#and the last two days ive been feeling vaguely nauseous on and off for no reason

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

i can't. fucking. god. i can't anymore

[boxdyeblonde]

Safety

A/N: this is the first fic ive posted on tumblr.... so we’ll see how this goes, lol. i wrote this to cope with some stuff and was honestly thinking about how i need soft but protective Din in my life

Warnings: TW for mentions and vague descriptions of sexual assault, plus consensual nsfw moments

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader (i think i kept this gender neutral until the last little bit)

Word count: Just under 2.9k

---

You sat alone in the back of the Razor Crest, blanket draped around your shoulders. It was one of those days again. You couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened, how even though you said no, and pushed away, no one ever listened. All of your past lovers had been greedy. Greedy for you, or at least the physical side of you. It made you sick to even think about.

The ship touched down and you heard some shuffling from the cockpit, along with the child’s babbling and murmur from Din in response. Din walked back towards you, the child in his arms. You held yourself, still feeling uncomfortable and somewhat nauseous from your thoughts.

“Hey,” Din says, looking at you, “Are you alright? You’re not looking too well.” You could hear the concern in his voice, and could picture it written across his face, the face that you had seen only once before. You look up at him, slowly pulling yourself out of your own head.

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” you mutter out, “Yeah, I’m not feeling the best today.” You looked at him nervously as he tilted his head.

“Okay, well, I’m going to go into town with the kid. If you’re up for it you can come with,” he said, the concern in his voice mixed with a hopeful tone. While you didn’t necessarily want to be alone, you weren’t sure that you had the energy or focus to go out with them. You didn’t want to be a burden if a fight broke out, you typically could hold your own, even in a sparring match against Din, but you were too distracted today to be of any help.

You shook your head, “I think I’ll stay here,” you say, offering Din a weak smile, “I’m going to go lie down for a while.” You stand up, walking towards the cot in the back of the ship.  As you near him he gently grabs your arm. You glance up at him.

“We won’t be gone long,” he says looking down at you. “If you need anything you know how to reach me.” You nod, placing your hand on the breastplate of his beskar.

“Thank you,” you say, “Be safe out there.” You reach over to the child’s head and give it a soft pat. Din nods, and opens the ship’s hatch.  You walk over to the cot and sit down, watching him leave.

After Din has left you lay down staring at the wall, your thoughts slowly consuming you again. Most days you were fine, repressing the feelings for long periods of time, but when they resurfaced, they came all at once, and more intense than before. You felt hopeless at times, at others you dirty or unclean, and sometimes you felt as if you wouldn’t be able to have a successful relationship with anyone ever again. Even in the few times a relationship between you and someone else had started to bud, the minute anything more than just “romantic” happened, you immediately went on edge, and would end things immediately after.

You felt extremely relaxed around Din, though. The two of you had expressed the way you felt to each other a few months ago, and he knew all too well about your past. Din had helped you out of a night out that had gone bad. He wasn’t typically one to get involved in other’s problems but he couldn’t just walk away when he heard your cries for help from around the corner of the cantina.

—

He wouldn’t let go of you, no matter how much you struggled. You managed to get a solid right hook in but he was a lot stronger than you, and you hadn’t had a lot of fighting experience yet.

But then Din appeared, shrouded in beskar and accompanied by a small green child, coming to your rescue with a swift sucker punch. He and your attacker continued to throw punches until the Mandalorian had landed a hard uppercut, knocking the man out cold.

By now you were seated on the ground, having slowly slid down the outside wall of the cantina still in shock from everything that had happened. The Mandalorian walked over to you, offering his hand.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice was smooth despite the raspy edge that his helmet’s modulator created. You were taken aback, but reached for his hand anyway. As he pulled you up to your feet you could see the child’s face peak over the pram he was in. Nodding slowly you muttered out a confirmation.

“Do you have somewhere safe to go?” The Mandalorian asked, looking down at you. He had a gut feeling that you were someone he could trust, as did you. You shook your head no and looked down. “I have a space on my ship where you can stay for the night.”

You nodded, “Okay… Thank you,” you murmured out.

He led you back to his ship, where he set you up with his cot and a blanket or two.

“There’s only one bed here?” You said, your anxiety beginning to spike.

“I know,” he said, “I’ll sleep in the cockpit, don't worry. The bed is yours for the night. Get some rest.” You sighed in relief shoulders beginning to relax.

As the Mandalorian put the kid down for bed, you stayed on alert until he was on his way to the cockpit.

“Hey…,” You say quietly, feeling nervous as he turns his head to look at you. “Um.. Thanks…”

“Din,” he says, “you can call me Din.”

“Thank you, Din.” He nods back at you before heading up into the cockpit.

—

You were glad that the one night you were supposed to stay turned into a week, which soon turned into a month, and so on. You truly felt the safest with him, even when you were shooting up stormtroopers, tracking down bounties, and settling fights outside of cantinas.

A few tears slipped down your face as you thought about what might’ve happened if he hadn’t been there that night. The thought causing your stomach to drop.

The door to the ship slowly hissed, lowering itself, your anxiety spiked until you heard the little laugh of the child. The time had flown by, you were too lost in your memories to notice.

After Din had entered the ship, he set the child down in its pram, and walked back over to you. Leaning one arm against the door frame he spoke up, “How are you feeling?”

You wiped you face and sat up, sniffing slightly. “Better,” you said, voice cracking.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, a pang of sadness and concern running though him. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, taking your hand.

You shook your head, “It’s just the usual… can’t shake the memories.” He nodded.

“Come here,” he says, extending out his arms. As you slowly meld against his body you can’t hold back the tears.

"I just want to be okay again,” you say in between sobs. His heart aches, hearing you sob into the crook of his neck, feeling your body shake in his arms. He desperately wanted to make all of your pain and suffering go away, and he was willing to do anything it would take.

“Hey,” he cooed, “It’s okay, cyar’ika. I’m here, and I will always protect you.” He shifted you onto his lap as he cradled you against his body. You sat there in his arms, crying until you ran out of tears.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss against your temple.

—

Two weeks had passed, and you were finally feeling better. You were onto another planet with Din and the child, a less busy planet, where the three of you could lay low for a week or two.

Din peeled off his beskar, leaving only his underclothes and his helmet. He stretched his arms over his head, unaware of your staring as his shirt slowly rose above his waistband. You desperately wanted to feel the warmth of his skin against yours. You came out of your trance when he winced slightly, lowering his arms, and rubbing his neck and shoulder letting out a sigh.

“Come over here,” you say, seated in the middle of the bed, patting the space in front of you. He walks over and sits down on the edge of the bed, looking back at you. “Turn around,” you coo, shifting behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. If it were anyone else he wouldn’t have complied but he trusted you. As you knelt behind him you began to rub small circles into his shoulders, kneading at the tight muscles. He let out a groan that caught you by surprise.

“You’re so tense, love… When is the last time you stretched?”

He chuckled slightly, “Not for a while.”

“Din…,” you sigh, shaking your head. This man needed to take better care of himself, you thought to yourself.

As you worked your way around his shoulders and neck, diffusing each knot you found, he let out small moans of relief.

It started to get to you. You started to wonder if those were the very same sounds he would make if you kissed him, if you ran your hands over the rest of his body.

You kissed his shoulder, signaling that you were done massaging, as you snaked around to the front of his body, straddling him and hanging your arms around his neck. He looked up at you, shocked. He figured that it would take you a long time to get truly comfortable with him and with your past before you would do something this intimate with him.

“Cyar’ika…” He says, trailing off, his hands gravitating to your hips. You took a deep breath, knowing those were his hands on your body and no one else’s, knowing that he only ever held you with kindness and love.

Your hands moved up to his helmet. “Can I?” You asked. You never asked, not once over the year you had spent with him, never forcing or begging him to show his face.

—

The first time you had seen his face, you had been shot.  During a long fight with some Imperial troops, one of the sharpshooters had grazed your side with a blaster shot. You managed to keep shooting from your cover, but you couldn’t go anywhere.

After Din had finally taken care of the rest, he came running back to you. The fear coursing though his body as he saw you holding your side in pain.

Kneeling down next to you he pulled your hand away from the wound. Thankfully it wasn’t too bad.

“This is gonna be uncomfortable,” he said. Not wanting to put you in any more pain, but needing to get you back to the ship, he slipped his arms under you and picked you up. You groaned in discomfort.

When he got you back to the ship he treated your wound. Taking off his gloves he kneeled at your side and applied bacta, bandaging you up after.

“Don’t do that again,” he said, still kneeling next to you.

“What? Take out half the platoon for you?” You asked, somewhat defensive, while wincing in pain.

“No, get hurt…” he says.

“This lifestyle can’t support that promise,” you say, chuckling slightly and holding your side.

“I just— I can’t—” he starts, looking down and searching for the words to say. He reaches up to his helmet, slowly pulling it off. Your eyes widen with shock, you had never seen Din without his helmet.

“Din…” You say, involuntarily reaching a hand up to caress his face.

“I love you,” he states abruptly. His eyes were somewhat glossy from all of his pent up emotions. Fear, anger, guilt, concern, and love. “I just want you to be okay.” He looks down, afraid of your reply while simultaneously hiding his emotions so clearly splayed across his face.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back. Guiding his face back up to yours, and looking into his dark brown eyes.

—

Din nodded to you, at a loss for words. How could he ever say no to you? Especially while you sat on top of him, gazing down upon him. You were like an ethereal being looking down upon him from the heavens, and he was blessed by your presence alone.

You slowly lift his helmet off, and set it down on the bed next to you. One hand reaching up to caress his cheek, the other moving to tangle into his hair.

“I love you,” you say, stroking your fingers though his soft curls. Feeling your body pressed up against his, you yearned for more. The desire you felt inside hadn’t been around for years, but somehow it was roaring back to life in this moment. You pushed your hips down against him slightly, leaning in to plant a kiss on his lips.

He sighed against your lips, running one of his hands up your back, pulling your bodies closer. One of your hands slowly slid down to land firmly on his chest, while the other cupped the back of his neck. You could feel the firm muscles of his chest, and the warmth of his body radiating through his shirt. You began a trail of smaller kisses down his neck, wanting to explore more of his body, taking more of his shirt into your fists.

His hands moved the the hem of your shirt, “Is this okay?” He asked, wanting to make sure that you were comfortable with the pace of things. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he were to make you feel unsafe like those before him.

After you nod in response he pulls your shirt over your head, removing his immediately after. You sat back for a moment, taking in his body. You had never seen this much of him, the most you ever saw of him was when you were bandaging up his body after some quarrel.

Finger skimming along his chest, you notice every scar, leaving soft kisses amongst a few. Din reaches over, setting his helmet on the ground before scooping you up and laying you down on the bed.

He hovers over you. Nervousness, love, concern, and desire were all visible in his face. You reached up and stroked his cheek.

“The moment you feel uncomfortable please tell me,” he said, love and concern washing over his features. You nodded.

“I will.”

He slowly planted a kiss on your lips, stroking your hair out of your face simultaneously.  Your hands explored the muscles of his torso. He was fit. And while you weren't exactly surprised, it was different experiencing his body rather than simply imagining how it looked under all that beskar. Your hands moved to his back, pulling him closer to your own body, as he slides one of his hands down your side. He looks into your eyes as he slowly pulls back, grabbing the waistband of your pants. He shimmies them off of you, reading your face for any signals that he might be overstepping.

Placing a few kisses along your chest and stomach, he works his way down to the mess that you’ve become in your desire for him. He plants a few more kisses along your hips and inner thigh.

“Are you sure about this?” He inquires, double checking that this is what you wanted.

“Please Din,” you ask, running a hand through his hair.

And before you know it, his tongue is moving in magical ways that you hadn’t felt before. You couldn’t help from running his soft curls between your fingers and intermittently tugging when he would pass over your clit.

You moaned out his name and desire surged through his body, pulling you down closer to him, his shoulders resting underneath your thighs. He was relentless. And all you could do is tremble beneath him, letting out breathy moans that he so desperately wanted to hear.

He pulled back, replacing where his mouth had been with his hand, slowly working over your clit. He shifted back up to kiss you and you could taste yourself on his lips.

“I’m close,” you whisper, cupping his cheek and looking into his eyes. You couldn’t help it but tears were welling up in your eyes, you were so overwhelmed. He brushed his thumb over your cheek.

“Let go, cyar’ika,” he says, voice dripping like honey. Planting a kiss below your ear he nips at the skin, and you can’t hold back any longer. The expertise of his hands had sent hot shock waves through your body and your entire body tensed until the waves slowly resided.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. A few tears spilled down your face, concern racking his body. “What’s wrong?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Nothing is wrong, my love,” you say, taking his face in your hands. “I am just so grateful for you.” His body immediately relaxed.

He pulled you up against his chest, the warmth of his body comforting you as you pressed a kiss beneath his collar bone. You really did feel the safest with him. And that’s all he wanted; For you to be safe and loved.

[kitten-anarchy]

frenemies (TUA Fanfic)

TUA | BAD THINGS HAPPEN BINGO

PROMPT: ENEMY TURNED CARETAKER

(ao3 link)

TWS: emetophobia (vomiting), the handler is kind of creepy (not sexually!! PSA: if i see anyone tag this as ship, i’m gonna break your kneecaps :D) = Five wakes to a pounding, ear-splitting headache.

His vision is blurry, black spots dancing in his vision, and he can barely keep himself from throwing up. Instinctively, his hands go to wipe his nose, expecting the usual trail of blood that comes with overusing his powers.  His hands come back dry - not even a fleck of dried blood on them.

Did I get kidnapped?

He bites back a groan of annoyance. Of course. Five is not unfamiliar with the infamous Hargreeves family luck. It's his own fault for letting his guard down; after getting stranded for forty-five years and stopping two apocalypses, he really should know better then to expect one day off.

Rubbing his aching head, Five takes stock of the room. It's a simple thing, four smooth stone walls with only a single door across from where he's sitting. Annoyingly enough, he's attached to a monitor and an IV. Normally, Five wouldn't think twice about removing the wires and jumping out, but just the thought of it makes his head spin.

He'll have to suck it up. You're fifty-eight years old, Five. You can handle a little pain. Get over yourself.

Five swings his legs off the bed, shivering slightly as his bare feet touch the cold concrete flooring. The freezing air easily penetrates the thin white hospital gown. He slowly makes his way towards the wooden door. It's annoying, feeling this weak and vulnerable. It doesn't help that he doesn't have access to his powers. At the very least, he can take comfort in the fact that his siblings aren't-

His siblings.

Fuck, where are his siblings? Are they in here with him? Shit. Shit.

Don't panic, Five, Dolores would say. Take a deep breath. I'm sure they're fine.

Right, right. They're thirty years old, and they can hold their own in a fight. They'll be fine.

(They're thirty years old, and they can hold their own in a fight, but that didn't help them against the end of the world.)

He starts making his way quicker to the door, ignoring the way the burning taste of bile that fills his mouth. He tries the door - it's locked. Of course it is.

He doesn't have time for this.

Five dislikes blinking into unknown areas - anyone or anything could be there, and while Five is confidant he can still put up a damn good fight if need be, he doesn't want to risk it. The wood is thin, though, and Five can't hear or see anything passing by. Concentrating, he blinks into a mostly empty hallway.

He throws up on the spot.

Sinking to his knees, Five chokes, phlegm and blood littering the bile splattering the cold cement flooring. The flickering fluorescent light bulb makes his nausea worse, and his eyes squeeze shut as another heave wracks his shaky, weak body.

His head spins.

Everything spins.

It all blurs together, and Five can't tell the walls from the floor from the ceiling from the door from the floor.

Between heaves, he can faintly make out the faint sound of footsteps. His powers don't work. His throw-up cools around his fingers, sticky and gross. His powers don't work. The footsteps grow louder. His powers don't work. Cool fingers card their way through his sweaty hair.

"Oh, Five," a voice tuts. The air suddenly smells sweet, crusty and sickeningly so, a faint undercurrent of smoke reminding Five of burnt caramel. He dry-heaves again. "Look at the mess you've made. Good little boys don't throw up on the floor."

Don't fucking patronize me, he wants to hiss but the words dry up in his throat as he looks up. The Handler smiles down at him, easily picking him up bridal style. "You should go back to bed," she says. "You're not well."

He struggles in her grip, clawing at her throat as her sharp nails dig deeper into his legs and shoulders. His limbs are weak, bones shaky like jelly. "Don't fucking touch me." Five snarls, clawing and scratching but she won't put him down. How the hell is she even alive? What the fuck does he have to do to make sure she dies and stays dead?

"Relax, dear," They aren't going back to the room, instead walking down the hallway. They pass by more doors, all the same - 009, 010, 011...  it just keeps going. Where the hell is she taking him? Where the hell is she taking him? "I don't know if you've noticed, but you're covered in vomit. You need a change of clothes, mister!"

"Where am I?" He tries to sound intimidating, or at least vaguely unaffected, and fails horribly. Five's voice fails him, hoarse and barely above a whisper. The Handler is enjoying this - he can tell. There's a slight curve to her mouth whenever she glances down at Five's small and pitiful form. She's in control here, and they both know it.

The Handler stumbles suddenly, jerking Five, and he buries his face into her stomach at the sharp burst of nausea. He can practically feel her smirk. "I don't know if I should tell you, Five," she sings as they continue down the hall. "What's the magic word?"

"Fuck you," he snaps. He hates this - weak, shaky, and feverish, stuck in the arms of a monster. "Fuck you." They enter the bathroom, grey and sterile, and she sets Five down on the toilet.

"That's not very nice," The Handler hums, running the bath water. "Say that you're sorry, Five." He's not, but she's walking towards him, and his powers don't work, and she's trapping him against the cold porcelain, and his powers don't work, and her sharp nails are digging their way down his neck, and his powers don't work-

"I'm sorry." He chokes out.

"I forgive you," she says, easily. "Now, let's get you into the tub."

"What the hell are you doing?" He snaps as her fingers reach to tug at the strings of his hospital gown. Five has no idea what she's planning, but he does know that the thin, flimsy fabric is the only barrier between him and her, and he intends to keep it that way.

The Handler chuckles. "You can't take a bath with clothes on, silly!'

"I'm not taking a bath while you're in here."

"Oh, but it's for your own good! I mean, just look at you!" she says slyly. Five bats away the hand reaching to stroke his cheek. "So weak and helpless... you're covered in your own sick. You need help. I'm a mother at heart, you know." Yeah, sure. She knows as much about parenting as his own father did. "You're so stubborn, Five. Fine, fine. I'll leave to get you some new clothes. If you slip and crack your head open, it's not my fault."

True to her word, she leaves, finally leaving him alone. There's no windows in here either, unfortunately, and the only vent he sees is far too small for even this stupid prepubescent form to fit into. The door is locked from the outside, and Five really doesn't want a repeat of last time.

Sighing, he unties the gown and steps into the lukewarm water. His limbs are still shaky and weak, and for a second Five really is convinced he'll crack his head open. Though it hurts to curl his fingers, he keeps a tight grip on the sides of the tub as he lowers himself down.

Some food would help him regain his strength - if his former employer is so obsessed with her little power play over him, maybe he can play to it and get something actually substantial out of it. If he bides his time, acting weak and nauseous, she'll get overconfident.

Maybe she'll even tell him where he is, to try and break his spirit.

For now, all Five can do is get clean. He tries not to focus on it too much - waste, waste, waste - and just goes through the motions as fast as he can. The only good thing is that the sharp pain in his head has dulled down to an ache. As he's wrapping himself up in a towel and stepping out, the door opens, and Five scrambles back, keeping the towel close to his body. "What the hell? Get out!"

She has the decency to keep her eyes closed, though that doesn't stop Five from fantasizing shoving her heels down her throat. "I'm just bringing you your clothes, Five! I even went through the trouble of getting something that wasn't a flimsy old hospital gown."

"I'm not changing in front of you-"

"I would never ask you to do that, Five," she huffs, eyes still closed, placing his clothes down onto the toilet. "I'm a mother, not a pedophile."

"Could've fooled me, seeing as you wanted to give me a bath."

"What can I say? You're only a little bit bigger than Lila when she was eight, and heaven knows she didn't know how to shampoo properly until she was ten."

"Well, I'm fifty-eight, and I do know how to take a bath by myself. Now, get out."

The Handler smiles indulgently. "Of course. I'll be right outside." Great. She leaves, the door locking with a click behind her. Thank god.

His fingers tremble violently as he buttons the red flannel shirt closed. It reminds him of something Vanya would wear, which brings him a little comfort. Vanya... does she think he left again? He has no idea how long he's been stuck in here. If they think he left, they won't look for him.

They won't look for him.

So what? It's only logical - you left once. Are they supposed to magically know you've been kidnapped? Get a grip, Five.

Sucking in a breath, he continues getting changed. The Handler had left him a pair of shorts that looked incredibly similar to his academy ones, and if it weren't for the fact that he had nothing else to wear, he would've gone out there and choked her out with them. Combined with some threadbare animal socks and black flats, Five is convinced she probably grabbed these at random out of Lila's closet just to piss him off. "I'm done," he calls out, not bothering to hide the bite in his voice.

She opens the door, giving him a wide smile. "Oh Five! You look absolutely lovely," she says, her hands fingers brushing the wet strands of hair out of his face. "Smell nice too."

"Fuck off."

"You really ought to be more polite," She hums, keeping a tight grip on shoulder and leading him down the cement halls. "You do want to eat, don't you?" They're approaching the same hallway from earlier, and though Five hasn't seen a single person, the vomit from earlier has been cleaned up, leaving the floors slick and shiny. The Handler opens the door to his room, pushing him inside. He doesn't bother fighting it - until he has enough energy, trying to run out would be suicide.

Still, he won't give her any satisfaction. "I'm not," His traitorous stomach takes that moment to rumble, and his ears burn at her smug smile. "Don't."

"Teenagers," she sighs. "Always so stubborn."

"You-" The door slams shut in his face, locking with a click.

-

When he wakes up again, he can smell spices and chicken. For a moment, he can pretend he's in his room, Grace bringing up a dish of soup on a cold winter's day when they've all inevitably gotten sick. The undertones of perfume ruin it.  "What do you want." Five feels marginally better after getting some rest, but the sight of the Handler's face threatens to make him sick all over again.

"Lunch, Five." She holds up a bowl of chicken soup, waving it around almost playfully. "I'm not going to let you go hungry."

"Why are you really doing this? What do you gain from playing house?" He can't take this anymore. He's tired, and all he wants is to stay with his fucking family. Is that so much to ask?

She's silent for once, expression unusually weary. For someone who's usually so arrogant, so confident in her plans, it's... unsettling. "How about this?" She finally says. "If you let me feed you, I'll answer your questions."

"...Fine." He needs answers more than he needs his dignity. Smiling, the Handler spoons some broth and holds it up to his lips. Ears burning, Five opens his mouth. It's not laced with anything, surprisingly enough, and it actually tastes good, though he would rather die than admit that to her face. They sit in relative silence, her feeding him one spoonful at a time until the last drops are scraped from the bowl and down his throat. "I want-"

"Answers, yes, I know," she sighs, setting the bowl down. "Always straight to the point. How are your hands?" He's about to snap at her for changing the subject but... they do burn, despite looking unblemished. Now that he's regained his strength, it's worrying - he uses his hands as a conduit for his powers. His powers that still aren't working, he realizes, the little tear he's used to feeling in his chest clumsily stapled shut. With no way to release them, the familiar hum of his powers burning feels almost unbearable under his skin. "Not good, I presume?"

"Why do you care?" He snaps.

"I care, Five, because you're, unfortunately, the only hope of escaping this place." She snaps back, and the fact that she's told him anything remotely honest is chilling enough, but her next words leaves a cold pit in his stomach. "Welcome to the basement level of Hotel Oblivion, Five.”

...She's not lying.

"...Shit."

[wolf-555-writer]

Still Breathing Part 7

I really did a number on your patience with this one I think ;p. But here it is, the final part. (That’s the intention at least, who knows what will happen in the future). Anyways, thank you all for reading the story, especially if you made it till this one! :) Enjoy! 

Read part 1; part 2; part 3; part 4; part 5; part 6

Alex Danvers x Reader

Word Count: 2,643

“Talk to you later Danvers”, you breathe out, closing the door behind you and leaving Alex her apartment in shame and guilt. She sighed agitated and squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of your footsteps fading away. Being aggravated as hell while still seated on the couch with her arms crossed in anger.

“I definitely need something stronger than coffee…”. Alex grabs a bottle of wine and pours herself a glass. Or two. Maybe even three. It’s already a total mess at the DEO, with Colonel Hayley parading around, watching over the Director’s every move, and now THIS!? DEO Agents beating each other up, fighting over absolutely nothing. Alex has a soft spot for you, considering you both confessed your long-lasting feelings to one another in front of the bar earlier. But that doesn’t mean she can’t be mad at you. Maybe the alcohol will help her relax from this long, intense day.  

Trying to ease her mind while sipping the red liquid at a reasonable speed; more or less. Finally… some peace and quiet, when suddenly her phone buzzes. The screen lights up and Alex takes a quick peek to see who it is. It’s your name on the phone display. A deep sigh followed by a dramatic rolling of the eyes as she drops back, burying herself in the couch again. She doesn’t even think about picking up. You’re probably calling to apologize, or beg for forgiveness. Why can’t you just let it rest. Alex is not in the mood to handle anything else today. The phone buzzes again. “Ugh, I’ve had enough”. She grabs it from the table and turns the phone off, whereby the silence kindly returns.

After simmering down, and an entire bottle of wine, she decides to call you back. A thorough, flawless speech thought out, ready to be delivered since you've had more than enough time to think your selfish actions over. She lightly regrets playing ‘hard to get’ earlier, though you kind of made her. You were practically an asshole, so it’s your own fault she ignored you. Alex noticed you left her a voicemail and listens to it first. Best case, you came to your senses all by yourself by which Alex would be relieved of a frustrated outbreak on the phone. She puts the phone to her ear. Her eyes widen and her jaw drops while a small gasp escapes her mouth after she’d covered it with her hand. Without hesitation she jumps up from the couch and storms out of the apartment. It’s as if all the alcohol left her system in a snap of a second and she’s never been more focused -or worried- before. Slamming the door shut with a loud bang and while running she dials a number. Hearing it ring a couple of times, after which a person on the other end of the line picks up and speaks:

“National City General, how can I help you?”

///

“Am I ...still alive? …still breathing?”. Vaguely perceiving all kinds of beeping noises and a pungent, hygienic smell that’s hanging around makes you feel nauseous. Carefully opening your eyelids as you give yourself some time to adjust to the bright lights. All too familiar with the place you’re at. “Again? How many times is this going to happen?”. No recollection what time it is or even which day of the week ...or month? Different types of wires are attached to you and fluids with medicine is entering your body through the IV. You try to lift your head up and inspect the room, but it’s hard, almost impossible. Your whole body is aching, muscles are sore, and the pain caused you to let out a deep groan.

Hearing the low sound, Alex promptly jumped up, since she had fallen asleep in the chair, exhausted from the constant state of uncertainty she was in. You take in the sight of her, pale skin, red eyes and it seems she hasn’t slept for days. Now standing beside you at the edge of the hospital bed, she takes your hand and clutches it delicately. You try to speak.  

“H-how l-long... “, stuttering with a dry, hoarse throat. “Have I been on life support? On ventilation?”, you think, feeling your trachea burn and having difficulty speaking. Alex is aware of your struggle and answers: “You’ve been in a coma for weeks now. To reduce brain swelling and give your body time to heal.”

In shock, you gape at her as the color drained out of your face and try to point at your neck with your other hand. “They’ve had you on ventilation, yes. Does your throat hurt?” she caringly asks. You weakly nod at her. Alex averts her gaze towards the bleak hospital floor. “It-it was pretty bad… You were in pretty bad shape ...and had stopped breathing. I-I thought…”. She said with a trembling voice, not able to finish the sentence. You grip her hand tighter with all the strength left and press to her, now with a more audible tone: “I’m still here. Still breathing''. You've locked eyes with her again and watch Alex staring at your poor face. You smile at her, and she matches you by showing a faint grin when you notice she’s desperately fighting back the tears that are heaping up in the corners of her eyes. She leans forward and gives you a tender kiss on the forehead while a doctor enters the room.

“I see you’re fully conscious now. Good”, she says as you and Alex turn to her. “Given your history I don’t have to explain everything in detail to you, sadly. I won’t lie, you have a tough road up ahead”.

Knowing it all too well due to your past experience. You have to go through rehabilitation all over again. Only the thought of it makes you feel even more miserable. However, that’s not all. It’s also the feeling of being weak, helpless, not able to do easy or simple tasks yourself since you don’t have the strength for it, yet. You have to start at square one again, and this time it’s your own damn fault. Alex noticed the sad, hopeless expression and strokes your shoulder gently. You look at her. This time you're not alone, Alex has been beside you, from the moment you were brought in injured up till now.

“I’m not going to leave your side, not ever. I’ll be here with you, every single step of the way”. Those words hit you right in the feels as teardrops started to run down your face. You tried to pull her closer with the little power you have in your hand which Alex was still hanging on to. Luckily she understood the hint and moves closer while she cups your face with both her hands. Brushing her thumbs across your cheeks mildly, wiping the tears away. Bringing her lips to yours, kissing you, slow and passionate, as if she thought this would have never, ever been possible again. You taste the saltiness on her lips, since Alex wasn’t able to hold her tears back any longer. By that time the doctor had left to give you a moment alone and to let it all sink in. However, with impeccable timing Kara barged in and rushed towards you, seeing that you’ve woken up. You and Alex being kinda busy, in a legit emotional sentiment, while Kara swoopes in, now at the other side of the bed. She squeezes herself in between Alex and you to make room and gives you a hug.

“Can’t breathe”, you moan, because Kara her hug is obviously too tight, and not to mention the weakened condition you’re in. 

“Oh, sorry! I’m just so glad you’re awake”, she apologizes as she quickly pulled back. Kara straightens her glasses and immediately starts to talk, telling you stories about her Supergirl adventures with Dreamer, who you’ve apparently met before, reporter news, how matters at the DEO progressed, about J’onn and his PI office, and many more. It hurts, cause these are all moments you missed out on. Although you love the distraction, not having to think about the obstacles you’ll need to face, and it’s nice to know that everybody is doing well. Being hesitant at first, and undeniably a little pissed at Kara for ruining the moment back there, Alex joins the story telling later on, seeing you enjoy hearing them. After a while she notices you’re getting tired, knowing Kara can be rather overwhelming. “I think (Y/N) needs to rest for a bit”, she mentions and raised her eyebrows as she’s looking at Kara with a piercing gaze. “Eh, yes. Um- I’ll go. See you later (Y/N)! I’ll tell the others you’re awake!”, Kara responds while leaving the hospital room in a rush. “Bye Kara”, you deliver too late, cause she’s already gone, and you turn to Alex. “Something wrong?”. You’ve sensed a weird vibe hanging around the entire time since you’ve woken up. You can clearly see it in Alex her dazzling, brown eyes. It’s guilt. Alex takes a step back from the bed, thereby letting go of your hand, instantly losing her warm touch. She stays quiet, avoiding eye contact as she’s gazing out the window while biting her lip nervously. “Alex, is it about the phone-”.

“It’s all my fault that this happened. I’m the reason you left the apartment and I-I didn’t pick up the phone and I was too late at the hospital and I said those mean, awful words and I-”. “STOP”, you interrupt, now coughing due to the loud voice you had to use, heart rate spiking which is displayed on the monitor.

“It was my mess that caused this. And that asshole of a DEO Agent of course…”, you mutter. You really hate that guy. "I picked that fight and- Wait... what mean, awful words did you say about me?”.

“Ow, um- no, I said some, like, awful things inside my head. Which I deeply regret now-”, Alex confesses while rubbing the back of her neck in embarrassment. “It’s okay”, you chuckle, she's just too good for this world and you probably deserved it anyway. “It’s all good”.

“I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to you”. Alex takes a step closer again and pauses. “I thought that ...I was never going to see you again. To speak to you again. To hold you again…. To kiss you again”, she whispers with a quivering voice. “But I’m still here. And you're here. With me. That’s all that matters now”. Meanwhile, you carefully shifted to the left side of the bed, creating some room on the small mattress. Glancing at Alex and making an inviting gesture while tapping on the empty spot with your right hand. You feel her warm body moving closer as she comes lying next to you. Her head resting on your chest and you wrap your free arm around her, wanting to hold her forever and to never let her go. "I've missed you", Alex voices in a softhearted tone and closes her eyes. She’s extremely tired, now finally able to get some well-deserved rest, knowing you’re all right and that everything will be fine.   

“What happened to that DEO Agent anyway?”, you suddenly remember. Kinda hoping he got punished for what he did. “He got arrested for assault and is locked up”, Alex answers directly, her eyes still closed. “Good, he got what he deserved”. It’s quiet again, aside from the occasional sound made by the medical equipment in the room. Breathing frequency becoming slower and slower, relaxing in your arms, dozing off, almost asle-

“Did you guys have game nights without me by the way?”. “Come on (Y/N), you need to sleep”, Alex suggests as she lifted her head up, now staring at you with a commanding expression on her face.

“Copy that, Director Danvers”, you return with a smirk, kinda loving the bossy side of her. She’s right though, you’re completely worn-out and need to recharge. But you can’t help it, wanting to cherish this moment for as long as possible. You grip her tighter, or at least try to, to keep her close, to feel her touch, her warmth, her heartbeat. It doesn’t take long for you both to fall asleep. It’s peaceful and despite the delay, you’re together, at last.

///

A sudden slip to the right, followed by mean right hook. The muscles in your arms and shoulders are burning. Completely out of breath, deeply inhaling to fill your lungs with oxygen. And exhale again. Sweat is coating your forehead and you wipe it off with your arm. You’re a total mess. Only one round to go and then you’ve reached the goal. Throwing a sprint of punches, as fast as you can, it’s mind over matter now. Stopping at the sound of the timer reaching zero, you’re finished. Removing the boxing gloves to grab a towel from the floor nearby to clean yourself up.

“Okay, that’s enough for today”, you pant, weary from the intense workout on the heavy bag. It's been a rough couple of months, you've had extensive rehabilitation training, needed time to heal and were not spared of the pain that came along with it. Giving up was never an option, but becoming your old self again is highly unlikely. The damage has been done, you can't change the past anymore. But you've made peace with it, well, sort of. Luckily you've had tons of support. Friends visiting at the hospital and swinging by your place frequently once you were discharged. It feels so good to be home again. 

While unwrapping your hands, you hear the doorbell of the apartment buzz. Looking up in surprise, who could that be? You rush to the door while throwing the boxing wraps aside, nearly tripped over them, and unlock it. Standing in the doorway, you feel your heart rate rising again, now for a different reason. Still happens every damn time. A satisfying smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth.    

“Hi, forgot the keys again?”, you laugh, lifting up your eyebrow as you smoothly lean against the door frame. “Yeah... but I brought some take-out with me”, Alex counters, pulling up her right arm to show off the bag which carries a delicious scent with it. It would be outrageous to deny this offer of course.   

“Permission hereby granted”, making a humble bow and a gesture with your arm to invite her in. “Also cause I’m literally starving”. Rubbing your stomach with your hands, only being a little dramatic, and you close the door behind you. "Easy (Y/N), you're not turning into Kara are you?".

“Ha. Ha, funny", you sarcastically return."But I’m gonna take a quick shower first. Don’t you dare eat it all Danvers”. Alex placed the food on the kitchen counter and shrugs her shoulders while raising her eyebrows.

“Well, I don’t know, I guess I need something in return then”.

"You sure? You don't want me to shower first?", you assure, still being kinda sweaty with a specific smell that goes with it. Alex walks to you and throws herself into your arms while you place your hands on her hips, her arms resting on your shoulders. "Absolutely sure". Pulling Alex closer and wrapping your arms around her waist as you press your lips onto hers, giving her a desirous kiss. You have to admit, the years of denying and avoiding your feelings for Alex makes you feel utterly stupid, looking back now. Seriously, you were an idiot. A wide smile appears while kissing Alex, because you've never been happier.  

"I love you (Y/N)", Alex softly speaks after she pulled back. "I love you too Alex". Her forehead is resting against yours. "And I'll never stop, as long as I’m still breathing”.    

[ashglory-writes]

i made the blade that cut me down

soooo i was never really that much into argentstep but hoo boy that update. retribution spoilers abound.

~2.2k words, rated T. a vague kind of emotionally stunted argent/sidestep, minor appearances from others. more of a sidestep character exploration piece than anything, to be honest.

There is a subtle distinction between wound ‘repair’ and ‘regeneration’. Repair means incomplete regeneration.

The aftermath of the auction.

The aftermath of the scar.

i.

There isn't any makeup that can disguise this, you think, staring into the mirror. Not that you really have any in your possession, and not unless you're willing to spend the better part of an hour trying to cover everything and make it look even. It's luxury and time you don't have, not with the kind of life you live.

So. The scar stays.

You trace the red stripe down your forehead, fingertips lingering where it just barely misses the corner of your eye. It's just another scar, you try to think. Just another on top of the dozens, the hundreds, already littering your body. This one is a bit more visible but in the end it's nothing special.

It's a testament to your self-control, you think, that the bitter laugh curdling in the back of your throat doesn't see the light of day. Nothing special. Hah.

You've fucked up, badly. Argent knows. You let Argent know. It was a stupid decision and not one you can blame on adrenaline, or one you can say was part of a carefully calculated plan. You let Argent know and you don't know why, and that's something you can't let stand. In your line of work, not knowing things gets you killed, whether it's LDPD response times, exactly how much pressure is needed to break an arm, or your own thoughts.

The reflection in the mirror looks angry, but maybe that's only because of the scar. You cover the half of your face with a hand and squint again, wondering if it makes a difference.

Your vision starts to blur after a while, and you give up when your reflection remains unwilling to give you any clear answers. One last prod at the red mark--a twinge of pain, though nowhere near searing, which, fine, you can live with that--and you leave well enough alone. You have work to do.

ii.

Predictably, Ortega freaks out. So does Herald. You think Chen might be having one too, but he was off to the side when you entered and it's kind of hard to turn to look when Ortega has grabbed your face in both his hands.

Argent remains standing by the doorway, watching in silence with her arms crossed.

"What the hell happened?" Ortega demands, holding you in place as he stares at the scar.

"Someone tried to mug me," you say blandly. A common enough occurrence that no one will ever look too deeply into it. "I'm fine, Ortega. I know how to clean up a wound, it's not infected or anything."

You set your jaw in a scowl that he'll be able to feel through his palms and he seems to get the picture, releasing you with a murmured apology. It seems half-hearted at best, though, and the crease between his eyebrows hasn't disappeared. You recognize the worried-upset look from your Sidestep days. There's probably a lecture incoming, and you aren't particularly in the mood for one, so you turn a bit to the side and toss a nod towards Herald.

"I should probably thank you, Herald," you say, distracting everyone and causing golden boy’s face to burn bright red from the sudden attention. “All that training's helped keep me sharp too. It came in handy then.”

“Training? What training?” Chen asks, zeroing in just about where you expected he would. Good to know that some people remain as predictable as always.

As Herald begins to stammer out something, Argent speaks up for the first time.

“Doesn’t seem like you’ve been very sharp, to end up with that,” she drawls. Her voice is low, tone almost mocking. Ortega looks ready to let loose a scolding, but you hold up your hand.

“I was surprised,” you say, and you realize that it’s the truth. Surprised at... at what? That she hadn’t killed you? No, you had been pretty sure she wouldn’t, at the time. Surprised at her mercy? But this isn’t mercy; this is a complication, a punishment, collateral.

Surprised at... the fact that you don’t mind the mark as much as you thought you would?

You quash down on that thought when no denial immediately presents itself. Instead, you just continue on, as if you hadn’t just had a miniature crisis in the lobby of the Rangers’ HQ, “It won’t happen again.”

“Hmm,” says Argent. Her gaze never leaves yours.

iii.

For a time, it seems as though your scar is all anyone ever wants to talk about. At first it’s fine, because it means less attention paid to everything else about you. Then, it becomes annoying.

You cross your arms without really thinking about how defensive it makes you look. “I’m really not up for having this exact same conversation for the third day in a row,” you say.

“And which conversation is that?” Dr. Finch asks, as though she doesn’t have a damn good guess.

You don’t like how she turns every sentence out of your mouth into an admission. Every word is dragged out, and you hadn’t realized how exhausting just talking could be until Ortega wheedled you into these appointments. It’s her job, you suppose, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it.

“The scar. The mugging. Whatever. It bothers me, sure. But I’m fine now. End of the story.”

You track Dr. Finch’s eyes as they flicker towards the healing remnant on your face. “Of the two, which bothers you more?”

You blink. It pulls at the healing edges of skin. She must see something like confusion in your expression, because she continues, “Being mugged, or the fact that you were left with something from it? Is it the scar itself that bothers you, or the events that led to it?”

The events that led to it, huh? In the tunnel with Argent. Close enough to look her in the eye, to feel the heat of her skin. To feel her breath mixing with yours.

Confession.

Impasse.

Trust.

You only realize you are frowning deeply when the sight of Dr. Finch adjusting her posture in your periphery breaks you out of the memory. Is she waiting for an answer? She’ll be waiting a while, then; you don’t even have an answer for yourself yet.

“Just something to think about,” she says softly, when the silence has lingered for a touch too long.

iv.

You’re two months into restoration, and you’re so close that some nights it’s all you dream about. Being whole. Being free.

If you’re being honest with yourself, those dreams are often indistinguishable from your nightmares. A life without the threat of a hand yanking on your leash. A life that is yours to live, yours to fuck up, wholly and entirely yours.

Is there anything more terrifying?

But life marches on, and it doesn’t care whether the tremors that sleep and dream leave behind are due to fear or longing or both. Making your body into something that doesn’t leave you nauseous to think about is only half of what you want. And the path to the other half is one that leaves you clashing often with the Rangers.

With her.

Today is no different. The harsh Los Diablos sun is currently the only observer to your circling dance with Lady Argent. Herald’s balance issues had improved, somewhat, but the fact that you know exactly what he’s doing to try and mitigate them hasn’t helped him any. Ortega’s probably still busy trying to fish him out of the pair of vehicles and a building you’ve thrown him into. Chen is hopefully still dealing with the surprise you left for him a few streets back.

So it’s just you and Argent, for now. Sweat runs down the back of your neck as you watch her carefully. She’s smiling. As of late, she’s always been smiling in your little duels.

As of late, so have you.

It’s not something you can take the time to think through, though. Not right now. Not when the Rat King is saying move, move, move-

Argent’s hand slams into the lamppost by your head. The metal shrieks and crumples as you spin to the side, avoiding the follow-up kick.

There’s no space left in your mind for introspection when facing Argent. She commands attention, has staked a claim on a section of your focus and your thoughts-

-she has, hasn’t she?

Again, you’re growing distracted. With a growl, you push past the epiphany. Even though you know you’ll have to dissect this later, you can’t afford to be sloppy now. Though you both have settled into an equilibrium, a mutual understanding of the current state of affairs, Argent doesn’t believe in pulling punches.

Neither do you.

You lash out with your right elbow, but it barely grazes her side. That’s fine- the nanovores are already making short work of the ground beneath her feet. She barely spares them a glance as she leaps towards you, winding her arm back for another punch that could break your face in half.

Another near miss, another gleam in her eye that tells you she’s still playing.

“Is it ready?” she asks, when she leans in close to try and grab onto your arm. You step away quickly enough, bringing up your forearm to bat away her attempted grapple.

Give and take. Lead and follow. It’s your turn in this dance, and you lunge towards her swinging one hand out like you want to cut her in half. She grins as she jumps so high that for a brief, disorienting moment, you think she’s flying. When she lands again, cracks spiderweb out in the asphalt from the impact of her feet.

“Almost,” you say, the first time you’ve put into words how close you are, no matter how vague. “It’s- almost there.”

Her expression sharpens at that. “When?”

“Not more than a few weeks. Two. Two weeks.”

You block the kick aimed at your face but she reacts faster than you or the Rat King expect, using the momentum to whirl around and shove you into a brick wall. You can’t dodge this one in time, and the back of your head ends up slamming against the wall hard enough that you’re already considering giving Dr. Mortum a bonus for the additional padding she’d thought to include.

When your vision refocuses, you’re in a scene you’ve played before. Her hand around your throat. The press of her fingers will leave bruises come tomorrow morning, but right now you don’t care. Don’t struggle. Hardly even dare to breathe.

Because right now your hummingbird pulse is racing traitorously quick, not only because of the exertion. Argent’s eyes--inhuman and fathomless like the night sky, like the abyss--are so close that you can see your mask reflected in her irises. Blankness reflecting into blankness, void into void. You almost want to laugh. Seems appropriate.

There’s a moment here that passes. Her grip, impossibly, seems to tighten just for the barest instant, and then she releases you. The first unrestricted breath of air is sweeter than any you’ve taken before.

“Two weeks,” she repeats, already turning away. “I’ll hold you to that.”

v.

Argent’s eyes are like a cat’s in the darkness.

“Did it work?” she asks. She has a thick winter coat on, the hood pulled up to hide the distinctive starlike glimmer of her hair. She slinks about your soon-to-be-abandoned hideout like a robber in a neighbor’s home.

You surprise yourself with your laugh. It’s nothing like the bitter bark, the cynical snorts that you’ve trained yourself to give. You don’t think you’ve ever laughed this hard, this freely in your life.

Last night you could look at yourself in the mirror without wanting to put your fist through the glass. This morning you woke up smiling.

Did it work?

Like a dream.

“It did,” you say, lighter than you thought possible from yourself. “The device is yours now. I’m done. I’m free.”

You start off towards the exit, but you don’t fully know what comes over you. The impulse. The urge, to look briefly back over your shoulder at Argent, standing in the slice of moonlight, profile illuminated in silver. To say, “Good luck, Ximena. I hope you get what you’re looking for.”

“Wait.”

You don’t fully know why you stop, either.

“Take off your helmet,” she says. It’s not suspicion in her voice, not precisely. But you suppose you can understand. If it worked, why are you in your suit still? What are you hiding beneath the armor?

You undo the latches, let the hissing that accompanies the release of compressed air fill the silence.

She’s holding her breath.

So are you.

Why? You think you know why.

Your helmet feels light in your hands, hollow. There’s a stale gentle breeze that blows through the cracked windows and plays with your hair. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness without the aid of your helmet’s built-in systems, but when your vision resettles, you realize that Argent is staring.

“You kept it,” she says.

Instinct has your hand reaching up to trace the line that runs from forehead to cheek. Over the weeks, it had faded until it was barely visible against your skin. Sometimes, even you yourself can barely spot it unless you concentrate very hard in the mirror.

“So I did,” you say, smiling. “I suppose this is our secret, now.”

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Counterpoint, chapter 9

Summary:  After being recompleted, Ienzo vows to do everything in his power to atone for the atrocities he committed in the past. But this life hasn't been easy, and he's plagued with memories and nightmares. When Demyx suddenly reappears, the two discover that they have more in common than they thought, though the secrets in their past might tear them apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post kh3

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

As much as Ienzo tried to sleep, his mind kept spinning dizzily, emptily, with half-formed thoughts from the day before. Worry for Demyx and frustration over Data Sora mixed together in a pungent slurry. He counted his breaths, and tried to relax his muscles, but the effort of relaxing was actually worse than being tense, so he let it be.

He felt nauseous, so he did not eat. He went, instead, back to the computer, noticing for the first time just how messy the space was. Ansem had never been very organized. But Ienzo did not clean. He sat down and booted the program. It ran, but Data Sora still looked stiff, and awkward. He walked into a wall and stood there. Ienzo closed out of the program and sighed. He coughed a little. The air had always been insufferably dry in here, partially due to the machines, and spending so much time in here didn’t help.

Ienzo opened up Data Sora’s files. He hesitated a moment, and then opened up the code for “memories”.

This Sora had been given all the memories from the copies of Jiminy’s journals Ienzo received. Even that small amount seemed to stretch endlessly on the screen. Ansem had done a little bit of rigging to allow Data Sora to have access to Roxas’s programmed memories as well.

Ienzo drummed his fingers on the keyboard. An idea began to hatch behind his eyes. It was more of a risk than anything. He hesitated, then started copying a third version of the Data Sora. Even though this data was not human, and even though Ienzo would do it no harm with this code, he couldn’t help feel a twinge of guilt.

He started writing the code. Ansem’s language vastly simplified things, but it was all still complicated to try and get the renderings right. By the time he had something workable, his hands were shaking with nerves.

The model turned of its own accord. It looked up, around. The movements smooth, fluid.

He wrote a message to display on the Data Sora’s gummiphone. Do you remember me?

The model looked at the text for a moment. I think so, he wrote. You helped with Roxas, right? He texted the same way the real Sora had, without punctuation. Ienzo felt a little thrill. Of course. Of course. Without anyone to latch onto, how on earth would the Data Sora gain sentience? His new friendship with Ienzo had been enough.

Yes, I did.

Why am I in Twilight Town?

Ienzo breathed quickly. His heart was beating strangely, the rhythm off, but he attributed it to excitement. Twilight Town is safe, he wrote. But can you help me with something?

Of course. What is it?

I’m trying to find you. The real you.

I’m not real?

Ienzo sighed. You’re real, but you’re made of data.

Like Roxas when he was here.

Yes. The you that was not made of data has disappeared, and we’re trying to find you. Your friends all miss you , he added. Then, a bit more recklessly,  I miss you.

I miss you all too. But I don’t know how to help.

That’s okay. We can figure it out together.

Something warm was running down Ienzo’s face. At first he thought it might be sweat, but when he touched his chin his hand was bloody. He swore and pressed a cloth to his bleeding nose. He shut out the program.

He’d said he would rest when he’d made progress, and he had. Ienzo stood, noticing the ground pitched a little. How many days had it been since he’d slept? Two? He’d taken a nap yesterday, right? Or had it been the day before?

His heart was beating oddly again. The bleeding wasn’t slowing down, and he could feel it, wet and hot against his hand. This used to happen when he pulled consecutive all-nighters, but it had never been this bad before. The blood soaked his handkerchief. He was horrified, and yet also fascinated, to see the blood had stained his jacket as well. He felt giddy, dizzy. Very not good. He needed to sit down and rest. He was almost back to his room. He would get something sweet to raise his blood sugar. He would be fine.

“Are you alright?” Demyx asked. His voice startled Ienzo. “What happened?”

“Nosebleed. Very bad one. Nothing to worry about,” he said around the cloth pressed to his face. “Air too dry.”

His face was taut with worry. Demyx guided him over to a chair and made him sit. Ienzo was glad for the stability of the wood. He took the other clean handkerchief out of his pocket and replaced it with the old one. Demyx passed him a glass of orange juice. “Lean forward. You don’t want to swallow it," he said in an odd voice.

His heart was beating weirdly again. “It doesn’t usually take this long to stop.” The words came out of him without any forethought.

“Do you get them a lot?”

“Only when I… oh.” He was so frazzled he’d forgotten his promise to take care of himself.

Demyx’s lower lip twitched in disappointment. “Only when you overwork?” Demyx asked. “You haven’t rested at all since the last time I saw you, have you?”

Ienzo said nothing. He looked down at the cloth. The bleeding seemed to have finally subsided. He had a vicious headache. How long had he had it?

“Drink your juice,” Demyx said, with more than a little sharpness.

He sipped. The pain was worsening.

“You should lay down. Please.”

“I will,” Ienzo said. This time he really meant it. He didn't think he physically could do much else, and the humiliation of letting himself deteriorate this far sent a shudder through him. “I--” The pain flooded his vision with stars.

Demyx’s voice hitched with apparent anxiety. “Do you want me to get Even?”

The last thing he needed was to be told off. “No. I’ll be fine.” He just needed some sleep.

“You lost a lot of blood.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Ienzo tried to stand. His pulse was still off-beat. His knees gave out under him. His ears were ringing curiously, like he’d hit his head, but Demyx had caught him under the arms. He was barely aware of the touch. It was not like fainting; he could barely move. Dizziness curled the straight lines of the walls.

Pressure on his cheek. Demyx’s voice sounded like it was underwater. “Hey. Hey, Ienzo. Talk to me. Squeeze my hand.” Try as he might, he couldn’t. The world felt and tasted slippery, and things clipped in and out of awareness at an alarming rate. He found himself being carried, his cheek pressed against Demyx’s chest, and then he was lying on his bed which was blessedly soft. He could only vaguely hear Demyx and Even talking. Pinpricks of pain as Even stuck him with medicine. At least his heart rate wasn’t so weirdly off anymore. He could move a little, could twitch open his eyes, though his sight was blurry. “Demyx?”

Pressure on his hand. His teal eyes were full of worry and concern. Or were they green?

“What--” He tried to ask.

“You passed out. I am going to yell at you when you get better. Just a warning. I can be scary.” He tried to offer a smile, but it fell flat.

Ienzo’s eyes were wet. He had scarcely been so dehydrated and yet somehow he was crying.

Demyx kissed his forehead. “You’re going to be okay. You just have to get some sleep. I’ll be right here.”

He let his eyes fall shut. A blanket was tucked around him. Had it always been this soft? He was so tired… had he been sedated? And yet it felt so lovely...

Watery words. “So. That is the nature of your connection with Ienzo. He has mentioned you an awful lot. But I must admit I am flabbergasted. What is it you two even have in common?”

Ienzo had just enough sense left to acknowledge that the cat was out of the bag. Yet he found it something of a relief.

“I don’t know. But I… I care about him. And I think he feels the same about me.”

There was a little flutter of warmth in his breast. Was this real? Was he half asleep? Did it matter?

“It is not up to me any longer to try and stop that boy from making mistakes. But if this ends poorly… you realize there will be hell to pay.”

“Yes. I know.”

“That is all I have to say about that. At least until I process this. I am much too tired. I’ll come back to check on him. If there’s any unusual change, notify me at once.”

“I will.”

More pressure on his hand. To be warm and cared for wasn’t all that bad.

Sleep. At last.

Ienzo woke up slowly. His muscles ached, but he was feeling better. His vision was clear, and he could move freely.

“Hey,” he heard. “Nice nap?”

Ienzo looked up at Demyx. He rubbed his eyes; they were tender and raw. An IV line snaked from his hand to a bag of fluid. No wonder he was so sore; dehydration and a probable potassium deficiency had settled in overnight. “You’re still here?”

He sat at the foot of the bed. “Well, of course. You scared the crap out of me.” He didn't look well either. His eyes--definitely teal, not green--were bloodshot, and he held himself stiffly.

Ienzo glanced down at his shirt, faintly stained with blood. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I… I should have listened.”

“Why don’t you trust me?”

“I do trust you,” Ienzo said.

“Then why didn’t you listen?”

He looked out the window. “I thought I was so close to a solution,” he said. “And… when Roxas and the others visited, seeing their faces so full of hope… and knowing that I gave it to them… I could not in good conscience take myself away.”

“Okay, but, you know if you had gone much longer without sleep, or even water , you might not have woken up.”

Having rested some, Ienzo knew he was right. Prior to collapsing he’d been experiencing serious symptoms of both exhaustion and dehydration, and he’d written them off, too disoriented to recognize them for what they were. Guilt made him cold.  “Is it true what you said?”

“What?”

“To Even.”

“You… you heard all that?” He gritted his teeth a little.

“Yes.”

He turned pink.  “Yeah. It is. I care about you.” Demyx touched Ienzo’s cheek. “Why else would I get up in Ansem’s face?”

“You… did that?” He blanched.

“Yep. And he says I’m right. You’re going to rest. You and I are going to hardcore chill for at least a week. You’re going to learn from the expert.”

“A week away from my work? With you? That might be…” He was clearly too scattered to be able to adequately take care of himself, and he would not put himself through the shame of this again. He nodded. “That might be manageable.”

Demyx kissed him once, lightly. “I’m glad you think so, because unfortunately it’s out of your hands. Doctor’s orders. Well… is Ansem a doctor?”

Ienzo shrugged. “He has at least one doctorate. I’m unsure if it’s in medicine.”

“Yeah. Well, either way, I’m right.”

Ienzo stretched. “I should like to clean up and change. Perhaps eat. I slept for so long but I could very nearly go back to sleep.”

“You need it. Do what your body wants.”

He nodded. After a moment’s pause, he kissed Demyx again. “I have missed you.”

Demyx squeezed his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He removed the IV line, ate a good meal, bathed to wash off the blood, and went back to sleep before his hair was even dry. He slept and slept and didn’t dream, and when he woke up he was surprised at the lack of aches and pains. If he remained an insomniac after this, he would swallow his pride and ask for medication. It was not worth the toll it was taking on him. He was also ravenously hungry; it was the first time he’d felt real hunger in a long time. His clothing, when he dressed, was noticeably loose. He needed to gain some weight back. He looked down at the pile of clothing from the other day. His favorite gray sweater vest seemed to be ruined, and he sighed. It had been a long time since he'd felt comfortable in his clothing.

Demyx was already in the kitchen, drinking coffee. “Oh hey, you don’t look like a zombie anymore,” Demyx said.

“I do feel quite a lot better,” he admitted. “Not… good, but better.”

Demyx made them both breakfast. The food was simple, but Ienzo was so hungry that it tasted good. Appetite at last somewhat sated, Demyx asked, “So what do you want to do today?”

The question threw him. He’d never had much opportunity to play as a child, and as a teenager usually when he’d had free time he’d read. Not very exciting. “I’ve really… no idea,” he said. “I think we have different ideas what constitutes leisure.”

Demyx snapped his fingers. “I think I’ve got it. First thing we’re going to do is go back to bed.”

His face burned. He didn’t mean--? Not possibly--?

Demyx’s eyes widened in panic. “Not like that! God, get your mind out of the gutter, Ienzo. Haven’t you ever spent the day in bed?”

Oh. That. He was mostly relieved, but at the same time, disappointed. There was no way he was ready for something like... that. The longing was so exhaustively potent. “Well--maybe when I was very ill.”

“Maybe that’s what you need. Sometimes it’s good to just do nothing. ”

“That sounds… very nearly boring,” Ienzo said.

“Kinda the point. You gotta give your brain a rest. Away from all the stimuli.”

“Okay. I’ll try,” he said. “If only because my critical thinking feels dangerously frazzled.”

“That’s the spirit.”

They returned to his room. There was just enough room on the bed that they didn’t have to touch. Ienzo settled back down against the pillows. “So we just do nothing ,” he repeated. It sounded bizarre. What was he to do? Count the ceiling tiles?

“Yeah. Well, I mean, I guess you could read, or something. But nothing strenuous.” He got back up and turned towards the bookshelf. Demyx hesitated over the titles and picked at the first book in Ienzo’s favorite childhood series.  “What about this one?”

Ienzo cracked a smile. “That one? I haven’t read it since I was a boy. It’s a silly fantasy story.” He'd meant to pack it away when he removed his childhood things in the initial cleaning. He'd told himself that there was no room elsewhere for it. There was no shame in holding onto the sentimental. He was just so unaccustomed to the practice.

“All the more reason to revisit it now. And besides, there’s got to be a reason you’ve kept it.”

“All right… well… I suppose…” It was gleefully immature, not exactly a challenge to read. Demyx settled a bit closer to him so they could both see the text. Ienzo, having tread this series many times, skimmed it lightly and quickly. He knew it all beat-for-beat. Revisiting it, though, with an adult perspective, was interesting. It was always children saving the world, even in fiction. Children being jeopardized. Would it have made a difference, if he'd known what was coming?

Demyx frowned. “Can you go back? I missed that whole part.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” He flipped back. “I have a better idea.”

He read aloud. The author’s poetic, sing-songy language felt good in his mouth, and he read eagerly. He leaned back, trying to get more comfortable, and found himself resting against Demyx. With the reading as distraction, it didn’t make him as anxious as it might have. Demyx's arm curled around his waist tentatively.

He read through the first five or so chapters and was dreadfully thirsty. “Throat’s dry,” he said, and reached for the glass of water at the bedside table. He set the book aside and found he hadn’t minded touching like that. It was a different kind of intimacy, soothing a different need of his that seemed to have bloomed along with his humanity. To crave touch was entirely natural. Though to say his ravaged psyche came from not being hugged enough was entirely reductive. “Yes. I… think I could do with a week of this.” He let himself settle more comfortably into the embrace.

For a long time they held each other. Demyx stroked his hair. He hadn’t ever been held like this; maybe as a very small child. And really this was very different than that. He felt as though it were too much and not enough, like his skin was thirsty. His hands shook. Though as the minutes passed, the tension eased. The sleepy, comfortable tenderness of the moment lulled him into a sort of daze, and the next thing he knew he was waking up. They’d both slipped down against the pillows.

“We fell asleep,” Ienzo said softly. He cracked his neck and then winced at the crick.

“Just a nap, I think.”

Yet more sleep? He was supposed to be resting, he reminded himself. It was okay. His limbs felt warm, somewhat slack. Was it the medication Even had given him? “I feel… soft, if that makes sense.” He ran his fingers through his hair to fix it, shook his head, and let it be a lost cause.

“Because you’re actually relaxing for once. All that tension you carry around all the time isn’t supposed to be there. The fact that this feels unfamiliar to you is more than a little concerning.”

“Times like this make me uncomfortably aware of my unusual upbringing,” he said with a shake of his head. “Maybe I was wrong about you. In the Organization, I mean. Maybe you weren’t as lazy as I thought.”

Demyx laughed. “No, I was. I really was.”

“Not so much anymore.” This version of Demyx hadn't shirked from anything that Ienzo had witnessed. Perhaps his new heart was instilling a lost sense of ambition.

“I wouldn’t go that far. You haven’t been around a whole lot lately. You don’t know what I get up to.”

“What is it you do all day?”

He shrugged. “Just kinda wander,” Demyx said. “Through the castle. Through town. I like exploring.”

“As do I. Part of the reason why I always looked forward to reconnaissance missions. People are so very fascinating . But now… it seems like I need a better understanding of myself. How do I synthesize Zexion and Ienzo? At some point do I draw a line between the two? How much of him still lives in me?” He did not feel the same, even though they wore the same face. How long had he sat, inactive, cruelly planning the Organization's next takeover? Unwilling to dirty his own hands? There was only so much an emotionless childhood could excuse.

“I think about the same thing every day,” Demyx admitted. “I feel like the last month or so has been one very long, very tedious identity crisis.” Doubly so, for him; he didn't even have memory to draw off of.

““Tedious” surely is the right word for it.”

“Stressful.”

“Wrenching.”

“Annoying.”

Ienzo smiled. “I’m glad you understand.”

“‘Course I do.”

Ienzo hesitated for a moment, then threw his arms around Demyx. The want was back, and stronger, and he was just so tired of denying himself things. Ienzo looked up at him. “May I ki--”

But Demyx, who had already picked up the hint, was already kissing him. This wasn’t just physical, Ienzo realized, though that was potent. They cared for each other, perhaps deeply. And after that whole episode of exhaustion, he needed someone to look out for him. He needed that in order to grow, to be better, to be more conscious and to not make the same mistakes. And that was okay. It was okay. There shouldn't be shame in needing to be cared for every now and again.

These revelations shook away the worst of the anxiety, and while his hands shook, it wasn’t from panic. He felt at the muscles along Demyx’s back, strong and soft. Ienzo’s body felt like a live wire. To feel so much all at once was both strange and divine. He felt himself getting aroused. Admittedly it was startling, but he choked the fear down. Demyx would not hurt him. This, too, was natural. Part of being human.

Demyx kissed him along his jaw and throat, and he heard himself gasp. “Let me know if you want to stop,” Demyx whispered.

“I don’t.” Little slivers of pleasure bloomed against his skin. Every time he thought he had a grasp on this, it seemed to reach out of view.

Demyx rested against him, his head against his heart. He trembled faintly. Ienzo realized he was not the only one feeling all this for the first time.

“You’re shaking.”

His voice was high and breathless. “Am I? I feel so much --”

“I do too.” He kissed him first this time, catching the hem of Demyx’s shirt and pulling it off, only to have his own sweater removed. He could see the scars all along his chest. Demyx brushed a finger along Ienzo’s own. “It’s how I passed,” he said quietly. “As a Nobody.”

He kissed them. Ienzo pulled him even closer, and in response Demyx drew him down against the bed. Pressed up against one another like this, Ienzo felt the warmth of their bodies, especially between their legs, and the hardness, startling and bizarre and yet also tantalizing. For a moment--not nearly long enough--they touched each other freely. Ienzo knew he wasn’t ready for whatever came next, as much as he wanted it. It had taken so much work just to get to this point.

“I can’t. I want to, but I--” he said.

Demyx looked relieved rather than frustrated. “I know. Me too. It’s just so… much. I thought I was ready. But I…” He lay back down on the bed next to Ienzo, and shifted away so that they weren’t touching.

Ienzo was surprised he could still speak. But the only thing he could think of to ask was, “...Does it hurt?”

Demyx blinked. “Does it--you mean--?”

Without making eye contact, and with the strange new pressure between his legs, he nodded.

“No. I mean, it’s uncomfortable the first time, a little, but it doesn’t hurt.”

“So you’ve done it, then?”

“...A few times. Not that much.” He sat up, blushing. “To clarify, we’re talking about sex, right? Not astrophysics? Because if that’s the case I’m hopeless.”

Ienzo laughed.

“Like I said. When we’re ready. If we’re ready. I shouldn’t assume--”

“When,” Ienzo said quietly.

[xadoheandterra]

Series: The Burning of Solheim Title: The Path Untrodden Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII Characters: Prompto Argentum, Ignis Scientia, Cor Leonis, Gladiolus Amicitia, Noctis Lucis Caelum, Gilgamesh, Monica Tags: 10 years older!Prompto, Cor does not do flirting, Uncomfortable!Cor, Gilgamesh is 2000 years out of date and game, Monica is Mom, Poor Cor Day Summary:  Solheim was the height of civilization long enough that their ruins were ruins over 2000 years ago, and still had the power to function in the time of the King of Light. They should’ve realized something was very wrong the minute Prompto remarked on the lights being on, and yet no one was home.

Car rides were cramped. With four people who stood at or over six feet in height obviously car rides would be cramped. They’d spent days just figuring out how to situate one another so that the damn things could pass by without the need for too frequent breaks in the countryside as the hours of driving past them by, but some things just couldn’t be helped. Gilgamesh, at seven feet, could only have Prompto on his lap for so long before his legs ached. It didn’t help that Noctis utterly refused to settle in the passenger seat up front, and so Gladio in all of his six-foot six glory had to cram himself behind Ignis’ long legs.

Needless to say the normally three hour drive from Ravatogh to Caem would take the six that Cor claimed only because the number of breaks needed and not because, as Cid would claim, the boys wanted to stop and fish at every damned fishing hole they could find. While Cor felt certain that the boys, or rather Noctis in particular, would like to spend each stop fishing Cor knew them to be a bit more efficient than that.

“We should take a photo here,” Prompto murmured as he looked out over the railing of the road where they stopped. His arms were crossed over the metal as he stared out over the trees of the Leirity Seaside. From next to him Gilgamesh snorted.

Cor tried to ignore the conversation and stretch his back against the railing instead. He felt a faint pop and he knew it shouldn’t feel as good as it did, but damn if it didn’t ease some sort of tension somewhere. Then it started to hurt and with a wince Cor pulled away—he was getting old and the reminder made a small part of himself curl up and want to cry; the small, angry and utterly uncaring of his own life part of himself that he worked hard to bury with little success after he foolishly took on Gilgamesh.

“If it shall keep—” Gilgamesh started to say before Cor interrupted.

“Five more minutes,” Cor called to the group, and he missed a good chunk of what Gilgamesh said next.

“—from their assault upon my thighs,” Gilgamesh finished. Cor only blinked before Prompto turned from the railing, eyes wide and brows up, lips pulled apart in shock, before everything narrowed into utter outrage.

“I do not have a bony ass!” Prompto shrieked.

Gladiolus snorted.

“I don’t!” Prompto insisted, firmly, and he crossed his arms over his chest and ground his teeth together. Cor wanted to sigh.

For a moment there was silence, then Gilgamesh smiled. It was a soft sort of thing that made Cor feel a little weird all things considered—he felt nauseated, and briefly wondered if that omelet didn’t agree with him. Then Gilgamesh opened his mouth to speak and Cor viciously buried the nausea under his need to be alert. He could be sick later when the King wasn’t in danger and they didn’t have an itinerary.

“I stand corrected of my ill-gotten assumption,” Gilgamesh demurred, and he ducked his head a little as he did so. The trails of the scarf that Gilgamesh wrapped around his head like a hood shifted with the movement a little. “Your posterior is far more akin to that of a flattened cake.”

Gladiolus snorted again, and promptly buried his face into his hands like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Cor couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“A pancake,” Cor said. His tone was dry, short, but edged with a sort of faintness that only Cid or Weskham would detect if they listened. “You mean a pancake.”

Gilgamesh blinked and turned his gaze onto Cor who felt a flush rise along his neck and found himself in need to viciously squash down the nauseous feeling again.

“What is a…pancake?” Gilgamesh questioned.

Cor thought he heard Gladiolus say something that sounded vaguely like ‘oh my six,’ though muffled through his hands. He did see the way Ignis gripped Gladiolus’ shoulder tightly, eyes wide behind his glasses. He didn’t miss the way Noctis nearly doubled over with his own snort, or the way Prompto carefully edged from Gilgamesh to grasp the young monarch by the shoulder with the beginning of a smile curled at his lip.

“It’s—ah,” Cor floundered for half-a-second before he squared himself up and didn’t buckle under the seven foot behemoth of a man’s curious stare. “It’s a fluffy cake-like breakfast food fried in a pan, often accompanied by sweet toppings, sugar, and syrup.”

Gilgamesh eyed him, then smiled and said, “Ah. I shall have to try this pancake, then. Though I doubt Silver’s posterior shall taste ever as sweet.”

“GIL!” Prompto shrieked, and Cor watched as the royal retinue and King lost it. Ignis barely contained his wheezed snort, and Noctis on the floor outright cackling. Prompto even seemed amused by the words despite his reddening face and outraged look, and out of them Gladiolus seemed unamused. He kept his face in the palms of his hands and muttered more words and Cor felt himself in kinship.

Then a second later Cor turned red when Gilgamesh shifted closer and said, tone deeper and softer, “Although I shall believe that yours might make a wonderful, sweet, and meaty breakfast treat. I would not mind it ridden upon my thighs so.” Cor stared as Gilgamesh’s lips curled up, and he couldn’t quite tear his eyes away from how they parted. “Might I propose a trade, then? To have you upon my lap for the rest of this daunting trip? Why it would be positively a pleasure if you were to agree.”

Cor stiffened; this man was wicked and he stumbled backward as he felt his stomach up in his throat.

Gilgamesh eyed him, then backed down with an uttered, “Ah, a check of rain then?” in some bastardized parody of a common colloquial phrase that had Prompto fall over into a fit of amusement.

Quickly the Immortal straightened himself up, lips pressed together into a scowl, and strode back toward the car with a barked out, “Five minutes are up!”

“Thank Bahamut,” Gladiolus mumbled.

Noctis stretched his back as he climbed out of the Regalia at the edge of Cape Caem. The cramped car ride had left plenty to be desired, but at least the journey had finally ended after six hours of inescapable travel later. Noctis wondered if Cindy was anywhere on the property still or if she returned to Hammerhead to continue to run the business there. Cid obviously remained, and really Cid deserved the rest that the lighthouse offered—if Noctis ignored the fact that Cid essentially just fixed up his father’s old royal vessel.

“Cid’ll be waiting at the dock,” Cor said as the last of the car doors slammed shut and everyone gathered in the gravel of the parking lot.

Noctis frowned lightly, uncertain if he wanted to just get right into it and gear up the vessel for the trip to Altissa or not. At the same time Noctis knew he couldn’t delay any further. Luna waited for him in Altissa to summon Leviathan and every day he delayed more put the Oracle’s own safety at risk. No doubt Ravus informed Nifflheim and Aldercapt what the Covenent’s meant, what his sister was doing—and it would only be time before they realized Leviathan was next on the list.

“And just where is this dock, anyway?” Gladio asked. His booted feet shifted on the gravel enough that Noctis glanced over to him, surprised—until Noctis remembered that none of his retainers actually visited the dock before. Out of everyone only Cor knew, and that was because Cor had been on the detail back then.

“There’s an elevator in the lighthouse,” Noctis said as he started his way up the path. Noctis tucked his hands into his pockets as he climbed, and the group fairly quickly formed up around him—at the rear Noctis could vaguely here Prompto and Gilgamesh get into some sort of soft, heated argument that threatened to bring the travel to a stop for all of a second. A glance from Noctis stopped whatever it was going on between those two, followed by a small frown, and the group continued their route up the path in relative silence.

Noctis preferred the quiet right now. It gave him time to think about the plan ahead—and he would need to have a plan ahead Noctis realized. Right now his plan mostly consisted of get to Altissa and find Luna which to be honest had been the plan since day one so that hadn’t changed. It felt weird to realize that he’d been working on the same basic plan since he first left Insomnia.

The party climbed past the house when Monica spotted them. Noctis knew it to be Monica from the way she uttered, “Cor?” in that strangled sort of way that Noctis could remember from his childhood. Noctis didn’t bother to pause in his climb up to the lighthouse except when he noticed Cor still next to him and turn with a faint bit of paleness to his cheeks.

“Monica,” Cor said, and Noctis turned to look at the second in command of the Crownsguard who stared at their group with a gaze so utterly devoid of emotion that it knocked Noctis off kilter for a second. He didn’t understand why Monica looked at them like that until he heard a slightly cut off, “Is that—” just as Cor said, “I can explain—”

Oh, Noctis thought faintly. Right. His gaze slid over to Prompto and Gilgamesh toward the back; Gilgamesh towered over everyone and had that tight grip upon Prompto’s wrist again, but unlike when they first dragged the man out of Taelpar Crag and into the wonders of how the world worked now, Gilgamesh had finally removed the majority of his armor and dressed down in a basic tunic with an attached hood that dipped low over his face and cast reddish-brown eyes into darkness.

“Cor Leonis,” Monica said, voice soft and it struck Noctis that she wasn’t looking at the party as a whole with a blank face, but rather at Cor with a blank face and the tension drained from Noctis’ shoulders. “You are Marshal of the Crownsguard, not a random field agent on a solo mission.” Cor winced. “A curtesy call for an update as to your status, or the status of those with whom you travel, is expected.”

“Monica—” Cor started, then paused, then sucked in a deep breath. “The situation changed.”

Monica eyed the group as a whole, and then turned back to Cor and gestured toward the house. “Inside.”

“Cid—”

“Is inside.”

Noctis turned and started for the house without a word, and at his back Gladio and Ignis followed after. Prompto hesitated for half-a-second before he tugged Gilgamesh to follow—only for Monica to raise a hand to forestall both from following directly after them. Noctis paused when he realized that she kept Prompto and Gilgamesh behind, even as Cor already drifted into her space and began to speak softly that they weren’t threats to Noctis’ safety.

“Uh,” Prompto glanced between them, then to Noctis. “Noct?”

Noctis frowned, took three quick steps until he was right next to Monica and Cor, who fell silent, and peered at the Crownsguard intently. “Is there a problem?”

Monica glanced to Cor, and then to Prompto and Gilgamesh, and then to Noctis and bowed her head lightly. “I apologize your highness. You may travel with whom you please, do not doubt, but without verification of—”

“Monica—” Cor started with a faint groan, but Noctis held up a hand so the Marshal quieted.

“I have with me my retinue,” Noctis said carefully, “and while yes, our newest member is for the most part a stranger—he is a stranger we have gotten to know for a few days already, and one who has come highly vetted as he can get by two of my retinue, and by Cor.” Cor winced at that statement, and when Monica arched her eyebrows at him, he shrugged an agreement to the words.

“He is not lying,” Cor said. “Ah—I met Gilgamesh when I was young?”

“Gilgamesh?” Monica questioned, voice deadpan. “The Blademaster from Taelpar Crag.”

Cor nodded. “He is.”

“The immortal who slaughtered far too many Crownsguard before you got it in your head to enter into a series of recently excavated caverns and, by the way it was told, pick a fight at the tender age of—fifteen? Sixteen? The one you nearly didn’t survive?”

Noctis snorted faintly at the way Cor seemed to shrink just a little bit downward. He could remember the man doing so few little times back in the Citadel, and always when Monica hunted him down to bring to his attention something or other that he decided to ignore. Gladio beside him canted his hip and crossed his arms in the way that meant he was enjoying the show, and Noctis didn’t doubt that Gladio had heard stories growing up about Cor, or had some sort of insight as to why Monica seemed to be his minder in situations like these.

“Your point?” Cor demanded, but Gilgamesh chose then to speak up with a slight twist of his head as he regarded Monica, and then regarded the way Cor’s shoulders seemed to knot together.

“Out of all who challenged me, young Cor Leonis near bested,” Gilgamesh uttered. “His denial of the Calling at the Gates did not come without consequence; for Life in return an arm he took.” Gilgamesh glanced to Gladio. “Only one such as he I have faced ever since, and ever shall.”

Monica looked Gilgamesh up and down, and then glanced to Prompto before she turned back to Noctis with her hands placed upon her hips. “Very well. I can concede to…the Blademaster,” the words rang a bit sour, although Gilgamesh ducked his head in acknowledgement of the title. “Given that Cor is with you, and that young Gladiolus as well, but what of his blond companion?”

Noctis frowned. “His blond—you mean Prompto?” Noctis looked at Monica like he hadn’t seen her—she knew Prompto. He she helped train him alongside Cor so that he would be considered good enough for this trip in the first place. She’d even been there when Prompto agreed to make his Oaths; how could Monica forgot all of that? Noctis glanced to Prompto, confused for a minute before he remembered—Steyliff.

“As I said,” Cor said when Monica’s entire countenance softened, especially at the way Noctis suddenly jerked his head away from her and from Prompto and stared off into the distance, “the situation changed, Monica. We will discuss it inside. Suffice to say that this is Prompto Argentum.”

For a moment no one said anything, and then Monica sighed explosively. “Alright. We’ll discuss this—all of this—inside.” Noctis turned to glance at her again, with wide eyes. “Preferably now, your majesty.”

A second, and then Noctis nodded. This time unimpeded the group as a whole made their way inside. Monica took the lead with a comment about informing Dustin, and getting the children out of the way which led to Gladio’s sigh of relief. They could address the events without Iris or Talcott getting underfoot, and Iris would get underfoot at the least, Noctis knew. Hell, she probably had a few choice words for Gladio after all; Noctis hadn’t missed the way that Iris refused to send her older brother messages, or how it upset Gladio.

[gynandromorph]

so tomorrow i’m supposed to move up to 3,000 calories per day, gonna shitpost about recovery progress, etc.

no progress, i’d say. when my other basic bodily functions and blood serum levels start to stabilize, that’s when i’ll know i’ve met my energy needs for the day.

the hardest part is water. water, water, water, it’s hard, i’m constantly thirsty, i’m used to never drinking anything unless it’s with a meal, and even then, sometimes i just wouldn’t drink anything. i can’t just chug it to fix it either because it all turns into piss immediately then. i feel like i’m going through the process of learning how to take care of myself in the most basic sense and it sucks, it sucks to admit i don’t know how to hydrate myself like a normal person, that it’s harder to reach over and grab the glass of water i already poured for myself than it is to just ignore thirst, it’s hard to admit that’s probably because i can FEEL when my body expands with water and i don’t like it at all, it sucks to break out because my skin is dry from dehydration, all of it sucks

moving up the calorie count rungs made it more and more obvious that i don’t drink enough water because my body needs water to process anything. i know it won’t be such a high maintenance process forever because right now i’m in a perpetual need deficit, i won’t need to eat 3,000 or 3,500 calories every day because most people don’t need to if they aren’t like. dying inside. but it’s so exhausting, especially when i’m already exhausted. the water definitely has made me wish to go to impatient more than anything because i’d love to just be hooked up to a fucking IV bag of fluids. i’ve been feeling less hungry and more nauseous solely because my body knows i don’t have enough water to handle more food.

in other news, i at least know my body’s working to fuck and back with whatever it’s doing, i’ve been gaining some basic muscle mass in my legs and arms, which i mainly know because i’ve habitually measured them to monitor my weight. i’ve been wearing an old, old pair of shorts that haven’t fit me (too big) for 3 years, because the rest of my clothes are dirty, and it’s probably the most obvious about my weight, or that i haven’t gained any substantial weight still. they’ll fall off of me when i’m thirsty, but if i’ve been doing well, they don’t need a belt of any kind to stay on properly -- even then, though, the leg holes are two times the size of my thighs in diameter, which can generally imply a lot about how much weight i’ve lost in the last few years.

it’s frustrating to know i’m still in the red zone here, after over a month, it got so bad, i know i shouldn’t be comparing myself to other people’s recoveries but most of the people i met didn’t need 2 months just to start gaining weight, i hate it and i hate that i could even make it this far without reaching my limit somewhere earlier on.

my dad’s been commenting on how ridiculous the symptoms i’m having are and how i probably don’t need to be eating so many calories because he doesn’t get how this works nor does anybody else who’s never looked into what ED recovery is like so i get it on one hand but on the other hand it’s like the last thing i need to hear. compound that with my brain going apeshit symptom-wise to try to cope with the stress of dealing with this head-on when i was already physically stressed to the edge and i’m just like “FUCK”

i don’t know how i’m going to fucking meet 3,000 per day but i do know it’s possible, i’ve done it a few times, i’m going to try planning out more explicit meals instead of just getting vague ingredients that’ll probably make a lot of things because one of the problems with meeting a goal that high is that my meals just don’t add up to enough even if i eat on-schedule, but it’s because everything’s like. egg-and-cheese and that’s it. i’m also gonna make a point to include more bread. carbs are important, don’t ever talk shit about carbs in my presence, but in this case they’re also very good cuz whole wheat’s very high-cal, better than protein in meat and dairy or simple carbs in vegetables, and it’s also REALLY FUCKING DRY TO EAT, so it’s been forcing me to drink more with my meals.

the only good note is that i’ve been much less foggy-headed, still VERY out of it but i’m not passing out randomly anymore or just blanking mentally for hours at a time now, and i’ve been able to draw more here or there.

[consultingsister-aa]

❤ [ love, Sebastian ]

FOUR AND ONE // @asteriananthologies

❤  five four times my muse says they don’t love yours, and the one time they admit it.

I. Cecelia’s life has improved greatly the day she realised it didn’t need to be anyones birthday to buy cake. During the awkward ten minutes between her getting out of work and Charlotte getting out of school she had picked out a three layer chocolate cake, grin on her face from tesco. Of course, Charlie had chastised her for the decision, although it didn’t stop her digging in when they got home. Probably because she knew this was the closest thing Celia got to making dinner. Perched against the breakfast bar in the kitchen, while Charlie sat in one of the spinning chairs, they each attacked the cake with forks, enjoying the almost rebellious feel of not cutting it up into slices. “Do you think you and daddy would ever get back together?” Innocent eyes look up at Celia, as if she was just asking if she had a nice day at work. She knew what she was doing, Cee was sure of it. 

As she chews on her mouthful of cake, she pretends to consider. She can understand her daughter’s desire. It would be nice to have a settled home life. “No. We’re very different people now. Does that make you sad?” 

To her mother’s surprise, Charlie shakes her head rather vigorously, swallowing her cake before admitting, “I like having two christmases.” Celia points her fork towards her with a lazy flick of her wrist, as if to say, that’s my girl. “I know why you don’t want to be with James though. It’s because you love Sebastian now. That’s okay by the way, I know I should be sad about it but I like Seb too.” She gets it all out in one breath, obviously it’s been on her mind for a while. Now Cecelia really does choke on her cake; coughing and spluttering as she meets the younger girls look, shock etched into her own watering eyes. “Charlotte, I do not love Moran. What the hell?” 

II. “You do know that if- when this all goes to plan, your boyfriend shall be going to prison as well, Cece?”

221b Baker Street was a mess of files, papers, documents, crime scene photos and half drunk cups of tea. No seat, surface or inch of wallpaper was free from some sort of proof that James Moriarty was, in fact, the world’s most evil man alive. Or at least, in the opinion of the rooms occupants. Sherlock lent against the mantelpiece, looking tired but satisfied while Mycroft and John had managed to clear enough space on the dining room chairs to sit. Celia, on the other hand, stood in the middle of the room, looking around their compiled evidence with barely hidden glee, only for her smile to fall at Sherlock’s words. “And who exactly is my boyfriend today?” 

But it was John who offered up an answered, muffled slightly by the hand covering his face. “Sebastian Moran is my first guess.” He peaks through his fingers to see Celia’s look of shock mingled fury and grins at her. “Cee, we’ve been following Moriarty’s staff for weeks. You think we didn’t know you met up with him? We actually considered you might be working for Moriarty at one point. They Sherlock noticed you were twirling your hair around your finger whenever you talked to him. Classic Cecelia in love move. Mary confirmed it for us.” All three of the men seemed to get more and more satisfaction from her, as Cecelia stared about, open mouthed. She actually hadn’t known they were following Sebastian. They had considered that as risky as following Moriarty himself, but obviously they had worked around that. Without telling her! Maybe this was back when they thought she might have been a double agent. She’s actually sort of pleased with that vote of confidence from them all, but the idea that she was in love with Sebastian Moran? Fucking ridiculous. She stutters over her words. “I don’t– I’m not– for fuck sake!” They’re all grining now. “I do not love Sebastian fucking Moran!” 

III. Celia has never been good with blood. The fact she only gets vaguely nauseous these days is actually a grande improvement. Having completed one year of medicine at university though seems to have given people this idea that she’s practically a doctor. What most people don’t seem to realise is she spent every second class outside the lab breathing deeply in an attempt to get the corrider to stop spinning. She’s half convinced that this ‘turning up on her doorstep bleeding to death’ thing is her friends idea of exposure therapy. She also doesn’t totally buy that she was the closest safe house to Sebastian when he got stabbed; surely Moriarty has better places for his staff, and his second in command no less, to get stitched up than her house. Still, apart from all the blood, she’s pleased to see him. It gives her a little rush to know that he would come to her when in need. She’s always liked to be needed. “I want you to know,” Cee begins, breathing through her mouth as she pokes him with her needle, wincing herself, “that I’m not doing this out of love or compassion or anything, I’m doing it so you don’t bleed all over my carpet. Medical care is free in England, ya know? I’m charging you.” 

IV. What might be for the first time in her life, Celia looks awful. Her whole face is completely drained of blood and dark bags underline her eyes; a mess of lack of sleep and waterproof mascara not coming off. She can’t exactly sit up to greet him, three broken ribs will do that to you, but she does offer Moran a grin. Maybe it’s the fluorescent hospital lights, but even this small amount of effort seems to flush her cheeks and sickly green. 

She knows what he did. Moriarty would have likely gone the full hog and killed her the night previous if it wasn’t for him. Cee would have liked to say she didn’t give the criminal mastermind what he wanted but her threshold for pain is very low and she’ll cry at the drop of a hat these days. She’s not sure how long Moriarty got alone with her. It felt like hours but it could have been minutes for all she knows. He had sweetly explained to her that he was going to hurt her with the intention of causing the most pain he could, without allowing her to pass out or become unconscious from lack of blood. You can imagine the mess Cecelia was in then when Mycroft finally showed up with an army of policemen and ambulance crew, no Moriarty in sight. But she knew, she knew who had talked Moriarty out of his plan, and she knew who had called her brothers. He had appeared above her last night, in a haze of tears and pain like a guardian angel, willing her to stay awake. It was so hazy now she could not have been sure it was even him, but his visit to her sick bed confirmed it for her. He can’t stay long, she knows that before her says it. The only thing worse that Mycroft finding out would be Moriarty finding out about his visit. She’s starting to understand now. “It wasn’t just because of our case against him,” she whispers, her throat dry and scratchy from all the screaming and begging the night before. “He thinks you–” tears are rolling down her cheeks already. “He thinks we love each other.” She forced a smile. “I assured him we did not.” 

V. It had been months of rain. She knew that was impossible, if the rain didn’t let up for months they would probably all drown or something, but that’s what it felt like. New York City was as grey as London was when she left it. The whole world was grey without Charlie in it. Pointless people leading pointless lives, going about their business like the world didn’t end when Charlotte Holmes did. Cecelia’s world ended. She’ll carry on for the sake of carrying on but her hearts not really in it anymore. She tries to find passions in other things; persuading herself that Charlie wouldn’t have wanted her to just give up. In truth she doesn’t know what Charlotte would have wanted. It probably doesn’t even occur to a nine year old what she would want for her mother after she died. Parents shouldn’t have to bury their children; it was one of life’s sickest jokes. In a shallow attempt to remove herself from her own grief, Cecelia had uprooted her life in London and gone across the pond. New York had always held a sort of fantastic distraction for her before, but the grey cloud had followed her over to the States and hung above her head as a permanent fixture. Everyone was getting bored of her depression, she could feel them judging her silently, it’s been a couple months now, she should be over it. 

She’s been so numb to everything lately she isn’t even worried her door is unlocked, even though she is sure she did leave it locked this morning. It’s not like her to be so forgetful, although she’s not been herself of late. But the light on the living room… that is wrong. The man on the chair in the corner? Definitely out of place. She didn’t leave that here this morning. “Oh my god, what do you want?” She throws her purse to the sofa, heading directly to the drinks cabinet. He’s already got there before her; doors open; glass missing. “I have nothing–” her voice breaks and presses her hand to her mouth to cover a sob. “I have nothing else to give you Sebastian!”

It’s sick how much she’s missed him. She’s wanted to hate him, tried to with all her heart. But, as hard as she tries, she can’t. She can’t even blame him. He didn’t want her dead, she’s vaguely aware he’s as cut up about it as anyone. Maybe not her, but surely she gets some sort of mothers-privilege. She gets to be the most sad. 

“What happened? Did she go with you with willingly? That’s how much that little girl trusted you. She left her own home with you because– because I said she would always be safe with you. I did. I promised her.” This has been bubbling for weeks. The grief has given way to anger, finally. It makes her even more mad that he’s going to just sit there and take it like a wounded puppy. That’s all he is, he’s a dog on a leash, Moriarty giving commands. Sit boy, come, fetch Charlotte Holmes and lead her to her death! It makes her sick. 

“I trusted you.” Her voice is thick with tears. “I did more than that, I loved you. I loved you so much.” 

[allaboutannabeth]

making dish babies - @JackDanielsTB and @DrPhilipByrne

The day had finally come. Annabeth was nervous, and vaguely nauseous, when heading to the pre-op room. She'd prepared her doctor about the two men that would be with her, and donating, but it still garnered a few looks from the staff. Jack and Philip had done their part and now she was about to go into a twilight for the egg retrieval. She gripped each of their hands when they went into the room, the door shutting behind them. She needed to change into a gown, but when she tried to get her blouse unbuttoned, her hands shook too badly to get more than one open. Glancing over at Philip and Jack, she gestured to her chest. "I feel like I might throw up. Can you help...?"

Jack was waiting in the clinic’s lobby when they arrived, legs fidgeting restlessly. When Annabeth and Philip came through the doors, he jumped to his feet, offering AB a smile and a tight hug and the doctor a cool nod. They went in together, where AB was handed a stack of paperwork and the men each received a little plastic cup for their contribution. Jack refused to meet Philip’s eyes as they awkwardly shambled off to the collection rooms to do their duty. When they returned, it was AB’s turn. Jack anxiously followed her to the exam room with Philip. 

 Philip was a bundle of nerves as he rushed forward to help Anna, colliding with Jack in the other man’s haste to do the same. The men blinked at each other a moment then the doctor reluctantly backed off, letting Jack do the honors. It was still odd seeing another man undress his girlfriend, but this was neither the time nor place to argue about it. He had never seen her look so pale. “It’s going to be okay,” he heard Jack murmur to her as her blouse came undone. Philip turned to grab the gown. “It’ll all be over in 20 minutes. Then you can go home and relax,” Pip added as he helped Anna slip it on and fastened the back.

They looked like they might be as nervous as she was, which didn't help her nerves. This was major. A step towards getting what she wanted, finally. It was cold in the room, or maybe that was her nerves. She laughed, the sound jarring in the exam room, when they both rushed to help her. "Watch out..." she muttered, letting Jack get her blouse open and off. "I know it will..." she replied, leaning her head on Jack's shoulder briefly. She sighed and folded her blouse, laying it in the bag they provided for her. It was awkward being together, more awkward getting undressed by Jack while Philip stood by and watched. 

 The worst of the awkward had been the two of them going off to give their samples. She'd never felt more conspicuous as she had waiting on them to return. 

 Annabeth shimmied from her pants and out of the last of her clothes, adding them to the bag before getting into the gown with Philip's help. Leaning into him briefly, she let him comfort her and help her to sit on the table and wait on the doctor to come in. She reached for both Jack and Philip's hands, watching the door until her doctor and the nurse came in to get her started. She was ready for the anti-anxiety medications so she might stop feeling like she wanted to throw up.

Jack moved quickly to Annabeth’s side as she slid up onto the table, taking her hand as Philip took her other one. He pressed a kiss to her hand and waited. The silence was deafening. After what felt like an age, though it was only a few minutes, a doctor and nurse entered the room. Jack listened intently as the doctor explained the procedure and the nurse checked AB’s vitals, relieved when she was given a large dose of Ativan. That didn’t stop him from wincing when he had to move away to let the nurse set up AB’s IV. She hated needles, and this was the mother of needles.

Though a doctor himself, Pip wasn’t familiar with the today’s procedure. He looked on as Anna was prepared for the OR, stroking her hand and kissing her shoulder while the IV was placed. He would have sworn the nurse gave him the side eye and he raised a brow, wondering exactly what she thought the situation was here. Once the anxiety medication was given time to kick in, Anna was off to the OR with a last kiss from her men. Left alone in the corridor with Jack, he looked up, muttering, “Coffee?”

And so they found themselves in the waiting room, weak cups of coffee in hand as they waited for news of Annabeth. Jack didn’t speak, not really knowing what to say to the man who would be a partner in the weird parenthood journey they were embarking on. It was… a lot. Instead he sipped his coffee and watched the clock and the muted television in the corner. A pair of women entered the clinic, spoke briefly with the receptionist then took seats on the other side of the waiting room, holding hands. The cute blonde with a boyish haircut caught his eye and beamed, “You guys too?” Jack started as she spoke, looking wide eyed to Philip then back at her as he realized what she meant. “Us? No, you… We aren’t-“

Pip rolled his eyes as Jack stammered through explanations, the women’s faces falling. “The gay panic is real,” he muttered under breath, crumpling his empty coffee cup. The nurse from earlier had come around the corner and he patted Jack’s knee as the man continued to assure the lesbian couple that he was, in fact, heterosexual. “Come on, boyfriend. That’s us.” Throwing away their cups, they entered the recovery room, where Anna was beginning to stir.

The Ativan was welcome. It worked quick enough and AB found herself not caring much about the IV when the time came. Not until they were placing it at any rate. Then tears filled her eyes and she winced, squeezing Philip's hand hard enough that her own ached when she let go.

A kiss to each of her guys, one last hand squeeze, and Annabeth was off to get her procedure done and over with.

It felt like she'd blinked and her eyes opened in the recovery room. Surely it wasn't over? Confusion set in as she tried to sit up but was urged to hold still a while longer by a nurse. She was talking, but AB wasn't comprehending yet, coming up out of the twilight. Then Jack and Philip were there and nothing else mattered. Again tears welled in her eyes as she reached for them, wanting the comfort of their touch while the anesthesia wore off and she slowly came out of the fog. "Is it over? Did they get them?"

They crowded around her bed from both sides, each taking one of her hands. The scene in the waiting room forgotten, Jack ran his fingers through AB's hair, smiling down at her, glad that she was okay. "It's over. They got them." He hoped so anyway. He didn't want to put her through all of this again if it didn't work. It would crush her, and frankly, him as well. He glanced up quickly at the nurse for confirmation. She nodded, "The doctor retrieved twelve mature eggs."

"We're here, love. How are you feeling?" Philip stroked Anna's arm as the sedation wore off, hoping she wouldn't feel sick. "Twelve!" crowed Jack from the other side of the bed. "That's good, right?" Jack looked from the nurse to him for confirmation, smiling hopefully. Philip really thought the man should smile more. Infected by his good mood, he grinned, "Yeah. Yeah, that's good."

Annabeth breathed out a sigh of relief, holding their hands. She still felt like she was half under water, everything felt far away and their voices sounded strange. She woke up more as they held her hand and both of them petted on her. Blinking up at Jack, she smiled groggily. "Twelve! That's so good..." She tried to sit up again but fell back, her belly cramping badly enough she cried out and gripped Philip's hand harder.

"A little sick. Sore." Groaning, she looked to the nurse. "Can I have some Sprite?" The nurse nodded and went to go get it, coming back after a few minutes with a small can of Sprite with a straw. AB drank greedily, glad to have something to kill her dry mouth. Eyes closing briefly, she sighed softly. "Oh, I needed that..." she muttered, looking back up to her guys, smiling. She pulled their hands close and kissed them both. "Twelve though... That's really good..." She was overwhelmed, that was a good number. "I love you both... I love you so much..."

Jack sucked in a breath at her sound of pain. "Just relax for a bit. There's no rush." He looked away to call, "Can we get her some pain meds?" Philip also looked concerned at her discomfort. He reached over and slowly tilted the bed up into a more seated position. The guy obviously knew his way around a hospital bed. "It's so good. We're going to take you home so soon. I love you..."

 Pip was glad she was drinking on her own. It was a good sign. Anna hadn't been able to eat or drink anything since last night. They'd have to feed her as soon as she was able to keep food down. He smiled at Anna, leaning in to brush his lips over hers. "I love you. One step closer to a houseful, huh...?" The nurse broke up their lovefest as she returned with a snack and painkillers for Anna. All of her vitals looked good, it was just a matter of time.

"But I wanna go home," she said, eyes heavy still. "I want bed and a movie. A really, really sappy one. With a happy ending..." Annabeth sighed in relief, getting the bed to sit up more. She felt better for not being laid down. It made her feel less nauseous, so did the Sprite. The pain meds came along with a snack, and she was glad for it. The cramps weren't that bad, but had startled her. 

Anna kissed Philip softly, smiled a little. "A step closer. I'm excited... I can't wait to get to hold my baby..." She closed her eyes again, relaxing. When she opened them, she nibbled her crackers. Nothing had ever tasted better than those bland crackers. Nothing in her whole life. Anna groaned and reached for another cracker. "These are soo good... When can I go? When will they call about the embryos...?" she asked, looking from her guys to the nurse. "I just want to go home..."

"My bed's got your name all over it, AB. All the pillows." Jack had picked up her favorite snacks and changed the sheets that morning, wanting her to be comfortable when she got home. He kept petting her hair, incredibly relieved the procedure had all gone according to plan. This was going to happen. They were going to have a baby. He knew it. 

 Philip laughed softly at Anna's appetite. The nurse had gone to fill in the doctor and had returned with her. Anna was cleared to go, if she kept it easy. The nurse went around disconnecting the monitors and removing the IV while the doctor updated them. "We'll give you a call every day to let you know their progress. Not all of the eggs will develop, but I think you have a very good chance. Once we freeze them, they'll be ready whenever you are."

"The nest," she laughed softly. "The really fluffy nest..." God, she wanted to get into bed, in something comfy, with all the snacks. Maybe Chinese. "Oh god, I want Chinese..." she mumbled to herself. Food was at the front of her brain at the moment. Anna leaned her head into Jack's touch, humming a little. She was content, excited. Somewhere in this building, someone was making their babies. In a dish. 

 Anna got another cracker and stuffed her face. Then the IV was coming out and she was going to get dressed to go home. Her nerves had faded. She wasn't in much pain, just a little sore, and crampy. She knew to expect those things. Sitting up more, she swung her legs off the bed and nodded to the doctor. "Thank you, Doctor. We're excited." Okay. She was excited. Jack probably was too. Doc maybe was. She was sure he was mostly nervous. Reaching for Philip, she wanted to try and stand up and maybe get changed again. "I'm ready now... But it can wait..."

The doctor smiled and left to give them some privacy. Jack was incredibly excited. He hadn't stopped smiling since the news of the successful retrieval. Pulling down the bag of AB's things, he got out her clothes, eager to take her home. Even if it meant taking Philip with them. "The nest is waiting. We can get Chinese on the way home..." 

 Philip moved into Anna's reach, helping to support her as she stood, not wanting her to lose her balance. "Easy does it. Not dizzy?" He was more concerned with her at the moment than what was going on in a dish somewhere behind the scenes. That was something he'd worry about later. They didn't even know how many would make it.

Annabeth couldn't help smiling at Jack. It had been too long since she'd seen him look so happy, and it warmed her heart to see him like that. "Jack..." she murmured, reaching for him to squeeze his hand. He wanted this just as much as she did and Anna couldn't wait to see their baby's face. One day. Soon. "Love you, Jack. Are you happy...?" she asked. 

 Standing slowly, Anna held onto Philip and closed her eyes, trying not to sway on her feet. "A little," she admitted. But holding onto him, she felt it ebbing away, and opened her eyes. "Better..." she sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist to hold him. "Love you." She felt achy, an old woman, as she shifted away to get dressed. Anna leaned on them both heavily, needing help to get dressed again. Once dressed, the nurse came in with more paperwork, discharging her so she could go home.

Jack glanced up as AB reached for him and smiled, taking his hand in hers and kissing it. "Of course I'm happy. I'm so happy..." He really was. He hadn't felt so hopeful in a long, long time. "I love you. Thank you for going through this for us..." She had sacrificed - been pricked and prodded to no end. He'd only had to jerk off in a tiny room with outdated magazines. 

 Pip held Anna close until she was ready to move, nuzzling her neck. "I love you." With the help of Jack, they slowly helped her dress. With her papers signed and a prescription for painkillers in hand, they slowly led her out through the waiting room, one man under each arm. There was no way they'd let her overdo it.

AB gripped Jack's hand tight. "I like you happy... You have the prettiest smile I've ever seen..." she mumbled, kissing his hand. The meds they'd given her had her feeling loose and open. "You really look like an angel when you're smiling..." Blinking, she smiled at Jack, pulled him over for a kiss. "It's all worth it when we have a baby. A houseful of babies." All the babies. She would go through this all a thousand times to be able to hold a baby at the end. 

 Humming into Philip's chest, Anna held onto the both of them on their way out to the waiting room. She settled in the wheelchair for the ride down to the entrance while Jack went for the car. When Philip rolled her outside, she let both of them help her into the car, her laying back in the passenger seat with her eyes closed. "Egg roll. I want one when we get Chinese."

AB's silly talk about angels made Jack laugh. "AB.... You are so high I'm jealous." When she pulled him over he didn't resist, kissing her over and over. "A houseful sounds perfect..." Leaving her in the care of the doctor, he ran out to get the car and pulled it right up to the entrance. Safely depositing AB inside the car, the doctor buckled her in as Jack slid behind the wheel. "I'll get you a dozen egg rolls." 

 Anna may have been high, but she had a point about Jack's smile. It was a stunner. Seeing how happy Anna was made it all worth it. But surprisingly, Jack's happiness gave him a bit of the warm fuzzies too. And he didn't even like the guy. Philip settled in the backseat, sitting in the middle so he could monitor Anna. "And I'll help you eat them." They headed home.

"I am so lightweight..." She was. The drugs were so nice too. The crampiness had faded some, though her limbs all felt heavy and her body was achy. It was fading, the aches. "I really like your smile though. Angel." Annabeth looked over to him and smiled. "A houseful. We can have that..." Twelve. Twelve eggs. That was a lot of potential. 

 "That is a lot of egg rolls..." she mumbled, getting comfortable and smiling at the little bit of fussing they were doing. Eyes closing, she dozed a little for the ride, her hand reaching back to touch Doc's, wanting that contact with him.

[kayetaz]

You Be the Anchor that Keeps My Feet on the Ground (Ch. 2) | Newt x Reader

Summary: Newt is recovering and the reader is afraid he no longer needs her anymore. Another Glader takes advantage of their distance from each other but Newt is there to help her like she helped him.

 Warnings: Sexual assault/mention Word count: 3,017

 A/N: This chapter was a little difficult for me to write and I apologize if it upsets anyone. I’m estimating this imagine will have about three more chapters but we’ll see where we can take this. Again, any comments/suggestions for future chapters and imagines are greatly encouraged and I really hope you enjoy this chapter!

Ch. 1 | Ch. 3

The next few weeks go by in a blur. I spend pretty much every day in the Med-jack office with Newt, where we teach each other how to play card games that we had learned in our old lives before the Glade. I win almost every hand, but Newt just laughs and swears he lets me.

As we’re finishing up our sixth or seventh round of a game Newt calls ‘Black Jack’, the blonde groans in frustration.

“I really need to get out of this room.”

It has been a little over two months since the incident, and Newt’s ankle has set, albeit at a slightly awkward angle because I couldn’t tie the splint tight enough. We have been talking about letting Newt start being on his own, but, truth be told, I’ve gotten really selfish with my one-on-one time with him. I’ve been reluctant to give it up.

However, I can tell he’s getting anxious, and I’m more afraid of him returning to that dark place that caused him to jump than spending less time with him.

“Okay,” I say, getting up to grab the crutches Gally had made for when this day came. “Remember how to hold them?”

“Yes, love. I broke my ankle, not my head.”

I smile at the name again, even though it has become a much more frequent occurrence.

“I’ll help you down the stairs and then maybe you could go for lunch?”

Newt frowns. “You’re not going to come with me?”

I laugh at his child-like expression. “Well, the point of you getting around on your own is that you don’t have to be stuck with me all the time.”

“Stuck with you?” he exclaims. “(Y/N), these past two months with you have been the most fun I’ve had in the Glade. Ever.”

I feel my cheeks go pink as I smile wide. “Likewise, Newt.”

“So, join me for lunch?”

“I’d love to,” I answer as I hold out the crutches to help him get situated.

Newt jumps to his feet, smiling, and settles onto his crutches. He keeps most of his weight on them as he walks on both feet with a very noticeable limp from the new unnatural curve of his ankle.

I’m slightly amazed but a little disappointed at how well he does on his own. He doesn’t need my help getting down the stairs or even opening the front door of the Homestead. I should have known though. He’s a stubborn one.

The Gladers all seem genuinely thrilled to see him out and about again. Many come up to him, slapping him on the back or shaking his hand when it’s not being used for holding the crutches. Newt beams at them all in return, easily engaging in conversation as if he had just seen them yesterday. It was easy to forget how popular he was while we were living in our own little bubble.

We finally make it to the kitchen and despite his protests, I get him to sit down while I grab the trays.

By the time I make it back with the food, Newt is surrounded by people on all sides. As unwilling as I was to be sharing him only a few minutes ago, the sight really warms my heart as I see how many people really care about him. Hopefully he sees that now too.

I place his tray in front of him and he smiles up at me in thanks.

“I’m going to go eat in the Med-jack office,” I tell him and his smile fades.

“No! Sit, love!”

I laugh in response as there is no longer a free space within ten feet of him.

“I’ve hogged you for over two months, Newt. Spend some time with your other friends.���

Before he can answer, I turn and retreat out the door into the Glade.

“(Y/N)!” I hear an unfamiliar voice call and turn to see Ivan, the second newest Greenie whose party is what got Newt and I talking again.

“Hi, Ivan,” I say politely as he jogs over to me. “How have you been getting on?”

“Pretty good. Except there’s this one girl I never get to talk to because she spends all her time locked in a tower,” he laughs.

“Speaking of, I was just on my way back,” I reply and begin heading toward the Homestead.

“Mind if I join you, actually? It’s not a huge deal, but I kind of almost cut off my finger while working on one of the chickens this morning.”

“Sure,” I say, looking down sadly at my lunch after being reminded it was running around its pen only a few hours ago.

We reach the Homestead and climb the stairs, entering the room that now seems too empty without Newt.

I set my tray down and take a look at the cut, which is pretty bad and almost down to the bone. I first wrap it in some tiger grass so it doesn’t get infected, and then wrap it in a clean bandage instead of the dirty rag he had used previously.

“Good as new,” I smile at him, as he flexes his fingers and beams back at me.

He looks briefly around the room, taking in the surroundings. “I don’t get the allure of this place that makes you want to spend all your time up here.”

“Well, it is my job,” I snort. “Plus, someone had to keep Newt company or he probably would’ve went mad and ju-“ I stop abruptly. I almost said, ‘jumped out the window’ until I was quickly reminded of why he was here in the first place.

Ivan just smiles like he wasn’t listening anyway. “Well, remind me to trip and break my ankle then if it means I get your hospitality.”

I continue to smile at him but I’m definitely forcing it at this point. I have been flirted with countless numbers of times, being that I am the only girl in the Glade, but this just felt a lot more uncomfortable than any of those times. Not to mention, we are all alone in a room of a building that no one else is occupying at the moment.

“Well, I really should get back to work. I’ve got inventory and other stuff to do,” I finally say to break the awkward silence that ensues while he continues to stare at me.

“Aw, you can’t take a break?”

“Rule number one: no freeloading,” I remind him as I turn and grab for my logbook to break our eye contact.

I only feel him scoot closer to me in his chair. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Ivan-“ I begin to say but my voice fails me when his hand touches my thigh.

He shushes me and leans closer and closer. My face stays pointed directly at my book, so his lips connect to my neck.

“Ivan!” I yell, trying to push him off but it has no effect, except that when I turn towards him he collides his lips with mine.

I try to stand and back away but his hand moves up to my waist and the other snakes along my back, holding me in place.

I turn my head away and his lips reattach on my neck. After another unsuccessful attempt at trying to push him away, I ball my hand into a fist and aim it directly at his crotch. He yelps and his hands go slack enough for me to get up and run. I don’t even make it to the door before he grabs a hold of my hair and pulls me to a stop.

“Help!” I scream as loudly as I can, and his hand comes up to cover my mouth as the other pushes me down onto the cot next to where Newt’s was.

Tears pool in my eyes as I realize what’s happening. I remember vague stories about this kind of thing from before the Glade, but I never thought it would happen to me. Especially not in the Glade.

He straddles me to keep me down on the cot, and with one hand still covering my mouth, his other goes to the button of my pants. With one last shred of hope, I bite down on his hand and scream as loud as I possibly can once it’s removed.

The last thing I remember is a hard punch to the side of my head and everything goes black.

 --

 When I wake up, I see stars and faceless blobs surrounding me. I hear noises that feel so loud but I can’t make out a single word. I immediately remember what happened and I feel completely dirty in my body.

I spring up into a sitting position so fast that it makes me nauseous. Hands go to touch me, but I just scream even though I can’t hear if anything comes out. I never want to be touched by anyone ever again.

When the world finally comes into focus, I see that Jeff and Clint were the ones who were trying to stabilize me. Alby is to my left, with his brow furrowed and his arms crossed, staring at me with almost paternal concern. And to my right, I see Newt with the same hopeless expression I saw on his face the day he jumped.

There is a blanket draped over me, and when I take it off I can see that the straps of my tank top have been cut with a knife or something like it, and the first two buttons of my pants are undone. Otherwise, it doesn’t seem like Iv-

I can’t even think of his entire name before I lean over the side of the bed and vomit into the trash can placed there for exactly this reason.

A hand finds it way on my back but I shriek at the contact and it is removed.

When I finally sit up again, I can’t meet anyone’s eyes.

“What happened?” I ask no one in particular.

“Nothing, (Y/N). Newt got here before…,” I hear Alby’s voice next to me say. I almost sigh in relief but at the same time I feel so disgusted with myself. With what they know happened, or almost did. “Ivan-“

“Don’t say that name!” I yell.

“That bloody shank is in the pit,” Newt says angrily, and when I look at him his eyes are black with rage. “Until tomorrow when we banish him to the maze.”

“(Y/N),” Alby says and I turn to look at him again. “All of your stuff has been brought up. You’re going to sleep in the Med-jack office so you can lock the door and no one can get in at night. Clint, Jeff, Ben, Minho, Newt and I are also going to sleep on the first floor to keep a look out. And I want you to start working in the gardens, so you’re safe in the public eye.”

I want to be angry at the demands, because it somewhat feels like I am getting punished. But then I think of how his hands felt on my skin and I never want to feel that way again, so I just nod my head, staring at the floor.

“Okay, guys. Let’s give her some space,” Alby says and everyone heads to the door, including Newt using only one crutch.

“Newt,” I call but it only comes out in a shaky whisper.

He turns to me and his eyes are back to being his usual kind and caring ones. “Yes, love?”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

My voice breaks on the last word and tears finally begin pouring down my cheeks. He’s back in his chair to my right in a split second with his hands lying cautiously on the cot near my hand.

“It’s okay, love. I’m right here, yeah? I’m not going anywhere.”

I want to grab his hand. I want to hug him and cry into his chest like I did the night of the bonfire. But I can’t because every touch feels like knives on my skin.

So, I just sit there and cry while Newt sits closely but not close enough to touch and whispers reassuring words every few seconds.

When I finally calm down enough, Newt stands and hobbles on one crutch again to pour a glass of water from a pitcher on the side table. I take a huge gulp. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was and I vaguely wonder how long I was knocked out for.

“What happened to your other crutch?” I ask him once I drink almost all of the water.

He fills my glass again and returns to his chair. “Broke.”

“How?”

His eyes look at the floor for a moment and I see anger flash in them before glancing back up to me. “Smashed it into a bloody Slinthead.”

“Good,” I respond with a small smile, which he returns.

After a few seconds, a sad expression graces his features. “God, (Y/N), I am so sorry.”

“You are the last person in the world I need to hear that from, Newt.”

“I shouldn’t have let you leave Frypan’s. I should’ve followed you back sooner,” he says and I see tears line his chocolate eyes.

“Sooner?” I ask quizzically.

“Yeah. I only stuck around like ten minutes after you left and then came back to find you. I heard you screaming as soon as I opened the Homestead door and bolted up the stairs, not even bothering to use the crutches and I saw…” he looks away with his eyes closed, shaking his head at the memory. “I smashed one into that shank so hard his ears bled.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly, absorbing his words.

“You don’t need to thank me. Beating the klunk out of him was the easiest decision I’ve ever made.”

“Regardless, I’m thankful. For being there then and for being here now.”

“Anytime, love,” he responds, beaming at me. “Really. Anytime.”

A comfortable silence follows as we just look at each other, grinning. Newt eventually gazes out the window and his smile falters slightly.

“It’s getting late. You should get some sleep,” he says.

My heart drops. Even though I’m exhausted, the thought of being alone in this room, especially after what happened, is extremely unsettling.

“Could you-“ I glance at the cot he’d been sleeping on the past nine weeks, and then back at him, wanting to ask him to stay the night but not having the courage to do so.

Luckily, I didn’t have to finish.

“Of course, love,” he says, first taking the glass of water from me and putting it on the table, and then standing and getting onto the cot to the right of mine.

We both lie down, facing each other, and eventually I drift off with his gentle eyes as the last image in my mind.

 --

 “(Y/N),” a British voice whispers and my eyes flutter open.

Newt is still lying on the cot next to mine, watching me with a small smile.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” he responds. “Alby just came up to tell me there is going to be a Gathering in an hour. He would like you to come, but you don’t have to if you’re not up for it.”

As much as I don’t want to, I know Newt will have to because he’s second-in-command, and I’d rather go than be stuck here alone.

“Okay,” I say and sit up, wincing a little when I feel some pain on my left hip.

I lift up my shirt to see fingerprints from where I was being held down. Newt sees and I hear a low growl escape his throat. I look to see his eyes as black and angry and they were last night, but when our eyes meet, they soften again.

“Here,” he says and offers me his sweatshirt.

I’m confused at first until I go to put it on and see more fingerprints lining my arms, and I’m thankful for being able to cover them. I’m also grateful that once it’s on, I inhale and smell Newt. Everything about the boy is comforting, even his scent.

We make our way to the council room and I sit in the back with the crowd while Newt joins Alby and the Keepers in the center. I get a lot of weird looks from the boys which makes me self-conscious and I hold on tighter to Newt’s jacket.

After a minute or so, Alby tells everyone to be quiet and stands in the very center, gesturing to me.

“I’m just going to be blunt. The rumor about Ivan-” I flinch at the name, “-is not a rumor. He attacked (Y/N) last night, in such a way that even banishment does not seem like a fair enough punishment.”

Everyone is looking at me now, many with their mouths open. Some people start yelling out suggested punishments, like torture and dismembering. It makes my stomach twist.

Alby shushes them. “We need to stick to the Glader code. Ivan will be banished at sunset tonight. However, I wanted to gather everyone so we could go over a new rule that will hopefully stop something like this from ever happening again.”

Everyone is quiet now. Even Newt and the Keepers look shockingly inquisitive. For the two years most of us have been here, there has only been three rules. Adding another is not something anyone seems to take lightly, especially because breaking those rules results in banishment.

“No one is to have a relationship with (Y/N) that is anything more than friendship.”

I feel eyes on me all over the room. Many of the guys don’t seem to be phased but there are some with disappointed expressions which freaks me out a little.

I turn away from their gazes and my eyes find Newt’s, which look almost a little sad. And that’s when it hits me. I’m sad too because I was really starting to like Newt. As more than a friend.

And it just became illegal.

Next chapter.

[allyinthekeyofx]

Genesis chapters 27, 28 & Epilogue

Mercy Hospital. San Diego, CA

Mulder slept.

He found himself sleeping at odd times of the day and night, his injury and the pain relief in his system had made staying awake for longer than a few hours at a time an impossible luxury. When he awoke again, he realised that somehow, night had once again fallen. The lights in his room had been dimmed, a tray with a snack atop it placed by his bed.

He wrinkled his nose at the thought. Food at the moment held little appeal. Besides which, he had much more pressing matters to attend to. And for the first time in days, he gritted his teeth and struggled up in to a sitting position.

Earlier in the day he had placed a call to Frohike who had procrastinated heavily before finally furnishing him with the information he needed. Mulder had plainly heard the doubt in the little man’s voice, but loyalty had finally won over common sense and he had called back ten minutes later with the number.

Scully’s room number.

Mulder eased his legs over the side of the bed, wincing as he did so. The wound was still new enough to make moving around difficult but four days of rest had taken the edge off the burning pain and Mulder decided it was at a manageable enough level for him to be able to do this. He was being foolish, though. He was aware of that.

Bed rest meant bed rest. Not gallivanting around the hospital in search of his partner. And as the injury twinged again he knew that in all probability he would pay for this later.

But that was okay.

It was worth the cost.

Being separated from her like this was unthinkable. He couldn’t remember a time recently when he had spent so much time away from her. Especially in light of what they had been through over the last couple of years. He had admitted to himself a long time ago that he loved her. On what level, he was less sure of and he didn’t question it often. He just accepted it as a part of who they were.

And knowing she was here somewhere, hurting as much as he was, almost tore him in two. The enforced separation was far more painful than any physical wound and tonight, Mulder aimed to alleviate that pain for the both of them.

Without sparing another thought as to the potential consequences, Mulder eased the IV slowly from the back of his hand and gingerly allowed his feet to make contact with the linoleum floor beneath him. For just a second his head swam and he stood for a minute, waiting for his vision to clear.

He was amazed how easily it was to slip out of the room unnoticed. Just another patient dressed in the anonymous gown and robe taking a walk along the almost empty corridors.  And if any of the medical personnel noticed that he walked with a peculiar shambling gait, hand pressed against his side as a support, no one questioned him on it. They all had better things to do it seemed.

It wasn’t difficult to locate Scully’s room. Frohike had given him fairly precise instructions. Which was fortunate for Mulder, if only for the fact that by the time he reached her door, he was just about ready to collapse.

The twinging pain he had experienced when he had first got up out of bed had escalated rapidly into white hot agony as he made himself concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Several times along the way, he had had to stop. To lean against the wall for a moment until the world came back into focus and he was able to carry on. He would have liked to have rested in one of the chairs that lined the corridor walls, but had rapidly nixed the idea, realising that should he succumb, he was unlikely to want to get up again.

He stood, indecisive outside the door. Unsure as to whether to knock or to walk right in. The sweat poured off him and he was aware that he had pushed way too hard, perhaps for the first time realising just why he had been confined to his bed. The short trip here had left him exhausted and shaky. A combination of the fatigue and the throbbing pain in his side leaving him feeling nauseous to a point where he was terrified that if he opened his mouth he would throw up. His breathing was shallow but rapid and he was unaware that much of the dizziness he was experiencing was as a direct result of the fact he was now hyperventilating in an effort to temper the pain that washed over him in waves.

But he had got this far and was damned if he was about to give up now. So instead, he curled his fingers around the door’s handle and turned it slowly, pushing against it as he did so.

The first thing he saw when he entered the room was an empty bed, it’s coverings rumpled and thrown to one side as though it’s occupant had recently awoken and decided to vacate it. The second thing he saw was the figure who stood by the window, silhouetted by the blue moonlight that poured through it. Her arms were folded against her chest, her head tilted to one side as she regarded the stars thoughtfully.

Scully

She looked so much smaller than he remembered. The fact that her feet were bare against the tiled floor took inches off her usual height. Sometimes he forgot how tiny she really was. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail that just brushed the nape of her neck and Mulders eyes widened as he caught sight of the piece of medical gauze that covered the area beneath it.

All of this information slammed in to his brain within the space of a couple of seconds, and in the meantime, Scully began to turn in response to the sound of the door opening. Her eyes widened when she saw him. The expression in them a combination of concern, surprise and something else that Mulder couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Hi.” He offered weakly.

She took a step towards him then stopped abruptly, her eyes scanning him rapidly.

“Mulder, what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be out of bed yet.”

Mulder shrugged, his hand groping for the edge of the door that had begun to swing shut, suddenly needing something to hold on to as the room began to tilt crazily beneath his feet. But his fingers grasped ineffectively at nothing more substantial than fresh air and he gave up, hearing the door click closed behind him.

“I needed to see you were okay.”

Scully’s eyes filled with hot tears that closed her throat and made her conscious of the rapid beating of her heart as his whispered words registered. The knowledge that - even after what she had done to him, how she had hurt him - his first concern was for her, hurt her more than she could ever tell him.

She didn’t deserve his understanding. Not now. Not ever.

She turned away as the tears began to slide down her face.

“I’m fine, Mulder.”

And then he realised what that undeniable something he had seen in her eyes had been.

Guilt

So much guilt that she couldn’t even bear to face him.

He forced himself to take a step toward her, conscious of the rigid set of her body as she kept her eyes fixed on the window ahead. He could see his own reflection in it and knew she could too. Just by the way she tensed he knew she could see him advancing toward her.

“Scully…..”

Somehow he had to get through to her, to make her understand that none of this was her fault, that he didn’t blame her even a fraction of how much she apparently blamed herself.

She shook her head from side to side. Her ponytail swayed gently, the bright flash of colour discernible even in the half-light.

Her voice when it finally reached him was cracked and strained.

"Mulder. You shouldn’t be here.”

And it was enough for him to ignore the pain, to ignore the way her voice seemed to come from far away, to ignore the way the ground was falling away from beneath his feet as he began to bridge the gap between them both. A few feet that suddenly seemed like miles.

And he so very nearly made it. He was close enough to touch her gently with his fingertips before he lost the battle with consciousness and began to fall, crumpling to the ground even as she spun around, her face a picture of anger that he had ignored her words. But as he fell, his eyes fixed on her face; he saw her expression subtly change. In the blink of an eye concern flooded her delicate features and she reached out for him, managing to catch him for just long enough to lessen the impact on his battered body as he hit the floor. And somewhere deep inside him as he hovered on the fringes of consciousness he heard her voice, felt her hands come around his back as she knelt beside him, cradling him in her arms as her tears burned his skin.

I’m sorry, Mulder. I’m so sorry.

Her words came from far away, but it was enough. Enough for him to finally let go as darkness enveloped him.

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

Chapter 28

He knew she was there. Before he even opened his eyes he could sense her presence.

Watching over him, soothing him with her touch as he fought against the darkness.

He could vaguely remember losing consciousness, of falling to the floor even as she tried to support him with her own fragile weight. To lessen the potential injury he might have caused himself.

But the pain was still there, escalating with every second he became more aware.

But he was no longer in her room. The mattress beneath him was hard and unyielding but a vast improvement to the floor onto which he had crashed.

He could hear her breathing beside him, could feel her hand covering his own, her fingers curled around his thumb as she stroked it gently. He would recognise her touch anywhere.

Not yet able to open his eyes he squeezed his own fingers in to the back of her hand, rewarded when he heard her voice, drifting towards him like a summer breeze.

“Sshhhhh, it’s okay. Don’t try to move. It’s okay.”

He could hear her tears and the knowledge she was crying was enough to force his eyes open. It took a while for her face to swim into focus. He felt groggy, out of himself somehow. But he silently watched her as a tiny, tremulous smile twitched across her lips.

Her blue eyes were clouded with concern, her pale skin streaked with tears she had no doubt shed for him as she watched over him. Waiting for him to awaken and for the first time he was aware of the sunlight that streamed through the gaps in the blinds drawn closed at the windows.

He ran his tongue over lips that felt dry and cracked.

“What time is it?” he managed finally.

Scully shook her head.

“It’s Tuesday, Mulder.”

Mulder’s mouth dropped open as he attempted to sit up, Scully’s hand placed firmly against his chest effectively blocking him. He gave up and dropped his head back down.

“Tuesday?”

She nodded

“Tuesday?” He repeated numbly. “But …”

Scully reached up a shaky hand and smoothed a strand of hair from where it had fallen towards his eyes. Eyes which were now clouded with a combination of confusion and pain.

“You’ve been unconscious for almost two days. When you fell, you opened up the wound. They got you down to surgery in time but you lost a lot of blood.”

Her eyes shone with fresh tears as her tone hardened slightly.

“You almost died, Mulder. How could you be so stupid?”

He shrugged, wincing as he did so.

“I needed to see you.”

Scully snatched her hand from his, her anger finally boiling to the surface as she looked down at him. Saw the way he just shrugged off his own well being for the sake of hers. And she was angry, so damn angry she could shake him.

“I’m not worth dying for, Mulder. I don’t deserve for you to give up your life just because you worry about how I’m feeling. I’m not worth it. No one is.”

He didn’t even flinch as the harshness of her words hit him. Instead he simply shook his head.

“You’re wrong, Scully.”

She dropped her gaze from his, her anger evaporating as quickly as it had come.

“I almost killed you,” she whispered brokenly. “I pointed a gun at you and pulled the trigger without a second thought.”

She was crying hard now, all pretence at composure abandoned as she choked out the words. Words that had been haunting her since that terrible night and Mulder grasped her arm, feeling the delicate bones beneath his fingers. She had lost weight since he had last seen her.

“You didn’t kill me, Scully. You couldn’t have known what they did to you. We were played - the two of us. You know that. You had no more control over your actions than a pawn in a game. Besides …” he grinned crookedly, “we should be thankful your aim was off.”

Scully didn’t return his smile. “Mulder, don’t. Don’t joke about this. Shout at me, curse at me, hate me even for what I did. But don’t reduce it down to something we should just dismiss. Because I can’t dismiss it. Every time I close my eyes it’s there. I can’t escape it.”

Mulder swallowed heavily, feeling his eyes begin to burn with his own unshed tears.

“Is that what you believe? That I should hate you? Is that what you really want?”

Scully turned her gaze back to him. The sight of him lying there, so pale and tired and used-up brought the guilt sharply back into focus.

I did this to him.

Because regardless of how much he tried to alleviate her guilt, she knew she was responsible for him being in this bed. For yet another scar left on his body to remind them constantly of what they had gone through.

“You should hate me Mulder. God knows, I hate myself right now…”

Mulder cut her off, raising his voice for the first time and ignoring the pain the added exertion caused him.

“Don’t lay this crap on me, Scully. If you want to wallow in self-pity, then go right ahead. But don’t you expect me to help you justify it. Because I can’t. I won’t.”

He paused, taking a deep breath as the pain washed over him once again.

“This isn’t your fault. None of it.”

She met his gaze squarely.

“Then who’s is it, Mulder? If it’s not mine, if I’m not responsible then who the hell is?”

But this time he didn’t answer. He simply reached for her, drawing her towards him until she could lay her head against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat reverberating in her ears, its cadence strong and regular.

“You hear that?” Mulder whispered, not waiting for her to respond. “That’s the only thing on this earth you’re responsible for. Because without you it would have been silenced long ago.”

His voice was hoarse as he battled the tears that threatened to spill over, trying with all his heart and mind to make her understand how much she meant to him. That without her by his side, he would have died years ago. That the thought of losing her scared him so much sometimes that it stole away all rational thought.

“Nothing you could ever do will change that, Scully. Nothing.”

He was rewarded when her arms snaked around him, holding him against her as she listened to the sound of his heartbeat, a heartbeat that told her that her that somehow, everything would be alright between them again.

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

Epilogue

Three weeks later.

On Scully’s insistence, Mulder had agreed to spend the early part of his first week’s release from the hospital safety ensconced in her apartment. He hadn’t argued much when she had suggested it, seeing the sense in her words.

His recovery had been slow and he was still in the hospital by the time she had been pronounced fit and well and up on her feet.

She had left him briefly, attending the OPR hearing where she had been questioned at length regarding her actions in San Diego. The hearing had dragged on for three days while the medical evidence was discussed at length. She had coped admirably with most of it, but on the second day, when they had begun questioning her relationship with Mulder, she had lost her habitual cool and stormed out of the conference room.

Skinner had been sent to retrieve her and had been horrified to find her sobbing against a wall, hands covering her face, so appalled was she that they could even think that her actions had been in any way premeditated or independent from the drugs that had been fed into her system. In fact, she had been almost ready to go back in there and tell them to go to hell.

Not a very smart course of action and one which Skinner had managed to talk her out of.

And she had managed to make it through the remainder of the hearing with her professional facade firmly back in place.

When the verdict had finally come through that no disciplinary action would be forthcoming, he had immediately granted her a leave of absence to recover from the ordeal she had been through. He also recognised her unspoken need to take care of her partner through his recovery. To make amends maybe.

And make amends she had. Mulder had been faintly amused by the way she had hovered around him but had played along, knowing that she needed to do this to help heal them both.

On the third day, though, he had managed to persuade her to leave the apartment for a while. To go shopping, to go for a walk, to get her nails done. Anything really, to let her escape all this for a while. He was fine. Getting stronger every day and whilst any sudden movement reminded him to take it easy, the pain had all but disappeared and he had managed to get it through to her that he was fine to be left to his own devices for a while.

But she hadn’t stayed away long. A couple of hours maybe before she was back, face slightly flushed from the sunshine that had caught her pale skin.

Immediately she had known something was wrong, had looked at the expression that clouded her partner’s pale face and dropped the bags she held in her arms unceremoniously on to the kitchen table.

“What?”

Mulder had passed her the newspaper that had been delivered shortly after her departure and which he had folded in such a way as to make the article easily discernible from the rest on the crowded confines of page four. ‘Body of FBI Agent found’

The accompanying article spoke of the grim discovery by a guy walking his dog of the 4X4 parked amongst the trees in a wooded area off the beaten track in the Oregon countryside. The decomposing body was still sitting at the wheel of the car. The hose that snaked from the exhaust and into the vehicle had made cause of death a foregone conclusion, although there was no suicide note to be found anywhere.

No other suspects were being sought in connection with his death.

Special Agent in Charge John Alan Wickham was to be buried after a small private ceremony confined to members of his immediate family. And the truth would be buried right along with him.

There was a small accompanying blurb by the article’s author on the stresses that law enforcement professionals were forced to deal with on a daily basis and the grim statistics of suicides within the various police agencies.

Scully stepped towards Mulder.

“Do you believe it?” she asked softly.

Mulder shook his head.

“Do you?”

But she didn’t need to answer. They both knew that Wickham had failed the men he had pledged his allegiance to. And the cost of that failure had been to die at their hands. Another senseless death to add to the multitudes that these men were responsible for. Scully wondered whether they ever managed to successfully wash the blood from their hands. Did they return to their families at the end of the day and sit amongst them feeling smugly justified in their actions?

She didn’t even want to contemplate that the answer might be yes.

The potential knowledge was just beyond her as a human being.

She grasped Mulder’s hand, placing the newspaper gently atop the table. Later she would throw it in the trash.

But right now, she simply stepped into his embrace as he wrapped his arms tightly around her.

So many deaths.

So many lives cut short.

But so far they had both been lucky. They were together still. Alive and breathing, listening to the sounds of their heartbeats as they merged into one.

And that was enough.

END

[colorado-roots]

The Future is Bright, Class of 2017

Bouncing back from a life-threatening detour, one month after finishing college

I remember stacking all my hard classes into the Winter Quarter of my junior year of college, right after I got back from studying abroad. I did not take a light load, because I was adamant on finishing my undergraduate career the following winter. That was the beauty of the quarter system, you could finish early, and get a head start on life.

By the time my final undergraduate quarter came around, I was pursuing a full-time job search. I was putting hours into the process, and was determined to have one lined up soon after I finished my classes. I went into the search with confidence, and things were going smoothly, but slowly. I faced job rejections like most do, and was waiting to hear back from others.

I am usually a very low-stress, go with the flow type of person, but I had put pressure on myself to get ahead from the beginning. I began to notice subtle occurrences in my life that felt unusual, and I did not understand why they were happening. I became discouraged with how drawn out the process felt and decided I needed to do something.

The end of April crept up, and in typical me fashion, I invited myself onto my friends’ planned out trip to Jazz Fest in New Orleans as a graduation celebration. As we were getting on the plane, we joked that we all forgot our health insurance cards, and how ironic it would be if one of us ended up in the hospital. We spent our days at the festival and our nights out on Bourbon; young and alive.

Sunday rolled around, and the festival was postponed due to flooding. I was not feeling well and fell asleep for a few hours. When I woke up, they had just reopened the fairgrounds. I popped up from my makeshift bed on the floor, and stated that I wanted to go see Tom Petty.

That’s when everything became blurry. My heart was racing. I was extremely nauseous. I walked towards the bathroom, past my friends. The next thing I remember, I was lying in the bathtub, my feet hanging over the edge and the shower curtain under me. One of my friends was holding my hand. A strange man was standing above me, asking if I knew where I was, and if I knew my name. I was mad because obviously I knew those answers, but I couldn’t communicate them. I thought I was having a nightmare, but I couldn’t wake up.

I have a very blurred memory of being in the back of the ambulance. My friend gave me my phone and I was constantly refreshing my emails, like I was waiting for something important.

I was shifting in and out of consciousness when we arrived at the hospital. I vaguely remember a doctor coming into the room. All my friends were there with me, and he very seriously asked if he could speak in front of them. I said yes, still oblivious to my surroundings. He explained to me that I had experienced a grand mal seizure that lasted about five minutes and that I had stopped breathing for a period of time. He went on to say that my CT scan showed a spot that looked like a brain tumor or a blood clot, and that I needed a MRI immediately.

I was thrusted back into reality, and glanced over at my friends, who were sitting in a line along the wall. They were staring back at me, their mouths open wide. My parents were on the other end of the conversation back in Denver. I don’t even want to know what their expressions were.

I slowly got up from my seat on the bed, and a sharp pain shot down my spine. I have always been an active and health conscious person. I was in good shape, training for a half marathon, but I had fractured my back from the fall. I was forced into a wheelchair, and was carted off into a world spinning too fast for me to comprehend. My life seemed to be rapidly slipping out of my control.

I remember waking up after the MRI and the doctor telling me I had a malformation that resembled a rasberry of tangled blood vessels. It was very likely still bleeding, and going to cause another threatening seizure. I was probably born with it, and time is what set it off. He told me I should not catch my flight back to Denver the next day because he wanted to get me into brain surgery. I said I would absolutely not be having brain surgery until I got home.

I was checked into the ICU, where my neighbors were recovering from strokes and aneurysms. Yet, here I was, a twenty-two year old, recent college grad, being pumped with anticonvulsants and brain surgery in my future.

I became super insistent that I wasn’t going to stay. Reluctantly, my doctors agreed to let me go home. My mom walked in the door a few hours later, and back to Denver we flew.

Now the perks of this happening to me, is that my dad is a physician. He forced his way onto the schedule of one of Colorado’s highly esteemed neurosurgeons. I had my consultation with him, and we scheduled the thing.

The few days leading up to it were a blur. I felt brain dead from my medication and could only joke about the situation. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t sad, but hell yeah, I was mad. I don’t think I ever went through the teen angst stage, but I definitely had it that week. I could not understand what I did to deserve this; to put my life on hold and only hope for the best. I remember wondering if I would walk across the stage of my college graduation with a shaved head, however, my surgeon assured me that he would save my hair. I saw and heard from so many of my friends and family, and they were frightened for me. All I could do was reassure them that everything would be okay.

I woke up the the morning of my surgery ready to go. It was game day. I knew that this might be the second worst day of my life, thus far, but it wasn’t going to stop me from trying to make it somewhat normal. I joked with the nurses and doctors. I said that if by some miracle the mass had disappeared, then I wasn’t going to have the surgery. I got another MRI to map out the area and the surgeon said, “Well Corin, it’s still there.”

The anesthesiologist came in and said he was going to put something into my IVs that would make me feel relaxed, and that I should say bye to my parents for now. As they wheeled me out of the room, my parents got emotional. I held back the tears and said, “Can you have dinner ready when I get back?”

They rolled me back to the operating room, where I am certain they were jamming to ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’ by AC/DC, but I could have been mistaken, I was pretty drugged up. They handed me a mask to put over my mouth, and I was out.

I woke up eight hours later in the ICU. My mom was shoveling Jell-O down my throat as the nurses pumped morphine into my body. I felt so sick and so confused. My veins and head were on fire. I remembered why I was there, and reached for my head.

My dad told me that my procedure lasted four hours, and that it was successful. They had to make a bigger incision than they had anticipated because my brain was still bleeding. I was most concerned with the fact that the halo they put on my head during the surgery accidentally pierced the middle of my forehead, and that I’d have a scar front and center as a daily reminder of what I went through.

It has been three weeks since my procedure, and I am doing really well. Recovering from brain surgery is not the easiest process, but I am dealing with it. Being young and healthy has made my experience smoother than most people’s. I have beat all the odds.

I’ve struggled with guilt. Guilt that I got off easy, and that others with this problem were not as fortunate. Nonetheless, I have counted my blessings. I still have a few steps to go, but it shouldn’t hold me back much longer. The truth is, recovery is easy if you are fighting for the life you envisioned for yourself.

People have asked me why I am handling this with so much positivity. I respond every time saying perspective is everything. It could have ended a lot worse, or happened in a different way. I could have been driving. I could have been a mother, or had a steady job. I could have been old. It could have bled more. It could have been cancer. But here I am, living somewhere in the middle of fate. I still have the rest of my life ahead of me, and I will never let this take anymore of my time. I lost a few months, but then again, I gained a lifetime.

The pain has given me wisdom. It has prepared me for whatever lies ahead. It wasn’t the road I had planned on taking, but it made me a helluva lot stronger.

It taught me to take every failure, every rejection, every opportunity and be persistent. Hard times are sometimes inevitable. I am so lucky mine just left a six inch scar on the side of my head.

Your hard times are probably different. It could still be affecting you or you could have already grown from it. There is no scale for comparison. Your feelings are yours to feel, no matter the circumstance. Do not discount them. But be resilient. You have a lot of road left to travel, and many places to stop along the way. Take the hard times presented to you and learn from them. There will be moments you feel discouraged, but persist on. All good things in life take time.

I stumbled upon this quote a week after my surgery. It read, “Sometimes we get caught up chasing the biggest and the best. The newest and the next. Slow down, look up. Notice the miracle in this moment. This might just be the one you didn’t realize you were fighting for.”

[cosmosogler]

hi guys. today cleo woke me up before 5 am. 

i had fallen asleep sometime after 1 so i was Not Happy. mom asked me what i  was doing up and i don’t remember if i actually responded or not. i let the dogs outside. wiley was a hassle to get back inside because it was kind of nice out. then as soon as i closed the door behind me and turned around diogi wanted to go outside, because she hadn’t wanted to go outside ten minutes previously. by the time i herded her over to the grass and blocked her off from wandering around the pool the sun was up. 

i went back to sleep even though my body was awake. i think i had craig dreams but they only made me mildly angry. i was mostly frustrated with the people around him. which has been happening in those dreams the last few times i’ve had them over the last, like, year and a half. 

then cleo woke me up by shrieking at 8, and also my alarm went off for some ungodly reason. i booted everyone else out of my bed and out of my room and closed the door. then cleo spent the next literal hour rattling my door and howling. i didn’t want to hurt her or anything, but i did want to cry. by the time she went downstairs to wake someone else up my alarm went off again. i slept in an extra 45 minutes despite the rattling starting up again sometime in the last 15 minutes of my “nap.” 

i was really too tired to do much today. i caught up on some comics, i watched a lot of not-video-game youtube videos, and i started looking up some resources for group-based activities around town. there was something that looked really cool that meets next tuesday... i think it’s all day, or in the evening, so it won’t conflict with therapy.

i had more pesto leftovers with mom. this time i let her start eating way before me so by the time i sat down her concert of disgusting vomit-inducing mouth noises was almost finished. in hell everyone communicates by chewing with their mouths open. the lip-smacking asmr videos make me want to scream and throw my computer.

i don’t actually, like, go and listen to them or anything. but it’s come up before.

sleep deprivation for this many nights in a row (5 i think? 6?) has reduced my patience level to approximately absolute zero. i was having trouble sleeping all year but the last week has been... something special.

i washed my siblings’ bed sheets today instead of dusting. mom wants me to wash all of the sheets every week. i don’t know if that’s really the most efficient use of our water, considering every advice site i’ve looked at has said something along the lines of “washing your sheets every two weeks is great, but once a month or so is also good.” 

maybe there’s no drawbacks to washing your sheets that often. i just don’t know how fast they wear out.

this is bad, but despite telling oz i was too tired to watch a movie, i sat and watched a really long critique of the bbc sherlock show in the late afternoon. i guess part of it was watching something that long by myself i didn’t have to also talk to anyone... 

about halfway through i paused to greet my brother and father as they had returned from their mud run, feed the dogs, and get some thai food with mom. i think i hurt myself trying to eat food that was too spicy... i felt really sick afterward and my stomach is still kind of grouchy with me. even though i am also hungry again because i wasn’t actually full when i stopped eating, i just couldn’t deal with my nerves disintegrating any more.

i keep getting spicy food hoping i’ll develop a better tolerance. i’ve got enough of one to tell different kinds of spices apart and appreciate different “flavors” of “OH GOD WHY IT’S SO HOT IT HURTS” and not get that sick. but the legendary Thai Hot seems to be forever out of my range. Double Thai Hot exists only in rumors. i saw jay get Double Thai Hot once. he caught on fire. and also cried.

i really love the soups that this place makes, but mom doesn’t like the very unique flavors so we didn’t get any. i wouldn’t have ordered the most spice that the cook is willing to give white people if we had gotten soup haha...

ehh, i boxed the leftovers for later. it’s not as good reheated, but i have a strong need for pahd thai and one sitting isn’t going to satisfy me.

oh yeah! around lunchtime i went out and blasted the dogs with the hose. i didn’t brush them afterward because there are five dogs and i didn’t want anyone to get sat on trying to get my brush’s attention. i didn’t take anyone to the mail box today though because it was over 100 even after the sun went down. even i didn’t want to walk the 2 minutes over to the mailbox.

and i maybe figured out what i’m gonna do with that gold bottle cap. i’m gonna slap it on a shiny magikarp and ship him off on the wonder trade. since it has a... less helpful nature (but not as bad as the other two) and no good ivs it will benefit the most from a gold bottle cap, which boosts all your stats to the maximum. all of the pokemon i am hyper training only need half their stats boosted. it’s not too hard to get 3 regular bottle caps, it just takes a while, especially if i am not using the fishing hole because i can’t be bothered to split my attention between film theory and watching my 3ds screen for a 1-second alert that i have to react to.

tomorrow... i gotta email my apartment complex or see if i can find the bed size myself so we can do the new sheets and stuff. and i gotta contact my relatives about my graduation party near the end of july. i think it’s the 23rd. and maybe i will check out one of the social activities available this side of town if i can find one that meets on sundays and is also interesting and/or small enough that it won’t be overwhelming. i would also like to maybe finish the owl picture since i have not worked on that in basically a whole week. and i gotta get this grody nail polish off my fingernails. it can stay on my toenails though because it still looks nice and is also maybe hiding a crack from when i accidentally stomped on my own toes while walking wiley.

it’s kind of weird but i make a very specific series of noises when i am hurt. i think being angry and then disappointed helps me get over the fact that it hurts a little more quickly. like when eve or diogi step on me with their claws, or when i bang my shin against a corner, or when i step on my toes and crack the nail. or burn my hands because the sink water is extremely hot for some reason.

i think... maybe tomorrow i will also try to do one thing from my to-do jar for the first time in over a week. i’ve done most of the major dusting so i will probably only need to devote about 5 minutes to that tomorrow. or maybe i could wipe down the window shades since the duster doesn’t do anything but kick up the dirt.

oh, also marisol is getting back in tomorrow evening so i can finally return her angle and hre devil. whiskey is a good boy. he likes to be picked up and cuddled with, and he is also the size of a small floppy pillow. and also he doesn’t SCREAM AT 4:30 IN THE MORNING WHICH IS A GREAT PERK!!!

it’s about 10 minutes early, but i think i am going to stop soon and get ready for bed. maybe i should take the dogs outside so cleo will wake me up at 6 instead of before 5.

one thing that just occurred to me is that i didn’t feel as depressed today. i mean yeah i felt extremely lethargic and nauseous and i had a headache for literally the whole day no matter how much water i drank. but i also just didn’t put much time into thinking about how bad i feel. i think that is about as good as it gets for me. i don’t know if that’s healthy or not though. since it might just be holding them in instead of dealing with them? i can’t tell if i am avoiding my bad feelings or successfully coping with them. tomorrow i might make some oatmeal cookies... our mixes and doughs are starting to creep up to their expiration dates. asher is getting back in about a week, so i will bake the snickerdoodles around that time. i will have to check for nuts in the mix though. like “this product was made in a facility that also processes nuts” or whatever.

i think maybe trying to jump back on the “doing things” wagon will help me go forward again. and maybe find a goal, since my first one of “learn better cognitive skills to deal with incoming anxiety” got smashed with the whole “you’re not working hard to get better” thing. i guess doing things isn’t working hard. but it keeps me in a better mood than not doing things.

i have ranked my goals in order from “short-term” to “realistically attainable at some point in the future when broken into smaller steps” to “life goals” to “optional bonus round.” well, i don’t really have a lot of goals to put into any of those categories, but i feel that it will be a useful ladder to use if i do find some goals to have. maybe that will help me draw a picture of “who i want to be” which will give me some kind of vague idea of what i should look like in the future? what philosophies are important to me? how do i want to treat other people? what do i think about these and these issues and what am i going to do about them? 

i will try not to overwhelm myself right away and just kind of pick things up as i walk by them for now. and i will keep doing a few stretches during the day. 

maybe, starting on monday or tuesday, i will put some time into trying to feel invested in my writing again. i still remember where a lot of “following that train of thought” needs to happen. after i get everything down for real this time i can start cutting unnecessary things out and making an actual next draft. that’s always the REALLY hard part for me. 

i think i could do that on tuesday. ask for some input from my therapist in specifically feeling more interested in things i create.

ok, now it is just after 12:25. i have now made full use of my allotted journal time and i feel like i maybe got somewhere with it which is nice. now i just gotta pick up all these beans and play the lottery.

[waywardsisterwrites-blog]

What Doesn't Kill You

Request: N/A

Warnings: Some mentions and descriptions of torture, not to graphic in my opinion, but be careful if that’s something that bothers you or makes you uncomfortable 

Pairings: Probably Dean x reader later on

Word Count: 3k 

A/N Please Please comment and let me know what you like and or what I can do better, I’d really appreciate it bc this is my first fic :) Thank you!

A/N 2: If you want to be on the tag list let me know and I’ll set that up for ya :) 

He walked slowly, pacing, steel toed leather boots scraping against the cool concrete floor. You'd lost track of how long you'd been there, your wrists ached from the thick rope that bound them together. It was cold, though you could see a window or a door, there was a certain chill that filled the air. You didn't scream anymore, didn't fight, you didn't see the point in it. There was no end in sight, no light at the end of the tunnel.

"What you're doing is kind of noble, you know," He spoke quietly, hiss gruff voice echoing off the walls. "Nobody Ive tried has made it this far."

You shook violently as another chill hit your bare shoulders. You couldn't think straight anymore, but that was to be expected. You had hardly been able to focus before you had been kidnapped, much less after so much time on lockdown in the basement of some raving lunatic, hell bent on discovering the key to immortality.

You had been out that night, drinking at a bar down the road from the motel where you and the boys had been staying. You were laying low, well, lower, courtesy of the Leviathans murder spree, wearing Sam and Dean like halloween costumes. The three of you had taken to paying in exclusively cash, ordering two separate rooms, wearing dark sunglasses and baseball caps, eluding the police and any well-meaning bystanders that might panic and call the highly advertised tip line that was plastered all over town under two rather unflattering of the Winchester brothers.

You had narrowly escaped the eyes of Dick Roman yourself, as you had been incapacitated from your last hunt, a witch who had cursed you with an obscure flu like illness. It was just you luck, being too sick for the Leviathans to even bother to trying to attack you. You followed Dean's orders, not attracting too much attention while you recuperated. When you were feeling better, you were helping Kevin research and you mixed Borax solution, filling squirt guns and empty water bottles, never leaving yourself unprotected.

You were just so tired and listening to the boys bicker about every little thing was enough to make you want to pull your hair out. So, you went for a drink. Sam and Dean were always the whiskey type, but you were a scotch kind of girl yourself. You told the boys where you were going, to which they responded with vague recognition that you had even spoken at all. You walked two blocks south from the motel to the Lone Star bar and Grill and you sat on the bar stool alone wile you nursed a tumbler of your favorite amber beverage.

You hadn't even seen it coming. You had three drinks and you were ready to head back, your eyelids heavy and your feet even heavier. You were tired you were buzzed and all you could think about was the comfort of a dusty and faded futon where you could get some much needed rest.

You had been so caught up in your thoughts that you failed to notice the man walking five paces behind you, using the shade of the buildings as protection from the harsh light of the streetlamp. It had started raining and you remember wondering if your night could be any worse. You had had a major headache since that morning and you were just. so. tired.

You hadn't been watching your step either, and the toe of your shoe caught the edge of the drainage pipe that jutted into your path from the rooftop of the building nearest you. You yelped and landed sprawled on your stomach, your phone slipping from your hand as you toppled. You heard jogging foot steps behind you and suddenly a hand was waving in front of your face, offering to help you up.

"Watch your step," he'd said, "it can be dangerous to walk alone this time of night you know."

You swatted away at his hand and swayed as you stood up.

"Can I interest you in a ride home? My car is parked on the street just up the road, I don't mind at all. Weather's getting nasty and a lady such as yourself shouldn't have to walk in these conditions" His voice was thick and gravely and he spoke slowly,sending an uneasy feeling to the pit of your stomach.

"No thanks, I think I can..." you paused to wipe the dirt from your face with the back of your hand "handle myself"

He placed his hand firmly on your elbow and you tried to tug it away, but you were weak and disoriented from the alcohol or from the lack of sleep, you couldn't tell which, not that it mattered at that point.

"I really must insist." He said, still holding your elbow with one hand as he reached up to your neck with the other. You felt a sharp pain where the needle you hadn't noticed before had punctured the fragile skin. You barely had the time to process what was happening before the world began to spin, the sounds of the street and the pitter patter of raindrops fading as you blacked out.

Now, you sat in a wooden chair, hands bound behind your back, hair plastered to your forehead as the man continued to pace. He was thinking, you decided, which was good because if he was thinking he wasn't doing which meant you had a little more time before the next round of trials started.

You hadn't eaten since the morning you were abducted, your stomach growling every few minutes. You were so hungry you were nauseous, the musty smell of room wafting in your direction was enough to make bile rise in the back of your throat. You had been allowed some water every now and again, the man would tilt a styrofoam cup to your lips and tell you to take small sips. At first, you'd refused, positive the water was poisoned or cursed, but after a while, you gave in, gulping the water down as though you had never tasted anything so sweet in your entire life.

He was calling them trials, the things he put you through. He was testing you. He'd done it before, that much was obvious. He'd preform a new test, chant some words in Latin and you'd be left wishing he had just killed you when he'd taken you. He'd sort of explained it, although you'd been in too much pain and too delirious at the time to really register the full extent of his plan. He wanted to test the limits of the human body, he was looking for the key to immortality an to do that,he said he had to understand the true meaning of mortality.

The first time he untied you, he took you through a door and down a flight of stairs to a dimly lit room, a table placed squarely in the center. He'd forced out to lay down, strapping you to the table at your wrists and ankles to keep you from "ruining the experiment" Then he started setting the fires. He built them in trash cans all around the room, a dozen or so maybe more, close enough to where you lay that you could feel the embers sink into your skin. At first it had been nice. It had been cold, you weren't wearing much in the way of clothing, your flannel and jeans had been replaced with a large white t-shirt when you had been taken. and your hair had been wet, leaving you cold and damp in a dark room. Then, as the fires began to grow, the heat became unbearable. You couldn't take it anymore it was as if hell itself had been opened at your feet. You could practically feel the water being pulled from your skin, the hair on your arms and legs singed off with the scorching flames.

You blacked out again after a short while, the heat proving too much for your body to take and when you woke again, you were back in the room in which you had started, hands bound behind you back, skin still stinging from the burns and welts that decorated your arms and legs.

The next trial happened a while later, day or so maybe, but you were so out of it that you didn't even notice that any time had ever passed at all. This time he took you to a bathroom, bathtub filled to the brim with crystal blue water, ice obscuring the scratched and stained tile at the bottom. He practically dumped you into the water, the ice feeling like a million daggers piercing your body.

You screamed and screamed until your throat was raw and the tears that had been flowing down your cheeks had subsided, your body succumbing to the icy depths of the tub. You had started to feel warm again by the time he pulled you out, you knew in the back of your mind that that wasn't a good sign.

The next thing you knew you were back again, soaking wet and shaking, muttering Deans name, calling out for Sam, begging for anyone to come and save you.

_______________________________________________________________________

POV:  The Boys

When Y/N had left, Dean had though nothing of it. You needed your space and he not only understood, but he empathized. He lay face down on the bed closest to the door and it took only minutes for sleep to overtake him.

Leviathans are a pain in the ass, he had thought, longing for a ride in the impala, wishing for, hell- even just to stop for gas without having to disguise his appearance from the kid behind the counter. It was all so tiresome.

He noticed something was wrong when he woke up the next morning to find the couch across the room empty. He had thought you'd be back by now, you weren't really the type to meet up with some stranger at a bar, so he had expected you to return before the night ended.

"Sam," Dean grumbled, Sam hummed and turned over in his sleep. "Sam," Dean said again, louder this time.

Sam jolted awake, glancing around the room before his eyes locked on the empty couch which Dean had been eyeing only moments previous.

"Where's Y/N?" he asked swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"I was just about to ask you."

"Didn't she come home last night? I didn't hear her."

"I didn't either. I was gonna check with you before I call her." Dean reached over to the nightstand between the two beds and quickly dialed your number.

"Straight to voicemail." He said, worry clearly written across his face. Sam's concern grew as he stood up, slipping into a pair of boots and tightening the laces.

"She said she was going to the bar, right? Did she say which one?"

"Lone Star maybe? I think I saw it on the way in."

"Should we go check it out?"

"Yeah I think so. Its not like Y/N to not keep us updated on her plans."

Sam nodded and the two walked out the door, headed to the bar.

If Dean was being perfectly honest with himself, he wasn't just worried. he was petrified. Before he had met you he had been just going through the motions. His life had seemed pointless in a way, what with all the struggles and challenges he had been facing lately. You were the thing he thought about when he needed a break, when he needed to smile. He wasn't going to rest until you were back by his side.

It took them a week to pin point your exact location. You had dropped your phone outside the bar when you'd fallen, which meant they couldn't trace your GPS. The only lead they had was from a teenage boy who had been out for a smoke the night you'd gone missing.

"So let me get this straight," Dean had said "You saw a man drug a woman, /attack/ her and carry her to his car and you said nothing? You didn't call the police? What the hell is wrong with you?!"

The boy glanced apathetically up at Sam, and shrugging said "Snitches get stitches" Before standing to leave.

Dean stood to follow him, a fire of hatred gleaming in his eyes, but Sam grabbed his wrist before he could follow the boy out.

"You're no good to Y/N if you get yourself arrested, Dean"

Dean grunted his agreement, straightening the collar on his cheap suit. The brothers walked back to the police station,badges at the ready, and requested local records for the owner of the dark blue van the witness had described. The tech analyst, a balding man in his 50's, had said that it was a common description and that it might take a while to uncover the correct owner. It took all Dean's self control to not punch him in the face when he heard that it would take more time than he had expected.

"Maybe you should get some rest," Sam suggested, watching Dean gulp down his fourth quadruple-shot espresso.

"I already told you. I won't stop looking until I find her. I don't care if I never sleep again!" Dean was understandably irritable, he was still so afraid that he would never see you again, although he wouldn't outwardly admit that to Sam.

"Y/N is strong. She won't break down. We'll find her and it will all be okay when its over." Sam's facade of confidence was a little off-putting to Dean, but he allowed it, not having the time or the energy to correct or question him.

It was day four when they got the name and the address of the probable owner of the van. His name was Thomas Black, a man who's wife had left him after the death of their young son. Dean might have felt bad for the man if he didn't hate him. According to town records, his son had had a very aggressive brain tumor and had passed away a little over two years ago. His wife, unable to stand the grief and loss, up and moved away the day after the funeral and nobody had heard from her since.

"We have to go now!" Dean stated as the brothers stepped outside the police station. He couldn't stand to be apart from you a minute longer, especially when he didn't know if you were alright. Sam nodded and the boys piled into the 1987 Oldsmobile that had temporarily replaced the Impala. They both just hoped they wouldn't be too late. _______________________________________________________________________

POV: YOU

You were so cold. That was the only thing you could think anymore. Your face was expressionless and your eyes were bloodshot, gaze locked on your feet. Your hair hung in clumps around your face, stuck together with an odd mix of water and blood. He didn't bother tying your ankles anymore, you couldn't walk anyway and he knew that. Blisters covered most of your legs and arms though you couldn't feel them anymore. You were too cold. You were almost numb.

He was in the room with you again, though somehow you had missed his entrance. He knelt in front of you, palm cradling your cheek as he spoke softly.

"You're doing great. Today is going to be a rough one, but I think you'll make it. Nobody's ever made it. I think you're.. . you're strong enough. You might be the one I'm looking for. I'll know after today and then It'll be over."

He didn't move you this time, he didn't have to. He simply Inserted a needle into your neck, taping the contraption down with a thin strip of cloth tape. blood started dripping down immediately, slipping into the plastic tubing he had connected to a collection bag resting at your feet. It hurt. You were cold. You wanted it to be over. You wanted to die.

He sat with you for a little while, eyeing the plastic bag of blood that was slowly filling with warm red liquid. He told you about his family, his wife and his son. He explained that he hadn't meant to hurt anyone, he just didn't want anyone else to die. He couldn't stand the idea of facing the same fate that had stolen his son away from him.

"I found the spell book on Craigslist. Sixteen dollars plus shipping. I figured it was worth a shot, right? But you need blood. Lots of it. Not virgin, which seems weird to me, in the movies its always virgin blood. This stuff needs to come from someone powerful and strong. I didn't want to hurt anyone who mattered, you know, so I'd watch for a while and take people who were on their own. People who didn't have people. Nobody misses you, nobody looks for you, ya know?"

You couldn't even fully hear him anymore, his ranting sounding more and more like gibberish, although you could pick out certain phrases.

You don't matter. Nobody misses you. Nobody's looking for you.

You began to feel yourself fading again as more and more blood was drained from your body, the cold feeling more intense than ever. You put all the energy you had left into one whisper.

"Dean"