to where he slept, and tried to ignore how painfully peaceful his slow, even breaths were.

His eyes fluttered open just as they pressed the blade to his throat. He seemed too calm, though, not even a twitch of his hands or a hitch in his breath to give away any surprise at all. All he did was place a loose grip on their wrist—a stark contrast to their white-knuckled, shaking hand—and ask,

"What are you doing, [Name]?"

They grit their teeth. "...I'm sorry," they said, "but I have a contract to complete."

Something in Zhongli's eyes softened at that. This was his domain, they realised—contracts, and contingencies, and wordplay.

His grip on their wrist tightened, ever so slightly, and he traced his free hand over their clenched jaw. "But so do we," he replied. "I've still never paid you back, after all."

There was a pause, then—a long, pregnant silence.

"May I kiss you?" Zhongli asked, his voice like a whip-crack in the space between them. [Name] said nothing, but the crease between their brows deepened further.

The dagger embedding itself into the floor and the soft, firm press of their lips against his was enough of an answer.

#genshin impact #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact oneshot #genshin impact zhongli #zhongli x reader #too many thoughts!!!!! not enough braincells #i ammm just . barking #hoo #bee writes

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ratchetsboyfriend · 5 years

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3 for BW Waspinator pls? 😊

You took a second to admire your latest drawing, a trail of flowers curling up your arm and around your bicep. It was by no means the work of a professional, especially since your art supplies were rather limited, but it was still a pretty sight. You weren't really sure where, or when, your soulmate was in conjunction to you but you hoped that they were still able to see your labors of love appear on themself. While it wasn't something you liked to dwell on, being stranded on Earth millions of years before your own time meant that it was very likely you'd never find your cosmic other half.

Regardless, you were dead set on continuing to put effort into your drawings, even if it was only for yourself. Perhaps it was a cold comfort, but as long as you found solace in the familiar process you’d continue to put in the time and effort. Wandering out from your room, you fell in step with Cheetor who was looking over his weapon as he strode down the hallway. “Heading out?”

“Yeah, big bot wants me to run patrol along the southwest border.”

“Mind if I join?” Cheetor shuffled along nervously, clearly thinking about what had happened last time you tagged along with him. “I promise I won’t wander off this time.”

"Yeah…ok.” You grinned at him, hastily ducking back into your room to grab a few essentials before joining him back at the lift. He was already in beast mode and you climbed up onto his back without any prompting. You knew better than to try and argue that you were capable of getting there on your own; it was much faster for you to simply accept the lift and it wasn’t like Cheetor couldn’t take your weight.

As soon as the lift touched down Cheetor took off, mindful of your position on his back as you’d tumbled off before. Within a matter of minutes you two had reached the southwest border and Cheetor slowed to a walk, pausing briefly to allow you to slide to the ground. You kept up a casual stream of chatter as you walked, observng your surroundings without any real urgency. There hadn’t been any activity here in weeks but Optimus wanted regular patrols all along the perimeter regardless, so you’d all spent a shift or two checking it out.

However what should have been a quiet spot of survelliance quickly began to fall apart as what you’d originally assummed to be a pair of distant birds drew closer, the unmistakable silihouttes of Waspinator and Terrorsaur backlit by the sun. You cursed, immediately diving behind a nearby rock formation as Cheetor ducked behind another, already contacting Rhinox to let him know of the approaching intruders. You were quick to take aim at the nearest target, your blaster fire forcing Terrorsaur to swoop down low and shift into his bot mode as he fired back. You crouched behind your cover once more, narrowly dodging his shot, and though you couldn’t see it you knew Cheetor had succesfully hit one of them as he let out an audible cheer. You peered back over your temporary shelter but the sight of a smoking Waspinator, who was rapidly losing altitude, had you throwing yourself back into the dirt with your arms over your head.

A spray of debris hit you as he slammed into the rocks and flipped over, hitting the ground hard and skidding to a stop a few feet away, slumped over like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Now that the threat of being crushed had passed you were quick to sit up, clutching your blaster close even as your arm throbbed in protest. Waspinator had yet to stir but you still didn’t relax, cautiously scooting closer to check if he was unconcious. Had it been any other bot, Maximal or Predacon, you would have assumed that they were seriously wounded and very likely unconcious, but no matter how hard he was hit Waspinator always seemed to bounce back with relative ease.

You were expecting him to move but you still had to bite back a yelp as he abruptly rose up from his sprawled out position, a painful sounding crack ringing out as he snapped his arm back into place. You winced in sympathy, gaze falling to the limb he still had cradled in his other arm and you gasped despite yourself, placing a hand over your mouth too late to muffle the sound. He immediately snapped his head in your direction, scrambling for his weapon only to pause as you made no move to defend yourself. He cocked his head to the side and you could practically feel his optics on you as he followed the trail of blood down your shoulder to the rest of your arm, the bright colors adorning it identical to the ones decorating his.

There was a moment in which the entire world seemed to stand still and you could see him twitch, as if he intended to move towards you, and without really thinking about it you took a half step forward, blaster hanging limply at your side even as you reached forward hesitantly. Then the the sound of Optimus calling your name broke the tension as he swooped in, Rattrap dropping down from his arms and firing off at something out of your line of sight. You pulled back, fingers curling defensively against your chest as he rose up, wings moving spasmodically before settling into a steady beat. Despite everything you knew about the Predacons and their collective desire to wipe out the Maximals, and by extension, you, you turned your back on him, leaving yourself wide open as you took off in the direction of your friends. Your muscles tensed in anticipation of pain but as you drew further away from him without being shot you relaxed, regrouping with the others just in time to watch as Terrorsaur, who had been joined by Scorponok and Tarantulas, retreated.

Distantly you could hear Cheetor begin to panick over the blood still steadily dripping down your arm but you didn’t process a single word of what he was saying, too transfixed on the sight of Waspinator trailing behind his comrades. His flight pattern was even more sporadic than usual, a telltale cloud of smoke following him as he narrowly avoided slamming into a nearby cliff. Briefly he turned back and there was yet another moment in which your eyes locked onto his, but it was over as soon as it began.

Even as Optimus rushed you back to base for medical treatment you were still thinking about Waspinator, mind rushing with different possibilites and what-ifs. After Rhinox had patched you up, and in the process wiped away the ink on your skin, you holed up in your room. Within the privacy of your own quarters you took the time to examine your arm, suprised to find that something had been scribbled on your forearm, the writing nearly illegible. In all the years you had been drawing and writing things for your soulmate you had never once recieved anything in return and the sight of it alone was enough to fill you with joy. Reading the message only further improved your mood and you eventually fell asleep still loosely holding onto your own wrist, bound and determined to see him again

#waspinator #beast wars #transformers #transformers reader insert #transformers imagines #transformers x reader #my writing #soulmate prompt #thats what happens when you dont write for a month :/#nobody look at me this is so BAD

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peachymess · 5 years

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It’s over...

I sat up late last night to finish the two last episodes of the Telltale walking dead video game series. I’ve followed this story for years now.

As a small handful of you night owls saw (from my overdramatic posts), I did indeed finish the game - despite having to sit up way, way later than planned. That last episode sure was a rollercoaster. And they sure got me good.

And... now it’s over. Truly over. The story has reached its conclusion, its end. And... I feel closure. I’ve followed a lot of stories over the years (series, books, games, you name it), and it’s always a strange feeling to see them come to an end. I have some nitpicks with this one, but over all... I’m just so, so grateful. Because it’s been a long time since I’ve felt truly satisfied with an ending that matters to me. Sure, there’s the occasional netflix show I binge, love, and like the ending of, but over all... I’ve felt my misery quota overflow the last few years. Either from bad endings, or poor endings - or just a general over-saturation of misery in fiction.

The walking dead game is one of those stories that mattered to me deeply. Deeply, in my heart; this is one of the stories in my life. One of the stories I consider core stories to me. Up there among the likes of Harry Potter, Game of Thrones and Attack on titan...

So in the wake of GOT’s awful ending, and in the ever-present terror of “what-ifs” about SNK,... I really, really needed the ending I got with The Walking dead last night. Spoilers ahead:

I’ve been conflicted (and scared to finish the game because of this) about how a zombie story can end in general. In my mind, there really is only two ways a zombie story can end: either 1. (least likely) a cure presents itself somehow, and the zombies are all eradicated. The fairytale happy ending. For TWD, I didn’t see this as a contender; it’s too unlikely, and could present the rest of the franchise in the same universe, with complications. Or 2. The characters die.

Because the core of a zombie story is always that the people still alive, keep hustling to get new supplies, move camp when their HQs eventually crumble, etc. A never ending battle against death. You fight until you die. There is no way to stop fighting and live a “happy ending”. It’s basically just cat-and-mouse until they can’t keep it up anymore. There is no other outcome. And thats why, for TWD, I thought it could only ever end either in 1. Clem dying, or 2. The story cutting off at some point with her still alive and still being in this cat-and-mouse world where she’ll eventually go on to have more struggles and journeys (and potentially die) after we leave her. If we left her alive, she’s still at risk of dying later, just... off screen. In other words, not a true happy ending in my eyes. Not to mention, I wanna know her entire journey, and have qualms about just... leaving her at some point to go on to do things and end up dying in a way I won’t know about.

But in the end, I got the better of the two options: we leave her at a safe and relatively happy stage in her journey. She has a HQ that looks to hold up for a while, a group she enjoys, food supplies, and AJ still by her side. And if the only other option is ending the story on her dying, I’ll take this any day, and I’ll appreciate it. I thought I’d be less happy to see her story come to an “end” just because we stop *following* her story - but I’m actually feeling that good, good closure. Probably because they made us believe she died. In a way, that provoked us as players to start the mourning and “letting go” process. We’re letting her go... and then ending on the high note of her *surprise surprise* not being dead after all, and the adrenaline and joy of seeing she’s alive after all, gives us that feeling of things being better now than at the starting point - because we’re grateful that she’s alive instead of viewing it as a default.

... What I’m trying to say is, The Walking dead game is over now, I have seen my video game daughter’s journey to the end - and I appreciate that ending. They say that no parent should have to bury their child - not that “no child should ever die”. Maybe bowing out before we see her end, is how it’s supposed to be. Of course she’ll have to die at some point. But maybe it’s ok for us to let her take those final steps on her own. We’ve seen her go through a lot, and right now, she’s happier than she’s maybe ever been. Leaving her now, we’ll know she’s known a sense of home, a sense of family, and love. If she were to die tomorrow, we can say she lived a life worth living anyways. We’ve seen what we need to see. Now we can let her go. I can end my part of the journey here and be happy with it. I’m so proud of who she’s become, I’m proud of my video daughter, Clementine. And I’m ready to say goodbye.

I love you, Clem. Goodbye. Good luck.

#personal #twd #twdg #telltale the walking dead #telltale twdg #clem #clementine #twdg spoilers

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megumithegreat · 5 years

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I got a single response, but a single response is usually all I need. The series has been going along strong, but it petering out because I’m starving myself of TWDG on purpose to help erase what I know of the series for my livestream tomorrow. All of these are self-indulgent, written purely out of love for Mitch and that HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN AN OPTION. I don’t know how long this series will be or if it will ever end, but uh........enjoy my fellow Mitchentine brethren!

#megumithegreat writing #writing fanfiction #megumithegreat fanfiction #mitchentine #twdg s4 #mitch twdg #twdg clementine

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lovemesomerafael · 5 years

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EL AMOR TODO LO PUEDE Chapter 12: Don’t Call Me A Hero

Read Chapters 1-10 Chapter 11

The paramedics and firefighters were taking forever to even figure out how to get Parker out of the position she’d fallen in, and into a position where they could work on her. Voight was out of his mind. He couldn’t stand the sight of her lying there, bloody and broken, and worse than that was the fact that no one was doing a damn thing. He raged and threatened, got into people’s faces, and generally made a horrific situation worse. Finally, Chief Boden had to back Voight away from the scene and keep him there until, at last, Parker could be moved. Brett and Dawson assessed her injuries as well as they could before determining the least dangerous option for getting Laura onto a gurney so they could get her to Med. The last thing they wanted was to make her injuries worse. Three firefighters followed precisely dictated instructions to slowly and meticulously support her limbs as they turned her. It was excruciating to see that, although she was unconscious, she still grimaced and cried out as she was moved.

Even then, the crime scene unit would not let anyone down the stairs until the smears and drops of blood on every step had been fully photographed. Just from the look of the stairs, Voight and Olinsky knew it was going to be bad. When they were finally allowed to descend, the CSU tech at the bottom of the steps muttered, “Hope you got a strong stomach.”

The scene was appalling. The room appeared to be a mostly-disused basement or storage room, with cinder block walls and a dirt floor. It also appeared to be an abbatoir. All four walls had spatters and smears of what was obviously blood on them, some with drips leading down to stains in the dirt. There were pieces of torn cloth on the floor, some of which also showed bloodstains. A crooked stack of pallets teetered against one wall, broken in places. The blood smears and the angle at which they leaned made it clear that a bleeding body had been thrown against them with some force, more than once. The floor was covered with footprints, skid and drag marks, and large indentations in the dirt that looked like a body had fallen hard, or been thrown there. Several boxes which appeared to have once been stacked were scattered across the floor, many crushed and smeared with blood.

And there was a body. A man, clothes torn and covered with blood, lay on his back on the dirt floor. His cause of death wasn’t immediately apparent, although his throat appeared to be particularly bloody.

Taken together, the grisly scene told a tale of a desperate fight to the death which had gone on for quite some time. The man had been the loser. Voight went to him and bent down, looking at the dead man’s neck. There were deep, bloody gashes in his throat, and bruising that looked… wrong. The gashes – four on the left and one on the right – had to have been made by fingernails dug with ferocious tenacity into his flesh. His throat looked somehow stretched out, disfigured in a way Voight couldn’t make sense of. The guy’s eyes were open, staring. Voight saw, when he shined his flashlight into them, that they had the telltale pinpoint spots of bleeding that happened with a strangling. What the hell had Parker had to do?

Halstead came down the stairs and stopped, mouth agape. “Fuck me,” he gasped.

“Yeah. I don’t even want to think about what happened down here. They got Parker in the ambo yet?” Voight’s gravelly voice was grave.

“Not yet. She’s got a collapsed lung, chest filled with blood. They have to put a chest tube in. Sarge, it’s rough. They don’t know if she’s gonna make it.”

It was all Voight could do not to kick the corpse. As he was spitting a string of expletives, they heard a commotion outside with raised voices and clear sounds of a scuffle.

“Go,” Voight said, pointing Halstead to the stairs.

He took the stairs two at a time, reaching the door just as Mouse broke free from the firefighters restraining him. He ran straight into Jay, who wrestled him to the ground.

“Stop! Just stop!”

“Screw you, Jay, I need to see what he did to her!”

“Greg, you don’t wanna go down there,” Halstead said, struggling to keep Mouse from breaking his hold on him.

“Get off me!”

“Mouse, no. Trust me, man, you do not want that room in your head. You don’t.”

“What the hell happened? How did she –“

“Greg, listen to me. I need you to listen to me right now. Can you do that?”

“Yeah, yeah. Let me up, man.”

“Not before you swear to me – swear to me – that you will take care of Laura right now. Let us deal with this. Because that is what you need to do right now. That’s what she needs. OK?”

“Yeah, OK. I got it.”

“Swear to me.”

“Yeah. I swear.”

“OK, man. Go take care of your girl.”

*****

The waiting room at Chicago Med’s ER was far too small for the number of first responders in it. It was definitely too small for Mouse. He was losing his mind not being able to do anything, pacing and pulling his hands through his hair, bouncing on the balls of his feet and grinding his teeth. It was painful to watch him try to sit, only to jump up almost immediately, unable to stay still. The waiting lasted forever. In fact, it was well into the afternoon before Ethan Choi came out from the treatment area to the waiting room.

When he did, almost the entire room rose and tried to crowd around him. Halstead pushed past the other first responders to Ethan, making a path for Mouse.

Dr. Choi knew Halstead and Mouse fairly well, and he knew families of trauma patients. Mouse looked like he was going to be as much of a challenge as the patient herself, with all of her horrific injuries.

“How is she? Can I see her?” Mouse was wild-eyed, agitated.

“One thing at a time. Let’s start with the good news. Right now, she’s stable. She has a number of injuries I’m worried about, ones that can cause her serious problems if they go south. But if they don’t, if this is as bad as it gets, she should survive.”

“That’s too many fucking ‘ifs’, brother.”

“I know, Mouse, believe me, I know. But that’s where we are.”

“And that’s the good news?” Mouse was fairly shrieking.

“One more piece of good news. She wasn’t raped.”

The room gave a collective sigh of relief.

“But I’m afraid that’s it for good news. As you know, she has multiple, serious injuries. She has a lot of fractures. I could list them for you, but I warn you, it’s a long list. We treated the ones we can, but the skull and rib fractures have to heal on their own. We were able to reduce the dislocated shoulder; that’ll heal. We’ve just got her in a sling to keep her comfortable. She has some bleeding into her brain, which we’re watching very closely. If it gets worse, we may need to operate. Same for her internal injuries. She’s bleeding internally which, again, if it gets worse could mean surgery. The hemothorax is stable with the chest tube; her lung’s reinflated and she’s breathing easy, O2 sats look good. There’s not much we can do about her teeth right now, but we wouldn’t be able to anyway, because her jaw’s broken in two places. We’ve had to wire it.”

“I want to see her.”

Ethan frowned and pursed his lips. “I know you do. But it might be best to let her rest for now. We’re taking the best care –“

“Choi, if I have to bust in there, then that’s what I’m gonna do. I need to see Laura.”

Everything about Mouse’s demeanor said that he would physically fight his way into Laura’s room if he had to.

Jay put a hand on Mouse’s shoulder and said, “Ethan, man, you need to let him in. I know she’d want to see him, and you can see he needs to see her. Just… please.”

“All right,” Ethan sighed. He looked hard at Mouse. “But we’re gonna do this my way, you understand? I don’t want to pull rank on you, but I will if I have to. Are we clear?”

“We’re clear. Just let me see her.”

Ethan walked Mouse through the double doors between the waiting room and the treatment area of the ER. They walked a short distance before he pulled Mouse out of the middle of the hallway to stand next to the wall outside one of the treatment rooms.

“Listen, I need to prepare you for what you’re going to see.”

“I saw her at the scene, I know how bad it is.”

“No, Mouse, you don’t. Injuries from a beating get worse before they get better. When she came in last night, her bruises had barely started to show and the swelling wasn’t fully developed. You’re not gonna recognize your girlfriend.”

Mouse blanched and swore under his breath.

“She has splints on both hands; three on the left and one on the right. She has fractures of her left wrist and forearm, so that’s casted, and her left leg is going to be in traction for a while before we can cast it. Her jaw’s wired shut. It’s bad, Mouse. You need to be prepared.”

“If she has to take it, so do I. I won’t lose it, I swear. I just need to be with Laura.” Mouse’s voice broke as he looked desperately at Ethan.

Ethan had been right. Mouse would never have believed that was Laura if he hadn’t seen her at the scene. Her left eye was swollen shut and her right nearly so. Bruises were criss-crossed with cuts on her face and the parts of her he could see between the hospital gown and casts. Worst, her mouth was a swollen, bloody mess, with several of her teeth missing and shiny silver wire just visible between her swollen, split lips.

Mouse tiptoed to the edge of her bed, trying to see anywhere on her body where he could safely touch her. He settled for kneeling next to the bed and putting a hand on her right upper arm, above the sling holding her previously-dislocated shoulder in place.

Unbelievably, she was awake. She peered at him through the slit between the bruised swelling of her left eye. She made a horrible wheezing sound which he could only guess might be crying.

“Mmmm shrrry… Mmmm shrrry…”

Could it be possible that she was trying to apologize? To him? What the hell for?

“Hey, hey… I’m right here. It’s gonna be OK. I got you…” Mouse no longer bothered to hold back his tears. He laid his head down on the bed next to her, putting the hand that wasn’t holding her arm softly onto her stomach. Both of them silently cried, unable to communicate, but at least finally able to be together.

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

All Laura wanted to do was disappear. She actually wished the swelling wasn’t receding, because it had hidden her eyes from the world. Every second she wasn’t distracted with something happening that required her direct attention, she was back in that bloody cellar, flailing ineffectually at a man determined to kill her while he hit, kicked, and threw her against things at will. The helplessness she’d felt would haunt her for the rest of her life.

The hellish, unspeakable thing she’d been forced to do to save her own life filled her mind. She could not rid herself of the feeling of that man’s throat in her hand and the ghastly, sickening feeling of something internal tearing as she twisted and pulled for her life. She could hear his choking, gurgling screams. She felt as though her right hand was a hideous, bloody claw, even when she was looking directly at her clean skin and nails with the bright white brace on the middle finger.

The guilt and shame she felt were overwhelming. But the very worst part was that only Mouse would allow her to feel them. Everyone who loved her, everyone who cared about her, including her parents and brothers, told her what a good thing it was that she’d killed the man who attacked her and all those other women. They called her horrible names like ‘brave’ and ‘hero’. They said obscene things like ‘good for you’ and ‘you go, girl’. They had absolutely no idea what they were saying. She tried desperately to correct them, to make them stop, but between their well-meaning cheerfulness and her profoundly frustrating inability to talk, she felt trapped. Again. Still.

But Mouse understood. He’d shocked everyone, himself most of all, by remaining entirely stable and present despite the similarities between what had happened to him and what had happened to Laura. He was there with her, and for her, every moment, showering her with love and care. He’d actually taken a leave of absence from his job to take care of her. And he could care for her in a way that few others could, because he understood what it was to be forced to kill someone.

It wasn’t a matter of pride. It wasn’t a good thing. It was a filthy stain that couldn’t be washed clean no matter how honorable or necessary the cause. As a soldier, he’d known that he might be called upon to kill. But he understood that Laura, as a nurse whose entire focus had been to heal people, had never prepared for this. Cops sometimes had to kill, but that was rare and she’d been a cop for such a short time that she’d never seriously had to consider the possibility. He got it. And he would carry her through this if he could.

The first thing he’d done was simply to stay with her, through the long day and night following her attack. He found ways to touch her without hurting her, soothing her with his presence and closeness as much as her wretched condition would allow. The second had been to get her a computer tablet, with a full keyboard plus a large library of emojis, so that she could communicate. She had done what she could to express her profound gratitude, given the severe limitations on her ability to even hold his hand and the impossibility of making any discernable facial expressions. She wasn’t surprised to see that Mouse, such a good listener and friend, had seen that the ability to communicate was her greatest need at the moment.

Her second greatest need was something Ethan Choi hadn’t anticipated. Almost the first thing she laboriously typed with one finger of her right hand when Mouse gave her the tablet was that she didn’t want the narcotics she was being given to keep her as comfortable as possible. She was terrified of going back to her old self, a slave to addiction wreaking destruction on everything good in her life. She simply would not accept that receiving necessary medication and feeding an addiction were not the same thing. Fiercely stubborn and determined to control something at this moment in her life, Laura had been relentless in refusing narcotics.

Finally, in desperation, Ethan had done something he seriously questioned, but felt coerced into trying. He asked Will Halstead for help.

“You hate her, she hates you. I get that. I get why. But listen, she is going to die if she tries to do this without pain meds. You know that. She can’t start to heal if she’s using all her energy to fight pain. And nobody can get through to her. Please. I’m down to my last option here.”

Will wasn’t the least bit happy about what he was being asked to do. He understood the problem and he understood that something had to give if she was to survive. But his antipathy for Laura Parker ran so deep he actually had trouble caring whether she lived or died. Still, in the end, he was a doctor. If a patient - even nasty, mouthy, weak Laura Parker – needed help, he had to help. It was that simple.

Unsurprisingly, the first thing she’d typed when he’d entered her room was “GTFO.”

“Yeah, I’d like to, believe me. But Ethan asked me to come in and talk to you, and that’s what I’m gonna do.”

She shook her head vehemently and made a strangled noise that was clearly her shouting at him to leave her room.

“Ok, look. Just let me say what I have to say and I’ll get out. I won’t come in here again, I swear. Just hear me out.”

She looked away from him and blew a snort of air from her nose.

“You and I are never going to agree about addiction. We both know that. And we’re never going to be friends. But I think we can agree about one thing, and that is that these injuries you have? They hurt like a motherfucker. Right?”

She shrugged, still not looking at him.

“You were a nurse. You know how destructive pain can be. Can we agree on that?”

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t disagree.

“You wanna walk out of here?”

She turned to him, but was unable to move her swollen face to give him the look of disgust she tried to. Instead, she typed a middle finger emoji.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Well, there’s a long road between here and there. Agreed?”

She reluctantly nodded, staring down at her sheets rather than looking at him.

“You want to crawl down that road, or you want to ride? Your call. You refuse medication that you know you need, and you’re choosing to make your recovery twice as hard as it needs to be. And let’s be straight – it’s gonna be a bitch no matter how you slice it.”

Will dropped his voice and squatted down at the side of her bed so that their faces were closer. “So what I’m here to say is, you know how I feel about… the things that happened. But the whole reason I’m the one Ethan sent is because even I am telling you that you should let him give you whatever it takes to control your pain. And if I’m telling you to take narcotics…”

She flicked her eyes up to his and slowly, reluctantly, gave a slight nod.

“Can I tell Ethan you’ll let him be the doctor?”

She typed another middle finger emoji.

He grinned, the first time he’d grinned at something she’d said in several years. “I’ll take that as another yes.”

He started to get up, but she made a noise that stopped him. When she had his attention, she typed, “Thanks.”

He was surprised. She hadn’t said anything nice to him since – he couldn’t even remember the last time. For just a moment, he was able to see her as a gravely wounded patient who had been a friend at one time. “You take care of yourself, OK?”

She nodded. He lightly touched the splinted fingers of her left hand. In a soft, kind voice, he said, “I was always a better guitar player than you, but I’ll look forward to seeing you playing again. Not hearing you, you know, but…”

She typed another middle finger emoji. He smiled and left the room.

#law & order svu #law & order: special victims unit #rafael barba #raul esparza #chicago pd mouse #chicago pd #chicago fire #chicago med #chicago pd halstead #samuel c hunt

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eropandasennin · 5 years

Text

Ya know, I’ve been thinking a lot about how paranoid I’ve gotten about spoilers ever since Endgame came out and I had to wait an entire week before I saw it and how DESPERATELY I avoided ANYTHING related to it or Marvel in general.

It’s seriously weird how OBSESSED I sometimes seem to be now about spoilers and how discovering one thing (which might not even technically BE a spoiler) about something creates this feeling of ‘’well, no I can’t enjoy the entire thing unspoiled anymore and therefore decreasing my overall enjoyment of it.’’

That’s fuckin’ insane right? Like how would I even be able to measure my enjoyment of something both spoiled and unspoiled for the first time AT THE SAME TIME? Am I Schrodinger’s Dweeb? The simple answer is that I can’t! No one can yet we hold on to the idea that if something is (accidently) spoiled (big or small) we somehow lose the ability to still enjoy the thing or only enjoy it to a lesser extent, which we can’t prove.

What makes it even funnier is that a study showed that a group of people that were given a few novels (mystery novels to be more precise) to read first got a summary (which spoiled the story) as opposed to another group which didn’t and guess what? The ones that were spoiled actually enjoyed the books MORE than the other group and only with one book was it the other way around (though the results were very close on that one). And this test was replicated successfully.

I had a similar experience with Telltale’s The Walking Dead Season 1 where the ending was accidentally spoiled for me so I didn’t touch that game for YEARS thinking I could not really enjoy the story anymore. And when I finally decided to continue the game? Holy mother of god, did I fuckin’ enjoy the story or what! Would I have enjoyed it more unspoiled? I can never know so why bother worrying about it huh?

What I’m trying to convey here with my ramblings is that yes, spoilers suck and they make you feel like you were robbed of something, that the experience is now lesser because of it and avoiding them IS still the best course of action. But I think, in some way, they can’t ‘’ruin’’ the experience, only alter it. It’s easy to worry, constantly thinking about the ‘’what ifs’’ but...that’s what they are. What ifs. You can’t know how your first experience would be with or without something spoiled at the same time. In the end all you have is YOUR experience. Two people could watch a movie for the first time and STILL have totally different experiences because humans are intrinsically different from each other to begin with! So what I think you should take from this is:

- Spoilers don’t ‘’ruin’’ an experience perse, only alter it.

- Everyone’s experience is unique and different to begin with and there is no ‘’perfect’’ experience..

- Avoiding spoilers is still the best thing to do but don’t get too caught up on it in this modern age of internet fandoms and social media.

- Don’t post spoilers on purpose and tag them properly even if you think spoilers don’t ruin anything. Be nice to your fellow dweebs.

Anyway, thanks for hearing me vent. I just wanted to get this off my chest after a LONG day of brainkilling work (which doesn’t help me with my thoughts to begin with). I’m gonna watch Loud House and then hit the hay. Got another long day of work tomorrow hahaha...I need another job...Oh and yes, most of this I got from Super Eyepatch Wolf on Youtube. Go check him out. He does videos on anime, video games, wrestling and a few one shots as well. See you later paisanos!

#panda's thoughts #I hope this is helpful to someone else as well #once again thanks for listening!

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