#but it subsided pretty quickly for the most part when i started and the needle aspect of it all was never a factor for stopping injections

[shleemies]

Just did a T shot for the first time in years!! I was so brave!!! Used a bluey bandaid too :-)

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars • 16

Pairings: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, [F]Reader Content: Language, possible errors Author’s notes: Thanks for the support! xx (also kinda personal but I just got accpected into uni?! Crazy!) 

Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 16: Everything Goes According to Plan

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January 30th, 1976

“Where’s my camera?”

“Be careful — Oi! Don’t step on me!”

“Ouch!”

“Shush!”

The squeaking of floorboards creaked throughout the small room as everyone kept on stumbling into each other, all fidgeting from excitement. That morning, they’d all woken up earlier than usual, decorating the room with streamers, leftover Christmas decor and a large banner that hung above the entrance of the doorway that read, Happy Birthday, Petals! (which was Y/N’s idea — she was very proud of the nickname). Even Mary snuck into their dorm, making everyone wear small pointy party hats as they huddled around Lily’s bed, circling her like vultures and raised their hands high. With a quiet count of three from Marlene, their hands lowered, hovering over Lily’s arms and legs, then shook.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” They bellowed.

Lily woke with a jolt; her eyes flew open as she let out a scream. Her back slammed against the bed frame while Toulouse swiped at them, specifically at Marlene and hissed.

Lily’s heart hammered against her chest and she felt the small prickles of needles subside all over her body. Her hand clutched her nightgown, attempting to even out her breathing. “You could’ve given me a heart attack!”

“Happy birthday, Lils!” Mary repeated before climbing into her bed, hugging her.

She grunted at the impact as a smile replaced her features. Her eyes hopped from person to person before landing on Y/N who gave a sweet smile which had Lily blushing as she averted her eyes back to Mary.

When the group realized that Lily’s birthday fell on a weekend, it left them giddy and beyond excited for the endless opportunities that lay ahead of them. Not only did it leave the entire group to have a small break from their ruthless studying, but they could thoroughly celebrate the day and have enough time to spare for any last-minute plans for the surprise birthday party that night.

“Get your arse up and get ready to start the day!” Marlene declared, already trying to tug her crimson blanket away.

Lily yawned, rubbing her eyes, “Do we have to? I’m tired…”

“Come on! Life is short! It’s time we make memories,” she cried, “You never know when you’re going to die! Would you rather celebrate your birthday as a ghost or six feet under?! I, for one, will not visit your grave.”

Lily rolled her eyes, getting up with a stretch. Dorcas moved to turn on Marlene’s record player, settling a record by Nancy Sinatra as everyone continued with their usual morning routines. Lily got dressed in her favourite long sleeve lilac dress, pulling on tights to prevent herself from freezing. Mary wore her usual gold eyeshadow and wore a red jumpsuit while Marlene dressed coolly in all black. Although, Dorcas decided to stay in bed, still recovering from her nasty flu.

“You look very pretty today,” Y/N told Lily while detangling her hair from the loose braid she had it in. She took a brush and hair styler, primping her hair to Lily’s usual style and placed a headband in her hair.

“I — I, er — thanks!” She replied somewhat flustered.

“No… problem — there! Finished!” She handed Lily a handheld mirror, letting her go over her appearance. Pleased, she turned around to the group.

“So, first order of business, what did you want to do today?” Dorcas asked before going into a fit of coughs. Marlene rushed up to her side and popped off a cork from a nearby potion for her to drink.

Everyone had been slightly worried. It had been four days now and Dorcas still wasn’t recovering from the flu despite the ad of magic and potions. Thankfully today she seemed to perk up, even just a little, but they worried she was pushing herself.

“How about we just stay here, with you? We can all up a Healer and —”

“No,” Dorcas coughed again, she waved her hands in front of her, “I’ll be fine. Don't worry about me. What do you want to do?”

Lily remained quiet for a moment and Y/N assumed she was going to suggest staying in their dorm with Dorcas again, but her eyes gleamed with unusual mischief. Her eyes hopped from person to person before landing on Y/N. “I want to do a prank and I think you’ll love it.”

Everyone’s brows rose. Lily, the goodie-two-shoes prefect, Evans and pranks?! Those two do not belong in the same sentences.

“Okay…” said Mary, nodding her head despite being confused, “We’re listening.”

Lily sat down on her bed, crossing one leg over the other as she motioned everyone to sit. “Do you think it’s possible if we can dye someone’s hair? Obviously, safely,” she used her prefect voice, “But do you think we can?”

A beat went by — that was strangely out of character. What happened to the Lily they knew?

“Yeah,” Marlene begins, “What colour are you thinking?”

“Orange — bright orange with a bit of green.”

Then, Lily turned over to look at her again, a ghost of a smile appearing that told Y/N that whatever she was planning was going to be worth it — especially if Lily out of all people, was going to pull it off.

“Someone's going to be sorry for calling me Carrots.”

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At breakfast, they arrived later than usual after they all planned out their prank. Marlene, who had been a part of too many pranks with Sirius and James, helped the most, while Y/N and Lily created a hair-changing potion using one of Dorcas’ old cauldrons — but unlike James, they stuck to a potions textbook with a reversal potion. Since it was Lily’s idea, she would be the one to slip the potion into Sirius’ drink. So, she tucked the vital into the sleeve of her dress, hidden from prying eyes.

They all huddled around her as they entered the Great Hall; their hands were pushed forward protectively, guarding Lily as if she were a celebrity being swarmed by adoring fans and they were her bodyguards. They paved her way from students while shouting:

“She’s declining photos at the moment!”

“Birthday girl coming through!”

“She’s a very busy lady! Out of the way!”

Lily kept on protesting for them to stop, hiding her face in her hands. As they reached their table, they sat beside the marauders while Lily made sure to take a seat next to Sirius. But, that wasn’t the end of Lily’s humiliation. Mary stood up, clapping to gain everyone’s attention. Once she realized what was about to happen she quickly got up, but Y/N and Sirius clapped a hand on Lily’s shoulder, shoving her back down on the bench.

They opened their mouths, singing,

“Haaaaapppppy birthday to you!” The six of them hollered before the rest of the hall caught on and started singing. “Haaaaapppppy birthday to you! Haaaaapppppy birthday dear Lily —” “CARROTS!” Shouted Sirius at the top of his lungs.

Lily kept shaking her head, blushing incredibly hard — even the tips of her ears started to turn pink. She covered her ears, attempting to muffle out the singing.

Y/N snapped a few photos of her, shoving them into her pockets.

“Haaaaapppppy birthhhhdaaaay tooooo youuuuuuuu!”

The Gryffindors and any Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs that knew Lily cheered loudly. A few teachers, like Slughorn or McGonagall, made their way over to her, congratulating her along with a few other of her friends from different houses. Well wishes could be heard, along with a few people even handing her cards too.

Even an owl came swooping by when she had her back turned, dropping off a small package addressed from her parents and her sister, Petunia.

Swarmed and distracted, this left the group to huddle together as they leant over the table, forming a small circle of sorts. James was excluded as he sat back and drank a cup of tea flicking through the Daily Prophet.

“Operation: Lily’s birthday party,” said Marlene, “Let’s go over what our positions are for tonight.”

Mary was assigned with Dorcas to decorate the common room while Remus distracted Lily tonight during their rounds. Marlene and Sirius were in charge of drinks and snacks, leaving Peter and Y/N to bake a cake and bring any additional food.

They all quickly pulled apart once the crowd around Lily subsided. She settled back down, nodding and faking a cough. This signalled to the girls as Marlene quickly roped Sirius into a conversation about a New-Maj band he liked; Y/N talked to James about the upcoming Ravenclaw and Slytherin Quidditch match which left Mary to distract both Peter and Remus.

When none of the marauders were looking, Lily popped the corkscrew from the vital and grabbed a bowl of muffins on Sirius’ left. While she lent over, the potion poured directly into Sirius’ cup and she sat back down, smirking to herself. Y/N gave a discreet small high-five to her as they waited.

After a few minutes, parched from his talk with Marlene, Sirius picked up his goblet and tipped back the drink. He took a large gulp, wincing at the taste as he pulled it away from his face, but returned to his conversation like normal.

For several minutes, nothing happened. The girls kept quickly glancing upwards to check out his hair, but nothing: still bleached blond. They sighed, dejected that their plan hadn’t worked and Y/N nudged Lily underneath the table and gave a small smile, trying to cheer her up.

Another ten minutes went by and only then did the root of Sirius’ hair begin to tint into a bright orange colour rather than his dyed hair. This caught the girl's attention, however, the rest of the marauders who were still engaged in their conversations, did not notice as their heads were turned away from him.

His hair rapidly turned into orange as the tips were tinted green. Sirius didn’t seem to notice until James laughed, quickly turning to him to tell him a joke until his eyes widened at his hair.

“Ugh — Padfoot?!”

Sirius looked at him bewildered at his worried tone and expression before catching his reflection in James’ glasses. By now, Peter and Remus looked at him, their eyes widened, leaving the girls to force down their laughter, showing false concern.

“What the fuck?!” Sirius exclaimed, running a hand through it. She’d never seen Sirius this panicked before. More than anything, he looked shocked and even a bit… happy? No — definitely not happy. He continued to chuckle nervously before fretting over his appearance. For once, his laughter did not bother her.

Students began to take notice, pointing over at the Gryffindor table while some even began gossiping with others about the prank. As soon as the bell rang, everyone got up from their seats while the marauders surrounded Sirius, trying to help him out. The girls, on the other hand, got up and ran out of the Great Hall, practically howling.

“Oh my god! I can’t believe I just did that! I did that! We did that!” Lily exclaimed in disbelief before taking a seat down at their usual hangout near the library. “Did you see his reaction?! Jeez! I see why they pull so many pranks now!”

Y/N was about to burst into tears. That was by far the funniest shit she’d ever seen before. Marlene was in a similar boat as she clutched her side. Her stomach hurt from how hard she laughed.

“Lily! You little minx!” Mary cried as flopped beside Lily, her head dropping into her lap.

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

Their day was jammed packed. They went skating on the black lake, hit up the library, walked around school grounds which ended up in a huge snowball fight. After a bit, they decided to take a moment to separate themselves to give each other a bit of space while Lily went to find Snape.

This left the rest of the group two hours tops to themselves.

Y/N walked over to Honeydukes, buying a bunch of Jelly Slugs and a couple of other things before dashing back to the castle; she needed to wrap all of her presents and she promised to help Dorcas wrap hers too.

Before she entered Hogwarts again, Y/N took a moment to herself and enjoyed the small moment of peace around her. The soft crunching of snow, the cold breeze and the stillness — how quiet it was — there was hardly a moment since the break that Y/N had felt the comfortable peace Hogwarts had to offer.

Stepping inside the corridors, the atmosphere suddenly changed with the torches ablaze and a constant bubbling ambience that never seemed to settle.

In the distance, to her right, she could hear distant shouting and a rush of footsteps nearing. Out of nowhere, James seemed to come barreling towards her.

“Whiskers!” He yelled, sending her a fast wink as he continued to run down the corridor, making a sharp turn. Then, Marlee popped out, dashing after James.

“Marls?! What’s happening?”

“Running from Filch — get him off my trail!”

“What did you do?!”

“Told me to cover up, so I hexed him — Potter called him a rent boy!”

“Are you going to miss the party?” She yelled as Marlene’s body kept getting smaller and smaller as she ran. Y/N began to panic, without Marlene, surely things would take a lot longer than planned.

“Like hell I am! I won’t be late!”

Marlene disappeared, shortly being replaced by Filch who ran in a strange mixture of running and hopping.

“Where did they go?” He breathed, bending down and clutching his knees. “I heard them over here, where are they?”

And so Y/N decided to have some fun. “Who?”

“You know!”

“Um — you mean the one with blond hair?” “And the boy with black hair!”

“Oh! Yes, I know who… What’re their names again? Severus Snape and —” she paused, trying to think of another blond person, “Ugh — Sirius Black?”

Well, he used to be blond.

“No! The Potter boy and McKinnon! Where are they?!”

“Hmm… Oh! Oh! I think they went,” she pointed outside to the thick, cold snowy path, “That way!”

Filch didn’t even question her and ran off. Laughing, Y/N ran away from Filch; the last thing she wanted to do was face his wrath once he knew she lied.

Opening the door to her dorm, Dorcas was asleep. She walked up to grab a nearby folded blanket and placed it over her body to keep her warm before starting working.

She cleared off a table, unfolding her wrapping paper and wrapped the sides before creasing them, taping everything down with a pretty bow.

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

Nobody had seen Marlene or James for the past couple of hours — they’d even skipped dinner which caused everyone to go into a state of panic. Without Marlene, Sirius would be in a lot of trouble completing his task alone.

The common room was filled with fighting in hushed whispers as Lily and Remus were set to leave for their rounds in a couple of minutes.

“I’m going to kill her,” Mary fumed, “The one day they’re not supposed to go mucking around, they pull this!”

“How about we find them —” “And lose the little time we have now?”

Sirius, in particular, was on edge, aggravated, as he turned towards Y/N, “Why didn’t you think of saying anything sooner?”

“Because I didn’t think Marlene and James would be stupid enough to get caught! Not today!”

He closed his mouth, his lips pressed into a tight line. Even he hadn’t expected them to be that stupid either — not today.

“Everyone, shut up. All of you! Why don’t we take a moment to breathe?” Remus said calmly, effectively shutting the entire group up. In moments like these, Y/N understood why he was a prefect. He breathed in and looked to Sirius, “You can do this by yourself, can you?”

“Course not, Moony. Have a little faith in me!” Sirius gave a tenacious laugh, although forced.

Remus’ eyes then flicker to Y/N and Peter, “This shouldn’t affect you, will it?”

They shook their heads.

“Okay then, we’ll continue as planned. I’ll buy you as much time as —” He quickly cut himself off as everyone’s ears perked up. They all heard it, Lily’s footsteps. With that, Y/N, Sirius and Peter weaved their way out of the common room, walking quickly to avoid Lily and Remus from catching up to them. Unfortunately, Sirius took the invisibility cloak before she or Peter had the time to ask for it.

They sneakily made their way down a flight of moving stairs, passing several empty corridors and made their way down to the kitchens.

Once they began working on Lily’s cake, Y/N instantly knew why Peter was assigned to the kitchens.

He instructed her most of the time, telling her which ingredients or utensils to find. Currently, she grabbed a metal ladle and watched as Peter churn the ingredients, watching as they blend into a seamless, smooth mixture. She sat back most of the time, baking and cooking was never something she was great at. 

Y/N rifled through the cabinets, searching for a cake tin. “Ah-hah! Found some!”

They were heart-shaped, rather than the usual circular ones. She placed them onto the counter before turning her attention to grease the pans and focus on making a couple of sandwiches.

“So,” she started, trying to make small talk, “Where’d you learn to bake so well?”

Peter went pink as he wordlessly flicked his wand; the cake tin and floated it into one of the pre-heated ovens and turned to make the frosting. “Erm — it was James’ mum, Euphemia, who taught me. She’s a great baker — honestly she’s good at everything.

“James and I grew up close to each other; we’re childhood friends. He never did fancy baking — liked cooking more and I felt bad he never wanted to help out Euphemia. So one day I offered to help and now whenever I’m at their house, I help around — like a tradition — and I do it in my spare time now. Helps clear my head.”

Just then, two house-elves popped in, each holding a cup of tea for each student. Y/N gave her thanks while Peter turned to talk to them, making them laugh and asking questions that seemingly were a follow-up from a previous conversation. A light dust of flour scattered the side of his cheek while he smiled with them. The more he spoke with the elves, the more Y/N grew fascinated.

Out of all the marauders, even beating out Sirius and James who were amongst the most popular students at Hogwarts, Peter was the most liked out of all of them, especially amongst her friend group.

He wasn’t James who at times was a bit too much and talked an awful lot. He wasn’t Sirius who was dramatic, nor was he Remus who was quiet and intimidating. Peter was just Peter — who was a bit skittish, insanely good at Wizard’s chess, bold enough to sneak into the Slytherin's common room all by himself and loved to bake, clearly was in the kitchens often enough to have full-blown conversations with the elves when most people would so much as spit on before walking away.

It spoke volumes of his character, especially since he was from a Pureblood family; bound to grow up entitled and look down to his inferiors.

She noticed Peter had quite a lot of friends, mostly women, always seeming willing to help someone in dire need whether it be listening, giving advice or comforting another person. It only made her recollect the time Peter had engaged in small conversations with her, seeking to make her feel more included. Like that one time he’d mentioned the Holy Harpies. Small, ostensibly insignificant, but contemplating it now; he'd been trying to make her comfortable — settled — welcoming her with open arms into his group; into the marauders and the girls.

Within moments, there was a newfound appreciation towards the boy.

The sandwiches they made, along with pork pies stolen, were stuffed into a bag, ready to be transported. Y/N boredly spun her wand between the length of her finger while Peter whirled around in his seat until the ring of the timer went off. The elves were already gone, zipped away into thin air as they grew tired with sleep.

Placing a cooling spell onto the cake to avoid the icing from melting off, Peter began layering on a thin layer of icing.

“What’s Lily’s favourite colour? Is it still purple?” He asked. Y/N gave a curt nod.

“Never been a fan of purple. One time I walked into my Grandmum’s room, she only wore purple knickers for my Grandad. Makes me shiver all the time — honestly, the woman traumatized me. S’pose it might be my Boggart.”

Peter also had a sense of humour.

While diligently working, she marvelled at his creation. A two-layer heart-shaped cake, decorated all in light purple icing covered the surface before Peter piped small designs and swirls onto it.

“Wow. I feel like I can barely hold my wand at times yet you —”

“My, my — what do we have here? Students out of bed?” A voice came from behind them. “Tut, tut, tut.”

The two craned their heads backwards where Peeves smiled and let out a squeal of delight.

“Peeves,” Peter began politely. He slowly set down his piping bag and put his hands up in a submissive, yet defensive manner, as if he’d encountered a feral animal. “Please — please, we’re doing something for a dear friend. Don’t get us thrown out.”

“What would happen if I told Filch about you,” the ghost responded in a saintly voice, but his eyes glimmered wickedly. He brought a finger to the side of his face, tapping his index finger to his cheek, thinking.

“What to do, what to do…”

“Psst, Pete, what’s happening?”

Nobody answered her. With Sirius gone with the cloak, it left her and Peter completely out in the open wishlist a ghost threatening them — not to mention the lie she told Filch earlier, there was no way she nor Peter were going to get out of this unscathed.

“Please,” he pleaded.

She looked at him, wide-eyed and started panicking. She repeated louder, “What’s happening? What do we do?”

Peeves then grinned largely and started doing large loops into the air. His cackling rang through the empty corridors, becoming progressively louder.

“Shit. Run.”

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED IN THE HALLWAY! I REPEAT, THERE ARE STUDENTS OUT OF BED IN THE HALLWAY BY THE KITCHENS!”

Peter grabbed the cake while Y/N swiped the bag filled with the rest of the food, piping bags and a small jar of edible decor. They ducked under Peeves, dashing out of the kitchens leaving a huge mess for the unfortunate elves to clean up the next morning.  

Peeves floated behind them slowly as he watched them run. Peter ran slower, trying to make sure he didn’t face plant into the cake while Y/N urged him to run faster.

“He usually helps us,” Peter grits out, “But he’s a two-faced git! Never trust him unless you’re doing a prank! Never!”

Just then, Peter lost his footing and tripped over his feet, letting out a half-shriek, mixing in with Peeves’ evil laughter. They sucked in a sharp breath, watching as the cake flew through the air but Y/N, quick on her feet, grabbed her wand, casting a quick non-verbal charm and watched as the cake and plate froze mid-air before the plate clanked down first, the cake following and settling ontop. She ran up to it, cradling and wrapping a protective arm around it to prevent the cake from dropping again. She called out for Peter to get up before he took the cake again, this time with a shout from Y/N to not drop it, before leading her into a secret passway down the corridor.

Peeves could be heard laughing maniacally down the hall before they both could hear Filch’s footsteps running towards his shouts.

Peter maneuvered through the passage while Filch’s voice became more and more distant as they continued to hurriedly walk. Lily and Remus’ shift was going to end soon and it would be a lost cause if they didn’t make it up to the common room.

They both turned sharply, about to exit before Y/N crashed into a shadowy figure, tripping but being caught swiftly by the figure. They cradled her head to keep her from falling, but the sudden scare caused both students to open their mouths to scream, loudly.

“It’s me! It’s me!” Sirius’ familiar voice runs out, waving a hand to shush Peter while the other was still on her back. Y/N felt herself relax and erratic heartbeat to calm. She’d never been so happy to see Sirius before. Until she realized that they were still touching and they both ripped away.

Her heart spiked, and she felt oddly light headed. Soon enough, her eyes then immediately went to his hair and held back from chuckling — perhaps right now was not the time.

“I came once I heard people shouting and I figured it was you two. You okay?” His eyes darted to her at the last part.

Perhaps her eyes tricked her, that she was too tired or bumping into Sirius too hard, but it felt like he’d been making sure if she was alright. Since when did Sirius care? Although, Peter didn’t seem to notice or he’d ignored the interaction entirely.

“F-fine,” he wheezed out, “Peeves… Peeves caught us while we were decorating the cake. We’re not done yet.”

“What time is it?” She asked.

Sirius placed his wand in his mouth while pulling out a silver pocket watch from his trousers. “Ten to ten.”

“We have time then.” 

Peter placed the cake down gently on a nearby ledge in the passage, causing Sirius to cast Lumos. Sirius kept a watch out, his head moving from side to side every so often as he listened for anyone or anything walking past them.

Pulling out the icing bags and sprinkles, Peter began to finish his work. He continued to create flowers as Y/N wrote on the cake (although with help from her wand), ‘Happy 16th Birthday, Lily!’ and then placed a couple of candles around.

As Peter continued to add his small touches, Y/N’s eyes drifted around, not landing on anything in particular but zoned in on the shining of Sirius’ rings. Her eyes slowly drifted upwards, studying him. The remainder of the full moon that recently passed spilled a muted milky light onto the stone floor and touched Sirius’ face. He wasn’t wearing his normal school robes but dressed in Muggle clothing. Black jeans, a nice sweater, notable messy hair and his body language was relaxed. This Sirius was tolerable, likeable even. She liked this Sirius — but perhaps it was because he finally wasn’t talking. This Sirius gave her an insight into what he was like aside from his annoying, bitchy self. Loose, wild, messy in an elegant way, confident — in his prime — looking for a thrill, sneaking around; mischief.

Suddenly, Sirius’ wand went out as he ducked down, huddling beside her and Peter.

“What —”

They met each other’s eyes, locking, as he brought a finger up to his lips which made her flicker down to look at them, quickly.

Their eye contact was brief, so brief, nonetheless, it contained a flurry of emotions too complicated for Y/N to process.

But being up close for those brief seconds, she was able to examine him — truly, for the first time. Her eyes traced over the singular scar on his face, hidden by his hair that made her wonder where he’d gotten it from. Soon the questions enclosed her mind like an overflowing river.

His small, unexpected gesture had been one of many which had been nicer and oddly thoughtful recently.

Sirius’ brain was written in cryptic code — so advanced and intertwined — too complicated for her to understand. She wanted to understand his actions.

Even if she didn’t like to admit it, Sirius had a depth that greatly attracted her. She had so many unanswered questions.

And since her brain ran a mile a minute, her emotions weren’t filled with that annoyance of ranger — no, for once she didn’t feel any kind of resentment towards him.

Maybe it was because they both had one goal in mind: Lily’s party and that working against each other during something as high stakes like this would fail a good friend of theirs. Or maybe it was that instead of her or him starting something — or maybe — maybe it was because the boy was so close to her, closer than they ever had been before. Or maybe it was the adrenaline that set every fibre of her being on fire — making her feel like honey-dipped in tea — or the odd thunderous throbbing of her heat spiking suddenly; Y/N grew warm all over.

It didn’t help that Sirius didn’t look angry either, but rather a sudden cognizance filled his gaze, looking both shocked and calm.

But quickly, she just chalked up her flurry of emotions to adrenaline or wanting to hex him — either worked.

For Sirius, he felt utter disdain as his gaze fixated on her. He was tempted to flicker down to her lips but her eyes, bright and filled with glittery stars, were enchanting. It scorned him — made his heart beat in an iambic pentameter, creating its own sonnet that would make even the most accomplished poets jealous.

He wanted to refuse her presence. Wanted to focus on anything but her.

But Sirius was a weak man. He failed. He always did.

Their eyes ripped away and they heard the familiar sound of footsteps and voices neared them as they spotted the familiar red hair and tall figure.

Their voices were slightly muffled.  

“— times have changed! You aren’t a second year anymore.” Lily chimed while they walked.

Remus shook his head, instead of flicking his wand as a dozen torches lit up in mere seconds. “Whatever you say, Red.”

She swatted at his shoulder while Remus ruffled her hair, his smiling becoming genuine.

“Seriously, I support it.

“Merlin, Evans — it’s not going to happen. Look at me!”

“Not with that attitude and you look more than fine!”

Peter shifted his eight onto his other foot which made an audible scuffle. However, it was so quiet that neither she nor Sirius caught on but Remus, whose head swirled in their direction, did. He took a deep inhale, a look in his eyes, confusion melting into realization — there and gone — as if he knew they were there despite being hidden by the shadows of the night. He turned his head once more and started walking faster while Lily skipped down, trying to catch up to him.

Remus Lupin was an odd one alright.

Nobody moved until they were positive they were gone.

The entire night had been a shitshow.

“Okay,” Sirius exhaled, he felt his entire body tense up, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Do you think the cake is okay?” Y/N asked Peter as Sirius tossed the invisibility cloak over their bodies, hiding them from onlookers.

“Bloody well hope so,” he grunted, “We didn’t get caught almost three times, freeze our arse, almost get a month's detention, and probably destroyed the kitchen for it not to be great.”

Without another word, they made their way back to the common room where everyone made a fuss about how late they were. Quickly, Peter placed any last-minute designs, Mary handed everyone small party horns, Dorcas put up last-minute balloons while Y/N and Sirius helped each other layout all the snacks and drinks — this time, civilly.

“God… How’d you even get this much? Me and Peter were in the kitchens and we couldn’t even get half of what you got.”

At this, Sirius smirked before collapsing into the plush velvet couch behind him, an exhausted sigh as he sank further in. But as soon as the smirk was there, it was gone as everyone heard the clicking of the portrait open.

“Hide — HIDE!”

All the lights were blown out as they all hid behind the couches — they heard quiet footsteps — someone shuffling towards the middle — footsteps getting louder — louder — and —

Sirius lit the entire room as they all sprung up and Y/N quickly held her camera to her face and snapped a photo as everyone shouted,

“SUPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHD —” “Godric fucking Gryffindor!”

“... I’m going to KILL YOU MCKINNON! POTTER!”

Everyone groaned in disappointment at James and Marlene’s arrival before they heard the faint sounds of footsteps outside of the portrait again. Mary yanked Marlene down, shoving her behind the couch along with forcing a party hat on her head and confetti in her hands. Sirius grabbed James by his red sweater and rushed him up the stairs before getting back into place.

“Told you,” Marlene whispered into her ear, “Wasn’t going to be late.”

The real Lily could be heard as she spoke excitedly with Remus. The portrait swung open — everyone waited before she stepped inside — they put most of their weight onto their toes, waiting to jump — Sirius’ wand was about to light up the room — Y/N held her camera — Dorcas and Marlene were going to throw up the confetti —

“Why is it so dark —”

“SUPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LILY!”

Light rushed back into the room and Lily’s face lit up brighter than the sun. Mountains of sweets were piled into bowls while a small table was lined with drinks. Sirius outdid himself, seemingly raiding Honeydukes; there was taffy, Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, sherbet lemon, caldron cakes — plus the food Y/N and Peter had hauled from the kitchen; sandwiches, fruit, crisp (she made the mistake of saying chips in front of James and Marlene only to then be hassled by them for it) and pork pies.

ABBA played in the background, much to Remus’ demise as her purple cake sat in the middle on a table, all the candles lit. They all ushered Lily to blow out the candles while they all held wrapped gifts, cards and small gift bags.

“You didn’t need to do this!” Lily said, although there was a thankful look in her eyes, “This is too much! Thank you!”

“Anything for you, Evans!”

“You’re lucky we didn’t bring fireworks!” Marlene and Sirius grinned.

“You would have all gotten detention —” “Stop being a goody goody, not today, Lils!” Sirius slung his arm around the redhead.

Gifts went around; Lily had gotten so many cards from other teachers and students, handmade jewellery from Dorcas, Remus knit her a sweater with hearts, Mary and Marlene gave a joint gift, Peter bought her a small yet overly fancy tea set Lily had mentioned offhandedly before, Sirius gave her a first edition books she loved while Y/N gave her the gifts she bought from that old book store. Alice had even dropped by and given her a small package before heading back up for the night.

They all smiled widely at her and were thrilled to see her so happy. Y/N lifted her camera and took an abundance of photos throughout the entire night, before shoving them into the back pocket of her pants.

By the time everyone reluctantly returned to their dormitories, it was three o’clock in the morning and everyone was beyond tired, deciding it was time for bed.

“Night,” Dorcas called out. Marlene yawned loudly before falling into her bed, muttering out another round of happy birthdays to Lily. They were out the fastest — soft snores filling the room.

White specks seemed to blur through her vision as Y/N rubbed her tired eyes. She was about to call over to Lily, say goodnight, roll over and sleep before the creaking of her bed altered her to Lily padding her way to the bed. Y/N looked up at her, confused before scouting over for Lily to slip in, under her blankets.

“Are you okay, Petals?”

“Beyond perfect,” she replied with a wistful voice, “I’m so thankful. Thank you.”

Y/N chuckled, although she was a tad perplexed, “Y’know, it wasn’t just me who helped.”

“I know, but still. This birthday feels different from all the other ones I’ve had and I can’t help but think it’s also because of you.”

Lily Evans never ceased to amaze her. “Well, I hope you mean that in a good way,” she teased.

“Obviously!”

Silence fell around them before Toulouse hopped onto Y/N’s bed and settled himself between the two friends.

Y/N’s eyes wondered to the banner: petals... “What’s your favourite flower? Surely it’s not lilies, are they?”

Lily gave a small huff of amusement and shook her head, “No. Peonies or irises. What about yours?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll just say lilies for now.” She said absentmindedly before her eyes shot open. “Shit! I forgot —” Y/N reached over Lily and opened her drawer with the pouch of Jelly slugs before placing them into Lily’s hands. “Forgot to give you these.”

There was a soft look in Lily’s eyes and something Y/N couldn’t quite place. Her friend was acting quite strange.

“It feels like I’ve known you forever,” Lily says softly, her face flushed a rosy colour.

She stayed silent for a while, at a complete loss for words. Even a slight look of confusion crossed Lily’s face. 

“Yeah, you too.”

[set-phasers-to-whump]

hiding injury

prompt: hiding injury

whumpee: eddie diaz

fandom: 911

hi here is my fave trope ft. one of my fave characters!!! this kinda got away from me in length lmao but i loved writing it and im not mad ab how it turned out. i hope you enjoy!!!!

Something had felt...off about tonight’s victory. It had been in the way his opponent had looked at him, not the usual disappointment and anger that typically came with losing a fight, but something stronger, more violent. Eddie’d brushed it off. He’d had worse looks thrown at him. 

He’s regretting having brushed it off right about now. If he hadn’t, if he’d just talked to the guy, calmed him down, something, he wouldn’t be here right now, hand pressed to a stab wound in his torso, leaning up against the door of his truck, feeling blood slowly seep through his fingers, warm and wet. 

For a split second, his non-occupied hand reaches for his phone, but he stops himself before he even unlocks it. He can’t call 911. If he calls 911, then the 118 will discover what it is he’s been doing...they’ll realize that he’s dangerous, reckless, stupid, for having gotten himself stabbed, and he doesn’t want them to think that. He can’t lose them, not now. So no 911. He’ll be fine. He used to be a medic. He knows how to treat a stab wound. 

He gets into his truck, left hand still firmly pressed to his torso. He fumbles around with the other until he finds a rag on the floor. Not bothering to think about where it might’ve been, Eddie balls it up and presses it as hard as he can into the wound, gritting his teeth to stop from screaming. 

He drives home as carefully as he can, for the most part keeping a hand pressing the rag to his torso, but occasionally having to let go. His lap and seat are coated in sticky blood by the time he gets home. 

For the first time in his life, he’s grateful that Chris isn’t there. There’s no hiding the blood coating his torso, legs, hands… He doesn’t know how he’d even begin to explain this to his son. 

Eddie gets himself inside and into the bathroom, making a pit stop in the kitchen to grab some alcohol first - this isn’t going to be pleasant.

He stands in front of the mirror, dripping blood onto a towel he’d pulled quickly down from the rack. A first aid kit sits open in front of him. He takes a larger-than-probably-necessary sip from the bottle in his hand, then sets it heavily down onto the counter and gets to work. 

First, he has to clean the wound. He grabs a bottle of saline solution, grits his teeth, and pours it onto his torso, hissing at the stinging feeling. 

He waits for the pain from that to subside before starting on the more painful part of the task - the stitches. He pours some hydrogen peroxide over his supplies to make sure they’re clean - this cannot get infected - and then he takes a deep breath and begins. 

In, out, in, out, in, out...it’s not a terribly long wound, which is good, because every stitch feels like getting stabbed again (which it technically is). He’s crying when he ties the thread off, and his hands are beginning to shake. He’s just glad they waited until he didn’t have a needle poking through his skin.

Eddie carefully sticks a gauze pad over the stitches, then gives himself a once-over in the mirror, hoping he’ll be able to say he looks pretty good for a guy that just stitched himself up. 

But he doesn’t. His face is slightly pale and his eyes are red and there’s blood smeared all over his body like paint on a canvas. He can’t go to sleep like this, although sleep is about the only thing he wants to do at the moment. He’s got to clean himself up.

There’s no way he’s getting in the shower with his freshly-done stitches, so he settles for ruining several washcloths, cleaning his body with water from the sink. He can’t get all of the blood, because he can’t quite bend over without his torso pulling in a way that suggests more stitches will be imminent if he keeps doing it. But most of the blood is removed from his body, anyway, which is good enough for him. He strips out of his bloody shorts and puts them, the washcloths, and the towel from under his feet into the trash. He’ll take it out as soon as he gets redressed, so Chris won’t find them. 

He puts on clean pajama pants, not bothering to run the risk of putting on a shirt, and grabs the trash, taking it outside to the can on the curb, pain thrumming through him with every step. That done, he returns to the bathroom and wipes his blood off of the counter, extremely grateful that none had dripped off of the towel and onto the floor. 

He runs a quick check of the house, making sure there’s no blood on any of the floors (there is, but he scuffs a towel over it with his foot, which is not bloodsoaked enough to warrant the trash, but is instead tossed into the washing machine). He locks the doors, triple-checking to make sure they’re secure, and does the same with the windows. He doesn’t particularly think the guy that stabbed him is going to come after again (and even if he wanted to, it’s not like he knows where Eddie lives), but it never hurts to be cautious. 

When all that is done, Eddie finally lets himself sink very carefully into his bed, placing a couple more towels under him in case his wound should start bleeding in his sleep. He prays it won’t. He doesn’t want to have to stitch his skin up again. 

--

He wakes up in the morning, immediately checking himself for blood, which, fortunately, hasn’t seeped out of the gauze. There's a few spots on the gauze itself, but he needs to change it anyway. 

It looks pretty good, Eddie thinks, eyeing the wound in front of the mirror. Not infected, stitches holding...about as good as he can expect. 

He gets dressed, very painfully, and nearly dislocates his arm trying to get his shirt on without causing any stress on his chest. He makes a halfhearted attempt to make himself look like he didn’t just climb out of bed and head straight to work, but that is what he looks like, he’s sure. 

Buck confirms this for him the second he walks through the station doors. “You look like shit, Eddie,” he says, bumping Eddie’s shoulder with his own. 

Eddie gives him a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Overslept,” he says. Buck nods. “Chris was at that sleepover with...oh, what was her name...Olivia? Bet you expected him to wake you up early for breakfast.”

Eddie nods, surprised that Buck remembers where Chris is. He’d ordinarily smile at the fact, but currently can't bring himself to.

They head up the stairs to the loft, Eddie dragging along behind Buck significantly. Every step pulls on his stitches, and he feels like he can literally feel them starting to pull apart. Which he very well could be feeling, he knows. He just hopes he isn’t. They can’t know about this. 

Of course, for them to not know about this, he has to act completely normal. Which is a task far easier said than done. As soon as he steps foot into the loft, Bobby’s tossing a container of oatmeal at him from the kitchen, with instructions to come over and help him out. Eddie catches the container with a barely concealed wince, and reluctantly goes into the kitchen to help Bobby, leaning up against the counter when he can. 

“You okay?” Bobby asks him, as the team settles down to eat breakfast. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, though it doesn’t sound very convincing, even to his own ears. 

Bobby nods, not pushing the issue. Eddie sees Buck look like he’s about to say something, but Bobby interrupts him by telling everyone what they’ve got on their plates today - cleaning the station. There are general groans from around the table, but Eddie’s never been more excited at the thought of mopping. He’s pretty sure he can do that, but rescuing someone from a burning building might push him a bit too far. 

And if that’s the case, he shouldn’t be here. Not that he should be here anyway, he knows. Ideally, he should be at the hospital. But he can’t be there, and if he’d called in sick today they would have been concerned anyway, and worse, someone might have come over to check on him. So he’s here, gratefully grabbing a mop from the supply closet. 

He turns around, mop in hand, and comes face to face with Buck. 

“Look, I know we’re still...not on the most solid ground,” Buck starts, “but I am sorry, Eddie. I told you why I did what I did, and I understand if it’ll take you some time to process that, but…”

“It’s fine, Buck,” he says, as kindly as he can muster up the energy to do. “Really.” He means it, though he’s pretty sure his words lack the sincerity he feels.

Buck looks at him doubtingly, but after a second he seems to accept that answer, and then, before Eddie can stop him or back away or do anything, Buck’s hugging him tightly around the middle. 

It would be just about the nicest feeling in the world if it didn’t make him want to scream in pain. As it is, he manages to turn the scream into a low groan, muffled into the fabric of Buck’s shirt.

Buck, of course, hears it anyway. He pulls back, arms on Eddie’s shoulders, scrutinizing him. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Eddie says, trying to sound dismissive. Before Buck can say anything else, he adds, “we really should get to mopping.”

Buck can’t argue with that, so they begin their chore, though Eddie doubts that Buck is going to drop this. 

Fifteen minutes of painful labor later, Eddie’s taking a break (hiding from the torture of the mop) in the locker room. Even the simple task had been absolute hell on his stab wound, and he can feel wetness beginning to seep through the gauze. He’s extremely grateful that his shirt is dark enough to hide the stain that is surely growing on it. 

Knuckles rap at the glass. Eddie starts and stands up, turning around and coming, again, face-to-face with Buck. Can we talk? he mouths, and Eddie can’t exactly say no, so he nods. 

Buck comes into the locker room looking somewhere between hurt and angry. “What’s up with you?” he asks. 

Eddie turns his face away from Buck’s eyes. “Nothing,” he says, and Buck laughs humorlessly. 

“Right, ‘cause that sounds so believable. Eds, you’ve been acting weird all day, you still look like shit even after Bobby’s breakfast, and I’ve caught you wincing at least five times in the past twenty minutes. What’s up?”

Eddie shakes his head. He can’t do this...he can’t let them know. Nobody can know about this side of him, this anger and this pain and this goddamn stab wound…

Which all of a sudden hurts a lot more. Eddie snaps open eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed and sees Buck’s hand pressing into his torso, not yet touching the wound, but extremely close. 

“Stop,” he whispers, but Buck presses on. 

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong with you,” Buck insists, moving his hand and pressing down directly on top of Eddie’s injury.

He makes a noise like a strangled scream, and Buck pulls his hand away suddenly. “What the hell, Eddie?” he asks, and then he looks at his own hands, which are covered in Eddie’s blood. 

“What...the hell?”

Eddie shakes his head. Buck pushes him down onto a bench, and Eddie goes willingly. Buck pulls his shirt off over his head, jostling his arms, and Eddie doesn’t make a sound. His eyes have gone unfocused and his vision has gone blurry from tears he’s unwilling to let fall, but he can still make out the shape of Buck in front of him, knows what his face looks like without having to see it. Disappointed. Angry. Disgusted. He knows this must be how Buck feels. It’s how he feels.

A hand touches his face, cool and soft, and Buck’s voice sounds much the same when he says Eddie’s name. 

Buck moves his hand back to Eddie’s torso, this time gently touching the skin around the wound, pulling back the gauze carefully. Eddie can’t stop himself from whimpering, which he immediately hates himself for, but Buck doesn’t seem to feel the same way when he apologizes and puts a soothing hand in Eddie’s hair. 

“Eddie. Eddie, can you look at me? Please?”

Eddie focuses his eyes as best as he can and looks at Buck, who is crouched on the floor in front of him. “Eddie, what happened?”

He can’t hide it now...Buck knows, and they’re all going to know, know how weak and angry and in pain he is, and then they are going to hate him for it. 

“Hey, hey, Eddie. It’s okay. I’m not going to be mad at you or anything. I promise. Just please tell me what happened so I know how to help you.”

Buck’s hand is back on his face, brushing away tears that he hadn’t ever wanted Buck to see. He takes in a ragged breath. 

“Got stabbed.”

“Okay,” Buck says. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he says in return. It’s the only thing he can think of to say, and it’s not enough, it’s never enough, he’s never enough…

“You don’t need to be sorry, Eds. I’ve got you. We’ve got you.”

Buck shouts for Hen and Chim, and Eddie hears him explaining to them what’s happened. He tries not to pay attention, tries to ignore their voices. He can’t hear them. Can’t hear what they must think of him.

“Eddie?” 

It’s Chim. He nods in response. 

“We’re gonna take you to the hospital, alright?”

He nods again. He can’t fight them, he knows. He desperately hopes they won’t be too mad at him. “I’m sorry,” he says again. 

“For what?”

It’s Hen this time, and he feels her hand on the back of his neck. He doesn’t reply, and this seems to be fine, because nobody asks him anything else, except for Buck, who asks if he’s ready and doesn’t give him time to answer before they’re all helping him up and onto a gurney, then pushing him into an ambulance. 

Hen’s driving, and Buck and Chim are sitting in the back with him. Chim’s busy being a paramedic, though since Eddie’s already cleaned and stitched the wound there’s not a lot for him to do. He slips a pulse monitor onto Eddie’s finger and asks him how he’s feeling. 

“Fine,” Eddie says, which is the wrong answer, obviously. Chim sighs and asks if he’s sure that he really feels fine, you know, with a stab wound to his torso and all. 

“Fine. It hurts,” Eddie mutters, and Chim says a smug thank you that almost makes Eddie smile. 

Buck grabs his hand from where he’s sitting next to Eddie, holding on tighter than can possibly be necessary, like he’s worried Eddie’s going to just fall away. Eddie wishes he had that kind of power. 

“Will you tell us what happened?” Buck asks. Eddie shakes his head slightly. He can’t talk about it. Or, he can, but he doesn’t want to. Except some part of him does. He doesn’t say anything as he tries to figure that one out. 

“Eddie, listen. I know you’re hurting right now. Because of Shannon, because of Chris, because of me...I know I haven’t been the best friend lately, but I have never stopped caring about you. Whatever happened, you can tell me. I promise I won’t judge you or be mad at you.”

“Same,” Chim adds, putting a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. 

They won’t be mad, Eddie tries to tell himself. They won’t be mad. They won’t be mad. 

“I was street fighting and it went bad,” he says, the words coming out of him in a rush. 

“Okay,” Chim says, with professionalism. Buck, on the other hand, says nothing. He’s looking at Eddie with this unreadable expression on his face and he’s not saying anything, and Eddie thinks that this is it. This is something that can’t be looked past. This is the moment that Buck leaves him, for good. 

“Okay,” Buck agrees, and his grip on Eddie’s hand tightens even more. “Thank you for telling us.”

They arrive at the hospital not ten seconds later, and then Buck, Chim, and Hen are walking beside him on the path to the doors, and when they reach the doors, rather than surrendering him to the doctors and turning around, they follow him in.

A few minutes later the four of them are crammed into a room that’s a little too small for all of them. Eddie’s lying on a table and the others are standing around him, giving the nurse a wide berth but anxiously looking over her shoulders. She’d told them there was no need for surgery and that he hadn’t lost enough blood to be in serious danger. She’d give him an anaesthetic, clean and stitch the wound, and then he’d be kept for observation for a couple hours. She had also pulled the other three away and talked to them about something Eddie hadn’t been able to hear. Him, most likely. 

Buck, Chim, and Hen then clear out for the nurse, who smiles kindly at Eddie and asks whether he’s alright with receiving the local anaesthetic. He’d like to say no, that he’s fine, he’ll tough it out, but he is unfortunately now familiar with the feeling of stitches pulling through his skin, and he accepts the anaesthetic readily.

A few minutes later, he’s been stitched up far better than his at-home job, and he’s lying in a hospital bed trying to argue with the nurse about going home. 

“It really is best if you stay, just until this evening, Mr. Diaz,” she’s saying, and he knows full well she’s right, but he hates it anyway. But Buck and Chim and Hen are standing behind her, eyeing him with looks that leave little point in arguing further. 

He resigns himself to staying in the hospital for a little while. Buck, Chim, and Hen head back to the station and promise to come back as soon as they can. Eddie calls his abuela and asks whether she can pick up Chris from his sleepover. He tells her he’s been hurt on the job, nothing major, and he’ll be home that night. She says she’ll bring Chris by in an hour, and tells him he’d better not think he’s getting away with his shoddy explanation. 

He tries to keep himself occupied as he waits for people to arrive, but time in the hospital passes extraordinarily slowly, and he finds himself bored out of his mind and kind of sleepy. He closes his eyes experimentally and finds it easy to drift off. 

--

He wakes up to voices. Chris and Buck, he realizes, talking very excitedly about a new school project involving plants. Eddie smiles and opens his eyes. 

“Dad!” Chris shouts excitedly, standing up so quickly he about topples over in his haste to give Eddie a hug. Buck catches him before he can fall and reminds him to be gentle, and then Chris is hugging him around the neck and saying he’s so glad he’s okay, and did he hear them talking about the new project? And does he think Buck can come over and help him work on it after school on Monday?

Eddie answers Chris’ questions as well as he can, and Chris seems satisfied with the answers, sinking back into his chair and grinning. Buck gives his hair a tousle and looks at Eddie. “You okay?”

Eddie nods. Now that they’re here, truly, the answer is yes. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he looks Buck straight on, hoping he’ll feel Eddie’s sincerity. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone. I thought it would be fine. I just...I didn’t want you to know.”

“Know what?”

Eddie looks at Chris, who is looking between the two of them somewhat confusedly. He shakes his head. Chris doesn’t need to hear this. 

At just that moment, there’s a knock on the door, and Eddie looks up to see Athena, with Harry and May in tow. “Bobby’ll be here as soon as he can,” she says to him. “And then you and I are going to talk.”

He nods. He’d figured this was coming. He’s just glad she hadn’t said they were going to talk right now. 

“Hey Chris?” Buck asks, and Chris turns to him, grinning. 

“Dad’s really okay?” Chris asks, before Buck can finish his sentence. 

Buck nods. “He’s going to be just fine, I promise,” he says, holding up his hand like he’s swearing it. Chris giggles. 

“Okay, Buck. Then...can I go play with Harry?”

Chris looks imploringly at Buck, then at Eddie, and Eddie catches Harry giving the same look to Athena. All three adults nod, and the two boys head out into the hallway, Athena and May following behind them. May closes the door behind her and smiles at the two of them, almost encouragingly? Which Eddie thinks is a bit odd. He’s broken away from the question by Buck slipping right back into their prior conversation.

“You didn’t want me to know what?” 

Eddie takes a breath in, then turns his gaze to his hands, intertwined atop the blanket. He doesn’t think he can look at Buck while he says this. 

“I didn’t want you to know how much it hurt. How angry I am. I didn’t want to tell you because then you would realize that I’m not enough, that I am angry and hurting all the time, and I’m not worth the trouble. I didn’t want you to know that about me. I didn’t...I didn’t want you to leave me.”

Buck doesn’t say anything. Eddie risks a glance up at him and sees that there are tears in Buck’s eyes. He hates himself for putting them there.

“Oh, Eddie,” Buck says, and his voice is as soft as anything. He grabs Eddie’s hand, rubbing his thumb in circles on the back of it. “Eddie, there is not a thing you could say to me that would make me leave you. That would make me stop loving you. I’m gonna be right here, no matter what. I’ll be here when you’re hurting, angry, upset...I love all of you, Eddie, not just the parts of you that you show to the world. All of you.”

He’s briefly interrupted by a whoop of joy from the hallway, a mix of Harry and Chris. Eddie looks back up at Buck, who’s smiling despite the tears on his face. 

“And all of Chris. I’m not going to leave either of you, Eds. Even if I get mad at you sometimes. Even if I am mad at you for not telling me that you were hurting.”

Eddie’s crying too, now, and he feels Buck’s hand gently grab his chin, lifting his head so they lock eyes. 

“You are more than enough, Eddie. For Chris, for the 118, for me...we all love you. We’re all right here. You don’t need to keep going through all of this alone.”

Eddie nods, feels a sob escape him, and then Buck’s holding him, incredibly gently but still grounding, running fingers through his hair and telling him, over and over, that he is enough. That he is loved. This just makes Eddie cry more, until finally he pushes Buck away, for once wanting to meet his eyes.

“I love you,” he says, and even after everything Buck’s said to him, he panics for a moment and wonders whether this is too much, and then Buck is moving towards him, slowly, looking at him like he wants confirmation that this is what Eddie wants, and of course this is what he wants, of course it is, and it must show in the look that he gives Buck in return, because the distance between them rapidly closes, and then he is kissing Evan Buckley, and Evan Buckley is kissing him. 

“Eww!” 

The two of them break apart in surprise, and Buck laughs softly, resting their foreheads together. The door to the room opens, and Chris, Harry, Athena, and May walk in. 

“Kissing’s gross,” Harry says, and Chris nods. May whacks her little brother on the head. “What?” Harry protests. “It is.”

Eddie looks at Chris, for a second terrified that his son is going to hate him for this, but then Chris gives the most exasperated sigh that Eddie has ever heard come from a child, and he says, “I guess kissing’s okay.” Harry looks at him with betrayal on his face. “It’s still gross, mostly” he reassures, “but it’s not the worst. ‘Specially since we’re at the hospital. You’re supposed to kiss people better.”

Eddie smiles at his son, and he catches Buck doing the same, looking so incredibly happy and bright that it’s damn near painful to look him straight on.

“Yes!” May says suddenly, and she meets the questioning gazes of everyone in the room, looking up from her phone, where she’d been furiously texting. “Hen and Bobby and Dad owe me $20. I owe Chimney $20, too, though.”

Athena gives her daughter a look. “You bet on this?” she asks. 

Eddie feels himself blush, and sees Buck’s cheeks darken, too. Had this been that obvious?

“Mom,” May starts, but Athena interrupts her. “And you lost to Chimney?”

May nods. 

“And so did Bobby.”

Another nod.

“So we collectively owe Chimney $60. I can’t believe it. I swore I’d beat him. Ooh, he is gonna gloat.”

“Athena!” Buck yelps, mock hurt. “You bet on this?”

“It was a matter of time, Buckaroo.”

Buck smiles at her, and then turns his face back to Eddie. “A matter of time, huh?”

Eddie nods. “Apparently so.”

aghhhh thanks so much for reading this!!! i had literally the best time writing it and i hope you enjoyed!!!

[etn-story-archive]

Enter the Nomicon - Chapter 14: Blood Spilt

.

Red. It clouded his vision. A strong, bitter and sulfurous smell filled his nostrils to the point where it was almost suffocating. The entirety of this was unpleasant. What was this exactly? Nomi couldn't tell, in fact, he couldn't recall anything that had mounted up to whatever was going on. He had no idea where he was, nothing. It all was just a blur. 

It kinda felt like swimming in the ocean, except, it felt even lighter, almost completely weightless, engulfed in a sea of red. It was almost calming, which is what surprised Nomi the most. Everything just felt calm and relaxing, despite the mild discomfort. That didn't seem to be right. Not at all.

Something was wrong, terribly wrong. But what? What was wrong? What unsettling and unsavory thing was transpiring? Nothing felt right, that deep peace Nomi felt had seemingly vanished, replaced by a sense of wrongness, like the world was being torn apart, piece by piece. That dull ache of discomfort itched at Nomi, the red that filled his senses suddenly made him feel weak, vulnerable, scared, and alone.

But why?

...

The hideous scream echoed loudly throughout the halls of Norrisville High, causing the school to tremble to its very foundation. 

Both Randy and Howard looked to each other with wide, panicked gazes. Neither teen had an explanation as to what was making this blood curdling scream.

 "Howard!"

"N-ninja what's going on?!"

"I-I don't know!"

The two stumbled about, unable to keep their balances. Randy crashed into an empty desk, as Howard tripped over a chair, before landing on top of the still unconscious body of Mac Antfee.

As the scream passed, a sharp, biting sting tore into Randy like billions of needles pricking his body mercilessly. He gripped the edge of the desk with one hand, in order to support himself, while the other gripped at his stomach. As he forced himself upright, a pained gasp escaped him, only muffled by the ninja mask.

"H-aah."

Randy could only squeeze his eyes shut as pain spread all throughout his body.

"N-ninja?!"

Howard's voice could barely be heard.

"Ninja, look at me--say something!"

Randy forced his eyes open, and stared up at Howard dazedly.

"H-Howard?"

The pain began to slowly subside, though it was still painful for Randy to move normally, his tummy extremely tender.

"Ninja, you're glowing!"

Randy blinked owlishly, his movements and thought process seeming slower than usual. 

"What?"

"I said you're glowing! You're completely red!"

Randy nodded distractedly. He couldn't quite register what Howard had just said.

"Cunningham?"

In any normal circumstance, Howard would never use Randy's last name when he was wearing the suit, but this was certainly not a normal circumstance.

Randy stared at Howard in a daze. He hadn't even bothered to scold the chubby teen for using his name.

"Something's wrong...I-I have to find Nomi."

"Are you insane?! The book can take care of himself, just wait here!"

Randy hesitated, before shaking his head.

"No, I have to find him...Whatever just made that scream...Nomi might need my help."

Heatedly set on searching for Nomi, Randy pushed himself completely away from the desk, wobbling slightly.

"Well, what do I do with him?!"

Howard gestured to the unconscious Mac Antfee lying on the ground between them.

"Just...keep an eye on him. You hit him pretty hard, so I don't think he'll get up any time soon."

Howard scowled, before looking down at Mac, then reluctantly nodding. 

"Fine, but hurry it up."

Randy nodded.

"Thanks, buddy."

Howard huffed as Randy charged ungracefully out of the room, using the wall as support.

Suddenly, the body lying in front of Howard began to stir.

...

For the most part, the school seemed entirely deserted. The halls were littered with papers, notebooks, pencils and bags. Clearly everyone had left in a hurry.

The further Randy walked, the more on edge he felt. He felt vulnerable, and with every creak and shudder the school gave, the more it unsettled him, making him even more paranoid about his surroundings. It almost tempted him to pull out his sword, however, he refrained from doing so. It wouldn’t make a difference anyway. Randy wouldn't be able to hold it, let alone use it. 

As he ventured further down the hallway, he noticed how much more destroyed the classrooms were. Had he and Mac made this much of a mess? Randy glanced over a scorched piece of building and shook his head. No, no they hadn't.

Suddenly, before Randy could have a chance to even blink, a burst of colorful doodles flooded the hallway. They burned everything they touched, reducing them into nothing more than ashes. 

Randy was unable to move away fast enough. He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting the burning sensation of fire to rip through his body and burn him to a crisp, but it never came.

Daring to open an eye, Randy found himself staring face to cover of what looked like a tiny, colorful doodle of Nomi in book form, complete with tiny stick figure arms and legs. For a moment, he stared at the little doodle dumbly, before it suddenly began to nuzzle Randy's cheek. 

Randy froze in surprise, he wasn't sure what to do, so he allowed the act, which was soon added by other doodles that began rubbing themselves against his body.

A light feeling of warmth began to spread throughout his body, seeping into his very veins. Any pain Randy had previously felt slipped away, until there was no pain at all. He flexed his fingers curiously, still feeling no pain. The tiny doodles seemed to sense this as they all pulled away. The Nomicon doodle lingered for just a second longer, before it too floated past Randy, and finally fading away into nothing. He glanced down at his hands, and found that he was no longer covered in stank.

To Randy, the entire transaction was odd to say the least.

“What the juice just happened?” 

Randy didn't have much time to ponder over it, before suddenly--

"Hello, nice wad."

Randy had barely managed to turn around before something smacked him hard against the side of his head. He was sent stumbling to the ground, stars dancing in his eyes. He could feel Mac's presence looming over him. Randy turned his head as best he could to look up at him. The man held a wicked smirk on his face. Randy saw a large wooden board in his hands. 

Mac raised it again, before bringing it down upon Randy. Darkness overcame his vision.

...

A deep groan.

"Hmm, I think he's waking up. Good, I thought you killed the brat."

Randy shifted, his eyes beginning to adjust.

"Too bad, it would've made things easier. Ah well, fucking with him is gonna be even better."

His muscles ached, and his head stung.

"Uuugh..."

Randy moaned out. He turned his head to the side, and at first could only see a wall, but soon someone stepped into his view. Randy's eyes widened as the Sorceress stood before him. She gave him a smile that could rival the Cheshire cat's.

"Hmm, for such a puny little rat, you've caused quite a bit of trouble. I suppose I can't complain though, you being such a weakling made it easier for us. The Norisu brat wasn't all that much different either. Shame, I expected more of a fight from the worthless worm."

Randy began to tremble violently, 

"W-what?"

The Sorceress's smile grew wider, but before she could utter another word, a deep growl resonated from somewhere Randy couldn't see. She began to giggle and coo.

"Oh, it seems he's quite the impatient one."

Randy swallowed. He tried craning his neck further to see what the witch was talking about, but to no avail. What was holding him down?

Randy felt added pressure on his back, and he let out a sharp gasp of pain.

"What, excited to see Teach?"

Oh. Right, Mac. Oh no, Howard! He'd told him to keep an eye on Mac! Did he do something to him?! 

Randy began to squirm around vigorously.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"L-let me go! LET ME GO!"

Mac chuckled darkly. He lifted his foot from the small of Randy's back before viciously stomping down on him between his shoulder blades. Randy cried out.

"I believe it's time we ended this. No need to prolong this brat's time." 

The Sorceress scowled, clearly more intent on finishing things up quickly. She knew that if the young ninja somehow managed to gain some form of upper hand, it would all be over, and their plans would go down the drain.

"Aw c'mon, I'm just getting started! I want this stupid fucker to pay. Let's just have a little fun with him. Besides, the 800 year old newspaper isn't gonna be any trouble, now that he's under your control. Besides, I have the mask."

“WAIT WHAT.”

Randy's eyes shot open, his pupils shrunk. No, it couldn't be!

The Sorceress eyed the purple haired teen tentatively. The idea was much too good to simply pass up. The ninja had been a thorn on her side for centuries. And now, the opportunity to make him pay was practically laid out in front of her. Even better, she had the right weapons for the job.

"Hmm, I guess we aren't in such a rush. And this could be the perfect chance to practice my control over the Nomicon." 

Her eyes glistened wickedly as she spoke.

Meanwhile, Randy's heart was beating madly against his chest. He was in a full fledged panic. They know who he is, his secret identity exposed, and Nomi was sta--

Snap!

The Sorceress had snapped her bony fingers, and instantly a blur of black and red was at her side.

Mac Antfee removed his foot, lifting Randy by the scruff of his shirt, shoving him face to face with what had become of his teacher.

Nomi's body was long and slender, with short, muscular legs, each equipped with long red talons. His snout was long with two feelers on either side of his cherry red nose, and a small beard grew on his chin. On top of his head sat a set of antlers and a mop of long, red hair that ran from the top of his head and ended at the tuft on his tail. The entirety of Nomi's body was coated in impenetrable black scales, and a cream colored underbelly with the glowing red symbol of the Norisu Nine engrained at his chest.

"Nomi..." 

His name was all that he could manage to muster.

The Sorceress cooed as she ran a sickly green hand against the smooth scales. 

"Yes, he'll wreak havoc upon this pathetic town, and soon the world will be ours. Hellion, destroy this pitiful building."

"No, Nomi don't! NO!"

Nomi ignored Randy's pleas. He snarled, baring his large fangs, smoke pouring out of his mouth and nostrils. He then turned to the nearest wall, and without batting an eye, released a powerful torrent of colorful doodles that acted like flames, eating away at the wall and anything beyond that with ease. He then rammed his antlers against the smoldering room, destroying any surviving material, before moving on to the next room, all within a matter of seconds.

Randy could only watch on in horror, before he was promptly shoved against the wall, away from Nomi. He could just imagine Mac was grinning from ear to ear. 

Randy squeezed his eyes tightly shut as Mac Antfee began to beat him. He was punched numerously against his head, before being thrown like a ragdoll against the cool tile. One of his eyes was swollen and black, blood leaking profusely from his nose.

"You were such a fucking pain in my ass, kid. You don't even deserve that mask. I'M the best ninja that old twink has ever taught. You're worthless compared to me! Do you hear that?! WORTHLESS! And I know you like him. It’s almost painful with how obvious it is. But you know what?"

Randy swallowed a sob as Mac kicked him in the stomach.

"He doesn't care about you. He just sees you as some poor kid who's stuck doing his dirty work."

Another swift kick, this time to Randy's ribs.

"You're nothing to him. You're just a replaceable pawn!"

Mac grabbed Randy by the throat, lifting him up high. He began to squeeze, barely allowing any air to pass through his lungs.

"He won't miss you, let alone love you. I almost feel sorry for ya. Too bad I'm gonna fucking kill you."

"N-Nomi!... NOMI!..NOMI HELP!...PLEASE-!" Randy rasped out desperately.

Mac snickered, he watched, utterly amused, before digging his nails harshly into Randy's neck, cutting off almost all air from his lungs, leaving the teen gasping.

"The book isn't gonna do a thing to help you now. He belongs to us now."

Randy's hands shot out and grabbed at Mac Antfee's hand, trying to pull it away, but it didn't budge.

The Sorceress watched the display, a sense of sickening satisfaction crossed her wrinkled face.

...

Nomi had gone far off down the hall, far away from the brutal beating of his student. He had already destroyed nearly a third of the nearby classes in less than a few minutes. 

He could hear the sounds of a fight, and despite his mind being completely under the control of the Sorceress, some form of curiosity entered his mind, and he found himself twisting back around down the hall from where he'd previously come from.

Nomi couldn't quite place why he was so interested in the sounds of the skirmish, yet continued on, ignoring his previous orders to destroy. 

It was odd, but even the idea of destroying things was actually quite foreign to Nomi. Why did everything feel so off? So wrong? 

Nothing made sense.

Nomi marched on as he tried to make sense of everything, but it was as if something was preventing him from doing so. But what and why? He couldn't say.

"N-Nomi!"

Nomi froze.

"... NOMI!.."

Who was that? Why were they calling for him? They sounded familiar...

"NOMI HELP!...PLEASE-!"

This time, something snapped. It hit him like a ton of bricks, reality came pummeling down on Nomi. The deep red veil that had clouded his mind vanished. He remembered. The fight that had broken out between himself, Randy, the Sorceress, and Mac...the rage that led to him getting stanked.

A deep bubbling anger flared through his mind, and Nomi suddenly began to barrel his way down the ruins of the demolished hallway with no signs of stopping.

…

Mac watched as Randy struggled, slowly suffocating within the tips of his fingers. Just like the Sorceress, a swell of satisfaction puffed inside his chest.

Randy's mouth fell open as he despairingly tried to breathe in any air he could, but Mac did not allow him. He squeezed just enough to cut off all air supply to his lungs, and when the man relented enough to let him take a breath, it simply wasn't enough. Randy could feel his eyes beginning to roll backwards as the lack of air was causing him to slowly lose consciousness again. 

He knew that it would be permanent this time.

Seconds passed, and Mac did not give Randy the relief of even a small amount of breath. His grip on Mac's hand weakened.

“This is it,” Randy thought, “this is where I'm gonna die.” 

Just as Randy was about to pass out, a loud snarling roar startled Mac, causing him to release Randy's neck, just barely enough for the teen to breathe. And the man was almost instantaneously torn away from him.

Everyone, even the Sorceress, seemed shocked.

Mac was on the ground, utterly terrified as Nomi hovered over him, pinning him down with one large clawed hand, his long red talons threatening to pierce the skin on his chest.

Randy wheezed, as he took desperate gulps of air, coughing every few seconds. He laid there limply, his eyes closed and tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. Small sobs escaping him.

Mac squirmed underneath Nomi, staring up at the ancient being with a fearful gaze.

Nomi leaned down, a resonating growl erupted from his maw, and he bore his long fangs, clearly intent on using them.

The Sorceress, who had been watching the entire display, acted fast. She created a ball of pink energy and aimed it skillfully at Nomi, hitting him dead on, causing the dragon to rear up, releasing his hold on Mac. The ginger haired man wasted no time to scramble away. He reached behind him and pulled out the stank covered katana, the Sorceress joining his side.

"YOU FOOL! I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN TO NOT HAVE LISTENED TO A WORD YOU SPAT OUT! THE NOMICON IS NO LONGER IN MY CONTROL!" The Sorceress snarled.

"Then get him back in your control!" Mac hissed back.

Before the Sorceress could retort, a large billow of colorful doodles smacked her, sending her flying down the end of the hall. She was out, cold.

Mac stared after her, in complete shock, before turning back around in front of him. That was a huge mistake. 

Nomi's reptilian tail swung out at Mac like a whip, snatching his katana from his grip.

Randy watched quietly, having at some point managed to push himself into a slumped, sitting position against the wall. To him, it was like watching a scary movie, as the monster was being cornered, getting ready for the final stretch of the film. 

Unfortunately this was no movie. This was real.

As Nomi lunged, Mac darted around the mouth full of teeth, just narrowly escaping by a hair. He hastily went for his katana, which sat an inch or two within the tips of his fingers. However, Nomi was quicker. Like a rubber band, Nomi snapped around faster than a whip, snapping his large jaws onto Mac's hand.

Mac Antfee hollered loudly in sheer pain, before being tossed into a pile of rubble.

Randy watched in silent horror as Nomi opened his bloody jaws, preparing to enlist a final blow, but just before he could, a pink blast hit him squarely in the jaw. 

Nomi roared angrily, turning to the source of the offending blow. The Sorceress. 

Nomi narrowed his eyes darkly, and was quickly upon her in seconds.

Having been unprepared for  Nomi's speed, the Sorceress was useless in fighting off the redhead's devastating attacks.

Randy continued to watch, breathless, as Nomi unleashed ferocious attacks with brutal force and absolutely no mercy. 

Suddenly, a deep grunt of pain caught his attention and instantly, fear swarmed his mind.

Mac was slowly getting back up onto shaky feet, one hand bleeding profusely, the other grasped at the glowing green katana tightly. He began to stagger towards Randy. A maniacal grin was stretching itself across his face, eyes wide and wild.

He began to laugh.

"I'm gonna finish what I started. And there's nothing he can do to save you now."

Randy pressed himself against the wall. He felt small, compared to Mac, as he loomed over him. Randy whimpered as Mac grabbed at his throat again, lifting him up high, his body pressed against the wall. Randy closed his eyes as Mac began to squeeze his neck again.

Mac chuckled softly as he slowly raised his katana, before plunging it straight into Randy's stomach.

Randy threw his head back, his mouth fell open as he let out an odd, strangled cry that quickly fell silent as Mac tightened his grip on Randy's neck, his dark grin only growing at the sight. 

...

Howard moaned out pitifully, his face stung, and he was more than sure his nose was broken.

The last thing Howard could recall was Mac getting to his feet. Howard had tried to call for Randy to come back, before he felt a sharp cuff to his face that rendered him unconscious.

For how long was he out was a mystery that seemed like too much work to ponder. He simply hoped that Randy was okay. That way, when he saw him again, he could slap him, because holy cheese, he was left alone with that maniac! 

Howard huffed in annoyance at the thought. He then pushed himself back to his feet, but only to be knocked back down again.

The entire school began to tremble, sounds of destruction radiated off throughout the halls. It was almost like an earthquake had hit.

Howard gripped at a desk and pushed himself up.

Random chips and pieces of the ceiling began to dust his hair, which he brushed off in aggravation. He turned to the rest of the room, and could tell that Mac was definitely long gone, and Randy still hadn't come back yet.

Wait.

“CUNNINGHAM!”

Randy wasn't back, the whole school was shaking, and oh my cheese there's some huge monster outside the room.

Howard froze at the sight of what looked to be a black dragon passing by. The large beast appeared to be in deep thought when--

"N-Nomi!"

The dragon paused, raising its head just slightly, before moving closer to the source of the voice.

Howard's heart skipped a beat. That had sounded like Randy.

"... NOMI!.."

It started to walk faster, ears perked up in alert.

"NOMI HELP!...PLEASE-!"

Then it started to run. The large dragon was a blur, and was gone in seconds.

Wait. Was that-? No, it couldn't be the book? Could it?

Howard decided he wasn't going to wait and find out, he had to go after it before it could get to Randy. 

With that, Howard made his way into the hall.

...

The taste of iron intoxicated Randy's mouth. His lungs cried out for air, and the urge to vomit attacked his insides. It didn't help that a sword was literally hacking at him either, even more so when the sword wielder was twisting it around.

Randy could only squirm around weakly. He couldn't even call out to Nomi anymore.

"You know what, nice wad? You're absolutely pathetic. If ya had just given me the mask, I wouldn't have to kill you. But you just had to play the hero, huh?"

Randy could only squeeze his eyes shut as Mac continued to berate him. Tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Are you seriously fucking crying?"

Soft whimpers escaped Randy's bloody lips.

It wasn't the response that Mac had wanted. He slowly slid the the katana out of Randy's gut, and held it up to the teen's bloodied face. Randy squirmed, crying out.

"Look at it."

The young ninja didn't open his eyes.

The ex-ninja ninja scowled darkly at him, before violently shaking him.

"I SAID FUCKING LOOK AT IT!"

Randy whimpered, slowly opening his eyes and peering face to face to Mac's bloody sword. Tears blurred his vision, turning the sword into a smeared blob of red.

"You're so fucking useless, a waste of space. You're the shittiest ninja ever, a huge fuck up. I don't know what Teach saw in you. He must have been desperate."

Randy stifled out a sob.

…

The Sorceress hissed, as wall of colorful doodles nearly burnt her to a crisp. She raised a part of her shroud to shield herself as it passed. She had so far managed to evade most of the Nomicon's more vicious attacks, but just barely. She knew though, that eventually it wouldn't be long before the large dragon would manage to land a hit on her, and she would be thrown into another deadly foray. Thus far she's been on the defensive, and that quickly needed to change. She was already cornered against a wall, her magic useless against Nomi, and she was slowly running out of ideas. She needed to distract the beast.

Her eyes darted around until they landed onto her ticket of escape, the purple haired brat that Mac was currently torturing to death.

The Sorceress grinned darkly, and fell into her usual act of manipulation. Cooing, she narrowed her soulless yellow eyes, lips pursed,

"Poor, poor Nomicon. Do you really believe that you can have that little ninja as yours? You aren't human anymore, remember? Any form of humanity you show is simply an act you put up to fool everyone around you. Now, you've even managed to fool yourself. He will grow old, while you'll continue your miserable existence."

Nomi paused.

"Besides, the boy despises you. He wouldn't have to deal with any of this had you not burdened him with your duty. You've ruined his life, and now he will die, because of your incompetence! I'm sure Mac Antfee agrees, after all, he seems to be having quite a bit of fun torturing your little toy to death." 

As the Sorceress said this, she lifted a bony hand and pointed at Mac and Randy, a wicked grin on her face.

Nomi hastily spun around, eyes immediately landing on the two. Mac holding Randy up by his throat, and a blood soaked sword in his other. A large gaping wound decorated Randy's gut and was gushing out large amounts of blood.

Nomi's eyes narrowed, he let out a blood curdling roar, and charged straight to Mac, completely forgetting about the Sorceress.

...

Mac sneered.

"Fucking weak. A damned pathetic, cock sucking brat."

Randy closed his eyes, his mouth fell open as strangled sobs left him.

"You and your fat fuck of a friend. Can't believe he wants you."

Randy's eyes shot open. He tried to mouth a 'what?' to Mac, but Mac simply rolled his eyes. He seemed bored, and even mildly disappointed.

"I think I'm just gonna wrap this up. You're such a damned crybaby, not even worth my time--"

A loud roar cut off the rest of Mac's sentence. He turned to where he guessed was the source, but immediately found himself being bulldozed away, releasing his grip on Randy.

The man's eyes were wide with fear, and his mouth wide open as a pained, gurgled cry escaped him. Nomi's antlers impaled right into his arm, ribs, thigh, and cheek, barely missing the temple.

With brutal ferocity, Nomi snapped his head in an effort to shake the man off, and once he did, Nomi began to violently tear into Mac Antfee. With no mercy, Nomi began to tear him to shreds, viciously tearing off an arm.

Randy laid where he was dropped, his own blood already pooling around him. He'd already lost a good amount before. It was a miracle he hadn't passed out yet.

He took in deep and heavy breaths, savoring each swallows of air he got. His vision, though blurred by his tears, and one eye swelled shut, it didn't completely hinder him from the the grizzly scene that was playing out before him.

Mac was shrieking loudly, painfully, as the sounds of his flesh being torn apart could be heard.

Randy shuddered at the sounds, disgusted. 

His whole body ached, his face especially stung, but indescribable pain spread from his stomach. This entire moment seemed so unbelievable, like something from a nightmare. 

Was this a nightmare? Wasn't he going to wake up and find himself in his own room?

The Sorceress, in all her centuries of existence, was actually mortified by Nomi's gruesome performance. She needed to leave now, unless she wanted to end up like Mac, but first, she needed to grab something, something important.

 Making her way around the Nomicon in silence. She stopped by a seemingly insignificant pile of rubble, and pulled out the Ninja mask. Originally, the witch had been willing to hand it over to Mac, so long as he kept up with his end of the deal, which was to help her gain control of the Nomicon. Of course, that clearly wasn’t what was happening, and that being said, the Sorceress decided that this was her time to take her leave.

...

Nomi had made quick work of Mac. What was left of him was barely recognizable to anyone.

Randy stared weakly up at his teacher, and for the first time ever, he actually felt afraid of Nomi.

The older male slowly turned to him, his jaws dripping with Mac's blood, and he began to make his way towards Randy.

Not sure whether or not Nomi would attack him, Randy hastily reached into his pocket and fished out his wallet. With trembling hands he dug around and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

Nomi paused, watching in curiosity as Randy began to unfold it, before holding up the parchment. It was the painting of Nomi and his siblings.

Nomi blinked, he stepped closer. His voice was soft, almost gentle, but still came out as an inhuman rasp.

"RAnDy? ....bROtHerS AnD SisTeRs...HOw...?"

Nomi carefully pressed his nose against the ancient painting, sniffing it lightly. A purr emitted from his throat, and he laid his head on the bloody tile in front of Randy. 

Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes.  What had he just done? Something unforgivable, sick, and brutal. It was wrong and selfish, worse, Randy had to witness it all, endure through it all.

The black dragon let out a shaky whimper, a puff of air escaped him, and with it so did the stank.

Randy watched as the red air slithered away, out of sight. He turned his gaze back to Nomi, and stared in silence as the older teen reverted back to his normal self.

"I'm so sorry. Randy, I...I'm so sorry..."

Tears rained down Nomi's cheeks as he continued to vainly blurt out undecipherable apologies. He buried his face into Randy's chest.

Randy smiled, he opened his mouth as if to say something. It was weak and soft.

"Nomi...I love... " 

But just like that, he trailed off as his vision became black, and he finally passed out.

Nomi hadn't noticed that Randy had tried to speak, too stricken with grief and shame at his own, despicable actions. 

He did, however, hear the sounds of distant vehicles, and more than likely they were police officers, ambulances, news vans...the usual group of vultures.

"What did you do?"

The voice startled Nomi, and he pulled away to find Howard standing only a few feet away from them.

"Howard--"

Nomi could hardly even get in Howard’s name, before Howard rushed over and harshly shoved Nomi away. The redhead didn't fight back as Howard began to berate and shout at him.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO HIM YOU BASTARD?!"

Nomi's eyes widened slightly. Did Howard think that he...?

"DON'T YOU TOUCH HIM! DON'T EVEN COME NEAR HIM! IT'S YOUR FAULT YOU STUPID BOOK!"

Nomi winced, but otherwise didn't react. Howard glared at him murderously, before turning away and hastily lifting up his best friend's limp body. He shot Nomi another look as if he wanted to say something else, but decided against it, and ran off.

Nomi cringed as the sound of the school's front entrance slammed shut behind the chubby teen. After that, an unsettling quiet set in.

Nomi's eyes fell upon the painting of him and his siblings that Randy had dropped, and carefully took it into his hands. He clutched it closely, not daring to look at the faces of the people that he clearly disappointed.

He pondered how on earth Randy had come across it.

Nomi knew that he should probably go after Howard and Randy, at least to make sure his student made it to the hospital safely, but he didn't. The words of the Sorceress and Howard echoed through his mind, and he stayed, glued to the floor he was sitting on.

...

Hours passed by, before a gentle but firm hand placed itself onto Nomi's shoulder.

Nomi silently turned to the hands owner and he found himself staring up at a familiar face.

A man wearing a cowboy hat glanced down at him forlornly, his expression grave, yet at the same time, sympathetic.

It was Nomi's "uncle" Charlie. There was very little Nomi knew about the man, for one, his name wasn't Charlie. No one knew what it was, not even his parents knew. Two, Nomi and Charlie were certainly not related by blood, but he was a friend of Nomi's family, long before he had been born. Though the southern accented man was still a complete mystery, there was no doubt that he was an ally. How he came to be an ally was a long story, but for another

The point was, "Charlie" cared, and that was that.

Said man carefully kneeled on the ground, avoiding the pool of blood that Nomi was laying on, and wrapped his arms around Nomi. The redhead couldn't resist and returned the gesture, breaking down into loud sobs into the man's shoulder. 

It had been centuries since the last time the two had actually embraced, let alone speak. Still, the blossoming familiarity pulled Nomi in and kept him there, until it overwhelmed him. Nomi pulled away and numbly got to his feet, brushing off any other forms of comfort the man offered.

"You gon' be okay?"

Charlie's deep southern voice strung against Nomi, and all the teen could do was shake his head, before walking off.

Charlie stood there, and watched as Nomi walked off, making no movements to stop him. 

He simply nodded, and walked off to his own direction.

As Nomi walked off, he tried to ignore Mac's mutilated body, barely resisting the urge to vomit.

He clumsily hopped out a nearby window, and headed into town.

[journeymanwithpen]

The first memory

— Happy birthday, — she sings. — What would you like to do today?

— Thank you, Love! — They kiss.

— I don't want anything special, — he says — It's a day like any other.

— It's not, — she insists. — It's your birthday. And because of that, it's special!

— I think we humans are drunk on our own sense of self-importance, — he says. — We like to mark everything, but in fact all we celebrate is ourselves. It's quite pathetic, actually. Birthday is an anniversary of someone's coming to being. It's a folly celebrating that I existed. Now, if I knew exactly how long I have on this Earth, that'd be a completely different story, then I’d celebrate how long I have left. As it is, we all burn our wick, but none of us know exactly how long the wick is. We have our little birthday celebrations to mark how much of it we burned. Let’s celebrate any other day, a good day spent with you, for example.

She watches him, smiling silently. — Tell me about yourself, — she says.

— What's to tell, you know everything, — he says.

— I want to know who you were before me.

— Ah, — he sighs — you want a story.

— Always.

She nestles on his chest and pulls his arm around her shoulders.

— I already told you all I can remember, — he says. — My recollection is fuzzy, I can't separate what really happened from what I wished to happen.

— That's alright with me. That's why we call them 'stories'.

---

What's your first real memory? Not the story about yourself told by the parents or relatives? Nor the moments frozen in old photographs from the time before memories? The first thing you were aware of as a kid?

Mine is of a summer before I started school. A clear, warm sunny day. It must have been warm because I remember wearing shorts and a short sleeved shirt. I was riding a bike, the small green one my dad brought from Italy for my birthday. Everybody else had a "pony" - a locally made bicycle with low, U-shaped frame which folded in the middle and had horn-shaped handlebar. My Italian bike was special, if for nothing else, then for not being a pony. The model was Julia, proclaimed in stylish bold letters along its metallic-green frame. Even its name sounded better, I thought. It was smaller than a pony, true, but also lighter. It had the horizontal bar from the seat to the handlebar. It also had a slightly better chain and pedals size, which made it speedier. I liked to ride it fast, although for 6-and-a-half-year-old everything faster than walk seemed fast. That day Pop, my best friend, and I rode around the building where we lived, an ugly 5-story rectangle with four entrances and a facade made of corrugated tin panels. He had his old, slightly rusty blue pony. Pop was half a head shorter than me and even though I wasn't much more than sinews and bones back then, I was the larger of the two. Naturally, that meant I was stronger and faster too. When we tired of chasing each other in the same old circle, we ventured on the parking stretching to the side of our building. It was out of sight of our parents who occasionally glanced through the windows to check on us, and therefore forbidden.

Pop lagged behind, showing off in front of the girls from our building who liked to congregate at the parents' blind spot too. I could tell he was trying to catch some girl's eyes by the way he constantly blew up a light brown fringe of hair that always hang over his forehead. I sped up and made a swift turn at the end of the parking, then pushed the pedals hard heading back. Dean rode his pony in the middle of the parking coming toward me. Dean was a boy from the building across from ours, two years older than me, a tall, skinny kid with thick-rimmed glasses. He looked down at his pedals and rode straight at me. I moved all the way to the curb to avoid him, moving fast. When he finally looked up, he jerked his bike, handlebar wobbling toward the curb right into my path. We collided in a tangle of limbs, bicycle frames and wheels. I fell on the curb. It was a pretty high one, built that way to keep the cars from parking on the grass. The rest of us - Dean and both bicycles - fell on top of me. If you ever had a naughty spill, you may remember that the first moment after it happens everything is kinda hazy. The sound is muffled and the picture is out of focus.

I was dazed from the collision. Dean quickly jumped on his feet and pulled the bikes off me. I remember pulling my legs under me to try and stand up. And I remember the pain like I never felt before, nor after. I screamed.

Dean's glasses were askew. He was panicked by my howling. I don't remember if he said anything, my brain was a fireball of pain and my lungs and throat were working independently of it, creating a wail in decibels that could cause hearing loss. I remember Dean's forearms hooking in my armpits from behind, trying to help me on my feet. But, it couldn't work,because my right thigh developed an extra joint. It was bending in a weird angle right in the middle where it shouldn't have bent.

A woman who lived in the ground floor apartment under whose windows we crashed appeared in a rush. She shooed Dean away and took me in her arms. My legs hung over her arms, the left one bent in the knee, the right in the new joint in my thigh. She carried me toward the neighborhood clinic which was only a couple hundred yards away in another building. Her every step caused agony of molten lava shoot through my thigh. Days later, Pop told me what was happening outside my fiery bubble of pain: the woman shouted at the kids to call my parents. Pop rushed to our apartment and told my mother what happened.

In the clinic the woman put me on the bed. The nurse in charge called the ambulance. With my legs laid unmoving on the bed the excruciating pain subsided slightly, giving me a respite to catch my breath and whimper down from full-out screaming to sniveling. That was until the nurse had a strike of genius and decided to tie my legs together. As soon as she pulled my broken leg to align the knees together so she can wrap a bandage around them, my world exploded with pain all anew. By the time the ambulance arrived, although I was later told it was only minutes, I was so drained and afraid of more pain, I didn't want to move. But, move I did. Or, rather, moved I was - onto a stretcher and into the ambulance car where I tearfully pleaded with the driver to watch for the potholes because each one he hit felt like a hammer slamming into my broken femur.

In the hospital I was promptly taken to X-ray, then into the surgery. My part of the drama was almost over, at least the most painful part. A man in scrubs told me they have to make me sleep. He asked in kind, soft voice, would I prefer the needle or the mask. I haven't quite grasped what he meant by "mask," so I said needle. He turned to a small tray next to the bed and took what looked to me as an enormous needle, like the ones they used on horses. I called him in trembling voice and said I'd rather have a mask, whatever that was. He smiled kindly, put a rubber cup with some kind of hose attached to it over my nose and mouth and told me to count slowly to ten. I don't remember how far I managed, but it wasn't to ten.

In the meantime a parallel drama was happening outside the surgery. Mother was pulling connections, people she knew. There was a female surgeon from her hometown who owed a favor to grandparents. Mom called her on it. They discussed the available options - the usual procedure called for a surgery to insert a metal plate that'll screw together the broken parts of my femur. That was going to leave a long, ugly scar along the side of my thigh.

— There's another thing we can try, — dr. Metzger told mother — but it's risky and you'll have to take the responsibility for the outcome.

— What's that? — mother asked.

— It's a clean break, the bone didn't fragment and there are no visible damage to the muscle tissue. We can try to set the bone under the X-ray and plaster him in a really long cast.

— Okay, — mom said — what are the risks?

— The risk is that the bone can move after we set it. The first two-three weeks he should be completely immobile in bed. And we won't know the result until then.

— But there'd be no scar? — mother asked.

— No scar, and no cutting. Just a very long cast from his chest to the toes of his right leg, — dr. Metzger said. — But, you have to decide right now, because he's already put to sleep.

— Okay, — mother said after short pause — do it. Please!

---

I woke up in the cast. As promised, it wound around my torso starting under the ribs and entubed the right leg. The only opening was for the toes. I was held in its grip for the two summer months. It came off in the early days of September, just in time for the first day of school. The first week of the school I walked on crutches. It made me special, I guess. But, that's another memory, for another story.

[nikki-writes-stuff]

While You’re In the World - Part One

Summary: The year is 1980, and when you come home to find a man on your doorstep, beaten and bloody and on the brink of dying, you patch him up and let him stay with you while he heals. But there’s something strange about this stranger with the metal arm, and it will take a while before either of you know who he really is. 

Read Part Two Here! 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: Hello! I hope you guys like this story! I suspect that there will be three parts to it, and I’m so excited about this story idea. Please please please let me know what you think!!! 

The pavement was slick, the lights of streetlamps, neon signs, and apartment windows creating a kaleidoscope of colors against the rain-wet concrete. The air was still humid from the heavy spring shower that had just subsided, and your footsteps pitter pattered as you made your way towards the rickety stairs that led to your apartment. As you walked further down the alleyway, the sounds of cars flying by on the street stated to fade into the background, slowly being replaced by a boombox sitting right by one of your neighbor’s open windows. The sweet strains of Brandy by Looking Glass floated down to you, and you started humming along as you searched through your purse for your keys.

“Brandy,” you sang under your breath, “you’re a fine girl, what a good-“

Your voice cut off abruptly just as you were about to start climbing the stairs; a dark form was directly at their base, one that you hadn’t even noticed in the dim, late-evening light. You froze when you saw it shift slightly, its chest rising and falling in slow, wheezing breaths.

“…U-um… Hello?” you asked cautiously, fingers closing around the pepper spray you kept with you at all times.

The figure’s head popped up, revealing pale, sweaty skin framed by dark, chin-length hair. You squinted, trying to make out their features, but they were unclear; you could only make out that they had stubble. So, it was a man. You gripped your pepper spray tighter.

“Excuse me, sir, but… I need to get past you.” You shifted on your feet when he remained sitting there, not showing any inclination towards moving. “Sir, please, I live here. I don’t want any-“

He groaned, his left hand shooting out to grip the stair’s railway. He was wearing leather gloves despite the warmth of the spring evening, and he let out another grunt as he staggered to his feet. As soon as he was standing, though, he sank right back down, his right arm coming up to clutch his abdomen.

“Sir…” You stepped forward, hesitantly reaching out a hand. “Are you okay…?”

You tried to touch his right hand, but you flinched away as soon as you felt the dark, warm liquid that was seeping out from between his fingers. Blood.

“Oh, my god,” you gasped, suddenly gripping his arm. You only got to notice how unnaturally hard it was before he was pulling away, trying to distance himself from you.

“Trebuie să raportez pentru misiunea mea,” he whispered, sounding desperate. You frowned, holding your hands out in a placating gesture.

“I don’t know what that means. Do you speak English?”

His breathing was picking up, and you could see his head moving as he looked all around you, as if searching for something.

“…Need… Need to get…back,” he eventually muttered, trying once more to pull himself to his feet. “Report…”

“Listen, you can’t go anywhere in this state,” you asserted. “If you let me past, I can go inside and call the hospital-“

“No!”

All of a sudden, you felt his left hand clamp down on your wrist, and you let out a yelp at his bruising grip. You tried to yank your arm away, but that only added to your pain; you gave up your struggle quickly.

“No…” he said again, his breathing becoming more and more labored with each word. “No…hospital…”

You gulped, looking down at the hand on your wrist, and your eyes widened as you saw his sleeve ride up just enough for you to catch a glance of his forearm. Or, rather, the metal that it was made up of; shiny silver gleamed in the low light, its bands flexing and contracting with his movements. He must have noticed you staring, because just as suddenly as it had gotten there, his hand was drawn away, moving to rest against his bleeding stomach.

For a moment, you considered pushing past him, fleeing up your flight of stairs and locking yourself away until he left. He was a complete stranger – bigger than you, stronger than you, with what appeared to be a metal arm. And someone had either stabbed or shot him – who’s to say he didn’t deserve it?

But then he let out a soft moan of pain, falling back against your stairs weakly. He was still breathing, but you could see the amount of blood he was dripping onto the pavement; at this rate, he wouldn’t keep breathing for long.

With a sigh, you pushed aside your better judgement and reached down, ignoring his weak protests in that foreign language as you gripped his flesh arm with both hands. You dug your heels into the concrete and pulled with all your might, steadying him to the best of your ability once he was on his feet.

“C’mon,” you mumbled. “If you can climb the stairs, I have a first aid kit inside.”

At first, he didn’t move, and you were afraid that he was going to pass out. But then he lifted one shaky foot up, lowering it down onto the second step, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, deliberately, you led him up the stairs, guiding him up to the landing. You only pulled away to fit your key into the lock, but as soon as your door was open, you once more gripped him and led him inside.

“The kit if in the bathroom. If you can just follow me-“

The second you turned away, you heard a loud bang as he fell to his knees. He was still babbling words that you didn’t understand, English finding its way every now and then into his mutterings.

“Report…. mission….find…”

You let out a huff and knelt beside him, flipping him over onto his back. He was as solid as a brick house, and it took several seconds of huffing and puffing before you were able to move him over. Once he was positioned the way you wanted, you flicked on the lights and ran to retrieve the first aid kit.

As you once more knelt beside him, you shooed away your cat as it started walking towards the man, sniffing at his flesh hand cautiously.

“Not now, baby,” you sighed, shooing it away.

The man’s eyes were closed when your gaze drifted up to his face, but you had to do a double-take once you took his features in. Now that you could see him in the light, he was…hot. Weirdly hot. Like, more hot than actual people were supposed to be in real life. Strong jaw, long lashes, full lips… You nearly got carried away with just looking at him.

But the blood stain was growing ever larger on your hardwood, and with a curse you got back to work. It appeared that he was wearing some kind of body armor; you struggled with the various clasps and zippers before finally pulling it open. Underneath it was a long-sleeved gray shirt; or, rather, it had once been gray, but now most of it was stained red.

Using the tiny pair of scissors from the kit, you cut away the fabric, eyes going wide when you saw the scene beneath it. Several lacerations were scattered across his torso; his body armor had been thick, but despite its coverage someone had been able to stab him through it. You counted four knife wounds, but they didn’t seem to go too terribly deep. What worried you was the bullet holes; there were only two, but they were bleeding the most profusely.

You couldn’t remember if you were supposed to take bullets out of bullet wounds in emergency situations, but you figured that if he could survive having a metal arm, maybe he could survive with a few bullets knocking around inside of him. Besides, he had lost enough blood already without you digging through his torn flesh.

With shaky hands, you pulled out a surgical needle from the kit, thanking the heavens that it came pre-threaded. You held your breath as you moved to the first bullet hole, and despite the fact that the man’s face held no trace of pain, you still winced as you pierced his flesh. You’d never actually done this before; you had only ever seen people stitch up wounds in movies, and you’d read about how to do it in an encyclopedia once for your research. You tried to recall and emulate those motions now as you treated the man beneath you.

“Shoulda just left him sitting there,” you mumbled to yourself. “Shoulda just called the damn hospital when you had the chance; now you have a bloody floor and a potential serial killer sleeping in your apartment. How you gonna explain that to the landlord?”

You worked as quickly as possible, and when you were done stitching all six of his injuries, you sat back on your heels, admiring your work for one moment. All things considered, you thought you did pretty good.

After that, you used some rubbing alcohol to clean him up before taping layer after layer of gauze over his wounds. Your own eyes were starting to grow heavy as you finished up, but you knew that there was still work to be done.

You didn’t even try to lift or drag him from his spot on the floor; you were exhausted, and he was probably over 200 pounds of pure muscle. So you cleaned around him, sopping up most of the blood with an old towel before washing your hands and retrieving a pillow from your bed. You yawned as you lifted his head, sliding the cushion underneath his skull before going back to get him a blanket.

You felt foolish as you tucked him in, but you’d already gone so far as to dress his wounds; you figured you might as well make him as comfortable as possible. After making sure that he was still breathing, you shuffled over to your couch, limbs heavy and sore from being so tense. As soon as you let your head fall back, you started to feel sleep overtake you; you barely registered the weight of your cat curling up on your belly as you drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep despite the stranger laying six feet away.

_________

The grunting was what woke you up. Somewhere close by, you could hear the shuffling of fabric and barely-suppressed curses, and your eyes immediately flew open. You ignored the aching in your neck as you sat up, looking over to see the stranger from the night before trying (and failing) to sit up.

“Hey!”

His head snapped towards you, a pair of confused blue eyes glaring into yours.

“Where am I?” he whispered, voice still sluggish from sleep. “Who are you? How did I get here?”

“Woah, there. Calm down.” You stood up, taking a slow step towards him. “I’m not gonna hurt you; I found you on my stairs all bloody last night, and I-“

The man was glancing all around your apartment, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to stand up. You let out a huff, seeing a small red stain bloom over the white gauze still secured to his skin.

“Woah, stop!” you tried to protest. “You’re tearing your stitches. Just calm down-“

“I have,” he struggled, starting to sway on his feet, “a mission. I need-“

“Listen, I don’t care what this ‘mission’ is,” you huffed. “You won’t be able to do anything if you bleed out. Just… Would you just sit down for one moment? You’re not going to get very far if you leave like this.”

For a long moment, the man simply looked at you, weighing your words even as more blood leaked through his bandages. You arched an eyebrow at him, setting your hands on your hips. Eventually, after a pregnant pause, he looked down and nodded his head, doing a double-take when he saw the growing crimson stain on the gauze. You winced and stepped forward, ignoring the way his muscles tensed up as you approached.

“C’mon, you can lay down on the sofa.” You held out a hand, ready to support his weight like you had last night. But he silently turned, bypassing your outstretched arm as he walked over to the couch.

He sat down with a quiet sigh, leaning back against the throw pillows as he carefully peeled back the bandages.

“Be careful with those stitches,” you instructed him, bending over to scoop up the first-aid kit.

He didn’t seem to hear you as he started analyzing his wounds, eyes scanning them clinically with nothing more than a small frown on his lips. You rolled your eyes and sat on the coffee table across from him, your knees grazing his as you opened the kit once more.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” you scoffed. “You know, for saving your life?”

He arched an eyebrow, and his eyes darted up to look at you, but he still said nothing. All he did was reach forward and grab another surgical needle, biting his lip as he moved to start stitching himself up.

“Woah, hold on a second,” you exclaimed. You gripped his wrist and tried to pull his arm away, but he didn’t budge. “I can-“

“One of the stitches broke,” he finally mumbled. Your eyes flickered down to see that he had, indeed, pulled one of the stitches in his biggest knife wound.

“I can see that,” you said. “But you don’t have to, like… I mean, I can stitch it for you.”

“Why do you want to stitch me up?”

You paused at that question.

“…Because you’re bleeding?”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, and he shook your hand off of his wrist once more.

“Not what I meant.”

“Well, why don’t you want me to help you?” you countered, watching as he steadily pulled the needle through his skin.

“Because you did a shitty job with the rest of them.” He gestured to the rest of his injuries, causing your jaw to drop.

“Fucking… I didn’t have to help you, you know,” you groused. “And considering the situation you were in, I would think that you’d be grateful that I even-“

The man was, evidently, tuning you out as he dug around the kit for the medical scissors, and with a sigh you stopped talking and handed them to him. He grunted as he accepted them from you; maybe that was his way of saying thanks?

You watched as he continued to patch himself up, replacing the stitches he’d pulled that morning and redoing some of your more sloppy ones from before. At first, you watched him work in silence, but after a while you started to get antsy, a thousand questions running through your mind to ask him.

“So… What happened last night?” you finally asked. “Did you get into a fight?”

His face remained stone cold, and you realized he wasn’t going to answer you.

“Okay, then,” you muttered. “Um… Are you from here? I thought I heard you say something in another language last night.”

Again, nothing. You huffed and watched as he finished tying off the last stitch, clipping it neatly before rooting around for more gauze.

“Do you have a name?” you eventually said.

He paused at that question, his face tilting up to yours. He blinked a few times, as if confused by the question, before starting to bandage his wound once again. He mumbled something under his breath, and you leaned closer, frowning.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear-“

“I said I don’t know,” he murmured. You shook your head, puzzled.

“What do you mean? You must know what your name is.”

He didn’t say anything more as he kept taping gauze over his abdomen, and you stood up, planting your hands on your hips.

“If you don’t wanna tell me your name, you don’t have to,” you grumbled. “But you don’t have to make something up about not knowing it.”

He glanced at you one more time before standing up, and you stumbled back in surprise when he moved towards your front door.

“Hey, wait! Where are you going?”

“I need to report for my-“

“Yeah, yeah, your mission,” you interrupted. “You kept babbling about it last night. But listen, man, if you go anywhere right now, you’re just going to pull your stitches again; you’ll bleed out before you can report to whoever it is you’re trying to get back to. You need to just lay down for a little while and focus on healing, or you’ll be in the same situation you were in last night real fast.”

He turned back to you, his hand already resting on the doorknob, and you could see the confusion written all across his face. His eyes ran along your features, as if trying to figure you out, before he finally spoke.

“Why do you care what happens to me?”

You were taken aback by his question, but you found that, when you answered him, you meant every word you said.

“Why do I need a reason to? You’re a human being like me, and you needed help.”

His eyes widened, and for a second all he did was look at you. You forced yourself to stare right back at him, watching those blue eyes as they came to the realization that you were being honest. Slowly, hesitantly, he let his hand fall off of the doorknob, and you smiled.

“Thank you. Now come lay down, and try not to pull too much on your stitches.”

Mechanically, he did as you said, stiffly laying down on the sofa. He had to bend his legs to fit on it, but he seemed comfortable enough as he settled back into the cushions. You nodded and moved to put away the first aid kit, but his hand darted out, settling on your wrist. He didn’t grip it like he had last night, and you thought you saw him wince when he saw the bruises his metal hand had left behind on your flesh.

“I… really don’t think I have a name,” he spoke quietly. “But they’ve always called me Soldier.”

You frowned at that, immediately wanting to ask who “they” were, but you already knew that he wasn’t going to tell you. So you just nodded, letting your other hand rest over his for a short second before starting to clean up once more.

“Ok, Soldier,” you breathed, tucking the kit under your arm. “Well… I’m going to make breakfast for myself. You ok with oatmeal?”

He nodded distractedly, looking away, and you turned on your heel to go do that. As you were cooking, you couldn’t help but ponder over the enigma that was currently laying on your sofa. You didn’t even know his name, just that he was supposedly a Soldier. Did he have amnesia? Maybe he’d been hit on the head or something in whatever fight he’d gotten into.

Whatever the case was, you knew for sure that you were in some kind of trouble. You didn’t know what kind just yet, but you had a bad feeling about it.

___________

He was most quiet on that first day. After your meager breakfast, you’d sat in the corner and typed away at your typewriter, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye every now and then. For hours on end, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, looking to be deep in thought. The only times he moved were to get up and go to the bathroom, and he didn’t say a word until that afternoon.

At around 3 or so, your cat had jumped up onto the couch, rubbing against Soldier’s legs. He’d jolted at the sudden appearance of the feline, and his eyes were comically wide as he stared down at your pet. You laughed at the sight, causing him to glance over at you.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a cat before,” you’d chuckled.

“I’ve seen ‘em before, it’s just…” He’d watched as it started kneading at his thigh, his eyebrows deeply furrowed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been…touched by one before.”

You smiled as the cat settled down, laying in his lap and starting to purr.

“Well, Obi certainly seems to like you,” you’d remarked. “He loves it when people pet him.”

Cautiously, Soldier lifted his flesh arm and gently drew it over the cat’s back. Obi purred even harder and arched into the touch, closing his eyes as he leaned into the stranger’s hand. Soldier kept petting him, getting more sure in his movements, and you felt something warm bloom in your chest when you saw a tiny smile come over his lips.

“See? Looks like you’ve made a friend.”

That night, you’d slept in your bed, fully expecting to wake up the next morning in an empty house; you’d said goodnight to Soldier, telling him to wake you up if he needed anything, and he’d just nodded silently before turning his attention back to the ceiling. He’d seemed so dedicated to his mission that morning that, when you walked in the next day to see him snoring on the sofa, you’d been shocked.

Padding over to him quietly, you’d taken in his features while he slept; he looked so different when he was asleep. He didn’t have that perpetual frown on his face, and there were no worried lines on his forehead. You smiled a little, wondering why, indeed, you cared so much about his guy. Maybe it was because he was so clearly confused by every simple kindness you gave him; maybe it was how helpless he’d been when you first found him. But whatever the case was, you knew that you wanted to know more about the mysterious life he lived.

You’d sat your hand down on his shoulder, ready to ask him if he wanted any coffee, but his eyes had flown open at your touch. He’d flinched away, pressing his body into the sofa cushions as far as he could, swinging his left hand out towards your throat. With a yelp, you backed away before the metallic fingers could close around your flesh, but your heart was still beating a mile a minute.

For a second, he just stared at you, catching his breath, and you didn’t know what to say. Your brain was filled with things – you’re okay, it’s only me, I don’t want to hurt you. But you couldn’t articulate them as he watched you.

“I’m….sorry,” he eventually breathed. Slowly, he retracted his hand and let it fall into his lap, his head bowed as he looked down. One by one, he let his muscles relax, but you were still as tense as a bowstring.

After letting out a deep sigh, he turned to you, regret settling deep in his eyes.

“Did I…” He paused, as if trying to form the right words. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shook your head shakily, but you still weren’t able to utter even a single word before you turned and fled to the kitchen. You turned on the sink and splashed water over your face, realizing two horrible truths at the same time.

The first one was that you still knew nothing about this man, except that he was dangerous. You’d known it from the beginning; you’d seen the scars littering his body when you’d dressed his wounds. He could kill you without any effort whatsoever, and he could probably get away with it, too.

But that fact wasn’t enough to overshadow the second truth. The second truth was what moved you to pour him a cup of black coffee and bring it to him with a bowl of cereal. The second truth was what made you offer to let him use your shower. The second truth is what motivated you to root through your dresser until you found a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that were big enough to fit him.

And that second truth was this: he had been hurt before. You’d seen it in his eyes, in his knee-jerk reaction to being touched. You’d been reading it in his confusion, in his suspicion. You were beginning to think that he really didn’t know what his name was, but you didn’t need to know his name to know that he was being abused by someone or something.

So when he came out of the bathroom in your shirt and sweatpants, his hair dripping as he slicked it back against his head, you smiled at him and helped him back onto your couch before settling back down at your typewriter.

_________

“What are you writing?”

He didn’t know what prompted him to ask you. He’d been content to spend the past three days staring at the wall, petting Obi whenever he jumped onto the sofa, demanding his attention. He knew that he should have already left; he healed quickly – abnormally quickly. But something was keeping him here even after his wounds closed, with the strange girl who’d helped him for some unknown, foreign reason. He couldn’t stop himself from studying you, watching as you went about your quiet routine.

You blinked now, looking up at him from behind a stray piece of hair that had fallen over your eye. You blew it away, shoving it behind your ear, and he was almost tempted to smile when, a few seconds later, it fell right back into place. Almost.

“Um… I’m working on a book,” you replied, seeming just as surprised as he was at his question. “I’m a writer. Not a great one, by any means. But it manages to pay the bills.”

“What is your book about?”

“Well… it’s complicated,” you smiled. You leaned back, setting your hands on the floor behind you as you spoke to him. “I guess it’s a love story, but it takes place during the 1940’s.”

Something in his mind flickered at that, something dangerously close to being a memory. He couldn’t remember very far back; the only solid memories he had were of cold, concrete buildings, of receiving orders to do things that he never questioned, no matter what they were. He remembered pain, searing pain, ripping through his skull when he didn’t do as he was commanded, but the pain was somehow still there even when he did. There was no name, no humanity inside of him, and until you’d reminded him that he was, despite it all, still a person, he’d never even wondered why.

But now, he could feel something digging at the back of his mind, scratching at him as you kept talking about your book.

“It’s about a nurse who falls in love with a soldier she’s treating in France,” you kept on. “The problem, though, is that the soldier is married. But there’s also a point in the story where she gets roped into going across enemy lines to go undercover in a German camp, and the married soldier has to pose as her husband for their assignment.”

He nodded, tuning you out as he tried to follow that thought deep within him. It was there, right there, but he just couldn’t-

“Anyways, I’m almost done with my first draft,” you continued on. “But I can’t remember what year World War II ended; was it 1945? Or-“

He jolted, pulling himself upright as it came flooding back to him.

He was…smiling, actually smiling. There was a man standing with him in a red, white, and blue uniform, and he was laughing at something Bucky had said. Bucky…. Bucky Barnes. Sergeant Barnes. James Buchanan…

“Whatever,” the man was saying, his blonde hair glinting in the candlelight. They were in a bar somewhere, and people all around them were drinking and singing. Some were even dancing. “I had him on the ropes.”

“What you had,” he teased, clapping the man on his shoulder, “was a serious lack of judgement. Which you still have, by the way. The only reason you still have a head on your shoulders is cuz o’ me, punk.”

“Jerk. Now c’mon; we gotta plan tomorrow’s attack.”

“C’mon, Stevie, what’s the point in winning a battle if you’re not gonna celebrate afterwards?”

When Bucky came out of the memory, you were standing over him, a hand on his shoulder as you looked over his face.

“Soldier? Are you ok? What just happened?”

He gasped, trying not to hyperventilate as the memory played over and over again in his head. He had a name. He had a name. He’d had a name all these years…

“Bucky,” he rasped. You frowned and shook your head, watching as he stood up and started to pace.

“What? Soldier, what are you-“

“Not Soldier,” he grunted, turning on his heel to face you. He gulped, looking down at his hands, clenching the one made of metal as he listened to its gears turn.

“Not Soldier,” he repeated. “Bucky. My name…my name is Bucky.”

_________

After that day, you never called him Soldier again. He didn’t tell you what had spurred on the sudden memory, but he seemed even more quiet than usual over the next day. Whatever he’d remembered, he seemed to be conflicted by it; you couldn’t even begin to imagine what he had to have been feeling.

You tried to give him space, though, electing to go out that afternoon. You’d thrown on a pair of red shorts with a white Nasa t-shirt tucked into them, pulling on your Chuck Taylors before walking back out to Sol- Bucky. He was still pacing, running his hands through his hair agitatedly, but he stopped when you cleared your throat.

“Bucky? I’m going to go out, ok? I’ll be back soon.”

He’d frowned, glancing you up and down.

“Where are you going?”

“Just to the thrift shop. And maybe the grocery store. I figured I would try and shop for more clothes for you; I don’t think you’ll fit into any of my other t-shirts.”

He’d nodded, seeming satisfied, but his voice made you stop once more as you moved to open the door.

“And you’re coming back?”

You’d turned around, surprised at how…nervous he’d sounded while asking you.

“Bucky… Of course, I’ll be back,” you assured him. He visibly relaxed at that, and you gave him one last smile before walking out.

When you eventually got back to your apartment, you were loaded down with several plastic bags, and Bucky immediately stood up from his seat on the couch as you entered.

“You’re back,” he said, but it sounded like he was assuring himself more than you. Your heart broke a little at that, but you just smiled and nodded, setting the bags down on the dining room table.

“Yeah, sorry it took so long,” you told him. “It took me a while to pick out clothes that I thought would fit you. But I think you’ll be happy with them. I got you some more sweatpants, a pair of jeans, a few t-shirts, a windbreaker… Oh, and some sunglasses just cuz.”

You smiled and handed him the bag, watching as he curiously started to sort through it. He wrinkled his nose a little at the windbreaker, making you laugh a bit. You’d thought it was fashionable; you’d read in an article recently that they were gonna be the next big thing.

“What’s this?”

You looked up from the groceries you were unpacking to see him holding a cassette tape, and you walked over to take it from him.

“It’s a tape,” you explained. “You know, like a music tape? You put it into a radio?” You knew from the blank look on his face that he had no idea what you were talking about. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

You’d gestured for him to follow you over to the boombox you had sitting by your sofa, and you popped it open to slide the cassette into.

“You put it in like this,” you started, “and then you close it again. Then you press play, and…”

Elton John’s voice filled the room, belting out the lyrics to Your Song, and the frown on Bucky’s face slowly melted away. You grinned, watching him as he listened to the lyrics. That same old tiny smile came over his face, and you felt as if you were going to melt at the sight.

“Pretty cool, right?”

Bucky nodded, finally glancing back over to you. He opened his mouth to speak, but then he turned away, seeming to think better of it.

“No, don’t do that,” you said gently. “What were you gonna say?”

He turned back to you and hesitated again, but finally he did as you said and spoke.

“I’m really… I don’t know what to think anymore,” he stammered, seeming to have trouble voicing the words. “But I do know that I’m grateful to you… For helping me, for letting me stay here. I… I don’t really know what to do, where I should go.” He looked down at his hands, blinking rapidly. “I don’t even know who I am.”

You bit your lip, reaching over to place your hand over his, its cold metal smooth against your fingertips.

“Whoever you were, Bucky… Whoever you’ve been, it doesn’t really matter. The memories will come back to you; we’ll make sure they do. But what really matters is who you’re gonna be. Who do you want to be?”

He looked up to you, his eyes growing watery.

“I…don’t know.”

“Then now is the time for you to figure it out. And while you do, you’re welcome to stay with me. I’ll try to do my best to help.”

He shook his head, turning your hand over in his.

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing all of this,” he murmured.

You smiled a little, ducking your head until he was meeting your eyes again.

“Because this is who I want to be,” you assured him. “Someone who helps.”

The two of you sat there until the song was over, its final words echoing in the space between you. I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words…how wonderful life is while you’re in the world…

[thereluctantinquisitor]

(1) “for once in your goddamn life, let me take care of you before you make it worse. ” for Hanin, (2) “you’re clearly not okay so stop bullshitting me.” for Cyrus, (3)“it’s fine— nothing i haven’t dealt with before.” for Katana, or (4) “if i die, i’m gonna haunt your ass.” for Maraas.

Elder Scrolls AU, in which Avi ( @lavellanlove ) had a bit of a run-in with the Brotherhood and Cyrus was the only one sulking around the hall at the time...

“You’re clearly not okay so stop bullshitting me.” Cyrus considered tempering his words, except that was ridiculous and he didn’t want to. For all her bravado, Avira looked about two steps from the gutter, rain-soaked and covered in filth, swaying where she stood. If he had to take a guess, she’d either been jumped by assassins or decided to take up a spontaneous career in mud wrestling. They might not be the closest friends, but he still had a pretty good idea of which was more likely. “Sit the fuck down and tell me what happened.”

“Maybe I tripped?” Avira seemed keen on playing coy, but at least she started moving towards the fire at the back corner of the hall. It was a minor victory, but one Cyrus would be mad not to accept. With unsteady hands, she unclasped her cloak, peeling it from her back and letting it fall by the firepit. “You know how uneven the cobblestones are around here. With the rain lately, it’s easy to lose your footing.”

Arms folded, Cyrus fixed her with a flat look as she lowered herself gingerly onto a chair. “Uh huh. Listen, if I didn’t know for a fact that you’re a member of the thieves guild, I might believe you. No one that clumsy survives in our line of work. So how about you tell me what really happened?”

The fire crackled gently, sending stray embers into the air. Avira’s eyes were closed, now. She was leaning forward, forearms on her knees, face turned towards the warmth as she breathed in and out, the movement slow. Exhausted.

She really did look like utter shit, which was admittedly a hard for her to achieve. Something must have really gone wrong, but Cyrus had a feeling pushing wouldn’t get him anywhere right then. So, with a grunt that he hoped signaled his frustration, he grabbed a bucket from the bench, filled it with water, and tossed a cloth in to soak. A better man might have heated it over the fire, but Cyrus had never counted himself among the better men, so he just set the bucket down by her feet. If she felt inspired to wash some of the mud off her hands, then so be it.

“Thanks.”

Cyrus, who had been in the process of stalking off to hunt for something to feed her, hesitated when her thanks lacked the sarcasm he was used to from most people. Then again, maybe most people expected luxury, while others expected nothing at all. “Yeah. Fine.” He chewed on his cheek as Avira dipped her hands in the water, a grimace flashing across her face. “Must have been one hell of a fall, to tear your hand up like that.”

This time, Avira didn’t respond. She was busy with the washcloth, dabbing at her left palm, brow furrowed. Craning his neck, Cyrus managed to get a glimpse of the problem between presses of the cloth. “That...”

“Needs stitches. Yeah, I know.” Huffing, Avira muttered darkly at the gash and shook her head. “I don’t suppose you have medical supplies around here? If it’s not too much to ask, of course. I could always head back to the market and---”

“--- Oh shut up.“ Cyrus was already at the designated crate, tossing off the lid and pulling out an overstuffed pack. “You seriously think I’m going to let you walk out of here to go hunting for gut and a needle looking the way you do? You’ve met the giant High Elf who owns this place. He’s got a hard-on for medical supplies about a mile long.” Hefting the pack up with a grunt, Cyrus turned back towards Avira. “Fuck, you could probably bring a corpse back to life, with the amount of shit he’s got in here.”

Avira’s chuckle was faint, but it was still comforting to hear. Deciding he was probably better suited to the task, Cyrus dragged over a stool and started rifling through the pack, pulling out rolls of bandages, tubs of salves, herbs, gauze, wax, ether, wood for splints. Hanin’s excessive nature was laughable, but Cyrus had to admit, the man was prepared for just about anything short of the apocalypse. It made sense, he supposed, given how many injuries they all managed to wrack up on a frequent basis.

“You right handed?”

“Left.”

“Great.” Grunting, Cyrus motioned for her injured hand. “Come on. Give it here then.”

It had been a while since Cyrus had last stitched a wound, but there was something about it - probably the pain - that cemented it firmly in his muscle memory. Normally he hadn’t had the supplies to do it properly, or someone had done it for him while he was out cold. Avira inspected the herbs, selecting a pinch of one to chew on, a pinch of another to rub on the skin over the wound to help numb the area. It was just as well she knew, because they all looked the same to Cyrus.

Cleaning the cut with the ether was always the worst part. Even Cyrus couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose in empathy as he poured it over the cut, holding Avira’s wrist as she flinched involuntarily at the burn. Upon closer inspection, Cyrus could see it was definitely a cut, clean and straight. “Pretty bad luck,” he remarked, reaching for the threaded needle, “to fall right on an upturned knife like that.”

He expected Avira to tense at the comment, but instead she let out a tight breath, the sting from the alcohol subsiding. “Brotherhood. As usual.”

Cyrus’ gaze flicked up. “Again? I thought you and Hanin got rid of the fuckers last time they paid a visit here.”

“There’s no getting rid of them. You know that.”

Some part of Cyrus wanted to argue, but it was an irrational, childish part that wanted desperately to ignore the truth because it was bullshit and unfair. So, instead, he busied himself with sewing her broken skin, trying to be gentle despite the futility of it as needle pierced flesh. “How’d you lose them?”

A faint smirk flitted across Avira’s lips. “Sewers.”

“Ugh.” Cyrus shook his head, but something of her amused satisfaction was contagious. “Well, good to know even the Brotherhood have limits. Wouldn’t want them to get a stain on their precious black robes.”

“No, no. That would ruin their entire image. They’ve got a reputation to maintain, remember?”

It was good, to hear her quipping again, even if it was from between hisses and clenched teeth. It seemed the herb only did so much to lessen the pain, but Cyrus sure as shit wasn’t going to apologise for it the way he’d heard the others do. What was the point? It was going to hurt no matter how well he did it. Better to just get it over with. “I’ll get a bath going for you, after,” he said instead, nearing the end of the cut. “See if Lyrene’s got any spare clothes in her trunk. She won’t mind, if it’s you.”

It must have been something he said, because Avira suddenly went very quiet, something subtle changing in the way she sat; something shifting in the tilt of her shoulders beneath her ruined shirt. Tying off the gut, Cyrus used the tip of his dagger to cut it free from the bundle and stowed it back away in its pouch. The needle would need to be disinfected, so he left it by the ether - a problem for future him.

“Alright. Anything else fucked up?”

Avira just shook her head, strangely meek, her good arm tucked close to her stomach, the other resting, palm up, on her thigh. The stitches weren’t perfect, but they would do the job. Not quite believing her, Cyrus just stood for a moment, gaze lingering on the weary curve of her back. “You sure?” he pressed. “Because if you don’t tell me now and I find out later, I am going to be all sorts of pissed off.”

“Just some bumps and bruises, Cyrus. From times when I actually did fall.” She stretched out a leg, still scuffed and scraped, but only lightly. “Honestly? I’m more tired than anything else. A bath would be amazing. If you wouldn’t mind.”

Cyrus rolled his eyes. “I already said I’d do it.” He started moving, grabbing buckets to fill at the well. “Bath’ll be warm, too. Some mage Hanin met in Summerset inscribed shit on the side of it. Runes or something. I didn’t trust it at first, but...” Realising he was rambling, Cyrus flushed and cleared his throat. “It’s good. Convenient. So don’t go freaking out about me having to heat the water myself or anything.”

Finally, another smile managed to affix itself to Avira’s lips. “I see. That’s good, then.” It faded as quickly as it arrived, a pensive look once again rising to replace it. Cyrus was just about to ask her what the problem was when she spoke up again. “Lyrene... really wouldn’t mind if I borrowed her clothes?”

That... hadn’t been what Cyrus had been expecting. He cocked his head, confused. “No? Why would she? I mean, if I’d gone rifling around and stole a shirt to play dress-up, yeah, she’d be pissed, but not if it’s for you to wear.”

Silence. Cyrus didn’t understand what the big deal was, but Avira seemed fixated on it, turning it over and over in her head. Maybe she really did just need some rest. The sooner he got her into a bath and into a bed, the better.

As he returned to his task, heading for the well outside, her voice drifted through the hall once more. It was clearer than before. More assured, for some reason.

“So... you play dress-up with Lyrene’s clothes?”

“What? I--- no,” Cyrus sputtered. “It... that was just an example!”

“Uh huh.”

“It was!”

“I believe you.”

“THEN SOUND LIKE IT.”

[winchesterandpie]

Welcome Home (Dean Winchester x reader)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Word Count: 2556

Warnings: some angst

A/N: Hey y’all! I’m back! Hopefully this summer I’ll have a little bit more time for writing! Shoutout to the amazing @jezzula for helping me edit, she is AMAZING 😘 As always, feedback/reblogs/comments are welcomed and appreciated! Gif is not mine! Love you all!!

To say that this was ‘not good’ would be a serious understatement of the situation in which we found ourselves. Sam, Dean, and I stood back to back in the center of a darkened room. That part, in and of itself, wasn’t particularly out of the ordinary.

The main problem here was that our attacker was invisible. It’s a little bit tricky to defend yourself against something invisible.

Fortunately, I had the solution. Unfortunately, it came with a pretty major catch. I’d never be able to be around the Winchesters again, and it was more than likely they would try to kill me.

To tell the truth, it wasn’t much of a decision - as long as they were safe, it didn’t matter what happened to me. I had already made that decision long ago, back when I first started hunting with them. There had always been a possibility that my secret would be exposed, a risk that one day I would have no choice but to show them.

“Sam, Dean…” I said softly, taking a breath to steel myself before continuing. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what, sweetheart?” I could hear the confusion in Dean’s voice.

My head bowed as I stepped away from the boys, loneliness seeping into my bones as a glowing ball of magical energy took form between my hands. I didn’t dare look back at them - I couldn’t falter now.

“You’re…” Sam said behind me, and I could hear the shock in his voice.

“Idish ta vi!” I muttered, feeding the spell’s energy and allowing it to fill the room with a new type of light.

Immediately, the form of our attacker was visible. Sam and Dean didn’t hesitate despite their shock, leaping into action to subdue it. Disappointingly, the disappearing act seemed to be the only trick it could pull off, and it was quickly overpowered. Selfishly, I had hoped it would take longer, that it would give me more time to resign myself to losing the Winchesters.

Once I saw that they had it under control, I released the spell. It would maintain the light long enough for them to deal with the creature, and I wouldn’t have to be there. Unable to bear the growing ache of loneliness and hurt, I turned and slipped through the door and into the night.

“Noctus igira ne.” I cast the spell under my breath, causing the shadows to gather around me, hiding me in the night as I moved to gather my bag from the Impala. I quickly scribbled a note to Dean before running a hand over the sleek car for the last time. It took all the strength I had left to tear myself away and sprint across the field to the treeline.

“Goodbye, boys.” I whispered, turning for a final glance at Sam and Dean as they came out of the farmhouse. My eyes grew wet, but I refused to let the tears fall - I needed to widen the distance between us before I could afford to let myself feel.

The next night found me several states over with a new car, and a new phone. I’d pulled out one of my old identities, one that I hadn’t used when I was with the Winchesters. I practically collapsed onto the bed in the motel room, utterly drained. It’d been a long day of running while trying to cover my tracks more thoroughly than I ever had before. After all, the Winchesters were better at finding people than anyone I’d ever known, but now I knew their tricks and what to avoid in order to avoid them.

“So if you’re ever looking for somebody, remember that you gotta outthink them, not outrun them.” Dean was sitting next to me at the table in the library. It was my first hunt with the Winchesters, and we had quickly realized that tracking someone down was not my strong suit. “You have to check any alias you can think of that’s connected to them.” His warm hand rested on my shoulder encouragingly.

Blinking, I pushed the memory away as tears welled up. You knew what would happen when you revealed you were a witch, I reminded myself, willing the tears to go away. It didn’t work and several slipped free from my eyes.

In an attempt to distract my mind, I sat up and pulled my bag closer, unzipping it to see what clothes I could change into. I’d packed light for the hunt since it was only supposed to take a couple of days, so the only comfy clothes I had with me were a pair of leggings and a hoodie I’d stolen from Dean. I changed quickly, almost desperately, but froze when I pulled on the hoodie and was enveloped in Dean’s scent.

Dammit, why can’t I make it stop? I shouted in my head as the tears began again against my will. I laid back down, rolling over to bury my face in the pillow.

“Hey, you alright?” Dean’s voice was gentle, muffled by the pillow I was hiding my head in. I’d only been with the brothers for two months, but the hunt had gone south fast, and it was my fault. “That was a rough hunt, but you did good, kid. If you need anything, we’re here for you.” I took a deep breath, before hesitantly sliding the pillow off my face.

“I just can’t stop seeing her face, Dean.” My eyes were red and puffy, I was sure of it, but he didn’t flinch away. “When it… took her, she just looked at me like she was counting on me to save her… but I couldn’t! I failed!” The tears ran hot and salty out of the corners of my eyes and I was powerless to stop them.

“C’mere.” His arms, strong and sure, pulled me tightly to his chest, creating a safe bubble around me as I cried. “Just let it all out.”  

“We’re supposed to save people,” I mumbled between sobs. “You and Sam both saved your targets, but I failed. I’m no good at this.” I hated how weak I sounded, trying to calm the sobs but only succeeding in making them worse.

“How long did you say you’ve been hunting?”

“Since I was seventeen.”

“And you’ve never had a hunt go wrong before now?” He sounded almost… impressed? To be fair, magic had helped a lot with my track record. “Princess, you’re pretty incredible. Sammy and me, we’ve had hunts go wrong loads of times. Sometimes you just can’t save everyone. And it hurts. Of course it hurts.” He pressed a kiss to the side of my head, squeezing me reassuringly.

“Then how are you still hunters?” I pulled back from his embrace, just enough to meet his gaze.

“Maybe we can’t always save everyone, but if we let it stop us from hunting, then someday in the future, somebody that we could have saved doesn’t get saved. One mistake doesn’t mean you’re a failure.” I hid in his chest again, and he held me without saying anything for a long time as my tears subsided.

“Thank you,” I whispered at last, pulling away again. His hands came up to brush the last remnants of the tears away.

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled softly before continuing, almost as though he could sense that I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “You hungry? Sammy should be back with burgers soon.”

“That sounds really good, actually. Also, I thought you weren’t a chick-flick moment type of dude?” His grin widened, and he ruffled my hair.

“Don’t mention it to Sam. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Dean wasn’t here to dry the tears this time. I was well and truly alone in the world.

*Six months later*

I stumbled back into my shoddy motel room, my hand pressing against my stomach in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. I had beaten the wendigo, but not before it’d managed to get a good blow in. Stitching myself up definitely wasn’t something I was looking forward to. A throat cleared and I was instantly on the alert, my gun up in my free hand.

“Easy, princess.” I knew that voice.

“Dean?” The gun came down, but I remained on guard.  He stepped out of the corner’s shadows, hands spread non-threateningly “Where’s Sam?” Dean could easily be a distraction.

“He’s in the next room over. We came for a wendigo hunt,” he said, sitting lightly on the bed. “Though, from the looks of it, it’s been taken care of. Were you going to stitch that up yourself?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly have another option.” I sat heavily in one of the chairs by the table. “You didn’t come here to kill me, then?”

“Why would we do that?” He sounded shocked, hurt even. His soft gaze met mine, and I could see pain there, likely matching my own.

“Because I’m a monster.” My voice dropped to a near-whisper, and I couldn’t hold his gaze.

“Sweetheart, no. You’re not a monster.”

“But I’m a witch. You hunt witches.”

“Y/N, being a witch doesn’t make you inherently evil. Look, I know we need to have this conversation, but I’d rather have it when you’re not bleeding out. Will you let me stitch you up?”

He rose and approached slowly when I nodded and set aside the pistol. Working quickly, he moved my shirt to expose the wound, clearing away as much blood as he could and sterilizing it before picking up the needle.

“Jeez, kid, how long have you been bleeding like this?” His hands were gentle on my skin and I could barely feel the needle’s passes.

“Longer than I’d like,” I replied dryly, eliciting a brief chuckle from Dean. Oh, how I missed that sound.  I closed my eyes to revel in the moment, as if I could freeze it in time. I may not have been sure where we stood anymore, but I could still draw a laugh out of him.

“Hey, don’t go to sleep on me, now.”

“M’not. Though I could do with a nap.”

“There you go. You’ll be good as new in no time.” Dean tied off the bandage over the stitches, resting his hands on my stomach for the briefest moment before pulling away.

“Thanks, sunshine.” The nickname slipped out as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Dean was silent for a long moment, his green eyes not meeting mine. In an attempt to avoid the awkward silence, I moved slowly to the sink to wash the blood from my hands and face.

“We need to talk about this, now that I’m not worrying you’ll bleed out.”

“Yeah, we do.” I turned back to face him. “Dean, I… I’m sorry.”

“Y/N, did you really think you could just leave a note that said ‘Dean, I love you and I’m so sorry. Be safe’ and that it would somehow be enough? We hunted together for 5 years, dated for 2 of that... and then… you just disappeared without a trace.” His voice cracked, and I wanted nothing more than to hug him tightly and never let go, but I had lost that right when I ran away. “You’re not a monster, you never have been. If you were a monster, you could’ve killed me and Sammy a long time ago. I’m sorry if you were scared of how we might react if we found out. But sweetheart… you didn’t even given us a chance.”

“Dean… I... “ Six months of rehearsing in my head, but when it came down to it I had no clue what to say. “You’re right, I… I shouldn’t have run. But please try and understand - I’ve gone on witch hunts with you two. I was worried you would see that I was a witch and your next thought would be that I was dangerous.” Tears welled up in my eyes as I recalled how I had felt on that night so long ago, but I fought them back. “So I hid, dropped off the grid, and did the only thing I could think of.”

“You hunted solo.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

“And I tracked you and Sam… moved whenever you came too close.”

“So why not this time?”

“I was in the middle of a case. Figured I’d be done and gone before you boys showed up. Didn’t even notice Baby when I was coming in.” His eyebrows went up at that one. A hunter not being aware of their surroundings was often fatal.

“It’s dangerous to hunt alone.”

“I know.” I shifted uncomfortably, wishing desperately that I could’ve put this off for longer. “So what now?”

‘Well, you can’t keep hunting alone.”

“I’m not going to stop hunting if that was your suggestion.”

“It wasn’t. Let me finish, princess. I’m suggesting that you come home, that you stick with us.” After everything I had put him through, he still wanted me to come home?

“But, Dean, I lied to you.”

“You did.”

“And I’m a witch.”

“True.”

“And… I dunno, I ran away like a coward.”

“What point are you trying to make, Y/N?”

“I don’t deserve to be welcomed back like that.” The tears welled up again, stronger this time, and there was nothing I could do as they rolled down my cheeks. Dean wore a soft smile as he opened his arms, and without hesitation I crumpled into him. He let me cry it all out, his hands passing reassuringly up and down my back.

“Sweetheart, you lied and you ran, sure, but you’re family. To me, you’re more than family. It might take some time to rebuild trust all the way, sure, but we love you. I love you. Sammy and I didn’t spend all this time trying to find you just to get rid of you. I’m not giving up on you.” Dean pulled back a bit, enough to look me in the eyes and thumb away the tears.

Emboldened by his words and his tenderness, I stretched up slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away, to object. Instead, he grinned warmly and leaned down to meet my lips with his. The kiss was gentle and sweet, a promise and a reassurance. His scent was intoxicating, his arms warm around me, lips soft on mine, and I was home. For the first time since leaving the Winchesters behind, I was home again.

Eventually, my lungs demanded oxygen forcing me to pull away for air, and I rested my forehead against his.  He pulled away a little further to press a kiss to my forehead. A few more tears slipped free, this time from relief, and I let out a watery chuckle.

“It’s alright now, kiddo. I’ve got you.” Dean’s lips brushed my forehead with every word. “D’you want to say hi to Sam? He should have burgers.” My stomach rumbled at the mention of food, which Dean laughed at.

“You know I never say no to food.”

“There’s my girl.” We picked up my few belongings and, with Dean’s arm warm and reassuring around my waist, we made our way to the next room over where Sam was.

“Hey, kid.” Sam grinned, pulling me into a hug. “Welcome home.”

Hope you enjoyed!

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[crazy-little-cool-cat]

Hand in Glove - Chapter 17 | Ben Hardy x OFC

A/N: Oh my sweet lord this took forever didn’t it? Sorry. I was abroad, and life just got craaaazy. but I’m back - and so are Ben and Annie! :) Sorry in advance for any inaccurasies that you might find. My lack of experience in the events that unfold in this chapter might have showed. Anyways, enjoy! 

Word Count: ~2K

Warnings: Fluff and lots of emotions, and a really sweet surprise. 

Chapter 1, Chapter 2,  Chapter 3,  Chapter 4,  Chapter 5,  Chapter 6,  Chapter 7,  Chapter 8,  Chapter 9,  Chapter 10,  Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14 , Chapter 15 , Chapter 16

“Fuck!!!” Annie roared so loud, Ben could hear it over the blaring music as he worked out. “God fucking damn it!”

Ben turned the volume down and dried off with his towel. He stepped out of the room, his face red and his body sweaty. Annie stood in the middle of the kitchen, stranded between endless shards of broken glass and china. The floor was covered with mashed potatoes and soda. Frankie, thankful for this miracle, stole a piece of fried chicken and bolted to her “spot” in the living room.

“For Christ’s sake…” Ben muttered and fetched a broom and a dust-pan out of the laundry room. “Annie, we’re running out of plates and glasses!”

“Frankie almost tripped me, you complete arse!” Annie shifted her weight from one foot to the other while Ben cleared a path for her to walk through. “I could have fallen down and skewered my face or the damn baby and you’re talking to me about plates?!”

“Just two more weeks.” Ben crouched down and picked up the bigger pieces. “Fucking hell, Annie, you have mashed potatoes between your toes, I’m -”

“I’m aware!” Annie snapped. “Thanks.”

“So, it was Frankie’s fault, then?” Ben looked up at Annie.

“There is an actual turkey blocking my field of vision and I haven’t seen my own feet in months!” Annie’s chin started quivering. “I’ve had it with this damn thing. Get that fucking baby out of me.”

“Annie, come on.”

“Today!”

“That’s not how it works!”

“I don’t fucking care! You hear me?” Annie looked down into her t-shirt. “I. Don’t. Care.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Get out!!!”

“She’ll come out when she’s ready.”

“Why are you taking her side?” Annie planted her hands on her hips. She lifted one foot off the floor to shake the mess off, but lost her balance and flailed her arms.

“Alright, my weebly-wobbly love,” Ben quickly got hold of her to keep her from tipping over. “Go upstairs, get cleaned up. I’ll take care of this.”

###

Annie hummed happily while Clara braided her hair. Since Annie was having a difficult time with the end of her pregnancy, Ben decided it would be best if movie nights were temporarily relocated from Gwil’s to their own home.

At first, Annie was reluctant. While she appreciated the thought, she was hesitant about having everyone over, especially with her mum (and Ben’s parents) hovering about as the due date approached.

What if she had a mood swing and snapped? What if she suddenly went into labour? What if this is Ben’s sneaky way to throw her a baby shower, after she specifically said she’s not interested in having one?

Her worries, however, subsided as soon as the gang filed into her home. Even though they did bring a few presents for the baby, there were no silly baby-themed games. As they turned on the telly and fired up Netflix, Annie could almost forget she’s even carrying an almost fully grown baby in her belly.

She was having a great time, actually. After being alone most of the day, she was happy to have some company besides Ben and Frankie and she hasn’t seen her friends in a few days, with them being busy and her being incredibly pregnant. She was all smiles and giggles, really. Until the heartburn kicked in, that is.

“You alright?” Gwil scratched at the scruff on his chin, a concerned look on his face. “You look… you look like you’re in pain.”

“I’m a miserable hippopotamus.” Annie grumbled.

“At least your hair looks pretty, though.” Joe shrugged and took a swig from his beer bottle. He caught Ben dozing off in his peripheral vision. “Ben? Ben, buddy! Wake up!”  

“Lemme sleep…” Ben mumbled. “M’so bloody tired…”

“We’re all tired, man.” Rami said through a wide yawn, resting his head on Lucy’s shoulder. “If he gets to sleep, so do I.”

“I mean, you can probably fit in Josie’s crib…” Joe mused, eliciting a snort from Annie and Lucy.

“Stop calling her that!” Annie chuckled.

“Never!���

“So, are we having a slumber party, then?” Lucy asked before kissing the top of Rami’s head. “Because I don’t see any of these fools leaving anytime soon.”

###

Annie huffed, bending her toes and cracking her knuckles. It was the middle of the night, and she woke up covered in cold sweat, yet again. As the due date approached, she seemed to be getting antsier and antsier. Every little pain in her body sent her running to her boyfriend. 

This time, however, there was no pain. There was absolutely nothing, in fact. No movement, no kicks, no cramps. This time, Annie was legitimately terrified.

“Ben?” Annie gently shook her boyfriend’s shoulder. “Ben, wake up.”

Ben cracked one eye open and rolled over on his back. He blinked slowly at Annie’s silhouette looming over him.

“Mmm?”

“Something’s not right.”

Ben’s body shot up, momentarily wide awake. He blindly reached back and slapped the light-switch. Both he and Annie scrunched up their faces at the glowing light’s assault on their eyes and groaned.

“Did you water break?” Ben grumbled as he pushed the covers off the bed and started feeling for any wetness with his hands. “Are you having contractions? Did you call Dr. McCarthy? Should I?”

“No, I…” Annie took in a shaky breath. “I can’t feel her.”

“You can’t feel her?”

“The baby. I can’t feel her.” Annie took Ben’s hands and placed them on her bump. They sat in tense silence for a while, waiting for any movement to happen. “She’s not moving, Ben.”

Ben swallowed hard and engulfed Annie in his arms.

“Let’s just get you in the car, yeah?” He tried to flash Annie his most reassuring smile, but it didn’t quite reach all the way up to his eyes. “We’ll go to the hospital.”

“It’s probably nothing, right?” Annie grabbed his wrist as he moved to get up. “It’s just me being crazy again?”

“Probably.” Ben kissed the top of Annie’s head, cupping her face in his hands. “But let’s just get you checked out. Just in case.”

###

“No, mum, she’s fine.” Ben rubbed soothing circles on Annie’s back as he spoke on the phone. “The heartbeat was weak but they induced labour and she’s just… no, mum, really. There’s no need for you and dad to come over. We’re in the bloody delivery room. There’s no need.”

“Ben, I love your mum,” Annie growled, “I really do, but if you don’t get off the bloody phone -”

“I’ll call you as soon as I can mum. I promise. Yeah.” Ben gently massaged the back of Annie’s neck. “Bye mum.”

“Your baby is trying to kill me and you’re on the fucking phone with your fucking mum?” Annie whined. “Priorities, Ben!”

“She’s worried, okay?” Ben brushed Annie’s sweaty hair away, over one of her shoulders, “and the baby isn’t trying to kill you. You’re a team, remember?”

Annabelle was drenched in sweat. Her bottom lip quivered violently by the time the anaesthesiologist arrived. She was in labour for hours, now, and she needed relief. As much as she wanted the birth to be as natural as possible, she felt like she might actually die from the pain she was in.

“Oh, thank fucking God!” Annie sighed in relief as she sat up, leaning forward as she was instructed. Ben kneeled in front of her, clutching her hands in his.

“Don’t look at anyone else, Banana...” He murmured, his lips gently brushing over her knuckles. “Just focus on me, yeah?”

A sharp pain took Annie’s breath away as the long needle penetrated her lower back. A slight burning sensation flushed over her. She started panting, her hands shaking uncontrollably in Ben’s warm grip.

“You’re doing great, dear!” the nurses cooed at her, “you’re such a trooper!”

“How long before it kicks in?” Ben glanced up at one of the nurses.

“Around fifteen minutes or so.”

“Oh, just fucking kill me and end it!” Annie cried out.

###

“It’s go-time, Annabelle!” Dr. McCarthy announced, slapping a fresh pair of latex gloves on and sitting down on a chair in front of Annie’s wide-spread legs. “Time to get the little booger out!”

Annie’s eyes seemed to double in size as she looked around her frantically. As much as she wanted that baby to come out, the sheer amount of pain she felt up to this point frightened her. A whimper escaped her.

“Love,” Ben brushed Annie’s sweaty hair away from her forehead, “it’s time.”

“I’m not ready!” Annie sobbed. She never felt more pathetic in her entire life. There she was, spread open, a room full of people looking at her most private part of her body. “What if I poop?”

“What?” Ben mumbled against her temple as he pressed a reassuring kiss.

“What if I push so hard and I just poop on our baby?” Annie couldn’t stop sobbing at this point. “I don’t want my baby covered in shit, Ben!”

“That’s what the enema was for, Annabelle,” one of the nurses quipped as she looked over the fetal monitor feed. Ben’s complexion seemed to turn green as he held back a gag. “And if you will defecate on the baby, we’ll clean her right up. She won’t ever know it happened.”

“Please don’t poop on our baby?” Ben pleaded softly, making Annabelle smile through her tears.

“I’ll do my best.” Annie chuckled. Ben wrapped an arm behind Annie’s upper back, letting her lean on him as he braced her up. She squeezed each of his hands in pulses, preparing herself for the main event.

Ben pressed his cheek to hers, giving her quick kisses from the corner of his mouth, whispering words of encouragement. Dr. McCarthy stared at the monitor intensely before clapping her hands twice and wiggling her fingers.

“Okay, Annabelle,” her head dipped down between Annie’s legs, “deep breath in. Fill those lungs, love. Just like you do in Pilates!”

Annie drew in a slow breath, closing her eyes. Her ribcage expanded as if she had a balloon in there. She held her breath in for a second before she heard the command, “push!”

It was as if her entire body is being split in two, but the sensation was still rather numb from the anaesthetics. She exhaled through her mouth as she contracted her abdominal muscles, feeling a pressure build around her hips and pelvis.

“You’re so amazing.” Ben whispered, his lips grazing her temple, as she squeezed his hands until her knuckles turned white and the tips of his fingers an angry maroon. “You’re so fucking amazing. Unreal.”

“Good job, Annie!” Dr. McCarthy shot up a latex-covered thumb, glistening with goo. “Get ready for another round. You’re doing great!”

Annie felt like she had been pushing for hours. Bumpy was reluctant to come out. Her strength was diminishing, fast. Her patience and nerves were long gone.

“There she is! We’re crowning, people!” Dr. McCarthy called out, “that’s the head!”

###

The shrill sound of a baby wailing filled the delivery room, accompanied by pathetic, breathy sobs from the two very excited parents. Through her tears, Annie felt the nurse tug down her hospital gown and then place the baby on her exposed chest for what felt like mere seconds. Through her blurry vision, Annie only managed to catch a glimpse of a tiny arm before the baby was whisked away again.

“You did it! You fucking did it! She’s okay…” Ben mumbled and sobbed incoherently as he pressed kisses to Annabelle’s tear stained lips, “she’s okay. You’re okay. Oh my God.”

Time seemed to pass by in a blur. The delivery room was as busy as a bee-hive. Annie felt herself slip in and out of consciousness as exhaustion took over her completely. Her vision was fuzzy around the edges and she felt as if she’s under water, everyone’s voices were muffled around her.

She had no idea how much time had passed until her eyes fluttered open and her vision cleared up. Ben’s smile was as bright as the sun as he carried a small bundle, cradled carefully in his arms.

After a nurse helped Annie sit up, Ben kissed the little bundle in his arms and passed it over to Annie, settling beside her with his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in.

Annie stared down at two pools of turquoise, slightly greener than her own eyes. She traced her finger from the top of her baby’s head, feeling the silky soft tufts of hair; then down her nose, softly wiggling the button-like tip; and finally, over the baby’s cheeks. She couldn’t help but smile, sobbing pathetically.

“Are we ready to fill in the birth certificate?” the nurse asked in a hushed voice. “It’s okay if you don’t have a name yet.”

“We have a name.” Ben and Annie said at the same time and looked at each other. They stared at each other, absolutely smitten with one another and the tiny human they had created. 

“Well, are you going to say it out loud? Dr. McCarthy snapped them out of their trance. 

“Go, ahead, Ben.” Annie encourage him as the baby latched on to her breast.

“Aurora Josephine Jones.”

“Rory.” Annie whispered, her finger feathering over the baby’s plump little cheek. “Our Rory.”

TAGLIST: @ramibaby @xgoingdownx @clara-who @violetpond @sweeterthancheese @drummerqueenrmt @westansstuff @rogerinamainbitch @justgivemethekeys  @blondecarfucker @cheeseedreams47 @rogerspoison @deacy-dearest @pinkmarvel @onceuponadetectivedemigod @darcyshire

[tiny-cloud-dragon]

FF7: Random Bits Side Story

A short side story inspired by @ride-the-bifrost  about an original character by the name of Ulrich Ulfberg.

[Summary: Captain Ulrich Ulfberg develops a very unique medical problem]

[Setting: After a late night of celebration, Ulrich and his friends return to Base to sleep off their hangovers.]

[Location: Main Building - ELITEs quarters.]

Cpt. Ulrich Ulfberg stumbled off to his quarters, supported on either side by his only slightly less inebriated pack mates. They had all just finished celebrating their first Shifts, and Ulrich's certification as an oral surgeon. The three of them made their unsteady way down the hall, an uncoordinated monster with three heads and six legs that neither of them could figure out how to control. They bounced gently off the walls, jinking and jerking along in a perpetually suspended fall, never quite hitting the ground, but never quite managing to walk completely upright. 

Ulrich's two companions dropped him off at his apartment door, leaving him to play Find They Key Hole on his own. After a few tries, he finally got the key hole to stop moving around to winkle the key in and unlock his door.

Ulrich stumbled inside and slapped the light switch on, then immediately slapped it back off as his pupils screamed at the sudden burst of light. He wobbled though the living room in the dark, which was a dangerous undertaking for even a sober person. All manner of sharp edged and heavy furniture pieces waited in the concealing darkness, ready to leap out and crack the shins or stub the toes of the unwary. 

Ulrich made a drunken dash through the living room, barely dodging the coffee table as it jumped out at him. He paused at his bedroom door to give the room the middle finger before going inside and attempting to collapse on his bed. Unfortunately, it was two feet farther to the left than his eyes said it was, and he landed on the floor with a thud. He reached up and flapped a hand around until it found the blanket and dragged it off the bed. The blanket landed haphazardly over the drunk SOLDIER. Ulrich was asleep before it even settled.

Ulrich awoke several hours later, wondering why he was on the floor and why his clothes smelled like they had been soaked in bourbon. Then he wondered why it was almost noon and he wasn't  out on the training field with his pack. Then he panicked and began rushing around, almost drowned himself in the shower, tried to pull dry clothes onto a still wet body, got his feet tangled in the blanket that was still on the floor, went down like a felled tree and gave the carpet a good morning kiss, bounced up and cracked his shins on the coffee table as he ran to his apartment door, and then realized that it was Saturday.

Ulrich was silent for a moment, then said a word that would have made his dear mother faint, had she not been the one who had taught him the word in the first place. His voice sounded a little rough to his ears, and there was a slight tickle at the back of his throat. Ulrich coughed, wheezing slightly. The tickle subsided. Well, since he was up and already dressed, he might as well go out and get something to eat. He coughed again. And a drink sounded like just the thing he needed for his dry throat. 

A few drinks chased the cough away, and Ulrich fell back into his daily routine. The next several days went by as usual, except that he was now a 1st Class ELITE (and an oral surgeon), and was having fun getting used to his new wolf form. Strength, speed, night vision, super hearing and sense of smell, telepathy, gorgeous floof; he was loving all of it. Of course, there were challenges, like suppressing the urge to chase various army vehicles, howl, chase small furry things, smell butts, bury food, and roll in things that smelled bad. 

Ulrich's fun was dampened when he developed a persistent sneeze. He noticed that he sneezed more frequently when he was in his ELITE form, and he assumed it was because of his heightened sense of smell. Unfortunately, he began sneezing all the time during training, a few moments after Shifting. It started out as an occasional event that earned him sharp looks from the drill sergeant, who quickly got fed up with what quickly became regular interruptions. Ulrich's pack began expecting to hear the dreaded phrase 'half-right!' at least twice a day. 

"Stop that flapping sneezing, Ulfberg!" the drill sergeant (also known as a 'pack-daddy') snarled, baring his teeth at the bush next to him as it began sneezing violently. The pack was doing drills in the Nightmare Forest, and so far their raid simulation had been ruined twice in the same hour by Ulrich's sneezing fits. 

"I'm...herchwooooffff! Trying...herchwoooffff!, sir! Herchwooofff! Herchwooofff! Herchwooooofffff!  The bush abruptly expelled a brown wolf with SOLDIER's eyes that were red, watery and already screwing shut for another sneeze. The bushes suddenly sprouted wolves, which ran in every direction as they tried to get outside the estimated blast radius of what was certain to be a monumental sneeze. The sneeze struck with enough force to knock Ulrich off his feet, and cause him to Shift back into a human. 

"You're dead, you're all dead!" The Pack Daddy growled  "Congratulations, Ulfberg, you just gave away our position to the enemy and killed your entire pack! Everybody fall in!"The pack fell in, forming orderly ranks, and returned to the training field, where they spent two hours doing Superman to Banana Hammocks with a set of Monkey Humpers every time Ulrich sneezed. "What is your problem, Ulfberg?" The PD snarled, standing over Ulrich as he sat on the ground, slightly dizzy from a sneezing fit that had put him through ten involuntary Shifts in the space of four minutes. "You're a 1st Class ELITE and you should be able to control your Shifting by now! Sweet Shiva, it's like watching a twisted version of a werewolf movie! Go get some allergy medicine from the Infirmary, double-time!" Ulrich obeyed, obtaining and allergy nasal spray after a somewhat rushed visit with an Infirmary nurse. The doctor had been too busy seeing to a SOLDIER who had crossed the 'queen' of Zack's Mako wolf pack. 

The nasal spray worked fairly well, for a few hours, and as long as Ulrich stayed out of his ELITE form, which was sometimes possible. Still, the drill sergeant was always quick to jump at the chance to smoke the pack for every sneeze, or unplanned Shift Ulrich made. Ulrich began to seriously worry, since he had begun to have sneezing and Shifting fits even while human. It made for some awkward situations, like the time he was using the head and 'sneeze-Shifted' three times in a row right in the middle of doing his business. And then a few hours later while he was eating, and while he was right in the middle of learning to drive one of the humvees. And how could he forget the worst of them all? How could he forget the evening he was getting very cozy on the couch in his apartment with his girlfriend? Ulrich was pretty sure things had gone very badly. He couldn't quite remember exactly what had happened (seeing as how his brain had blocked out most of the memory out self-defense), but he remembered movement and sounds that were probably screams of terror. He was fairly certain the poor girl was going to either be scarred for life, or she was going call him later. He felt more than a little unnerved at what was happening to him. 

Luckily, Ulrich was excused from training for the next week, since he had some major dental surgeries to perform. He spent two days before the first surgery preparing, i.e. he was main-lining allergy spray and over the counter allergy pills. The medication helped (he barely sneezed at all!), and so did the mask he had to wear while examining and prepping the patient. It did a stellar job of filtering out any allergens that had made it past the building's air filtering system. 

Even though he was wearing a mask, the patient still flinched whenever Ulrich did experience the occasional rogue sneeze. He was, after all, only inches from the man's face, performing very delicate work with very sharp instruments. Ulrich made sure the numbing agent had taken effect, and then got down to planning his attack on the broken tooth.

And then it happened, the part where Things Got Worse. Ulrich was just about to probe his patient's broken molar, when he was hit by the dreaded Ninja Sneeze. This sneeze strikes swiftly, suddenly, and without even the decency to give you the customary warning tickle in your nostrils. One minute you are sitting there, doing you, and the next second you are loudly blasting sinus aerosol into the atmosphere without even time to try to cover your mouth. Ulrich sneezed so hard that his eyelids pinched his eyeballs in an attempt to keep them from shooting out of their sockets like yo-yo's. When he plucked up enough courage to open his eyes, he saw that his patient was staring at him in mild surprise. Ulrich started to apologize, but trailed off into silence as the man's eyes slowly crossed as he tried to look at his own mouth. 

"Err..errgh..?" the patient said, in an uncertain tone around the cheek retractor. Ulrich cocked his head, and then noticed, with growing horror, what his patient was trying to look at. There was a very large wolf's paw resting in the man's mouth. Realization dropped a frozen steel needle down his spine. He had Shifted when he sneezed and now he was standing there, a wolf in a lab coat with a surgical mask dangling off its snout, with its hairy paw in the patient's mouth! 

"I am so sorry!" Ulrich blurted, yanking his paw out of the man's mouth and Shifting back. "Please don't worry, it was...eeegghhhrrraaattCHOOOO!" Ulrich sneezed, Shifting back to his ELITE form, where he sneezed again, Shifting back. He began a series of rapid-fire sneezes. A nurse, hearing the disturbance, ran in and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight. Ulrich was sneezing and Shifting so fast that he looked like a stop-motion werewolf under a strobe light moon. He juddered out the door and down the hallway, tripping and stumbling as his brain gave up trying to keep track of what shape he was in. He strobed and flickered straight into the Infirmary waiting room, scattering the few SOLDIERs waiting to be seen.  The attending nurse didn't even ask him to sign in, she just ran ahead of him, grabbed the first doctor she saw, grabbed Ulrich, and swung both of them into the nearest empty exam room.

Hours later, after many tests, Ulrich sat in General Zack Fair's office, fidgeting as the General read and re-read the lab work results, and Dr. Evans' notes, while General Cloud Strife read over his shoulder. The General finally broke the silence. 

"Are you sh*tting me?" Zack laughed, effortlessly pronouncing the asterisk to preserve the author's preference for 'mostly no bad words'. 

"Sir?"

"You have seasonal allergies, and pet allergies, so when you are in your ELITE form, you are allergic to yourself!"

"I...I suppose so, Sir,"

"And when you come into contact with your allergen, it messes with the part of your brain that controls Shifting."

"That is what Dr. Evans said, sir. He gave me a special allergy medicine they made up in the lab. I have to take it every day during allergy season and carry a fast acting inhaler for sudden Sneeze Attacks, but there is nothing they can do to completely stop me from sneezing and Shifting." Ulrich said, disappointment heavy in his voice.

"So, you are like a werewolf, but with allergies?"

"A what?"

"An allergy werewolf! Instead of changing when you see a full moon, you change when you sneeze! And you are a dental surgeon, so that makes you a Werewolf Dentist!"

"Can you stop?" Cloud broke in with an exasperated look for Zack. 

“Don't worry, Captain Ulfberg," Cloud reassured Ulrich. "Allergy season will die down soon. I will make a note that you are to be excused from training and all but light duty during allergy season."

Ulrich nodded, and saluted as he was dismissed. He left the office feeling more relaxed, and oddly pleased. Werewolf Dentist did have a kind of a cool ring to it. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he smiled when he saw that his girlfriend had decided to call him.

The End.

[ethereal-tempest]

Commit (Erik Killmonger Series) Pt.2

Summary: Your a Mercenary used by the CIA and when you’re forced to work with a certain operative things get a little more heated than you ever expected.

Part 1

WC: 2.5k+

A/N: Heyya lovebugs! so spelling errors out the ass its nice to be back tho pretty sure you guys have forgotten all about me which is fine but ya girl is back! Now I still wont be updating super often but ill try and make it a helluva lot more frequent, well enjoy! 

Unbelievable. That word ran through your head repeatedly. You and Erik had to play some love sick couple, the whole Bonnie and Clyde spiel. Except instead of stealing money and taking jewels you’d be stealing intel and taking lives. You grunted as the doctor applied the needed instruments to your body. “This might sting a little bit more than you’re used to Agent Y/L/N were doing the rapid healing process so you’ll be good to go before you leave in your mission tomorrow.” “Do your worse doc, i’m sure i’ll be fine.”

 With a timid smile on her face the doctor started up the machine as she inject the serum into you, boy was she wrong, it stung a lot . no not stung burned. It’s as if a thousand needles were piercing your skin at the same time all over. you screamed in agony but began to scream silently as you felt the firm grip of someone’s hand in your own. you gripped theirs back and bit your lip to try and muffle your screams but failed as the pain began to consume you. You felt tears running down your cheek as the person holding your hand rubbed it almost affectionately as the pain began to finally subside you were unstrapped from the machine and had the disk on your skin removed from the your injured body parts before you opened your eyes and saw who held your hand, “Killmonger what— why are you hear?” you asked as you sat up and wiped your face clean. “Think i’d miss the chance to hear you crying like a little baby?” you rolled your eyes before bring your legs to the edge of the table you previously laid on. You landed on shaky legs and soon felt a hand slide around your waist to keep you up right, you saw Erik at your side and tried to shrug him off and walk away from the table but ultimately failed and stumbled back into his side one hand resting on his chest. “I can walk by myself you know.” “Sure you can princess.” you held back a growl as you took a deep breath, “What were you doing here?” “Wanted to make sure they pathed you up right, can’t go out there looking like a domestic violence case.” you hum deciding to accept his answer as he help you back to your room. “And why are you helping me now?” “I wanted to talk.” you raised an eyebrow in suspicion, what could this conniving asshole want to talk about, “The mission.” he said answering your unspoken question, “This can’t wait until tomorrow or something.” “No.” you groaned and stood on your own finally having the strength to do so as you turned to look at him head on, “What’s so urgent then Killmonger?” you guides you into your room and shuts the door behind you two. Your curiosity is at an all time high as you sit on your bed and you stare up at the man standing before you. “I really don’t have the strength to kick your ass right now Erik so spit it out or get out. I do prefer the ladder by the way.” the man rolled his eyes as he said, “We need to know thing about each other, to help keep up the act.” you sighed as you plopped back onto your bed, “Erik that’s it? This can definitely be talked about tomorrow!” “Y/N were going to be watch from the second we set foot in Colombia, there will be no time to work on it then!” you cursed under your breath before you said, “So you waltz into my room and expect me to just open to you? That’s not how this shit works Erik, that is not how you get to know another human being!” “You’re such a brat. I don’t understand what the big deal is, just tell me what i want to know!” he shouted at you, you shot ul still seated on your bed and stared at him with wild eyes, “You think demanded intel about my person is going to make me give to to you. Fuck off Erik, come up with whatever bullshit you want and get the hell out of my room.” “Y/N you’re being—“ you stood from your bed, a little too quickly as you stumbled forward but caught yourself on your chair as you grunted, “Get. Out.”

He took a concerned step toward you in but you held your hand up to him stopping him in his tracks before you whispered out. “Leave Erik.”

The man wiped his hand down his face in defeat before opening your door and finally leaving. You let out a painful sigh as you sit back down on your bed, Your body still wasn’t fully healed some sleep would do. And that’s exactly what you did. You shot up from your sleep in a sense of panic and searched around your temp room for anything wrong. Everything seemed fine by you jumped slightly as you heard a knock at you door, you walk over to it and swing it open before peering around it. You sighed seeing who it was and opened your door all the way as you walked away. “What Agent Ross?” you asked over your shoulder as you put a shirt on over your sports bra, “You going to be alright on this mission? I know you and Agent Stevens don’t have the beat relationship.” That was an understatement you hated the man, most of the time anyways. He’s done it all botched mission, risked your life, even stolen one of your perps but you were a professional and you wouldn’t let some petty squabbles keep you from giving it your all. “Might not like the man but i’m more than capable of keeping it professional Sir. We’ll get the mission done.” “Are you sure?” you smirked as you brushed off his question and said, “Don’t I always.”

After your little check in from Ross you began getting ready for your mission. You’d definitely have to do some shopping seeings as though your clothes were not very undercover friendly. Once your personal weapons were tucked away in your bags you hauled everything down to the hanger.

“Y/N darlin’ you look a helluva lot better than you did eight hours ago.” you laughed as you dropped a bag and hugged your closest friend Dani, she stepped back holding you at arms length to get a closer look at you. “I’m still surprised your up and kicking as great as you are though…” “Takes a bit more than some shock therapy and tears to put me down, you know that Chief.” Dani was nicknamed Chief because of how quickly she was able to get control of a hostile situation, always made those she needed information from her bitch, and her their Commander.

“Yeah yeah doesn’t mean i don’t get to worry about ya, by the way, i hear your going on this little undercover stunt with a partner. Who’s the lucky bastard?” you rolled your eyes and Dani raised her eyebrows at the action as you huffed out, “Killmonger.”

It started low almost inaudible before it raised to a booming laughter that spread across the aircraft hanger you two stood in. “It’s not that funny Chief. He fucks this up i’m gonna kill him.” she shakes her head as she mumbled out, “Or maybe you’ll fucking him.” “What did you say?” “Nothing.” you squint your eyes prepared to ask her once again what she said we you noticed Killmonger walking towards you. “Speak of the Devil.” “Stevens take care of my girl out there, that’s an order.” She said with a smirk as she patted your shoulder and left you two alone. “What did you need Erik, here to demand more information about me?” he rolled his eyes he crossed his arms and said, “Look, i’m sorry about that. I’m just not trying to mess up this mission.” you scoffed as you asked, “And you think I am?” “That’s not what i said.” you rolled your eyes and shook your head before slapping a manila folder you and in your back pocket onto his chest. “Here’s your information Erik. We fly out within the hour and i want some information in return.” you walked off before the man could answer missing the shock evident on his face.

You loaded up the last of your bags to the plane and wiped some sweat from your forehead, “Y/N how’s it coming?” you gave the pilot a thumbs up letting her know you were ready to go.

You boarded the plane no sign of Killmonger anywhere, you took out your phone ready to text him when he hustled up the ramp with only a few duffle bags. “Took you long enough.” you mumbled as you buckled into your seat and get comfortable for the long ride ahead. The plane started up and as you went to close your eyes when you felt something slapped into your lap. “My file.” you looked at him with a confusion before looking into your lap, it was the intel you needed for the mission. “Remind me why we're not just making things up again Killmonger?” you questioned as you open the folder and began skimming over it, “Because bluffed intel would require us both to memorize it. This way if one is us starts to slip up he other will no then see with ease.” you rolled your eyes , he made a good point but you wouldn’t admit it. “Were about 4 hours out from the chopper you guys will be taking to Colombia. Should be only about an 1 ½ you guys will be in the air of that.” you heard the pilot say through comms you wore. You gave her a thumbs up before she took off.

You did the flying in the chopper going over the information about Erik and yourself with each other making sure the important things were known. “Favorite colors not blue it’s turquoise more of a sea green than anything.” you looked over the man in confusion, “Is this really the time to hard on such a small specification?” you bickered out as you easied the chopper onto the ground. “Here’s this.” He said handing you a small jewelry box you looked at it with a puzzled face before you opened it up, “It's tungsten ring with a turquoise tinted inside. Shouldn’t be hard to remember my favorite color now huh?” Erik held it is hand for your waiting to slip the ring on your finger but you stayed in the same shocked position, he rolled his eyes before he took your hand in his own and turned it over before slipping the ring onto your hand, it was a perfect fit. You thought held your own marveling at the beauty that sat on your finger and in your face. You noticed his stare and cleared your throat as you slipped your hand out of his and began powering down the helicopter, “W-where’s yours.”  you stuttered out looking anywhere but his eyes that still roamed your face, when he didn’t answer you looked back him as you said his name snapping him out of whatever trance he was in, “Right here let’s move out.” He mumbled out before slipping out of the chopper.

You did the same pullin our down of your bags as you did, “Mr. and Mrs. Genuine, so glad you guys made it safely. Welcome to hotel de passíon, how was your flight?” you look across the seats of the helicopter and made eye contact with Erik, it’s show time and you both knew it. “Thank you baby, it was a little bumpy nothing a little liquor can’t fix.” you said winking at the beautiful receptionist that greeted you on the helipad of the hotel you and Erik would be in for the next few weeks. She chuckled as you pushed forward a cart for your bags, “I’ll have a bottle sent up to your room unless you prefer to mingle with some of the other guest at the open bar.” Erik walked up behind you as he said, “Both sound like a good option to me baby, that way we don’t have to worry about leaving once were alone.” his arm made it’s way around your waist drawing you to him as you felt his eyes looking down at you, you refused to meet his gaze as you felt your face heat. You casted you eyes to the receptionist who had a knowing look in her eyes, “I’ll take you bags to your room for you, a few rules for the grounds. No guns are allowed in the restaurant or by the pool. Also there is no discharging of weapons on hotel grounds any and all disputes should be settled off de passíon property. In the event that an altercation does occur the party who initiates the fight will be at fault and politey asked to leave the premises. Alright i think that’s everything all this will be in a handbook in your room. Once again Enjoy your stay and let us know anyway we can make your stay one you’ll never forget.” It wasn’t surprising they had these rules laid out for their guest considering this hotel was notorious for housing some of the biggest names in any illegal business, if you needed a place to stay while in south america their was always a de passíon that welcomed criminals and common folk alike, but considering you guys were staying in of the more elusive and luxurious penthouses it wasn’t hard to assume you were on the former side of the guest list.

“Thank you baby, can you make it a bottle of crown apple?” “Of course Mrs. Genuine.” she said before she disappeared into the elevator with your bags leaving you and Erik alone, you slapped his chest and backed out of his want hold, “What the hell was that?” you questioned the man standing before you, “What do you mean?” you gestured between your two bodies which were still awfully close and said, “The touching and the implying….” the man scoffed before placing both hands on your waist pulling you to him and making your hands land on his harden chest, “Were husband and wife remembered, newly weds at that. Plus i barely implied to anything unless there is something you want to be more than implied?” you scoffed as you gazed into his eyes not missing the smirk on his lips but also unable to think properly due to the close space you two were in. you shook your head from your dirty thoughts and took a step back. “We should get down to the room and change.”

He took your hand in his and interlocked them, just when you went to protest you saw your ring shining in the dim lights on the helipad and decided against it. This was going to be one helluva mission.

[thestoryofme13]

The Spiral

Prequel to Saving Me: The Spiral

Chapter 3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Warning: thinking of death, body image, anxiety, worthlessness, swearing, self-harm (It is more akin to bad coping mechanisms in this chapter because it involves really cold water)

A/N: This is my attempt at an AU, but please look out for the warnings before each chapter, this is going to be triggering and I am going to do my best to tag all of them but I will need your help to make sure I don’t miss anything. I want you as readers to be safe. This was inspired by @ilovemygaydad and their fic Friends in Dark Places, which I highly recommend, you can see the all the chapter links and my thoughts of the story as a whole here.

This chapter and the few (dunno ask Virgil) will be the backstory to give you all some background. It was going to be all one chapter but I hadn’t hit the plot point I wanted and the word count was already over 2,000.

(Flashback) Virgil was sitting on his bed looking at the lonely sticky note on his closet door, “Did he actually need reasons to live? Did he want to die?” The answer was yes, he needed reasons to live, his life had all too quickly spiraled, the guy he had fallen for and coincidentally his best friend was dating someone else and also not really talking to Virgil at the moment. Then as an added bonus to his personal life being a mess was that school was DIFFICULT! In grade school, he still had to study yes, but not near as much and usually, his grades would reflect the time he put in, but high school just had to be different.

Guess now he had to think about the second question, “Did he want to die?” That question was tough, it’s not that he really wanted to die, it was more complicated than that. He just wanted to stop feeling, while he was great at pretending to be numb, he was actually falling to pieces. The last time he actually felt a positive emotion had to be a couple months ago. Most of his feelings at this point were depression, anger, and hurt. Virgil felt like he was not in control, and he hated it.

The thing about living with anxiety, at least if you’re Virgil, not feeling in control of your life or the situation, is terrifying. The whole situation of not being entirely sure what was happening or exactly what his relationship with Logan was from one day to the next caused a lot of anxious feelings to bubble up. Not being in control produced many variables to the point where Virgil could not accurately predict what the outcomes would be, making every day a new living nightmare.

Predicting outcomes of things was not quite the correct way to word it, Virgil had observed so many people over years of being a wallflower that he figured there are only so many different reactions a person can have in certain situations. For the most part, social interaction could go one of two ways, either it could have a negative or positive reaction and based on the person and topic Virgil was very good at predicting which reaction he would elicit from someone. The problem now was that the person he was closest to and was pretty much capable of predicting their every reaction was no longer a factor in his life, leading to every day and every interaction being different.

Logan had been his first real friend, someone that made Virgil feel wanted like he wasn’t a burden. Once Logan started canceling plans it was the reminder that Virgil needed, to remember that he wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth anything, he was utterly useless. If the person Virgil had called his best friend, had deemed that Virgil wasn’t even worth a text to check in on him or an apology for canceling so many plans, then how could he feel worthy of anything.

Virgil hadn’t noticed he was crying until he saw the wet spots on his jeans, he was just so exhausted. Logan had a point, feelings were awful and illogical, these feelings had consumed Virgil for the past couple of months: worthlessness, sadness, hopelessness, and anger. Feeling all of these emotions had generally made Virgil exhausted, he wanted so much to be numb. If he shut Logan out of his life maybe the loneliness and sense of betrayal would subside, Virgil scoffed at that idea, like it was up to him to shut out Logan or that the nerd would notice at this point. If feelings were always this bad and persisted for this long, he wasn’t going to make it.

Virgil sighed and shoved off his bed, he needed to feel something, anything that was different from this wonderful downward spiral that was his life. It was nearly 10 o’clock, he had finished all his homework for tomorrow, and until Friday but no one had to know that. Once an assignment was assigned a due date Virgil’s anxiety took over and forced him to finish it, didn’t matter if the due date was tomorrow or three months. The minute something was assigned, the panic set in, “What if he were to forget about it later? What if the teacher decides it’s due earlier? Or what if something happens and he won’t have a lot of time closer to the deadline?” These thoughts and many of similar sentiment is what fueled his overachieving, he was also a firm believer in doing it perfect the first time; rather than needing to spend less time to do it once and then have to fix it later. It’s not that he was smart, it was more that his anxiety wouldn’t let him relax. He had to work his ass off for everything he ever did, which was extremely satisfying, at least before high school that is.

Deciding it was probably a good idea to at least try to get ready for bed, even though he knew his mind would race and that dream would come again. He shuddered at the thought of repeating that singular dream. He needed to shower, god how he hated showering! For one thing, it took too much time, he could be studying, doing homework, or literally anything else.

The second reason was that when he was younger he wouldn’t shower sometimes for days, and finally, his mother brought it up and asked, “Do you refuse to shower because you have body image issues?” Virgil didn’t want his mother to worry. So, obviously, he did what any good son would and replied with, “No, of course not. I just hate that it takes so much time out of my day.” His mother just laughed, how she got so lucky with a child that was school centered instead of relationship crazy his mother will never know, but she thanked whoever was responsible for that blessing. Virgil remembered that day, after replying to his mother he didn’t want her to worry so he forced himself to take a shower being very careful to avoid the mirrors, and if he cried in the shower it was quiet and comforting because no one would know.

His body image issues, hadn’t improved or worsened since then but he still hated showers, now he took them every day because he felt obligated to. Who this obligation was to, he’ll never know, maybe it was to make sure his mother didn’t worry, she had enough to think about without him making it worse. The baggy clothes that Virgil forced his mother to buy were for two reasons mostly for comfort because clothing clinging to his caused him to panic, and the second reason is because with the baggy clothes he could hide the everything he hated about his body. It’s not like he was overweight, but his stomach was anything but flat, his thighs had acne and stretch marks that made him never want to wear shorts, but he guessed everything else wasn’t too bad. These insecurities were things that he was hyper-aware of and felt like everyone he met would notice them first.

He grabbed a clean pair of boxer shorts and a loose shirt, and continued to his bathroom, in the new house he had a bathroom connected to his room, which he loved. The shower could be a little fickle, but he was too tired to remember, so he undressed and jumped in the shower. Once in the shower he turned on the water, he knew most people did it the other way, but he liked this way no real reason why just weird. 

The water would usually come on hot immediately so there was no shock, but god forbid this universe to help him, nope that would be too easy. Today the water just had to come out freezing, Virgil couldn’t help but notice that at least the cold water made him feel something. It wasn’t a good feeling in the slightest, but damn it was nice to feel something. He knew he should have turned the water up, but he couldn’t. He was shaking and shivering, but this cold made it impossible to think about the shit going on his life. He was losing his mind if he thought freezing water was the answer to all the problems, but he couldn’t help but laugh at this situation. There he was in the shower shivering and shaking, to the point of not being able to move and laughing. If anyone were to see him surely, they would think something was wrong and that he needed help, but the thing is, he was happy. The pain from the freezing water made all his problems melt away, some part of him knew this was not a healthy coping technique but he didn’t care. Virgil had finally figured out something that made him forget how crappy his life was, even if it was painful! The freezing water felt like needles on every inch of his skin, but all he could do was laugh because how messed up did he have to be to use a different form of pain to avoid dealing with his emotional pain. Maybe this escape would encourage him to take more showers. 

A/N: If you have any feedback, questions or want to be added to the taglist let me know! Also if you need to be taken off the taglist because of triggers please let me know, I want you all to be safe!!

Tag list: @fandomsandanythingelse @justanotherpurplebutterfly (I think you requested this) @nyxwordsmith @michealawithana  @fanfictionsideaccount @bubblycricket @moose-1967

[boxywrites-blog]

Lemon Cakes and Pie

Summary: Reader owns a bakery in a small town where a group of demons decide to throw a party. An injured Dean Winchester is in need of a hideout and a helping hand.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2 401 (it got away from me…)

Warnings: Canon typical injuries and swearing, I think

Prompt: “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me.” (marked in bold)

Beta’d��by the one and only @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms 

A/N: IT’S SO FLUFFY! This story is for the lovely @impala-dreamer‘s OP4A Challenge! This is also the first fan fiction I’ve posted on Tumblr… *gulp* I didn’t even like this storyline when I started writing it, but I think it turned out fine in the end. Feedback is greatly appreciated!

In the small town of Plainville, Kansas, everything was as the name suggests; plain. Although the town initially got its name from the actual plains it was situated upon, one could argue the applicable meaning of the word had shifted over the years.

You owned a small but fairly successful bakery in the middle of town. You were very proud of it, as you had saved money for most of your life to start your own bakery. Last year you had even won a state award for your famous lemon cakes. You had the diploma framed and hung on the wall behind your counter, reminding you that dreams really can come true.

Every morning started out roughly the same; you waking up at 4 am in your cozy suburban home for one, just a few blocks from the bakery. You always got up straight away and got ready in a jiffy, out of the door by 4:25 am, getting on your bike and arriving at the bakery five minutes later. Breakfast had to wait until you were done with your morning chores, but coffee was a necessity to function so that was always where you started.

The day progressed as any other Thursday would, with the exception that rain was pouring down like there was no tomorrow. You had fortunately been inside all day but the clock neared closing hours and the rain didn’t seem to subside. You would have to brave the storm if you ever wanted to get home and eat that last carton of chocolate ice cream you had in your freezer. Not to mention catching up on your Netflix watchlist. Thursdays were sacred to you; the one day of the week when you indulged yourself in whatever your latest television obsession was.

After hearing the doorbell chime and seeing the last two customers leave the bakery, you walked over to the front door and turned the Open sign to Closed. Through the window you saw people jogging to their cars, trying to avoid getting soaked in the rain. Poor Mrs. Rosenberg was walking her white terrier Muffin, named by yours truly, in the park across the street. Neither Mrs. Rosenberg nor Muffin looked particularly content with the situation.

Especially not when a thick, black smoke surrounded Mrs. Rosenberg and- Wait... What? No. What? That most definitely had never happened on a Thursday before. In fact, that had never happened at all.

The rain kept hammering down as Muffin jumped up and down, barking at the intruder. The smoke around Mrs. Rosenberg grew more intense as the old lady was seemingly frozen in place. Muffin, bless him, started pulling at her skirt and trying to get her to move away from the threat, of course with little success.

All of a sudden the black smoke charged at Mrs. Rosenberg and dived straight down her throat. After a little struggle she went completely still and proceeded to glance down at Muffin. The terrier let go of her skirt and bolted in the other direction, as fast as his little legs could manage.

Just when you were about to reach down and lock the door a man came bursting through it, causing you to stumble backwards. He quickly closed the door and locked both the first and second deadbolt. He even pulled down the blinds! You didn’t know what to think, so you did the next best thing and put your mind on autopilot.

“I-I have closed the shop for today,” you stammered as you backed farther away from the stranger, trying to reach the false safety behind your counter. He didn’t really seem to take any notice of you.

That’s when you noticed the bleeding. This, for some reason, stopped your retreat. That and the fact that when he finally turned your way you were struck, like a flash of lightning from the sky, by the most gorgeous face you’d ever seen.

Well, not to say that his body wasn’t just as impressing, at least from what you could tell by his tight fitted jeans and that snug black t-shirt he wore under a blue flannel shirt. You were shamelessly staring at his muscular arms and shoulders when he snapped you out of your not-so clean thoughts.

“Hey! Do you have any salt in here?” the stranger said, now starting to rearrange the nearby tables and chairs by the windows, stacking them on top of another, subsequently covering the view from your big windows.

“Um, yes? But I don’t think your problem is low sodium levels right now, I’m pretty sure you need a doctor for that cut,” you said, pointing at his left hand that was pressed against his abdomen. “Stitches,” you clarified.

“Salt!” he barked at you. “Now!”

“All right, all right!” You raised your hands in surrender and fetched the nearest salt shaker, placing it in Dean’s outstretched hand. His face quickly went from showing impatience to complete confusion.

“What is this?” He tilted his head in confusion. “No! This won’t do. I need like a big bag of it!” His serious expression made you turn on your heel and heading straight for the storage room in the back. This man was either batshit crazy, which would explain him being too good looking to be true, or simply suffering from severe blood loss. Either way, there was apparently no use in arguing with him.

When you handed him the largest bag of salt you could find he quickly ripped open a corner and started pouring the salt in a thick line along the windows and the door.

The only thing you could think of asking him was “Who are you?”

“Dean Winchester. I’m a demon hunter,” he stated, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And I’m Y/F/N Y/L/N, cake baker,” you mimicked. Dean just stared at you. Apparently this guy had no humor. “Seriously though, do I need to call you a doctor, or perhaps some sort of a psychiatrist?”

“I’m not crazy, okay? There are real demons out there. A whole lot of them.” He let out a sigh and ran his free hand through his hair, seemingly trying to calm down. “Look, I know this is a lot to take in right now, but those monsters that you had nightmares about as a kid, they really do exist. And some of them are outside right now.” His eyes told you to trust in him and just accept the explanation for what it was. You took a deep breath to gather your thoughts.

“And that black smoke thingy that attacked Mrs. Rosenberg was a demon?” Dean nodded. “Is she a demon now?”

“She’s possessed by one, yes.”

“And the salt?” you asked, pointing at the now finished salt line, covering both the windows and the door.

“It protects us. Demons cannot cross it.” Dean said as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Of course. That makes perfect sense,” you said, mockingly.

“Hell, you don’t have to believe me, I just needed a place to hide and ride out the storm until my brother gets here.” He glanced back outside through the blinds, muttered something to himself, obviously not liking what he saw. “Do you have a steady hand, Y/N?” Dean said, out of the blue. You were so taken aback that you didn’t really think before answering.

“I’d like to think so, yeah. I decorate all the cakes by myself.” you said, gesturing towards the counter, displaying a few cakes in various sizes and themes.

“And do you know how to sew?” You knew where this was going now.

“The ‘patching-up-a-pair-of-jeans’ type, yeah. The ‘saving-a-man-from-bleeding-to-death’ type, nope. Uh-uh, no way.”

“Yeah, well you’re all I got, sweetheart, so you will have to do. My brother is most likely still an hour drive away from here, and I won’t have that long unless you start patching me up right now.”

“Okay,” you whispered and quickly went to the back room, gathering up anything and everything that you might need. Of course, most of it was just guesses from your part. Although, you’d like to think that all those hours watching Grey’s Anatomy were more than just a waste of time.

“What happened to you anyways?” you asked when you got back and started organizing everything on the floor, opening gauze packs and thread a needle. Dean had already lied down behind the counter and propped up his head on his rolled up jacket.

“I think someone stabbed me with a window, it’s all a bit fuzzy.” Dean removed his hand and looked down on the wound. “Well, fuck. There’s still a piece of glass in there. You will have to pull it out and then patch me up immediately, or else we’re gonna have a bloodbath in here. You ready?” You shook your head; you would never be ready for something like this.

“On the count of three; one tw-” You pulled the shard of glass out as fast as you could, quickly pressing a bunch of gauze on the now weeping wound.

“Ow! What the hell?!” Dean grumbled.

“I’ve heard that it hurts less when you’re not prepared for it,” you said, matter-of-factly, as you started to clean up the wound with antiseptic.

“Yeah, well, that’s bullshit.”

“Good to know.” You carefully removed the gauze and took your prepared needle in hand. After taking a deep breath, or two, you got to work. Dean hissed when you did the first stitch, but seemed to collect himself.

“I need a drink,” he grunted.

“You and me both. How am I doing?” You were only halfway through stitching the wound, and blood was still gushing out and trickling down his side. Dean followed your gaze to the now soaked-through gauze he held below where you were stitching.

“Well”, he grunted as he threw the old gauze to the side and grabbed a new one, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me.” He must have seen the horror in your eyes because he started to chuckle, only to have the chuckle turn into a coughing fit.

“Give me some credit here! I’m not even close to being a medical practitioner… I bake lemon cakes, for crying out loud!” you pleaded, desperation filling your voice.

“If I make it through this, remind me to try one of your famous lemon cakes,” Dean said, glancing up at your diploma.  “Although, I’d rather have pie...”

“If by some miracle you do survive this, despite my poor excuse for a patch job, I’ll bake you any pie you want. Just don’t die on my floor…”

“I’ll do my best.”

Half an hour later you were cleaning up the mess you’d made on the floor and Dean was absentmindedly holding his hand over the now-bandaged wound while looking through the blinds after possible danger. There were apparently still a bunch of demon-possessed citizens roaming the streets in search for… well, anything they could get their hands on. You turned your head in Dean’s direction when you heard the low rumble of a car coming to a stop just outside your shop.

“Looks like my little brother is finally here to save the day.” You got up and went over to Dean, looking out and seeing a sleek, black, classic car parked in front of the bakery. The driver, you could see the family resemblance, rolled down his window and pulled out a megaphone. When he started chanting something in Latin, you turned your head to Dean with a puzzled look on your face.

“Exorcism,” Dean said, apologetically. Right. Why not throw in a little 70s horror movie vibe? This situation was clearly not scary enough. The people gathered outside started to It looked like they were screaming. When Dean’s brother finally finished his chanting the black smoke came flowing out of them and they tumbled to the ground.

“Are they dead?” you asked, not sure if you were ready for the answer.

“No, just unconscious,” Dean clarified. They watched his brother get out of the car and head towards them. Dean unbolted the door and let him in. The brothers patted each other on the back, before turning to you. Even though Dean had explained that this was his little brother, there was nothing ‘little’ about him. The man was a giant! The brother took a step forward, extending his hand.

“Hi, I’m Sam,” You shook his outstretched giant’s hand, feeling smaller than ever. “I hear you saved my brother’s life” Sam said, smiling gratefully at you.

“Yeah well, I’m pretty sure he saved mine from those demons, so I’d say we’re even,” you said and smiled back.

“Nonsense.” He turned to Dean. “May I see it?” It was evident that the brothers cared deeply for one another. They had probably been through worse than this, considering how lightly they took this whole situation. You couldn’t even begin to understand what it must be like to be a hunter. Thank God for your bakery!

“Good work, Y/N,” Sam said once he’d finished examining his brothers wound. “Looks like he’ll be as good as new in no time.” Sam sent an encouraging smile your way, and you couldn’t help but feel proud over your handiwork. Binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy had finally paid off.

The brothers offered to drive you home, even though the danger was gone, just to make sure you got inside safely. They pulled up the Impala right outside your house and followed you to your door. You hugged Sam goodbye first, promising him you were seriously going to consider learning Latin.

“Thanks for stitching me up,” Dean said, as Sam made his way back to the car. “If you ever pass Lebanon, give us a call,” You exchanged numbers and hugged, making promises of keeping in touch.

“Remember, you still owe me that pie!” Dean called back with a big grin on his face, winking at you as he got in his car. You smiled and waved at him.

You stayed on your porch until they had left your driveway and rounded the corner. You turned around to head back inside, knowing full well that when you woke up tomorrow you would see the world in a completely different way. At least there were people out there, like the Winchesters, protecting you from things that go bump in the night.

Shamelessly tagging some lovely people (pls don’t kill me ;)):

@hannahindie @trexrambling @katymacsupernatural @ravengirl94 @emilywritesaboutdean @percywinchester27 @charliebradbury1104 @luci-in-trenchcoats @kathaswings @atc74

[halcyon-books]

An essay

Note: This article by Carol Davis was published in Overground in 2016.  The article was written many years ago, and none of the comments are current.   Overground was founded in England in 1988 by Margaret, a woman devotee  I maintained a correspondence with for several years.  Women are more open regarding their feelings than are men.  I met Richard, one of her co-founders, at a Fascination Weekend in 1990, and we had a long chat.  I also met Carol at the Fascination Weekends.  My book is prominently displayed in one of Carol’s videos, lying on a beach towel beside her.  

One-Legged Stardom by Carol Davis

Notice: Carol Davis' website "Amputees Are Beautiful" and CD Productions are now closed. However, we consider that her story remains compelling enough to have its place on this site.  Some of her videos are still available on YouTube.

Introduction

There is really nothing very interesting about the story behind my becoming an amputee. I wasn't stalked and maimed by a crazed attacker who blew my leg off with a shotgun. I wasn't involved in an accident where doctors worked feverishly to save my mangled leg. No, all that it was that made me a member of this unique "sorority of one-legged ladies" was a losing bout with cancer.

Actually, I should refer to it as a winning bout with cancer, as I'm still here - writing this - 15 years after it all happened.

My name is Carol, and as I mentioned, I'm an amputee. My left leg ends abruptly in a stump about six inches long. It took me a long time to feel comfortable referring to it as my stump and I used to simply call it my "little leg". But a lot has changed since those early days of adjusting as an amputee, and I've learned about many new things. One of the things I've learned was the fact that many men find amputees to be extremely attractive because of their missing limb, not just in spite of it.

Although I've had my story told in another publication about six years ago, that was before I began producing videos about amputees for those men who find amputees to be especially attractive. This is the story about my experiences of "stardom" after corresponding with thousands of men about their attraction to amputees and what I've learned about the men who share this attraction.

My Life before the Amputation

I am the oldest of five children and the only girl. My younger brothers were all very athletic, and it was natural for me to be interested in physical fitness. Before I lost my leg, I was quite active and enjoyed all sorts of sports, including skiing, swimming, bicycling, and ice and roller skating. I was on my college swim team, and I received several medals for my efforts in the free-style and back-stroke.

After college I got a job teaching math and science. I began dating a fellow teacher whom I had been car-pooling with. Things seemed to go well, and we were married two years later. We were happy together and although we had our differences, for the most part we got along quite well.

It was in the summer of 1978 when my husband and I took a cross-country driving trip to the west coast. During the trip I noticed that my left knee became stiff after a few hours in the car. At the time I had been exercising heavily, both working out at the health club and bicycling ten to twenty miles every day. So when my leg started to hurt I figured that I must have pulled a muscle which may have been aggravated by being cramped up in the car for long periods of time, and I didn't worry too much about it.

But after our trip, my knee didn't get better. It got worse. Not only was my regular exercise routine of jumping rope painful, but just moving around became a chore. Climbing stairs was particularly difficult. My leg became so weak and sore that climbing stairs made me feel very old. I remember thinking that I felt like a cripple.

I decided to see my doctor about my left knee. My doctor referred me to a circulation specialist who couldn't find anything wrong. I was referred to four different doctors before one of them ran a battery of tests. He thought he saw something in an X-ray and recommended I have a biopsy. He didn't seem too concerned, so I didn't worry either.

A week later the doctor called to say the results were back from the lab and that I should come in for a consultation. In his office, he told me he wasn't too sure about what the results meant, and recommended that I go to Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston for further testing. He said that "Mass General" had doctors which were more specialized in this area. I agreed, and he set up an appointment.

In Boston, the doctors repeated all the tests that my doctor performed. These tests took a week, and on Friday, with my husband and mother present, my doctor finally told me what was wrong. I had a malignant bone tumor in my knee, the same cancer as Ted Kennedy, Jr. had developed. I was told that the recommended treatment was chemotherapy, after amputation of the affected leg. Mine was to be amputated at mid-thigh.

For some reason I was not terribly stunned by the doctor's news. After a week of being poked and prodded by a team of seven doctors, I felt a growing feeling that something was seriously wrong. So, although the news was bad, it didn't surprise me that much.

I was told I had a choice - that I could decide not to have my leg amputated. But I was also told that without amputation, there was little chance that I would live longer than a year or so. My doctor said one of his patients with the same type of cancer had died less than two years after refusing to have her arm amputated. He told me that losing a leg wouldn't be as bad as it seemed - that I would be able to lead an otherwise normal life.

Only One Choice to Make

My choice was clear. I wanted to live, even if it meant losing my leg. I gave my consent to the surgery, which was to be performed the first thing Monday morning. That night and for the rest of the weekend, I kept thinking about what was going to happen on Monday morning. I kept looking down at my legs and wiggling my toes. As I fell asleep I would try to imagine what it would be like to have only one foot - what it would feel like not to have a left knee, ankle, and foot. I spent a lot of time thinking about this over the next two days.

Monday morning arrived and my husband and mother walked beside me as I was wheeled to the operating room area of the hospital. Here I waited alone in the hallway, lying on my back, waiting for the operating room to be made ready. I remember waiting a long time - then it finally hit me. They were really going to amputate my leg. I was going to wake up with my leg gone! I began to cry. A nurse who was passing by in the hallway apparently heard me crying and stopped by my bed. She glanced through the papers at the end of my bed which contained information regarding the surgical procedure, then slowly put them down. She seemed to understand what was going through my mind. She said nothing, but with the understanding that only a mother could have, she patted me on the head and held my hand. It seemed to console me. In addition, after several minutes of crying, my nose had been getting very stuffed up. I was concerned that my stuffed-up nose might cause complications with the anesthesia, so I made an effort to stop crying, and I was pretty well calmed down by the time the nurses came for me.

They wheeled me into a small room and put an I.V. needle in my arm. Then I remember them moving me into the brightly lit operating room and I was lifted onto the table. I remember seeing a nurse injecting something into the I.V. and I found myself rapidly losing consciousness.

My New Life as an Amputee

When I woke up I was in a lot of pain. It felt as if someone was pinching and twisting my toes and pulling my foot as hard as they could. I had a pinching feeling in my calf, too. It was almost unbearable.

For the next few days, I drifted in and out of consciousness. Every four hours I was given morphine injections, and it felt wonderful as the drug spread though my body, seeming to dissolve the pain. After a few days, the pain slowly subsided and the doctors began substituting other pain killers for the morphine. However, I still felt as if something was twisting and pulling at my toes and foot and pinching my calf. I tried to reposition my left foot to get more comfortable in the bed, but my foot wouldn't move. It was a strange sensation because I could feel my toes, my foot, and my ankle cramped in a very uncomfortable position. I had to look under the bedsheet because it was so hard to believe that my leg was really gone! What I saw under the sheet was a heavily bandaged area where my left leg had been. It was strange - even as I looked at it and could see where my leg now stopped, I could feel my entire leg - my foot, ankle, and even my toes.

Some may find it hard to believe, but I was up and walking a few days after my amputation. The doctors had put a plaster cast over the bandage and attached a metal pylon to the cast. With the aid of crutches, which I had been already using to keep the weight off of my knee before the operation, I was able to walk on the pylon. I learned to get around fairly quickly although the cast was bulky and had to be attached with an uncomfortable velcro waist belt to hold it on.

I remember very clearly the day my doctor took off my bandage to remove the sutures. I had no idea what my stump was going to look like. I didn't look down until he had removed the sutures. What I saw was very swollen, and the skin was soft and kind of puffed out between the stitches, so the end was bumpy, with kind of a scalloped outline rather than a smooth curve. My stump was about six inches long. I laughed and told him "At least you could have stitched it straight." He seemed shocked that I would joke about it - but after a few seconds he laughed, too.

I was in the hospital a total of six weeks. After the amputation, every day I went for physical therapy and training for new amputees. I was taught to wrap my stump to shrink it down for a prosthesis. I lifted weights and worked out on a machine to strengthen my upper body. I also did exercises on a floor mat to strengthen my leg. One of the exercises called for me to lie on my back while a physical therapist would apply downward pressure on my stump and I would try to lift it. It wasn't long before I could lift my stump effortlessly, and no amount of pressure by the physical therapist could hold my stump to the mat. I was surprised to find that my stump became so strong. My therapist told me that my stump needs to be strong if I was to be able to use a prosthesis well. One of the hardest parts of physical therapy was negotiating stairs: going down stairs the first time on crutches terrified me.

It took me a while to adjust to my new body without a left leg. The day I was discharged from the hospital, my parents drove me home and helped me up the steps to my front door. Unfortunately, the storm door was locked from the inside, and I waited, standing outside leaning on my crutches while my parents went around the back to open the door for me. When they opened the front door, I stepped forward - with my missing left leg! I just stuck my stump out and toppled over. I fell hard, putting my hand through the glass storm door cutting my hand badly. This was a very natural mistake to make. I could still feel my leg, and in the excitement of arriving home I just forgot that it wasn't really there. I was embarrassed at having done such a dumb thing, but after having spent six weeks in the hospital, I wasn't about to go back for such a stupid mistake, so I wrapped my hand in a towel until the bleeding stopped.

My Real Trials Begin

After leaving the hospital I began two years of chemotherapy. It was far worse than the amputation. Three days after my first treatment, all of my hair fell out. My hair fell out twice in the next two years, but that was nothing compared to the nausea and weakness which I experienced.

And there was something else troubling me: My husband was acting differently toward me. Sure, he was very sympathetic and supportive through my entire ordeal. But it was clear that my amputation had changed our relationship. Our sex life ended when my leg was removed. He couldn't accept the way my body looked. He wouldn't even talk about it. I can't say for sure that my amputated leg was the only reason he didn't find me desirable any more, but it was certainly a major factor.

My husband began to stay out late and drink a lot. He didn't want to look at me anymore. I talked to a few doctors about this and they said that I should give it some time - that he'll probably get over it. He never did, and we divorced three years later. My husband had always told me that one of the reasons he married me was because of my "great legs", and he just couldn't accept the fact that now I had only one, and would need to use crutches or a prosthesis for the rest of my life.

My husband's reaction to my amputation had emotionally scarred me very deeply. After our divorce, as I was getting undressed one evening, I looked in the mirror at my lop-sided body and my stump hanging out of the left side of my panties and thought about how ugly he must have found it. I understood that he could not change the way he felt about my appearance with only one leg and an ugly stump, any more than I could grow my leg back. I thought that it would be all but impossible to ever again enter into a relationship with a man. I felt that I was an incomplete woman - that no man could ever desire my body again. Luckily, I was wrong.

My family and friends adapted to my amputation much better than my husband did. At first they felt sorry for me and wanted to do everything for me. I convinced them that I wasn't helpless and that I could do things for myself.

My amputation changed my life greatly. I had to learn to walk all over again - with a prosthesis, first with the aid of two crutches, then one crutch, and finally a cane. I still use a cane when I'm wearing my prosthesis.

My New Activities

I got interested in skiing again about six years after my amputation. I had skied a few times before when I was able-bodied, but skiing on one leg was new to me. By attending a handicapped learn-to-ski clinic, I met and talked with other amputees. We discussed and learned from each other a lot more than skiing. For the first time, I got to see other amputees. I saw stumps - both arms and legs missing. And nobody seemed ashamed of the way they looked. It didn't take me long to feel at ease in my ski outfit with the pinned-up left pant leg. It was worth it. Skiing was fantastic! I discovered a whole new feeling of mobility.

Of course, the equipment I use is slightly different than a normal skier. I use an "outrigger" on each arm. Each outrigger is like a forearm crutch with a little ski on the bottom. A mechanical trigger controlled by a line from the handle allows me to flip the skis up so I can use the outriggers as crutches when I need to walk.

It took me eight years to get the courage to go out without my prosthesis, other than on the ski slopes. Actually, I didn't have much of a choice. I had plans with a friend to vacation in Florida for a week. The airline and hotel reservations were already made, and the day before our flight, some fluid from the hydraulic knee of my prosthesis leaked through the cover in the back of the knee. It made an unsightly black spot in the soft foam cover, but worse, I found it difficult walking with the prosthesis and I was worried that it might get worse. My prosthetist took a look at it and said that I'd have to leave it and that it would take a few days to fix. So I went on vacation without it, and used crutches instead.

It was to be a blessing in disguise. That week, I walked along the beach barefoot for the first time in eight years. I can't describe in words how emotional it was for me to feel the wet sand between my toes again! My crutches sunk a bit in the sand as I cried silent tears of joy. It's the little things in life that mean so much, I thought.

But that week was to be another turning point in my life. Here I was, in public, among strangers, without my prosthesis. My prosthesis - my only link with appearing physically normal. What must these people think? Does the sight of me crutching along the beach turn them off? Does the sight of my cotton jumpsuit with the pinned-up pant leg make them want to quickly look away? To my surprise, they didn't even seem to notice. They didn't stare or point at me, or even look away. They didn't care. I felt as if I was accepted the way I was!

After I felt comfortable without my prosthesis, it wasn't too long before I mustered up enough courage to wear a light summer dress or a short skirt with a colorful top. After all, it was almost Easter and rather warm in Florida at the time.

I absolutely love to travel. Whether flying or driving cross-country, I love to visit new places. If I travel alone, which I do occasionally on business, I wear my prosthesis - because while using crutches I can't manage to carry even the smallest items. If I'm traveling with a companion, I'd rather leave my leg at home and use my crutches. It's so much more comfortable sitting in an airplane seat without the cramped feeling I get when wearing my prosthesis. I can also walk much faster with crutches than I can with my leg on, and I feel much less clumsy.

In the summer I love to swim. I feel very much at ease in the water. As I mentioned, long before I lost my leg, I was on my college swim team. After I lost my leg, it didn't take me long to try swimming again. I wasn't sure that I would still be able to swim, but swimming was a part of me and I had to try. To my relief, I was still able to swim quite well. At first I felt a little lop-sided in the water and my balance was totally different, but I quickly adapted to my body's different bouyancy. I also had to fight the habit of kicking with my missing leg - it didn't really help my swimming very much to kick with my little stump. I found that my speed and power in the water were greatly reduced - with only half the "kicking" power, I swim a little slower but I still have more endurance in the water than most people.

I've always loved to swim and learning to swim again with my new body wasn't all that difficult. But finding the courage to be seen in a swimsuit was another matter. About a year after I lost my leg, I tried swimming again in my parent's pool. I wore a one-piece swimsuit, but I also wore blue-jeans over the swimsuit. I didn't pin up the empty pant leg, but just let it drag in the water. I was happy to be swimming again, but I didn't want anybody to see my stump.

Then came an opportunity to go skiing in Colorado. I had never skied Colorado, but had heard many great things, and it was an opportunity I didn't want to pass up. I knew that the resort at which we were to stay had an outdoor hot tub. I didn't want to miss the hot-tubbing parties that sometimes occur in the evenings after a hard day on the slopes, but I was afraid of appearing in a swimsuit and showing my stump, and I didn't want to be seen wearing jeans in the hot tub. Then I had an idea. Before the ski trip, I went to a local sport shop and bought a solid red exercise body suit - the kind with long pant legs and stirrup loops for the feet. Instead of leaving the left pant leg loose or pin it up in back, I decided to turn the leg inside-out and then fasten the stirrup loop of the left leg to the back of the bra I was wearing underneath. I also wore a white cloth belt with it. It looked good and I felt comfortable in it. And it didn't bother anyone, either. Actually, I was surprised to receive several compliments about it that evening. It wasn't long after that ski trip, on a trip to Hawaii, that I was able to appear in a real swimsuit all by itself, first in a one-piece swimsuit, then later in a bikini. I had finally overcome feeling self-conscious about my body.

While I was in Hawaii, I tried scuba diving for the first time. It was a beach dive from Hanauma Bay, and it was a unique experience for me. Because it was a beach dive (instead of a dive from a boat), I needed help getting in and out of the water, especially with the heavy tank on my back. The fish that live in the bay were very beautiful, and of many colors. I had only one minor problem. Because of the weight of the air tank and my somewhat lopsided body, I kept falling off to my one side if I stopped moving through the water. So I had to keep kicking the flipper to avoid turning over. But it still was a lot of fun.

My activities can be summarized by the three S's: Skiing in the winter, swimming in the summer, and shopping all the time. The phrase "born to shop" really describes me quite accurately. Everywhere I travel, I love to visit malls, boutiques, and craft shows. I like shopping for gifts, clothes, and especially shoes. I've always had this thing for nice feminine shoes, and it hasn't changed - even after I lost my leg. I buy flat-heel shoes if I plan to use them with my prosthesis, but I can't resist the sexy look and feel of high-heels, especially with a short skirt. I have a pair of rosewood crutches which were made a little taller than normal, so I can wear a heel. It makes me feel very feminine to be able to dress up in a short skirt and high-heel shoe - something I didn't do for over eight years after losing my leg.

Other Feelings

I've had to learn to deal with strangers and to accept being stared at occasionally, although most people are polite. Children are very curious. They often stare at me in supermarkets and malls, but that doesn't bother me. Kids sometimes ask about my missing leg in the cutest ways. Young children are so puzzled to see only one leg emerging from my skirt or shorts. They sometimes just stoop down and look up trying to figure out where my other leg is. Once, last year, while vacationing in Yellowstone, I was standing at a store counter, and a little girl was staring up my empty shorts leg. She just stared until she noticed me looking at her. Finally she asked me where my leg went. I replied that it had gotten sick and the doctor had to take it. She nodded, seeming to understand, satisfied with my answer. Then she asked, "When's he gonna give it back?" Just then her father came over and pulled her away, apologizing to me and muttering something to her about it not being polite to stare. Adults are much more uptight about it than children. I don't think kids should be discouraged from asking questions. I think if children were allowed to satisfy their curiosity about disabled people, they would grow up with much healthier attitudes.

Of course, that's my opinion as a teacher. At the start of every school year, when I have a new class of fifth-grade students, I explain to them about my missing leg and my prosthesis, and tell them that if they have any questions about it, they should feel free to ask me. I have been asked a lot of interesting questions from kids, like: Does it hurt? Can you swim? Do you take it off when you go to bed? What does it feel like? Do you feel like you can still wiggle your toes? I answer them truthfully, never considering any question too silly.

I've continued to be physically active. I've now skied about 100 times as an amputee, and I also teach other amputees to ski.

Several years ago, I tried riding a bicycle again for the first time in nine years. My ten-speed bike has only one pedal, and the pedal has a toe-clip on it so I can pull up on it as well as push down. I found that riding a bike with only one leg was not really that difficult. I need to hold on to something to help me balance while I'm getting my foot into the toe-clip when I start, and I make very sure that when I stop that I lean and get off on the right side of the bike, but otherwise riding a bike feels very normal to me. I rode three miles the first day I got back on a bicycle, and I often use my bike to get some exercise. Besides, it's a lot of fun.

Discovering Devotees

I had talked with many professionals who prepared me for my new life as an amputee, but nothing that anyone told me prepared me for what I later found out on my own.

It was on one of my ski trips that I found out that there were men that didn't find the sight of an amputee to be repulsive. It delighted me when I found out that, in fact, some men actually find an amputee to be physically attractive - even sexy! I had a hard time believing this at first - how can something that I consider so ugly - my stump - be seen as attractive by others? But it was true - a friend showed me a magazine article about this phenomenon.

Becoming an amputee is a very traumatic experience for anyone, but I think it is especially difficult for a woman because of the emphasis on cosmetic beauty that is placed on women by today's society. With my various videos, I hope to show to any woman who has undergone or is about to undergo an amputation, that not only does life go on, but that it can be just as rewarding for an amputee as it can be for an able-bodied woman. Just because your body is different, doesn't mean that it is unattractive and undesirable. Beauty is very much indeed, in the eye of the beholder.

Although I don't share many of your feelings about your fascination - I don't find my lack of a leg "sexy" in any way - it gives me a special feeling to know that in the eyes of many of you, that I am still a "complete" woman.

My Videos

In 1988, I was featured in my first video, "Ten Years After". This video was a documentary about my life on one leg and how I coped with things on a day-to-day basis. My second video, "Eye of the Beholder", addressed the phenomenon of amputee-attraction and my views about it. My most recent video, "Per Your Request", is a culmination of suggestions from the thousands of letters that I've received from my viewers over the past six years.

In addition to videos featuring myself, I have produced two videos of other amputee women, including a below-knee amputee named Tamra, and I have ongoing productions for at least five other amputee women who want to be featured in a special-interest video. I have recently announced a sixth video about a double-leg amputee named Carla.

My videos are all done in good taste, and none of them feature nudity of any kind. One of the girls, an amputee named Debbie, decided that she wanted to model some lingerie for her viewers, and she received many favorable comments about her provocative modeling scenes. All of the models who have appeared in videos that I produce receive all of the profits from the sale of their videos, and Debbie used the money she received to purchase a high-tech prosthesis which her insurance company wouldn't pay for and she otherwise couldn't afford. Debbie also offers photographs of herself.

Since making these special-interest videos, I have learned a lot about the tastes of these special men. With each video tape that I send out, I include a questionnaire that asks about which scenes they liked and which they didn't, along with any suggestions they might have for future videos. Although these men all have the same attraction for women who are missing a limb, their tastes vary widely with what they want to see in a video tape. Some men are attracted to ladies who are missing arms, others are only interested in those with multiple amputations. It is clear to me that no matter what shape you are in or what parts you are missing, that there is someone out there who is attracted to you.

As I try to please as many of my viewers as I can, my videos contain a lot of variety as far as my activities and outfits that I wear. Some of the men that write to me want to see me wearing my prosthesis or one of my peg legs, but most prefer to watch me walking with crutches and just doing everyday activities that I enjoy. Many of my viewers liked scenes of me modeling various clothes - shorts, dresses, pants, high-heels, and especially swimsuits.

Questions, Questions

Since releasing three videos about myself and two videos of other amputee friends of mine, I've learned quite a bit from the many men who write to me about my videos. I'd like to share with you some of what I've learned about the special men who find amputees so attractive, and also answer some of the questions that I'm most often asked.

Q. Can you still feel your missing leg as if it's still there? I can't feel my leg anymore unless I concentrate on it. It took about a year before those funny feelings went away. Maybe my brain adjusted to the fact that part of me wasn't there any more. Sometimes, while lying on my back with my eyes closed, I can feel my entire leg - knee, foot, and even my toes. This feeling disappears as soon as I try to move my "phantom" leg.

Q. What does it feel like to have a stump? That is probably the most difficult question for me to answer, because it is a very difficult feeling to describe in words. Also, over the years, my mind has adjusted for my missing leg and it feels differently now than it did when I was a new amputee. My stump feels a lot different than my other leg. For one thing, it's extremely light. I can move it effortlessly. My stump is also much more sensitive to touch than my normal leg. There is nothing quite like the feeling of a stump-massage from a willing gentleman. It is a feeling that is wonderful to experience, yet impossible for me to describe in words.

Q. Does it bother you when people stare? Not anymore. Besides, not too many people stare, except for young children, and I'm very willing to talk to them to help make them feel more comfortable about it. I don't want the child to think that there is anything wrong with asking about it, and I feel quite at ease talking about my missing leg with children. I've occasionally noticed a guy watching me from a distance, but now I know that he's enjoying watching me - not pitying me.

Q. Have you ever forgotten that your leg was gone and tried to walk? Yes, even a year after my amputation, I forgot and stepped out of bed in the middle of the night, trying to walk to the bathroom. I took a step with my short leg and fell right over. Luckily, I didn't hurt myself.

Q. What do you think of guys that find amputees attractive? I think it's great. I can't change the way I am. I'm always going to have a stump where a normal woman would have a nice looking leg. I'll always feel a little inferior to other women that have two nice legs, but it has helped my self-esteem so much to know that there are lots of men who find me attractive just as I am.

Q. Are there any ADVANTAGES to having only one leg? Well, only a few, but they don't offset the disadvantages. For one, I can save money on buying pantyhose. When I get a run in them, I just turn them around with the run on my stump side and I can still use them.

One of my admirers has given me several pair of pantyhose that he has custom-tailored for me. They have the stump side cut off and sealed closed. When we go out on a date, he is turned on by the fact that while I sit, my stump is nicely enclosed in tight-fitting nylon while it lies on the seat under my dress or skirt. I can always get his attention if I should happen to casually move it under my skirt or dress.

Other "tricks" I've learned are a different way of folding up my empty pant leg. I used to fold the pant leg up on the side or the back and pin it to my waistband, but I've found that if I turn the pant leg inside out and pull it up inside, it looks nicer.

I can also save money on shoes. There is one department store that will sell two different sizes to people with different sized feet. That same store will sell a single shoe for half the price of a pair of them. I also swap shoes with some amputee friends of mine who are missing the opposite leg that I am.

Another advantage of being "handicapped" is that when I go on a ski trip, I usually get a discount on my lift ticket. Also, when there are long lift lines, I can cut through the "ski school" line and not have to wait in the long lines. Oh, one more thing about skiing as an amputee - I never have to worry about crossing my ski tips!

Shoes, Shoes, Shoes

I've always loved high heel shoes, and that hasn't changed, even now that I can wear only one. I think that a high heel shoe makes a woman's leg look more shapely. I've been told by several guys that I look more "statuesque" when I'm wearing a single high-heel shoe. Wearing a high heel as an amputee can be somewhat precarious at times, especially when walking down a staircase or an escalator. At times like those, I like to have someone assist me by holding a crutch for me while I use the handrail.

Many of the men who write to me have a fetish for shoes, especially high heel and spike heel shoes. Most of the men who write to me consider themselves "leg men", and say that they feel a woman's legs are the most attractive part of her anatomy. Of the men who write to me, I get as many compliments about my remaining leg as I get about my stump.

Where are the Amputees?

Several of the men who write to me have asked me where I find the amputees who appear in my videos. As these men point out, amputees are not a particularly common sight.

All I can say is that we are out there. As far as my videos are concerned, most of the amputees who appear in them have been referred to me by some of the men who correspond with me. These men have shown my videos to the ladies and mentioned that they could earn some additional income by modeling in a video of their own. Each of the men who has put an amputee woman in touch with me receives a complimentary copy of her video or photo sets. In addition, I offer him the opportunity to assist me with the filming process if it's convenient for him.

Those Who Stare

Some men have asked me how I feel about being stared at, and if it bothers me. I get stares from children all of the time. They are so curious. They can't understand that I don't have a left leg and it really gets to them! Some of the younger children will actually stoop down to look up my empty shorts leg or my skirt to see if I'm hiding it under there. It usually embarrasses their parents, but I explain that it's okay and that it's just their natural curiosity.

I occasionally notice a guy who is watching me, but if I happen to look in his direction, he usually turns away, pretending he wasn't looking at me. I sometimes wonder if these "watchers" are devotees, or whether they were simply curious.

On a few occasions I have been approached by a stranger who just came up to start a conversation, and I have also been contacted by some of my viewers when they've seen me out in public. Once, I was at the airport on my way out of town, when one of the parking police at the airport approached me and asked me if I was Carol Davis. He said that he enjoyed watching me in my videos, and we talked for a little while.

My Feelings about Devotees

One of the questions I'm most often asked is how I feel about "devotees".

With a few exceptions, almost all of the devotees I've met, whether at organized meetings or other places, have been very nice gentlemen. Most of them are no different than anyone else you might meet. Also, most of the men who write to me seem to be quite intelligent, and I enjoy hearing from them about their feelings. I try to answer each letter personally, but I sometimes fall behind, so if you write to me, please forgive me if I don't get back to you right away.

What I find very sad is the fact that most men who are attracted to amputees have at one time or another experienced extreme feelings of shame about what they find so attractive. Until they discover that other men also share their feelings, they think that they are quite strange, even perverted, to get pleasure from a woman's amputation, especially in light of the fact that it caused her so much trauma and unhappiness in her life.

I wish there was something I could tell these men to let them know that it's okay to find amputees to be attractive and desirable. After all, they didn't cause me to become an amputee, so why should they feel guilt or shame?

What I've Learned about Devotees and their Preferences

Let me share with you some of the feedback I've received from the men who have written to me and those who have answered the questionnaires that I've sent out with each of my videos.

First of all, most of the men are attracted to SAK amputees. About 20 percent of these men are ONLY interested in SAK amputees, and not interested in women with other types of amputations. Some of the men who write to me have a preference for left or right leg missing, and a very small minority are interested ONLY in a woman with a specific side - left or right - amputation. One of the men who is only interested in RAK amputees explained to me that he had a memorable relationship with an amputee as a young boy, and that she was missing her right leg. He went on to tell me that ever since that time, he had fantasized about what it would feel like to be an amputee, and it was always the right leg that was missing in his fantasies.

Double AK's are also in demand among these men. Arm amputees and multiple amputees - those missing several limbs are also thought of as erotic. The success of Tamra's video notwithstanding, most don't care for BK amputees. However, from the response that Tamra received from her viewers, there are exceptions to this rule.

Most of the men who buy my videos are only interested in watching activities that I perform without my prosthesis, whether I'm using crutches or hopping, or even crawling on the floor. Others are more interested in my prosthesis, and watching how I put it on and walk with it. However, these men are in a minority.

In addition to the level of amputation being a factor, some of the men are interested in the adaptive equipment used by the amputee. A surprising number of the men who write to me have a fixation on the crutches that I use. Of those that have expressed an interest in crutches, most of them prefer the underarm or "axillary" crutches. They tell me that they look more elegant and make me look more attractive. Some of the men prefer the Canadian forearm-type crutches. It seems that most of the men who prefer the forearm crutches are from Europe, as these crutches are more common there.

Some want to see me using my prosthesis, and a LOT wanted to see me use my peg leg. Only a few men are interested in wheelchairs, but I was surprised to know that they also exist. I've recently been in touch with quite a few men who are attracted to women who wear leg braces, and I have plans to feature a brace-wearing woman in a future video.

Even among the largest group of men who prefer AK amputees there was some subtle sub-preferences. Some men prefer hip-disarticulation amputations and some prefer very short stumps, while others (although a much smaller number) liked longer AK stumps.

Peg-legs are a mixed bag. The men who responded to my questionnaire were about evenly split on whether they enjoyed watching me wear a peg leg. A small minority of the men, about 20% of them, liked to watch me wear my prosthesis, while the others only wanted to see me on crutches and on my peg leg.

Regarding peg legs - I've always thought that they were only for those who couldn't afford a real prosthesis with a flexible knee. But I've discovered that a peg leg can actually be useful when doing housework. It is much lighter than my prosthesis and I don't have to worry about the knee giving way when I don't expect it. I have a much better "feel" for where the tip is placed, and I don't have to concentrate as much when I'm walking with it, although I must swing it to the side when walking, since it doesn't have a knee to bend. The biggest problem with a peg leg is when I need to sit down, especially in a car. I understand that some peg legs have a knee that can be unlocked and bent, and that some pegs can actually be detached for use in a car.

The responses I've received about my peg legs have been either very positive or very negative. Some guys absolutely love to watch an amputee wearing a peg leg, and other men absolutely hate it. It seems there is no middle ground on the subject of peg legs.

As I mentioned, some of the men who write to me are especially interested in women who are missing both legs, especially DAK amputees. The men who have a fixation or fetish about crutches, however, don't care for DAK amputees in general, probably because a double-leg amputee can't use crutches. I have recently released a video featuring a double leg amputee named Carla. While many double leg amputees use a wheelchair for mobility, Carla uses two prostheses. Some double leg amputees, including Carla, can walk on their stumps. Another amputee woman I know - Tina - who normally uses a wheelchair, can actually walk quite well on her stumps, taking little tiny steps when she walks on them. Tina may be featured in a future video of her own.

Although SAK and DAK amputees are by far the most popular with the men that write to me, there is also interest in arm amputees (both above and below elbow) as well as below-knee amputees, although interest in BK amputees is a lot less. I don't know why this is the case, as the men who like arm amputees seem to enjoy both above-elbow and below-elbow amputees about the same. It seems that as far as leg amputees go, "less is more".

Pretenders and "Wannabees"

Many of the men who write to me tell me that at one time or another they have fantasized about being an amputee themselves. A surprising number have admitted that they have also pretended to be an amputee in private, tying up their leg to "experience" what it feels like to be an amputee.

A relatively small number of men have said to me that they would like to actually become an amputee themselves. I also know some men who have succeeded in obtaining an amputation for themselves, and they have done this in a variety of ways, from chainsaws to shotguns to a freight train. One of these men even had a doctor perform his amputation in a clinic. Most of the men who have a desire to become an amputee themselves have said that they would never have the courage to actually do anything to cause it to happen, but if an accident should happen, that they would be able to accept living the rest of their life as an amputee - even welcome it.

In Closing

I still don't understand exactly what beauty these men find in my one-leggedness, but I do know that there exist MANY men with this special fascination for women with missing limbs, and I'm very glad that this phenomenon exists. After all, I'm going to live the rest of my life with only one leg - why shouldn't it be okay for men to like me just the way I am?

If any of your amputee readers might be interested in being featured in a video of her own, please have her contact me. In addition to making some extra spending money, being featured in a video just might be the opportunity she needs if she's looking for that "special guy", as many of the men that write to me are very marriage-minded and looking for the girl of their dreams.

I have a brochure that describes the videos that I currently have available, and it includes color photos from scenes of each of the videos as well as an order form.

I am always happy to hear from those with similar interests. If any of your readers would like to correspond, they can write to me at the following address:

© OverGround 2016

  C

[taylor--swiftss]

// lennon avery

Taylor grasps Sam's hand tightly as she looks around the hospital room. She's definitely very nervous as the lays in the bed, but also very excited. The doctor had already said that she's pretty far along and it wouldn't be an extensive labor. This she was thankful for, but she did still have awhile left to go.

Sam had his hand tight in Taylor's as he too scans the room. His foot was tapping against the floor but he didn't know if it was nerves or if he was just anxious. He was grateful when the doctor had said that she was decently far along, but he still wished that it could be over now and that she didn't have to be in pain anymore.

Taylor looks over at her boyfriend and plays with his fingers, "Have you talked to your mom or anyone? Any updates?" She asks, raising her eyebrows.

Sam shakes his head. "Not since we got her. I texted her to tell her what the doctor had said but haven't heard back yet." He tells her honestly. "Have you heard from your mum since we're here?"

Taylor shakes her head as well, "No, I don't think I've touched my phone since before we left. I've been too distracted." She reaches up to tuck some hair behind her ear.

Sam nods and reaches out to help her with the piece of hair. "Well, if you want me to go call her or anyone else, I'd be happy to." He smiles softly, just wanting to offer any help possible.

Taylor shrugs, "My mom is probably hanging out in the lobby if we're being honest. She could have texted me, I don't know. She's pretty excited, though." She sighs softly and looks back over at Sam. Her heart is racing with nerves and she grabs his hand even tighter as she starts to feel pain again.

Sam "You think she's here? I can go look and bring her in here if you want." Sam offers, knowing how close the two of them were and wanting to at least offer to do that for her. When she tightens her hold on his hand, he stands up a bit so that he can get closer to her.

Taylor "No, no, no. You're staying right here." Taylor shakes her head again. When she's trying to get through this contraction, she brings her free hand up to her forehead and tries to breathe. Her hand is a little shaky and the rest of her body is a little as well. Taylor clinches her fist and whimpers as she feels like it's only getting stronger.

Sam "Alright, alright. I was just offering." Sam says in defense, biting his lip a little bit. When he sees how shaky her hand is, he knows that the pain must be getting worse. He keeps his hand tight in hers and brings his other one down to rub up and down her arm. "Doing great, babe. It's almost over." He encourages, looking over at the monitor in hopes that that's the truth.

Taylor is really trying hard not to focus on the pain, but of course that isn't easy. She hates that she feels so shaky, but it's practically impossible to control right now. It isn't long before it passes a she lets out a huge sigh of relief, her body relaxing a little bit against the bed. "I hate this so much." She whispers, sure that she's told him that at least a million times already.

Sam feels like he himself is on pins and needles until the pain subsides and when it does, he finds himself letting out a breath of relief. "I know you do, baby." He whispers, leaning down to kiss her head before he returns to sit down in the chair he had just been in. "What do you say we get someone in here to give you something, then? Let's get rid of the pain..."

Taylor thinks about it for a moment before looking back up at him, "I don't want that, yet. I want to wait a little bit longer." She admits, the idea of a needle definitely turning her off. She knows it'll help, but of course she wants to avoid it.

Sam wants her to be out of pain but he also knows that it's her choice and her call so he nods. "Alright, baby. When you're ready, you let me know and I'll make sure I get someone in here." He smiles softly, leaning over to kiss her forehead.

Taylor nods lightly, "I just don't want a needle. I don't want anything else." She tells him, her stubborn side definitely showing right now.

Sam nods again, squeezing her hand gently. "You don't need to do anything that you don't want to do, baby. No one is going to force you. I promise."

Taylor is so thankful for him and she squeezes his hand right back. "I'm probably going to end up changing my mind, you know?" She tells him quietly.

Sam smiles and shrugs lightly. "And if you change your mind, I'll make sure you get the medicine right away. Whatever and whenever you decide is what matters."

Taylor takes his hand and brings their conjoined hands to her lap, "So ready for Lennon. It's going to be so perfect when she's here.."

Sam let's her move their hands to her lap and he smiles softly at her words. "I can't wait, either. I'll finally get my turn with her."

Taylor giggles softly and nods, "We'll get family snuggles. That'll be so much fun."

Sam "That will be so much fun. I can't wait until we're able to bust out of here with our baby girl."

Taylor "Feel like I could scream with excitement." Taylor tells him with a big smile.

Sam "You and me both. I'm about to tap my foot through the floor, I think. I'm that anxious and excited." He laughs softly.

Taylor laughs quietly, "I don't think that it'll be too long, now."

Sam "Yeah? Well, I hope you're right. Really don't want to fall through the floor since we have no idea what's under there..."

Taylor "I don't want you to fall through, either. I'm already stressed and scared enough, don't want to be even more worried. I need you here when I have her."

Sam "Yeah, don't worry about me having fallen through a floor." He teases. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."

Taylor chews on her lip lightly and nods, the doctor comes into the room but that's right as another contraction hits and she's wincing in pain. "Sam," she whispers softly, trying to pull him closer.

Sam sees the doctor come in and smiles softly before he notices what's going on. "I'm right here, babe." He whispers, holding her hand tighter and reaching out with his free hand to rest on whichever part of her is closest.

Taylor wiggles around in the bed a little bit and is thankful that the doctor has stepped aside until it's passed. She squeezes his hand even tighter and it takes everything in her not to just let out a string of cuss words.

Sam watches the doctor step aside and he takes that as a sign that it's okay for him to get a bit closer to her. He pushes her hair back with his free hand and lowers his head so he can whisper softly to her.

Taylor feels tears burn her eyes because they've gotten significantly more painful over the past few. She tries so hard to listen to Sam, but it's becoming harder to concentrate on his voice.

Sam keeps his voice calm and soothing, saying just about anything he can to reassure her that everything is going to be okay. He can tell she's in a lot more pain but he tries really hard to still remain strong and calm for her.

Taylor is gripping the sheets with her free hand as she lets a few tears fall down her cheeks. "I think it's time for this to be over. She can come out now." Taylor says when the pain had pretty much passed.

Sam reaches out to wipe the tears with his free hand and he bites his bottom lip as she speaks. "I wish it could be over, too. Let's let the doctor check things out and see." He suggests.

Taylor doesn't let Sam get too far, but she knows that the doctor needs to check her so she accepts that and lays on her back again as she waits. She's getting more impatient as time goes on, so she's hoping that the doctor will say she'll be done sooner rather than later.

Sam knows he has to stand up straighter so that he's out of the way while the doctor does the exam. He keeps his hand tight in hers and he does lower his head to press a gentle kiss to her temple. He's anxious to see what the doctor says and he finds himself staring as he waits.

Taylor looks up at the doctor when she finishes and steps back. She tells them that she's more than halfway through and it should be any time in the next one or two hours that their baby girl would be ready to make her entrance. Taylor is so thankful to hear this and happy to know that this all seemed to be going so quickly.

Sam is definitely surprised when the doctor says that things are still moving that quickly but he's incredibly thankful as well. When the doctor leaves, he leans in for a quick kiss. "You're doing so good, baby and thankfully it's almost over."

Taylor kisses him back quickly, "It better be. I just want to meet her. I feel like it just feels like it's moving fast because I did a lot of this at home."

Sam nods, "that could be it. It makes me glad that we did it that way. It was much more enjoyable to be home then it is to be here."

Taylor bites her lip and shrugs, "Think I like being her better. Makes me feel safer, I guess. Not that I don't feel safe at home, just feel better being here while I'm going through this."

Sam "Really? Well, then I'm glad that we're here now and that you can relax a bit." He says with a shrug. He had always had a strong distaste for hospitals so being here had him a little bit on edge.

Taylor tries to pull him a little bit closer, "Once she's out, though, I'm going to be incredibly nervous and I'll just want to go home."

Sam "I wish we could be home right now so I'll be doing everything I can to move along the discharge process. The nurses are gonna be begging to get rid of me." He laughs.

Taylor smiles softly, "I feel like we'll have enough experienced help from our parents that we'd be able to figure it out on our own."

Sam "Most parents know next to nothing when they become parents. Figuring things out as we go along is pretty much expected."

Taylor nods, "Yeah, we'll figure stuff out and we have our own parents to help us." She reminds him.

Sam "Eh, we won't need help. We've got this. It's not like either of us have never been around babies before." He chuckles, trying to keep the mood light and optimistic.

Taylor shrugs, "It's just nice to know that we'll have it at first. I'm already a little nervous about it."

Sam is definitely surprised when the doctor says that things are still moving that quickly but he's incredibly thankful as well. When the doctor leaves, he leans in for a quick kiss. "You're doing so good, baby and thankfully it's almost over."

Taylor kisses him back quickly, "It better be. I just want to meet her. I feel like it just feels like it's moving fast because I did a lot of this at home."

Sam nods, "that could be it. It makes me glad that we did it that way. It was much more enjoyable to be home then it is to be here."

Taylor bites her lip and shrugs, "Think I like being her better. Makes me feel safer, I guess. Not that I don't feel safe at home, just feel better being here while I'm going through this."

Sam "Really? Well, then I'm glad that we're here now and that you can relax a bit." He says with a shrug. He had always had a strong distaste for hospitals so being here had him a little bit on edge.

Taylor tries to pull him a little bit closer, "Once she's out, though, I'm going to be incredibly nervous and I'll just want to go home."

Sam "I wish we could be home right now so I'll be doing everything I can to move along the discharge process. The nurses are gonna be begging to get rid of me." He laughs.

Taylor smiles softly, "I feel like we'll have enough experienced help from our parents that we'd be able to figure it out on our own."

Sam "Most parents know next to nothing when they become parents. Figuring things out as we go along is pretty much expected."

Taylor nods, "Yeah, we'll figure stuff out and we have our own parents to help us." She reminds him.

Sam "Eh, we won't need help. We've got this. It's not like either of us have never been around babies before." He chuckles, trying to keep the mood light and optimistic.

Taylor shrugs, "It's just nice to know that we'll have it at first. I'm already a little nervous about it."

Sam "There's no need to be nervous. We're gonna be fine, babe." He reassures her.

Taylor "Well, I can't help it." She shrugs and looks at him with a small pout. She's about to speak again, but of course she's distracted by yet another contraction hitting and she cusses under her breath.

Sam gets closer to her when she's in pain again and he is definitely concerned by how often the contractions re now. He knows that that's a good thing but he wishes that she didn't have to hurt so bad.

Taylor takes some heavy breaths and she looks over at Sam with more tears in her eyes and her hand shaking again. "I-It just feels worse. Hurts, Sam." She cries softly, covering her mouth instantly. "I'm sorry, I don't wanna be like this. Ju-Just hurts. Feels awful."

Sam bites his lip and shakes his head. "No, stop. Don't be sorry. I know it hurts, babe, and I wish there was more that I could do for you. Tell me what I can do to make this better." He whispers, just so badly wanting to help and make her feel better however he could.

Taylor "I think you should get the doctor." She mumbles softly since the pain really hasn't subsided. "Feels different, feels worse. Maybe something is going wrong." She tells him, not really realizing that it's just Lennon starting to try and make her way out.

Sam instantly gets nervous at that and he starts to press the button for a nurse or a doctor to come in. That of course isn't quick enough so he goes to the door and tries to get someone's attention without actually needing to leave the room.

Taylor frowns when he walks away, but she understands it and waits impatiently for him or the doctor to come back into the room.

Sam gets the attention of a nurse who says she's gonna page the doctor. Once he's satisfied with that answer, he walks back over to the bed. "They're coming, babe. Just try and hang tight for a few seconds."

Taylor attempts to sit up a little more in the bed, "Want my mom to know, want your mom to know. I think that maybe this is happening." Telling family is definitely her first priority for some reason.

Sam "Don't worry about that right now, babe. I'll text them once the doctor comes in. Let's just focus on you for right now." He bites his lip, just wanting to focus on making sure that she's okay.

Taylor looks up when the doctor steps in. She tells her everything that she's feeling, so that of course leads to the doctor giving her a quick exam and then confirming that it's definitely time to start preparing because Lennon would be here any time now. Taylor bites her lip and looks up at Sam with nervous eyes, but she's definitely a little excited.

Sam feels a huge sense of relief wash over him when the doctor comes in and he starts to tap his foot nervously as he waits for the doctor to do the exam. When the doctor says that Lennon is gonna be here soon, a huge grin spreads on his lip. "Oh my gosh. We're gonna have a baby." He says out loud, looking down at Taylor excitedly.

Taylor instantly reaches out for Sam's hand and she smiles nervously, clearly letting her own nerves get the best of her. "Yeah." She whispers softly and squeezes his hand. "Bu-But I don't think that I'm ready.."

Sam raises his brows at that and then he nods a few times. "You are ready. Of course you are." He tells her, trying to keep her calm and let her know that everything is going to be okay.

Taylor is growing more nervous as the doctor's and nurses move around her, "I-I am, but I'm not. It's both, I'm scared."

Sam "Don't be scared, baby. It's all gonna be just fine. I promise you." He says, squeezing her hand extra tight as he looks around the room.

Taylor watches as the doctor sits in front of her and she knows that whether she's ready or not, their baby girl is coming. Of course that thought is nerve wracking, but it won't be long before that's replaced with excitement.

Sam can't help but watch all of the activity around him, the excitement in him only doubling. Of course he's a bit nervous, too, the thought of Taylor having to do all of this without pain medicine definitely making him a bit nervous.

Taylor can feel another contraction coming along, but she's also focused on what the doctor is telling her to do and what she's telling Sam to do to help. It isn't long before she's instructed to begin and she immediately grabs onto Sam's hand.

Sam follows the doctor's instruction and he uses one of his hands to hold her leg up for her. When she grabs his hand, he takes it and squeezes it tight. He lowers his face so that he's right by her and can whisper to her. "You're doing great, baby."

Taylor listens to the doctor and begins, clearly not giving it her all at first and that's definitely caused because of fear. She squeezes his hand super tight though and winces as she pushes again.

Sam notices that she's holding back and he presses a kiss to her temple. "Come on, baby. You can do this." He encourages her, just wanting her to be out of pain as soon as possible.

Taylor lets his words encourage her a little more and she starts putting in more effort, letting out a few quiet cries of pain here and there. After a few minutes of trying, she puts her head back on the pillow and takes a few heavy breaths. She's got tears in her eyes and is already feeling exhausted.

Sam keeps encouraging her as she pushes, constantly telling her how proud he is of her. When she lays back against the pillow, he kisses her forehead. "You're so amazing, baby girl. I'm so freakin amazing by you." He tells her honestly. "Do you want a sip of some water?"

Taylor shakes her head as she catches her breath, "N-No, just want this to be over with." She tells him right as the doctor instructs her to start again, not really giving her much of a break at all.

Sam "It's gonna be over so soon. You're so close, baby. So, so close." He whispers as he kisses her forehead yet again. When the doctor instructs her to go again, he gives a look, wanting her to get to rest.

Taylor whimpers in pain before starting again, knowing that the quicker she does this then the quicker it'll be over. She continues to give a lot of effort, still letting out cries of pain every once in awhile and holding tight to her boyfriend's hand. It isn't long before the doctor announces that Lennon's head is out and she rests again. She looks up at Sam with tears coming down her cheeks, "Babe, want it to stop. Want her to be here, want it to be over." She tells him.

Sam feels his heart slowly breaking with each cry of pain that comes from her. If he could, he would be the one experiencing all of this pain and he hates that she has to go through it. When the doctor says that, his eyes go wide in shock and anxiousness. When he sees her crying, he tries to wipe her tears and he pushes her hair back softly. "It's almost over. You're so close to being done and then you can just rest. You'll finally be able to relax." He tells her.

Taylor moves around uncomfortably for a moment and bites her lip nervously as she listens to him. He's definitely been able to keep her super strong throughout this and that makes her feel even better. Soon, the doctor instructs her to start again and she does just that.

Sam looks back and forth between her face and the doctor as the time seems to go painfully slow. He keeps his hand on her leg and he rubs her knee softly as another way to comfort her. "Almost over, baby. She's right there." He whispers, squeezing her hand super tight.

Taylor gives a few more super strong pushes and in just a few minutes, the room echoes with the sounds of their baby girls cry. She's placed on Taylor's chest immediately and she looks down, her eyes welling up with tears of joy and relief as she looks at Lennon. "Oh my gosh..." She whispers happily.

Sam makes sure to keep reassuring her the entire time and time seems to completely still as their baby is born and placed on Taylor's chest. He quickly tries to wipe the few tears that have fallen down his own cheeks. He is too stunned to even say anything so he just stares down at the baby with a smile.

Taylor continues to look at Lennon and then back up at Sam multiple times in complete shock and happiness. She leans forward and presses a ton of kisses to the top of their baby girl's head and then looks up at Sam when the doctor asks if he wants to cut the cord.

Sam is still kind of frozen in shock but it's the good kind of shock and he's definitely still smiling. He nods at the doctor's question and leans forward to follow the exact instructions. Once the cord is cut, the doctor says they're gonna take the baby to go weigh and measure her.

Taylor watches Sam cut the cord and reaches up to wipe the tears that continue to fall. She nods and when the doctor takes Lennon off of her chest, she looks up at her boyfriend with the biggest smile on her face. "Oh my goodness..."

Sam watches the nurse that takes Lennon and his eyes follow the two of them to the side of the room. When Taylor speaks, he looks down at her and he laughs a little bit still in complete disbelief. "Holy crap. We have a kid... We're parents."

Taylor giggles happily and leans up in an attempt to kiss him. "We are! We're freaking parents! Go! Go take pictures, babe. I don't want to miss anything." She tells him.

Sam leans down to meet her lips and kisses her softly. He pulls back but let's his lips hover near her face. "Are you sure? I want to stay with you, though. Don't wanna leave you..."

Taylor nods immediately, "Yes, I'm sure. Please, I want pictures! Want you to see her." She tells him, being completely honest.

Sam is definitely reluctant to leave her but after kissing her one last time, he goes over to watch them cleaning up Lennon and taking all of her vitals.

Taylor listens to the doctor to finish up what she needs to do and it isn't long before the nurses have fixed her all up and given her a blanket. She looks over at Sam, super eager to hold their new baby girl.

Sam watches everything and takes a few pictures before the nurse says they're gonna wrap her up and bring her over in a minute. He nods and then goes over to Taylor again. "They're gonna bring her over in a second." He tells her, kissing her forehead.

Taylor "Is she perfect? So perfect? I can't wait to hold her!" She says, looking up at him.

[nprhereandnow]

How An Opioid Addict Got Sober

Morphine Sulfate, OxyContin and Opana are displayed for a photograph in Carmichael, California, on Jan. 18, 2013. (Rich Pedroncelli/AP)

Yesterday we heard from Dr. Caleb Alexander, co-director of the Johns Hopkins Center for Drug Safety and Effectiveness, about how to combat the opioid crisis in the U.S.

Today, Here & Now's Jeremy Hobson talks with Nick Roberts, a recovering addict from St. Albans, West Virginia, about how he got sober and what he thinks might help others kick their deadly habits.

Interview Highlights

On how his addiction started

"I had a pretty all-American childhood, I guess you could say. I had a loving family. There was no traumatic event that sparked anything. If I could trace it back as early as I possibly can, I would say when I was about 12 years old, I had a minor surgery on my toe. The doctor wrote me a prescription for some pretty heavy narcotic pain medicine. There was no need for me to be on this kind of medication for that amount of time. I went home, and I was starting to feel a little bit of physical pain, so my mom gave me one of the pills. And this weird thing happened where, not only did the physical pain go away, but the mental feelings of inferiority and feeling less-than kinda subsided as well. I just remember that moment so clearly as for the first time, I imagined I felt like other people felt. I knew there was something out there that I could put into my body that would make me feel normal.

"I was in high school and I would experiment with marijuana and alcohol on the weekends. Then, my focus kinda went away from sports, friends, school, to getting high, drinking as much as I could. It quickly progressed from just marijuana and alcohol to pain pills, to cocaine, and then it progressed as far as finding a needle and doing things that I said I would never do to maintain my addiction."

On how he obtained drugs

"That's a tough question because, if I wanted a prescription of, say, opiates, it was a little more difficult to get it the legal route than it was to just call up a friend that I knew had some. The system was working in that regard. I found no way to, as a young person who's relatively healthy, to abuse the doctor system that way. I went straight to the streets, and that's where I was most successful at getting pills."

On how bad his addiction got before he decided to start recovery

"I lost my car, my apartment and my girlfriend all in one week from one bad episode. I ended up moving back in with my mom at age 25. For about three months of living in her house, waking up every day religiously at 4:30 in the morning, sick from withdrawals. I hated my life. I wasn't going to end my life, but I didn't care if I died. I remember my mom walked in one morning. I was laying there in bed, curled up, sick. She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at me and said, ‘Nick, I'm not gonna watch you die in my house. You can either get out of my house, or I will take you to treatment.’ That ultimatum saved my life. If she hadn't have done that, I would have overdosed and died. I'm sure of that."

"I needed someone that cared enough about me that they would show tough love. I didn't have the mental clarity to say, ‘Hey, my life has spiraled completely out of control.’ I had to get slapped in the face by reality."

"Once we can kinda break this image of the addict being morally inferior, then people I think would be more prone to admit that they have a problem."- Nick Roberts

On the program that helped him recover

"I remember very clearly the very first day that I got there to Recovery Point of Huntington. I carried my suitcase back to the director's office, and I sat down. He said, ‘Just so you know, I was sitting right where you're at five years ago.’ That just kind of went through me. I had been to treatment facilities before, and been exposed to 12-step meetings, and met with psychiatrists and psychologists. But I had never really sat down and talked with someone that had been where I was at, and seemed to be successful, happy, living a normal life. He said, ‘What makes you... why should I give you a bed? We have a waiting list of 100 people literally dying to get in here. Why should you go first?’ And I said, ‘My thinking is messed up.’ I don't know why I said that, I don't know how I had that clarity of mind to say that, but he smiled a little bit and he said, ‘We've got a bed for you.’ They took me into detox, and that's where my recovery began on April 13, 2012."

On being sober

"I think that's part of the misconception a lot of people have, especially active addicts. We've bought into this image of a person in recovery as someone that is just white knuckling it through the day to stay sober. They're just hanging on for dear life. And it's not like that at all. The first three weeks in recovery were pretty rough. I was mentally obsessing on using, I was physically sick. But, after those first three weeks, I started developing new habits through this program. We would go to classes and learn things about the effects of drugs on the brain, and alcohol on liver enzymes, and the history of AA and NA.

“I was given a master's degree in myself, pretty much. It took that education and being exposed to real people in recovery who had done things much worse than I had ever dreamed of, and somehow they were putting months together, years together without using. The kicker was they seemed genuinely happy about it. Me, today, five years sober. I'm married, I have a newborn daughter, I get to be a step-father to a great young 8-year-old boy. I will graduate with my bachelor's degree in English this May, and I have a full-time job. You could not tell me that I would have all these things and go through the day without even thinking about drugs and alcohol." On what he thinks would solve the opioid crisis

"That's a big question. I think a lot of people smarter than I am need to come together and address it. But I think it starts with education. If I just go by my own personal experience, this stigma of addiction has to be shattered. People have to realize that it is a disease. It was classified by the American Medical Association as a disease in 1985. Once we can kinda break this image of the addict being morally inferior, then people I think would be more prone to admit that they have a problem.

“Then it gets into step two of what we need to address, which is the availability of treatment. Unfortunately, when an addict finally asks for help, there is a very small window of opportunity for them to get help. That willingness quickly goes away. Unfortunately, in the state of West Virginia, we have many facilities, residential facilities, for drug and alcohol rehabilitation, but they carry with them long waiting lists. Particularly like Recovery Point of Huntington which I went through, you go through it no cost to the client. You can imagine how long a waiting list for a program like that would be."

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