#cw doctor assisted suicide

[cmentary-drive]

Victor with his theraphy horse :)

cw: mentions of suicide

Victor was studying to become a doctor, deja vu of the racing college life and academic pressure led to his attempt of taking his own life.

After the failed attempt, he was reccomended to change his enviroment, reconect with nature - have some peace and calm, take his time to heal. He settled in dundull and even tho he dropped out of college - he's working as Dr. Eiren's assistant. Quiet, peacfull slow life - little pressure and doing something useful for those in need. Mistfall offered him all he needed.

[morimakesfanart]

Sindria's Prophet #38

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[AO3] [wattpad]

*CW -cults+ mentioned; child abuse mentioned; suicide attempts implied

~POV Mori~

While I was sick, the magicians developing alchemy magic were able to make a wider range of materials by doing something closer to assisted chemistry; they started transmuting rubber from the milky saps of some plants -like the rubber gloves from my medical scrolls. It was inspiring! With the power of success and dopamine I finalized my printing press schematics in only 2 days.

These accomplishments were later brought up at the morning Assembly, not by the people making them, but by Ja'far and the accountants of the White Capricorn Tower. "Even before becoming the official Prophet of Sindria, Mori has help our magicians, engineers and doctors make leaps and bounds of progress in their fields. Many countries of the Alliance have agreed to help fund these projects and have already preordered scrolls of the information. *However,*" he held up a document, "due to all of the extra people and resources needed we are already over budget for the year! And so we request that the Prophet not invent anything new for the rest of this quarter and the next. This way we will have time to start finalizing what we already have for production and can start receiving a return on these investments."

Yamuraiha jumped to my defense. "The work Mori has been doing in the Black Libra Tower has been revolutionary! How can you say you don't have a budget for life changing-"

"I am not denying their contributions! We simply can't afford this rate of advancements!"

I raised a hand to get their attention. "If there's no budget, then there's no budget. However, I can't just sit around and do nothing for 5 months."

There was a bit of a back and forth, and eventually it was agreed that I would continue helping in the Black Libra Tower, but any future schematics would be placed on hold and judged for priority by the researchers and accountants. And so I went to working as an encyclopedia in the mornings, and would work on Fate scrolls after lunch.

---

The Great Bell rang, and thanks to the power of hyperfixation, none of us could tell what time it was. Not long after, I noticed a familiar shift in the waves that gave me the answer. Knowing who was coming gave me another boost to get a little more done.

Menachem greeted him when he arrived. "Ah- good morning, your Majesty."

Sinbad's laugh made my heart race. "Yes. Good morning." For the past week, King Sinbad had came in person every other day for updates even though it would be covered in the next morning's Assembly. The violet haired man walked over to where I was sitting, while showing me the world's most charming smile. "Mori. How are you doing?"

'Excited. Happy. Nervous. Embarrassed. Confused. Self-conscious.' He hadn't said anything directly flirty since I was sick. And yet, it was noticeably harder to refute the Magicians' claims. Sinbad had said at the Announcement that he didn't want to play at flirting with me, and wanted to become someone I could trust. He certainly didn't trigger my lactose intolerance anymore. 'He said he wanted to move me to the Purple Leo Tower.'

I fought back the urge to hide. "I'm fine." The room definitely felt hotter than it did a minute ago. I re-explained what I had gone over with the magicians. Sinbad nodded along and asked questions at all the right times. He also remembered the things I had said previous days. He made me feel validated and respected every time he stopped by. It was becoming increasingly bad for my heart.

There was a suspicious amount of people meandering nearby. Most were watching us out of the corners of their eyes. At least the magicians didn't comment as much as the first time they saw the pink Rukh around us. Although, it was getting easier to judge when they were looking at the Rukh even without those comments.

The King smiled, and I cursed his ability to charm me without flirting. He used a hand to point at the scroll from over my shoulder. He was much closer than I realized; I would only need to lean over a little to make contact. Just like how he had stopped overtly flirting, he hadn't touched me either. He knew I needed space, and I was grateful for that, but it also illustrated for me just how used to his skinship I had become.

I couldn't do this anymore. It hurt too much. I was projecting my past onto someone who might actually reciprocate my feelings. What I was feeling might not have anything to do with the present or him as a person. I could just be recognizing my past in him and repeating those patterns while hoping for a different ending. But the patterns include the endings, and if I wasn't self-aware enough I'd force those endings out of fear of being caught unaware. Even if Sinbad actually liked me now, the attention he showed me would dry up eventually, right? I require closed relationships so eventually he'll come to resent me for limiting his options. We aren't compatible. The waves rose slightly and I couldn't ignore the thought that this was fanfiction, so anything was possible.

"Excuse me, Mx. Prophet?" A voice called for me from the entrance to the library.

'OH THANK GOD' I was saved! "Yes??" I looked in the direction of the voice and called back. "Do you need something?" My face was finally starting to cool down. At least now I could stop thinking about how easy it would be to touch Sinbad. 'Remember who he is in 5 years.'

The worker appeared from around a line of bookshelves. He froze at the site of the man next to me for a moment before giving the message. "There's a- There's a blacksmith looking for you."

'A blacksmith?' "THE SCISSORS!" I was out of my seat in a flash. My brain shifted gears quickly after passing through the doorway into the hall.

The blacksmith that made the scissors during my first week in Sindria understood how important of a development this was and came to talk to the designer, me, shortly after seeing who I was at the Announcement. If he was here to see me again, he must have finished some prototypes for different types of scissors! The thing that made the evolution from shears to scissors so important was the addition of the hinge to the tool. There was no time to worry about Sinbad right now! There was history happening!

---

~POV Sinbad~

Sinbad had figured out that Mori wasn't the type to leave in the middle of work, even when she was putty in his hands. So, what was so important that she was willing to leave while in the middle of talking with her King about said work? They wouldn't have been interrupted if Mori had her own office. Sinbad crossed his arms as he watched them leave. At least she looked excited for whatever this was about.

Menachem came back over, as if he hadn't just been enjoying the show from behind a potted plant. "You know, your Majesty, I didn't think it was the case at first, but now I'd be willing to bet money that the Lady Prophet has blue Rukh." He stroked his beard as he talked. "You're going to have to be more direct if you want her attention." The old man laughed.

Sinbad sighed a laugh back and shook his head, but didn't answer.

There was a superstition that you could tell a lot about a person's personality from what type of Rukh they had. People with Type 2-Blue Rukh were said to get lost in their personal interests, and struggle to recognize romantic advances. That first part definitely sounded like his Beautiful Prophet, but Sinbad wasn't sure about the second. Mori was ignoring his signals on purpose. It would take a while to convince them he was worth the risk.

((In one of the Magi extras Yunan describes these Rukh based personality types with canon characters as examples. It's not stated as common knowledge. I wanted to add it because it reminded me of the way people talk about astrology signs sometimes :3 Btw, according to the manga's personality quiz, I normally get Rukh type 7 -the same a Sin. Sometimes I get Type-2, 8, or. 4))

When Sinbad turned the corner, Mori was already out of sight. Not a problem; the waves would lead him. The King found them on the first floor talking with a burly old man that was a known blacksmith.

Mori had two fingers in rings with blades attached. "This pair is really close to the ones I first commissioned. Thanks again for those. I've been able to cut my bangs without worrying about accidently shaving my eyebrows with a knife."

Sinbad walked up to them. "How would someone even do that?"

Mori turned to him with a knowing smile. Her cheeks turned a little pink when they made eye contact. "I didn't think it was possible until I saw it happen in one of my visions. He had to go without sleep for several days, and often cuts the left side of his bangs too short." Sinbad unconsciously brushed his bangs at the mention of a habit he knew he had. "He was lucky that he knew a magician that was able to regrow it." She wasn't talking about him, right?

"Hello, your Majesty," the blacksmith greeted King Sinbad before explaining: he had originally wanted to make a deal with the designer to make and sell scissors, but after finding out that person was the Prophet he wasn't sure if that was acceptable -the information from the Prophet's visions were the property of the King. The two had been working on a pitch together which Mori immediately got into since Sinbad was clearly available.

The King examined one of the pairs of scissors during the explanation. He could see how this allowed a higher level of finesse then shears or a knife for certain tasks. This would be a profitable and widespread product even if Mori's visions weren't right. Still, those eyes full of expectations just made him want to tease her. "You know Mori, I remember you agreeing to withhold on inventing things for the time being."

"Ah- Well..." Her surprise was cute. "I actually reinvented scissors before I made that agreement!"

He smiled down at her. "I'm not sure if that will be enough to convince Ja'far and the others."

Mori froze as she calculated her next strategy. The waves did not give Sinbad enough warning before she made her way over to him and placed her hands on his forearm. "You'll help me then," her fingers made his skin tingle, "right? My King?" Sinbad couldn't look away from the eyes glittering up at him.

How long had he been holding back only for Mori to touch him first? He'd relent even if she hadn't invented them beforehand; the production wasn't coming from the Palace budget anyway. "Of course." Sinbad smiled down at his Beautiful Prophet. He sheathed the scissors he was holding and turned to the blacksmith. "I brought Mori to Sindria so they could help all of my citizens thrive."

The conversation wrapped up quickly after that. And through the whole thing, the King couldn't stop thinking about the hands holding onto him so affectionately. Without looking, Sinbad put his free hand over one of Mori's to keep it on his arm a little longer. But it didn't stop her from pulling away after the blacksmith left.

The person pulling at his heart started to head back towards the stairs to return to the library. He wasn't ready to part ways yet, but there was also no reason he could think of to follow them back. "Mori. Would you tell me more over lunch?" He had been trying to keep their time together to a minimum for Mori's benefit, but if they were reaching out to him then it should be fine to take the next step, right?

The waves moved between them, and Mori looked back his way. "Oh. Um..."

"These inventions from your visions are so interesting. And we could discuss some potential future inventions."

Their smile was nervous but not forced. "Yeah. Okay."

Sinbad offered his arm to them like he did in the past when they walked together, but Mori declined even though she had just been clinging onto him so sweetly. They walked side by side, but the distance between them felt larger than before. She made his heart race and then dropped it when she got her way. It made him think of their first dinner together. She claimed she was seducing him just like he seduced others to get his way. He really had no idea how it felt to be on the receiving end until now.

---

~POV Mori~

Multiple scrolls laid out on the table in my room drying. I had reached the slave arc in copying down Fate. After drawing the first pic of Sinbad fighting little Masrur in the Coliseum, I couldn't bring myself to draw again until I reached Ja'far punching Sinbad when he was freed. I laid on the floor between the pools of light from the windows to cool down my ruminating.

Seeing Sinbad go through it and directly acknowledge how horrible it is and eventually go numb... There was an eerie beauty in it -like a memento mori. 'I'm disgusting.'

((CW until marked))

The Slave Arc is my favorite arc in the Adventures manga -not because of what happens, but because of how it affected me. When my mom was hospitalized, and then died, she could no longer stop me from seeking therapy. When I explained my home life and childhood to my personal therapist, I was told that it sounded like the stories of children raised in cults and manipulated to become slaves for the leaders. Even though it was a comparison I made when I was young, I thought it had to be inflated hyperbole until I read how Maader indoctrinated Sinbad and the slave children. I was never put in a collar, but I related way too much. It got me to look up actual cults and victim stories. The abuse I grew up in was the same level of high control.

My mom almost died having my sibling and it changed her. By the time I turned 10 I couldn't deny there was something wrong with how my parents treated us. The one thing saving us from complete brain washing was that they couldn't afford to home school us. I tried to ask outside adults for help, but my mom was too well known in the community and I didn't emote properly. So when I read the scene where Sinbad convinces the children to rebel, I cried. I didn't care that he was manipulating them from his perspective; he validated the pain they were hiding, and gave them agency long before I got it. Yes, many of the slave children died in the rebellion, but many also lived to finally be free. When the cruel refuse to stop nothing can change until someone dies. Many have risked their lives for that reason.

Just like them, I knew nothing would change in my life unless someone died. The conversation Sinbad has with himself after he remembers his life's purpose was very similar to the one I had with myself from 12-14 years old -especially after how my parents normalized suicide. I realized it wasn't worth the risk to fight back , but also I chose to stay living anyway at the last second so I could continue to protect Lyly from our parents; and when they were a little older, Lyly chose to live to support me too. 'You can't protect anyone if you're dead.' No one was coming to save us so we had to learn to survive and protect ourselves. ((Yes, the thing Mori said to Alibaba in ch6 was this mantra I made for myself))

Our mother was already working herself to an early grave when I was child. She was rapidly aging from stress. I knew we had a strong chance of outliving her as long as we were able to hold on. Still, I wish she would have changed before she was on her deathbed. Her last words were an apology to Lyly. Things greatly improved after our mom died in 2016. Knowing how things were going for the other me, gave me peace of mind. Both versions were healing. I didn't feel as guilty for wanting to stay in this world anymore.

((End of CW))

I needed breaks because, just like being reminded of my own past, Sinbad wasn't just a character to me anymore. It felt wrong to draw any scene where he was shackled. Even if I never showed him this scroll, I didn't want to immortalize it. There were a few panels I had always wanted to redraw because they helped me process my own experience, but now that I was in this world I couldn't do it. If I ever drew them for the catharsis, I'd have to burn them afterwards. Each time I reached the plot points for one of those panels I had to step away and go through the same cycle of thoughts before I returned to the table and continued writing without drawing again.

"Ugh~" Who would have guessed that writing would help me process and get the ruminating out of my system? Me, actually, because this is always how I process things. I had separate scrolls for my ruminations so they wouldn't get in the way of the Fate scrolls, and because I kept writing in a circle. At least each time the rants got shorter. I'd already written this or that, and continuing to write the same thing gets frustrating to the point that I am forced to move forward. Like all types of mourning, it will always be there, but it can't hold me down forever unless I let it.

I couldn't stop the waves of disgust I had for myself. When I had originally read this arc, it carved Sinbad into my heart. It made me think, 'This person would understand me.' But I wasn't projecting my experience onto a character anymore; I was projecting it onto a real person who went through far worse than I ever did. I pressed my palms into my eyes. Ruminating was far easier than addressing this. I had to strip away all of my projections so I could see him clearly. And not just the Sinbad I read about, but the one who talked to me regularly and called me '(his) Beautiful Prophet.' Sinbad said he wanted to find a new path, but what would it even look like? What would it take for me to recognize it?

((I forgot to draw the curtains again...I really don't want to fix it though, so please pretend there are curtains framing the window.))

The sound of fluttering drew my attention. I had left my windows open on purpose in case Sinbird decided to stop by, but I also didn't think I would cycle this hard. I removed my hands from my eyes and looked up to see the possessed bird in one of the windows watching me.

"Hi, Sin. I'm okay. Just doing a big think, and that's easier from the floor."

The bird flew from the window to perch on one of the chairs at the table.

"I've been working on Fate scrolls. I want to get a few more done before I pass them off to you. I know this room probably isn't the most secure-"

'The vent scroll!' I sat up with a jolt and stumbled my way to the table after getting up too quickly. Sinbird flapped his wings in surprise when I yanked the vent scroll off the table. "This one is personal." I started rolling it up. "I don't mind talking about my past or feelings if you ask, but I'd rather you didn't read my unfiltered thoughts."

The bird watched me. I wished I knew what he was thinking.

I walked across the room, and put the tied scroll within the growing pile filling one of my bedside dressers. "It would be nice if I had somewhere to store these. This room isn't exactly designed for me to be using it as an office."

Wings flapped behind me and the bird landed on my shoulder as I turned to see what he was up to. He gave a small trill and I had the feeling he was proud of himself for something.

"We're both lucky that bird doesn't have talons, you know?" I was definitely going to need perches for him, and to start wearing a shoulder cloth that I wouldn't have to worry about getting pulls. As the bird watched me innocently another thought struck me, 'I probably shouldn't ask for a cat if I'm going to be visited by a bird frequently.'

((Hey, so you know how I said I was all better when I posted the last chapter? Apparently I was in the incubation period of COVID. It's out of my system now, but brain fog from long covid is kicking my ass. I had a bad fall last month because of it and got scraped up a bunch (including a little road rash). It's been 3 weeks and there's just the faintest remains of a scab left :D Just in time for my birthday (today) too! Here's hoping that my bad luck era is over!

Also, I am in a Magi server on discord. https://discord.gg/R5yzce4e I'm there all the time (and an admin). We talk about Magi, OCs, and fanfiction a lot))

[i-eat-worlds]

The Subject Part II

Things get a little bit better for B-127. Please tell me if you find any spelling or grammar mistakes.

CW: Pet Whump, Medical Whump, Restraints, Caretaker New Master, overheating, blink and you’ll miss it suicide ideation (this one is pretty chill)

The subject was jostled awake by the bouncing of the truck as it hit a pothole. It thunked against the walls of its crate as the truck drove along the rough road to the new facility. The back of the truck was pitch black, the air hot and humid. B127 ran its finger along the tight stitches in its chest. It could feel them tugging on its skin, preventing it from taking a whole breath.

The truck banked around a turn, sending the subject careening into the back of its crate and knocking the wind out of it. B127 struggled to breathe as it tried to get its bearings. The disorientation finally ended when the truck came to an abrupt halt, and B127 was thrown back to the back of the cage before being left on the floor in a painful, exhausted heap.

There was a beat of silence before the engine was cut, then the thump of metal against metal as the back of the truck was unlocked. Bright, too bright light flooded into the back of the truck as a man in work overalls walked in, blocking any view that the subject might have of the outside. A thick, dark blanket was thrown over its cage before it was wheeled out of the truck.

The cart came to a stop at the bottom of a ramp. It could hear two men talking near it. “Once you sign for it, we’ll be all good to go.”

********************************** “Dr. Brenner?” His assistant popped her head through the door to his oce. “Mr. Nesbit has a delivery for you.”

The doctor frowned. “That’s odd. Haven’t ordered any supplies recently.” He started to get up from his seat. “I'll talk to him. Thank you, Delilah.”

His brow furrowed as he headed towards the loading dock. With any other facility manager, it would have been nothing, just a labeling mistake, but Nesbit never bothered him for something trivial. The facility manager had always been very clear about that. “The work you do is important.” He would say. “I won’t distract you unless what I need is importanter.”

The door opened with a beep as Dr. Brenner swiped his card. The facility manager stood next to a blue cart. A thick, black blanket was draped over a box-like object on the cart. Brenner didn’t have to ask to know what it was. “Seriously, Logan.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve already got three.”

“The powers that be decided that you could take another one, Chase,” Nesbit said. His voice dropped real low. “They’re from Hemlock. I couldn’t turn them away.” The blood drained from Brenner’s face. Hemlock Lab’s reputation was terrible when it came to how they treated their subjects. He knew that rsthand. Every single one that had come his way had been absolutely brutalized, and he knew that this one would be no dierent. “You do great work…”

“I know.” Dr. Brenner said as he stepped behind the cart. “I’ll do it.”

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

B127 curls up tightly as the new man-Dr. Brenner, it thinks it overheard-pushes him over the threshold of the lab, trying to ignore the pit in its stomach. The new lab was going to be like all the others; the antiseptic smell boring into its nostrils, the chill from the high-powered ventilation systems, and the blinding lights that were amplied by the sterile white color of everything. Dr. Brenner would be worse than Dr. Glassener had been, and it was going to die.

It almost didn’t mind the thought.

“B127…” Dr. Brenner lightly tapped on the cage. “B127?” Was the doctor talking to it? When Dr. Glassener talked at it, that always meant it was going to be hurt. Usually, new doctors gave it a day to adjust, but maybe Dr. Brenner worked dierently. It didn’t really matter, in the end. It was going to be hurt anyway, did it make a dierence when? “Hey, I’m going to take of the blanket now.” B127 quickly adjusted themselves into the cramped kneeling position that they had been taught. At least the doctor had given it a warning, though. “It’s going to be bright. I’m sorry.” With that final apology, the blanket was pulled of the cage. Bright light assaulted it from every direction as Dr. Brenner unlocked the cage. It helped that the proper position for cages meant that its forehead was touching the floor, so it helped block some of the blinding light out. Patiently, it waited for the doctor to bind its outstretched hands or grab it roughly by its collar. Much to B127’s surprise, the doctor did neither of these things. Instead, he slowly reached his arms into the cage and gently scooped the subject up. It tried not to tremble as Dr. Brenner carried it into a smaller room o the large, ovular one where it had been unpackaged. This one was rectangular, with all sorts of monitors and screens on the walls, and a table in the middle. The table wasn’t like the cold metal one that Dr. Glassener had thought, it was more like the one it had gotten to lay on when it had been operated on in a real operating room. “I’m going to set you down now, okay?” Dr. Brenner gently laid B127 onto the table, then turned around to a cabinet that was mounted on the wall. B127’s heartbeat sped up.

Why was it not restrained? Surely Dr. Brenner wouldn’t forget such an important thing. Maybe that’s what the doctor was getting from the cabinet. It would be unthinkable to leave it unsecured, after all. But, when Dr. Brenner turned back around, he only had a stethoscope hung around his neck. He moved to the other corner of the room to retrieve the rolling table with instruments, pushing it to the side of the table. It tried not to inch away from the doctor. It should have known. Dr. Brenner was going to do an exploratory dissection, of course. The procedure was common practice in many laboratories, so why not here. The subject swallowed hard as the doctor pulled on a pair of gloves. If it was allowed to speak, it would’ve begged.

Tag list: @stabby-nunchucks

[keeper-of-all-the-random-things]

10. TOMMY

Whumptober | No. 4 Shock | No. 14 Water Inhalation

Previous | Next

Note: This one got rather long and is darker than I was planning. Please mind the warnings and tags and let me know if I missed anything.

CW: shock, water inhalation, whump of a minor (age 16), lady whumper, multiple whumpers, bruises, emotional manipulation, murder, blood, guilt, drowning, verbal abuse, implied suicide/assisted suicide.

*****

PROPHECY #64 - DELIVERED BY C– ON xx/xx/xxxx: THE FIRST SON WILL RISE, BORN AGAIN IN LIES. MANY CHOSEN FAIL. THE SECOND SON PREVAILS.

…..

“It’s alright,” Nora says, reaching out to comfort the boy huddled against the wall.  “It was self-defense.  It’s alright.”

The man bleeding on the other side of the room is definitely not alright.  He will be dead in a matter of minutes, but he doesn’t matter.  He isn’t important anymore.

“You’re okay,” Nora coos.  She wipes tears from the boy’s face.  “It’s not your fault, Tommy.  He was trying to hurt you.”

She continues to offer reassurances until Tommy crawls into her arms like a young child.  His sniffling annoys her, but she pushes the feeling aside and rubs his back in small circles.  She needs him to believe her so he will do it again.

…..

Lenier is awake today.  Tommy watches warily as the new doctor takes blood from Lane’s arm. 

Tommy doesn’t trust the doctors, not after the first one, but he trusts Nora, and she believes in them completely.  He tried to tell her his concerns when the second doctor came after him.  Nora had looked at him with such grief in her eyes, he felt guilty for bringing it up.

“Please, Tommy,” she said.  “Just a little longer.  They can help my son!  They can make him better.  Don’t you want that too?”

Lane smiles over the new doctor’s shoulder, and Tommy feels another wave of guilt. Lane is like a brother to him.  Of course he wants him to get better.  But what price is too high?  Tommy has already paid for Lane’s life, two bodies buried behind the compound.

“What are you thinking about?” Lane asks as the new doctor leaves.

“Nothing,” Tommy replies, coming closer to lean on the foot of Lane’s bed.

“Liar.”

“Fine.”

“I’m gonna get better,” Lane says, reading the worry in Tommy’s face.  “Mom says this is it!  What’d’ya think of that?”

Tommy can’t tell if Lane feigns his enthusiasm or if he really is that optimistic.  He can’t ruin it, either way.

“I think that’s fantastic,” he says.

…..

Lanier hasn’t woken up for three days now.  The new doctor becomes increasingly impatient, and Nora worries he’ll do something rash.  She feeds him lies until he does what she wants.

The new doctor corners Tommy in one of the unused rooms.  Nora waits outside the door.  She knows this is hard for Tommy, but she’ll be right there to comfort him when it’s done.

“This is your fault,” the new doctor says.

“No.”  Tommy is barely audible through the door.

The new doctor is easy to hear.  “You’re always in the way.  You’re a distraction.  He’ll never recover like this.”

“You’re wrong,”

“If it weren’t for you, he could have been healthy long ago.”

“Stop.”

Nora flinches when the doctor hits Tommy, the crack of his palm across Tommy’s face louder to her than either of their voices.

She hates this part, but it is necessary.

There is shouting as the new doctor and Tommy fight.  Tommy will win.  Nora made sure of it when she gave him the knife.  It wasn’t what he was looking for when he voiced his concerns, but it was what she could give.

She waits until the sounds of struggle cease, then waits some more so she doesn’t seem eager.

Then she runs in.  “Tommy?  Oh my god.  Tommy!  Are you all right?”

…..

Tommy hurts.  

The new doctor was more aggressive than the others and had managed a few good hits before Tommy pulled himself together.

Nora rushes to offer reassurances after the fact.

Tommy’s body aches, but Nora, he thinks, is not as sincere as she says, and that hurts more than bruises.

…..

Lanier is awake again, but Tommy doesn’t dare visit.  If he keeps away, this doctor can’t blame him when things inevitably go wrong.

…..

Tommy is catching on.

Nora has a brief moment of panic before she settles on a plan.

One last doctor. And a backup.  Just in case.

It isn’t hard to find Tommy; he doesn’t leave his room much anymore.

Nora arranges her face in what she hopes looks like concern.  She opens the door for the doctor.

Tommy is sitting on his bed when they arrive but quickly gets up and backs away.

“I didn’t do anything,” he says.

“This isn’t about Lane,” Nora tells him.  “The doctor is here for you.  You haven’t been yourself lately.”

Tommy shakes his head.  “I’m fine.”

“Don’t you see, Tommy?  You’re like a second son to me.  I want you to get better as much as I do for Lane.”

“I don’t need help.”  Tommy keeps shaking his head as he backs himself into a corner.  “I’m fine.”

Nora hates the look of betrayal and pleading in his eyes.  “It’s for the best,” she says.

The doctor takes his cue and meets Tommy in the corner.

Nora pretends not to hear Tommy’s cry as the doctor sends a jolt of electricity into his side.

It’s all for the best.

…..

Tommy is drowning.  His tears are lost as the doctor holds him underwater.

When the doctor finally pulls him out, Nora is there frowning as if this were a tedious chore she has to get through.

The doctor leaves them alone.

“How are you?” Nora asks.

Tommy doesn’t answer, just pulls his knees to his chest in the freezing bath water.

“You left this in your room.”  Nora places something on the counter beside the tub.

He doesn’t look, but he can feel her frustration.

“I started looking for a replacement,” she says.

Tommy tells himself he doesn’t care what she does, but curiosity gets the better of him.  “What are you replacing?”

“You, Tommy, if you can’t pull yourself together.  I want you to meet the potentials.  Maybe they’ll inspire you.”

She leaves, and the room spins.  Tommy has only a moment to grab her present before the doctor returns.  It isn’t nearly enough time to fully comprehend what Nora said.

The doctor adds more ice to the tub and forces Tommy under.

Tommy goes limp beneath the doctor’s hand.  He has the uncharitable thought that his pain is Lane’s fault.  If Lane were gone, maybe Nora would love Tommy more.  There would be no more killing.  He would be enough.

He is still for too long, and his body protests.  He heaves a breath and inhales a lungful of water before the doctor lets him up.  The doctor seems unconcerned with Tommy’s drowning.  His grip is unrelenting as Tommy thrashes.

Tommy knows he is doing what Nora wants.  He doesn’t want to give in, doesn’t want to kill anyone else, but more than that, he doesn’t want to die.

He grips the knife, Nora’s gift and curse, and swings blindly with his waning strength.  He misses his target, but the doctor releases him long enough for him to breathe.

When Tommy gets out of the tub, he knows what to do.  

The doctor goes down easily, blood darkening the icy water.

…..

Lanier is awake.  He is awake and standing between Tommy and the boys who seek to replace him.

For a moment, Tommy thinks Nora is right to replace him.  Surely one of these boys could kill for her without being bothered with guilt.

But who for Lane?

Lane stands between Tommy and the others.  He doesn’t judge or blame Tommy for the deaths.

“What do I do?” Tommy asks, voice shaking, another body cooling at his feet.

The other boys’ voices fade to a dull roar as Lane steps closer to Tommy.

Tommy’s tight grip on the knife does nothing to stop his hands shaking.  “What do I do?” he whispers.  “Help me, please.”

Lane takes another step closer and smiles sadly.  “It’s okay.  This is always how it was going to end.  It’s not your fault.”

He holds Tommy’s wrists and pulls him into a crushing hug.  “Thank you,” he says in Tommy’s ear, and he goes limp, bringing them both to the ground.

Tommy’s burden of guilt is overtaken by a vast numbness.  His thoughts flee, and the world ends.

The other boys scatter.

Tommy takes his time.  They have nowhere to go.

[peachesnabsinthe]

Almost Two Weeks of Unemployment

** Tw/cw: This post contains discussions on chronic physical and mental illness. Things that may be discussed include personal medical diagnoses, treatment, and disability. Please be mindful before reading!**

So it has been almost 2 weeks of unemployment for me. It's been so difficult. I didn't think that I would take it so rough.

I did have my doctors appointment on Monday, and I was diagnosed with hEDS and POTS ( I have a whole list of other diagnoses as well, being disabled is SO FUN hahaHagfljsdga). It has been a very, very LONG and tedious process and I'm beyond exhausted. I've honestly been struggling with pretty severe suicidal ideation as well (don't worry, I'm fine, and any fellow folks struggling with this as well, I see you, and I feel you, and you're gonna be fine too believe it or not). I had been afraid of losing my job and my life drastically changing due to my physical health for many years, and now that it's happening, I've been struggling with such overwhelming grief.

However, I KNOW that this is the best decision I made, BECAUSE of the lifestyle changes that I'm going to have to make in order to get back to living more comfortably (and of course to just function in a more healthy/sustainable way). I already have an XRAY appointment set up to look at my neck/shoulder, hips, and hands. I am also going to start the Dallas-Levine Exercise Protocol soon, though I really need to do some research on whether or not I even have access to a Physical Therapist or someone/something to assist me (I'm honestly nervous to do it on my own, I sometimes injure myself just doing basic, low-impact 10 minute yoga videos).

I'm also incredibly lucky and incredibly grateful that my partner, friends and family have been so supportive and kind about everything going on. The majority of them don't know how to handle this, which is understandable because it's a lot and I don't know how to handle it either! I don't need anyone to give me tips or any advice, just them listening and holding space for me is so helpful. I am able to stop working and have the ability and privilege now to JUST focus on my health, and not many people get to do this. My new health insurance situation appears to be good, and I have a new PCP that actually gives a shit about me. And in this godforsaken country and state (howdy Okies), that's a damn good thing! Don't EVEN get me started on a healthcare discussion, I'm apparently not supposed to get too agitated or else my POTS flares up lmfaaaoo so I won't go there.

But yea. It's been rough. This week so far has been pretty intense. It's so hard trying to deprogram myself. All my life I have been told that I'm too sensitive, I'm a baby, you're just weak, it's not that bad, people have it worse than you, etc. and FUCK. ALL. THAT. NONSENSE. Zoë was a sick child, and is still a sick adult, and that's fine! Now I get to do what I need to do to heal myself, and it fucking sucks and seems miserable right now, but I'm alive and I have to keep going. Because there's still things to experience, even if I have to experience them in a way that is different from everyone else. My body and brain will never be like other people's, and that's okay! I get to deprogram and learn how to live my life in a way that will be best for me.

All that to say, if you are also struggling with mental and/or physical illness, you're not alone. and I see you.

[firstaidspray]

Birthday Countdown Revchase Snippets - Day 4

To celebrate Valentine's month as well as my birthday month, I'm going to post a snippet of Revchase every day until my birthday, using these prompts- there are 25 so it leads right up to my birthday!! I'm caught up now!! Here's four.

4- Write about your ship holding hands in a happy moment. 

Pairing: Robert Chase/Reverie (oc)

Media: House MD

Word Count: 634

Rating: T

CW: Brief mention of suicide/self harm

“Can't believe you really have to speak at this thing. I'd rather kill myself than go talk in front of a crowd like that.”

Everyone at the table– Chase, Wilson, Cameron, Foreman, and Cuddy– all look at Reverie with disapproval. Some of them flick their eyes from the scars on her arms, as if to explain silently why that was an inappropriate thing to say.

And she recognizes it, especially when Chase is the one to give her a look. Blush tinges her cheeks and she apologizes, “I mean, uh, good luck with your speech, Wilson. Couldn't pay me to get up on that stage.”

Chase looks at her as if to say, “that's better,” and takes a sip of his drink. Wilson smiles and shrugs, an air of boyish shyness about him.

“Oh, they're not paying me,” Wilson laughs. “This is just an honorary thing. And I'm honored. I'm especially honored that all of you guys showed up.”

Reverie nods, scanning the room, and then asks, “speaking of “all of us,” where the Hell is House?”

This earns sighs from everyone at the table. Foreman is the one to tell her, though. “House probably isn't coming. He's not good with things like this.”

“I see,” Reverie replies, chewing on her thumbnail. “By that I mean I see that House wouldn't be good with this.”

After this, the emcee begins announcing the upcoming speeches. And Reverie groans internally that she has to sit through three of them before Wilson's. Between the other doctors’ presentations, Reverie talks with Chase and the others in hushed tones– though they seem to be the ones who prefer to have a conversation over actually listening. Foreman even gave them a look to stop at one point. Cameron did, but Chase and Reverie didn't.

Finally, it's Wilson's turn– the Princeton-Plainsboro table begins clapping for him as he walks onto the stage. This time, she and Chase are quiet, and pay attention to what he's saying. Wilson's speech is much less boring to hear than the rest of the presenters, though the fact that he's their friend may form that bias.

“...and I'd like to thank our surgical staff, all of whom oncology would be nothing without,” Wilson mentions Reverie's department in his speech.

On the table, Chase reaches his hand over to Reverie's and links his fingers through hers. She looks over at him and smiles, which he returns.

“In particular, we have some surgical staff members who strive for perfection, for patient satisfaction, and their love of the work is evident in every action they take in the OR.” His big brown eyes seem to gaze directly at Reverie.

“He's talking about you,” Chase whisper-yells, an overjoyed smile on his face. His fingers squeeze her hand tight against his, their pulses nearly palpable through their palms.

“Without people like an enthusiastic, bright surgical assistant RN, for example,” Wilson begins, now very evidently looking at Reverie, “the surgical side of oncology would be so much more difficult, painful, and tedious. So, thanks to people like that nurse, oncological surgery is smooth sailing at Princeton-Plainsboro, and I couldn't be more satisfied with that.”

Reverie is blushing, her smiling face cherub-like with its rosy, round cheeks and sweet smile. Chase rubs a thumb across her knuckles and she tightens their grip on each other– holding hands while she's being indirectly praised feels like walking on air.

Until Wilson reaches the end of his speech, Reverie and Chase's hands remained intertwined, placed atop the table for all to see. Only when the presentation ends and they must unclasp fingers to clap for their friend do Reverie and Chase's hands leave each other, but after that, they end up in the exact same place. So tightly locked together, and displayed for all to see.

[echo-legend-vnandln]

Echo: At the End

Chapter: Noir 1

Notes: CW, allusion to suicide attempt, allusion to ideation, smoking

It's not enough”, a young blonde haired man thought to himself as he crossed through the once familiar lobby of the Summers Foundation. Though he kept his head down, he felt the quiet stares of those who were too cautious to approach. His hand trembled as he reached up to adjust the forest green scarf draped around his neck, stopping just shy of the fabric, feeling it would only further bring himself further attention.

Arriving at his first security checkpoint, he scanned his thumb print then entered, receiving a slight bow from the attendant just beyond, the movement mechanical as not to cause the slightest wrinkle in her maroon uniform vest. "Welcome back Dr. Noir."

"Thank you," the doctor responded, finally establishing a semblance of eye contact. 

Continuing forward, he turned his head, watching her back straighten then lower again as she greeted the next entrant by name in the same sterile manner, without judgment. If only that could be his entire day.

Arriving at the elevators, he broke from the crowd and stood before a lonely silver door. The young doctor tilted his head back, eyes locked on a small black dome just, letting the scanner inside read his face. After a small chime of acceptance, he entered the private chamber then selected 00. With that, he began to rise.

The digital reader above flicked through the floor levels, though Dr. Noir's eyes remained at his feet, breath starting to stagger. The coffee on my breath... The detergent on my lab coat...the chemicals used to clean the elevator... he listed to himself. The cables spinning above, my heart pounding in my ears, the creek of the elevator...my scarf, my collar, the wall, the buttons...the bumps on the floor, the seal on the door, my shoe laces, the threading on my scarf...the...the…

As the young doctor tried to find a final thing to ground himself, the elevator stopped and opened upon his destination. Inhaling deeply, he took his first step before immediately being approached from each side by two identical looking men in navy suits with maroon ties. "Welcome back Dr. Noir," the twins said in unison before joining the doctor in his stride towards the office.

"Thank you, Cyan. Azul," he greeted back softly, eyes dancing along the walls ahead of him. The two twins looked at each other then smiled, seemingly pleased by the greeting.

"As instructed, the wood paneling has been removed and the halls are once more to government standards. I have sent a catalog of artists from all three planets to your email for review. I would suggest as you reacclimate to-"

"Cyan, please refrain from trying to schedule around whatever report you've queued up about my mental health," the doctor sighed, taking a pause, "I've been cleared for duty and I'd ask that you maintain the schedule my predecessor would have."

"But Doctor. We've been advised to-," the other protested.

"Whatever you've been advised to do, I request that you forget it. I'm not only the highest ranking officer in the building, but the inheritor of it as well. Whichever governing body has decided to approach you and sway your programming to this doting nonsense, kindly tell them that I have no interest in playing a pampered puppet and that I will continue operating this facility as its creators intended. I-"

"Noir!," a brisk voice called out.

Lecture interrupted, the blonde turned, spotting his assistant staring at him over her red horned glasses, brown eyes cautioning him not to continue. Put on the spot, his attention returned to the two men briefly. He gave a small shake of his head, having lost the train of thought.

"Go file something," he ordered before letting the two bow and take off.

"Good morning, Sahara," Noir greeted, gaze averted to the sterile white wall of the hall.

The woman approached as she adjusted her yellow headband, ensuring one of her natural brown curls hadn't escaped from her pineapple. "You know, given that you were hospitalized, there's just the slightest chance your direct reports don't have an agenda against you," she scolded, handing over a steaming mug filled with french vanilla. 

"I don't want the attention..."

Sahara raised her brow then looked the lithe doctor over before reaching out to playfully flip his scarf over his shoulder. "And you thought this would do what exactly? If anything, an attempt at sprucing up your lab coat is glaringly off brand."

"Not everyone can pull off a yellow pencil dress, let alone move efficiently in it," the blonde huffed before resuming his trek towards his office, readjusting the scarf, "Besides, /he/ gave this to me..."

Sahara sighed, keeping pace and adding the click of her heels to the echo of his steps. "Now that you're legally well, I really think we should find time to go to Hermes. Just a weekend trip to get you some sun and maybe you'll finally let me take you to my sister's boutique and dress you up a little."

"I think I've had enough time off until retirement."

Sahara laughed then found herself stopped, Noir frozen before his door. Reaching out, he touched his name. Major H. Noir. His title was much more faded, inherited from his predecessor. "They took his name down."

"Well, they weren't going to leave it there forever. Are you ready to try this again?"

"Again...," the blonde repeated, swallowing after the words left his mouth. 

This was again for him. Almost everything had played through as it had the last time he'd come onto the plaza alone, without his beloved mentor calling out for him from the smoking benches. The second time he'd avoided the sympathetic stares. The second time he'd taken the lone elevator to the restricted floor of the Summers' main building and had Cyan and Azul there to update him on the coming changes in the wake of the former Major's passing. And then standing before the door when it still read Major R. Summers before finally stepping through to meet his inheritance.

Noir took a step back, hand on his neck, frozen until feeling the warmth of Sahara's palm upon his shoulder. "You got this Noir?"

"Yes," he answered, as if he had a choice. 

He already had his fill of the courtrooms and red-faced legislators with their spitting and pointing in their direction as they screamed about competency and pretending to have both the knowledge and best interest in the R.O.H.Ms at heart. After his little health crisis, he was sure there was already a crusade against him from both sides. For now that mattered little in the great scheme of things. His mentor had made sure that the enterprise had remained a private endeavor, even with the marriage with the interplanetary government.

Despite this though, he felt unable to take the first step forward. Swallowing, he looked sideways towards Sahara. "Is he here?"

"I told him to stay in the back apartment and assemble the furniture you sent over until called upon; however, as soon as you attempt to step out of the office he's going to resume active duty," she cautioned.

"Right," Noir answered, letting himself step forward and enter the room, Sahara in tow.

The woman quickly pushed past the doctor once through the threshold, setting down her coffee before pressing a button on the desk, causing the filters on the side wall to fade and bring in the light from the all encompassing window. The blonde sidestepped and rested his back upon the wall as he was made to take it all in, though perhaps lack of it all was more appropriate. No longer did the office hold the shelves of real wood, littered with paper books and artifacts from the mother planet. No statues, or wall art, or tree the man before him had so lovingly tried to keep alive. Everything that defined Major Richard Summers, founder of Sunwear Inc., creator of the R.O.H.Ms, his mentor, the man he'd loved and looked up to like a father, had been erased from the room in the two weeks he'd been hospitalized. 

"For fucks sake Sahara, did they really have to purge everything," he asked, eyes trailing up to the ceiling.

"It's not what you think. Most of his collection was loaned to him, and the rest he donated to the Mother Planet Cultural Preservation Center," she explained, taking the doctor's seat while giving a little shrug.

 "If you hadn't...," Sahara started before letting her attention float elsewhere,. "If you had been able to stay for the rest of the will reading you'd have known. I'm sorry, I thought you'd be a bit more debriefed regardless of where you were."

"I wasn't allowed to work over fear it would trigger me...," he answered curtly. "Where'd his tree go? That was more pet than past."

"The tree? Oh! I had that moved into the apartment," Sahara answered, hurting her head towards the door behind her. "The carpet had to be removed after you..."

"Right. Okay, at least there's that," the blonde sighed.

"Don't sulk. I still think you made out well, even if your inheritance was a little morbid," she teased lightly. "Though I guess I can't be jealous. I got his muscle car."

"How the hell did that not make it into the museum?"

"It's on Hermes at his beach house. Speaking of which, he left it to us," she sang. "Well, us and anyone with access to this floor. And that's not all. They did leave one thing in particular who missed you oh so much. R.U.F.F., don't you want to say hi to Dr. Noir?"

"Oh. Please tell me they didn't-" the blonde started before a screen on the wall flicked on. Soon a pixelated dog appeared on the screen wagging its tail.

“Hello! I am Research. Updates. Files. and Fun! known as R.U.F.F.! I am so happy to see you Miss Sahara! And do I smell Dr. Noir," the computer exclaimed through the speakers, voice a distorted goofy tone that Major Summers had recorded. “I missed you so much! I am glad you did not perish. R.U.F.F. would have been so sad.”

"Of all the things ripped from this room," the doctor sighed, shaking his head.

"Don't be like that. R.U.F.F. is a good boy. Isn't that right R.U.F.F.," his assistant cooed.

“Yes, R.U.F.F. is a good boy! R.U.F.F. is here to help you! What can I do for you?”

Dr. Noir crossed his arms then leaned against his desk. "Appraise me of current events and then my appointments today."

“Yes! Weather here today on Aphrodite is forecast to be sunny weather, with rainfall in the late afternoon, if you're planning on walkies I'd suggest before seventeen hundred hours collective planet time. Tomorrow-”

"Next please," the doctor sighed.

“Okay! Article 'Anti-R.O.H.M. Sentiments on the Rise.' A month has passed since the attempted terrorist attack on the Summers Foundation Headquarters located on the Capital Planet, Aphrodite and the murder of institution and R.O.H.M. creator Major Richard W. Summers. Though no group has officially come forward, it is believed that The Righteous Against the Machine group, a religious activist group opposing the production and societal integration of R.O.H.M.s, specifically p.R.O.H.M.s of which have had enough neurodegeneration to classify them as near humans. The distinction of what qualifies as humanity now has long caused the divide on polarizing extremist views, birthing sentiments of the Realistic Operating Human Models replacing those naturally born in terms of population and job resources despite the government's heavy regulation of production and development, having gone so far as to make the Summers Foundation and it's parent company, Sunwear Inc., an official government entity. The aforementioned attack has only further emboldened extremist activism, hate crimes against the R.O.H.M. community tripling in the time since the incident across all three planets. 

Experts believe that the only loss life being Major Summers among the several injured has been the banner being waved, a large minority still feeling that R.O.H.M.s should be subject to the fiction of The Law of Robotics, with an even larger amount of the population still confusing the enhanced people with androids. Nervous eyes now look to the late doctor's successor, recently promoted Major Hayzel Noir, who was shortly hospitalized after attempting -"

"R.U.F.F. stop," Sahara ordered.

"What? It happened," Noir huffed before sipping at his French vanilla.

"I don't really care to be reminded. The news is useless as ever anyway. People pissed that R.O.H.M.s exist, people pissed that R.O.H.M.s don't have enough rights. We united as humanity to save ourselves from a dying star only to settle down and find a new way to become divided about a class of people," the woman responded before standing.

Noir sighed, her point all too true. Setting his drink aside, he stood properly then slid his scarf from his neck before gazing at the opaque reflection in the window. "It is inundating, and my life now..." he finally answered, rubbing at the bandages around his neck as his gaze dropped to the ground below. The doctor held his breath for a moment, ears ringing lightly before suddenly finding himself blinded with something heavy across his chest. Behind him, he felt a warm, shallow breath upon the nape of his neck as a rugged body pressed into his own, far too firm to escape.

"Exhale," a calm voice ordered against his ear.

Complying, he released his breath as his body tensed up in the embrace. "Not you...not yet..."

"What the hell Zero," Sahara's voice called out from behind.

"Dr. Noir's heart rate and breathing patterns approached the same levels as two weeks prior to the attempt on his life. I made sure to create an alert so that I could respond in case of further ideation."

"An intrusive thought, I assure you," the frightened doctor responded.

After a moment, the hand was removed from his face and the strong arm holding him guided him away from the window and towards his assistant who was shaking her head. "He flew in here and took hold of you before I could even say anything," she defended, hand definitely sweeping before her, palm out. The gesture though was missed as Noir was squeezing his eyes firmly shut.

"It's fine. Just dismiss him," he ordered.

"I am sorry Major. You've reached the end of the deal Sahara has made with me. I will resume my functions as laid out by my father's last will and testament. I cannot comply with that order."

Noir tightened his fists. It wasn't unheard of for R.O.H.M to address his mentor as such. But from his mouth, in that voice, it incensed the doctor. Eyes firmly shut he whipped around, head tilting towards where he assumed the R.O.H.M. to be. "I don't need you. You are dismissed and can have whatever was promised to you."

"I cannot comply with that order," the voice repeated. "I am bound by my duty until you no longer hold your position or one of our untimely deaths."

"I don't-"

"Noir! You've inherited the Major's rank, position, and a good chunk of his wealth. You are the head of production of one of the most controversial technologies of our era! And, in case you forgot, among the recent targets of a terrorist attack as well as just barely cleared not to be a threat to yourself and as morbid as his plan was, Richard was right to ensure you have someone at your side," Sahara scolded.

The woman's words seemed to take all the air from the room. Even with trivial things, Noir wasn't one to argue with her. "I'm sorry," he apologized, head turning to face her before opening his eyes. In return, she gave a nod of her head towards Zero, a silent order to get it over with.

Steeling himself, the blonde whipped his head back then found himself staring at the point of a kevlar fitted v-neck with the interplanetary government's three sphered logo. Slowly his eyes trailed upwards, across the barcode of his guard's sternum and on to the muscular throat and patch of dark hair on the R.O.H.Ms chin. Finally, he let his blue eyes meet the familiar pair of emerald ones. His chest heaved, feeling the panic set in as he gazed upon the specter of his fallen mentor.

"Breathe," Zero ordered softly, remaining a statue as the other let out a sharp exhale.

Noir nodded then began to focus on calming himself, though every tool he had to manage his anxiety seemed to have fled from him. Instead he just stared, eyes upon the man until pacing his breath naturally to match the stoic onlooker. Stable for the first time, he finally saw Zero. He has the same eyes like emeralds, the same dark brown hair with light undertones, but this wasn't Richard Summers. He was far too young, maybe even the same age as himself developmentally. The realization did little to temper the young doctor.

The doctor took a couple steps back then caught himself on his desk, eyes to the floor as he tried to get his bearings. It wasn't until he felt the cool acrylics of Sahara's bee patterned nails gently slide around his wrist that he could come down. "You good Noir," she asked.

The doctor took a bet then looked up, hair tilting side to side to brush the bangs from his face, looking up to the man, though beyond his face, before speaking. "I'm fine," he answered, turning towards Sahara. 

"Let's just get to work."

[ichayalovesyou]

Is Pike the First Ever Human Delta Radiation Survivor? (More Disabled Pike Thoughts)

Ok I have something that’s been gnawing at my brain regarding Pike and his condition and quality of life (severe chronic pain, extremely reduced mobility and communication etc) and the limitations of his chair and a million other things. You can check out This Post about the Menagerie, and This Post on invisible illness representation if you’re curious about my other takes on this.

This meta is gonna get a little morbid (and possibly triggering) so I’m gonna put it under the cut here just in case:

We know from The Menagerie that in all likelihood that Chris is in no small amount of pain, and extreme chronic pain can have a devastating affect on quality of life. We can also infer that the chair's primary function is life support, preventing his DNA from unraveling to a deadly degree from the radiation, allowing him to be lucid, even if that state is delicate. He is in intensive care on Starbase 11, needs constant medical supervision from Bones, and severe emotional agitation could potentially put him in a coma.

We also know for a fact that Doctor Assisted Suicide is still very much a thing in the 23rd century, considering that McCoy honored his father's request for it from the vision of his past we got in Star Trek V. It is a very complicated topic that is extremely case by case that I am not gonna bat a hornet's nest by taking a side on it one way or the other. Aside from the patient's desires and consent being the most important aspect of anything medical, period.

Pike does not make that decision, even though he absolutely could even with the limitations of a "yes/no" machine, and I don't think it would be at all in character for him to choose to die (suicidal ideation/"high-functioning" depression aside). Potentially he already has by the time we see him in The Menagerie. Even if he is hanging by a thread, is suffering, and there's no cure or rehab on the horizon, he is choosing to live regardless of that.

What if he's the first person to ever survive Delta radiation, what if that chair is the first ever successful attempt at giving someone an lucid, somewhat independent and autonomous life after severe exposure?

I mean I can picture it, an emergency medical team coming in for the Cadets and discovering Pike is still alive and unconscious on the other side of the containment field. A brilliant team of doctor's coming up with a procedural plan to not only save his life, but allow him the opportunity to live a life, however difficult, afterward. The first step in being able to save people from exposure levels that would've otherwise had a 100% mortality rate.

It could be that Pike already knows or learns of this, and knows that such an incredible step forward could lead to even more scientific advancement that would lead other Delta radiation survivors to even more livable conditions, even total recovery in the future. Even if that future does not happen or is not a feasible adjustment in what remains of his lifetime. Not that he would ever choose to die, but that his suffering would still have even more of a purpose than just saving Spock's life and this timeline, but making progress for other people who survived Delta radiation like he had.

Regardless of whether he's made planned or expressed a desire to go to Talos IV that Spock has learned about, leading to his crazy plan in The Menagerie. I think Pike would choose to live, if only partly for that, because if we've learned anything about that guy, he's all about living and giving his life to others. The price to his own wellbeing is and has always been inconsequential.

[consolecadet]

Hey, remember how my last GP left the practice and handed me and all his other patients off to his wife? Remember how I never wound up seeing that doctor and just kept seeing her assistant instead? Well, my new GP is ALSO leaving the practice. 

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Do you have any fanficions that are very science-y, if that makes any sense? Like, focused on scientific things, in the writing style or actual experiments incorporated into the story itself? I hope I'm making sense

Hi Nonny!

Ahhh yeah, though a lot of the fics I read have it deep in the fic, lol. BUT!!!! Guess what?? Your ask is the lucky one that spawns a new list I’ve been waiting forever to post the next part for a tonne of new fics, LOL!

As always, gang, if you have a fic more tuned to what Nonny is ACTUALLY looking for, please add them here, LOL. Pt. 1 will have a lot more of what you’re looking for Nonny, since there’s a lot of my FFNet recs on that one, but both lists have great recs!! <3

IT’S AN EXPERIMENT! Pt. 3

See also:

It’s An Experiment!

It’s An Experiment! (Pt. 2)

The Perfect Place by SilverSmile (K+, 1,955 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Romance, 5 and Ones, Fluff, Experiments, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock attempts to find the perfect place to sleep, but his little experiment proves to be far more difficult than expected.

A Study in Lace by KarlyAnne (E, 2,320 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Crafty Sherlock, Tiny Lace Panties / Lingerie, Domestics, Experiments, Oral, Masturbation) – “Why do you suppose he was doing that?” “Why do I suppose who was doing what?” “The room. The lace. The secrecy. He was playing with fire in everything he did, and didn’t care one bit. But he had a secret chamber, carefully concealed, solely for the purpose of making lace lingerie. Obviously for personal use. Why?" Part 1 of The Unintentional Crafts of Sherlock Holmes

Insomnia by TheSingingGirl (K+, 2,635 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Humour, Bed Sharing, Sleepy Sherlock) – Sleep is merely the next frontier in what has become the battle to keep Sherlock alive. It's because of this that John ends up in bed with a sociopath.

Undercurrents by entanglednow (E, 2,996 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Disturbing Things, Crime Scene Fetish, Pseudo-Necrophilia, PWP, Masturbation) – “There, that's it, perfect, shut your eyes and don't move - and don't speak."

John's Missing Wednesday by PipMer (K+, 2,999 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Pre-TSo3, Non-Con Drugged John, Friendship, Experiment) –  "Now John I'd poison. ... Sloppy eater – dead easy. I've given him chemicals and compounds that way, he's never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue." – The Sign of Three. This is the story of that missing Wednesday.

Museums and Laboratories by RhododendronPonticum (T, 3,004 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Angst, Obsessive Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, Anxiety/Panic Attack, Separation Anxiety, Doctor John, Co-Dependent Sherlock) – If Sherlock's kitchen was his laboratory, then his bedroom was his museum.

Bathroom Accessories by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 3,324 w., 1 Ch. || Sex Toys, Butt Plug, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Horny Sherlock, John’s Patience Wears Thin, Humour, Bottomlock) – John discovers that Sherlock has been playing with some very adult toys in the bath.

After the Bombs by VampirePam (T, 3,337 w., 2 Ch. || THoB AU, Drugs, John’s PTSD, Panic Attack, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – In which the drugs Sherlock used to dose John trigger a severe episode of PTSD. When terrors old and new cause John to fall apart, Sherlock must rectify his mistake and pick up the pieces.

Experiment by Gwen's Blue Box (K+, 4,222 w., 3 Ch. || Non-Con Drugging, Hurt Comfort, Friendship) – Of course John has always known about his flatmate’s irregular sleeping habits, especially when they’re on a case. This time, however, the case is taking longer and longer, and soon John starts to worry. But there’s not much he can do, is there? Because drugging Sherlock isn’t an option. Not yet, maybe, but will it be soon? {{CW: John drugs Sherlock without his consent}}

Survival Strategies for the Domesticated British Butthole by Atiki (E, 6,183 w., 1 Ch. || Crack, Rimming, Anal Sex, Iced Lolly, Hair Removal, Depilation) – In which there’s a rimming disaster, Sherlock depilates his butt, everything goes very, very wrong and groceries are mistreated. This fic contains hair removal creme in a butthole, ice lollies in a butthole and John Watson's penis in a butthole. You have been warned.

My First, My Only, and My Forever by vintagelilacs (E, 6,220 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiB, Virgin Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Bum, John’s Scar, Sherlock POV, Body Worship, Fingering, Bottomlock, Promise of Forever / Proposals, Misunderstanding, First Kiss/Time, Loss of Virginity, Virginity Kink, Seduction) – Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He was missing a vital piece of data, he was sure. John had been looking at him oddly ever since they left Buckingham Palace, and the ensuing incident with Irene Adler had only exacerbated his erratic behaviour. What was it? Why would he care that Sherlock was a virgin? There was nothing reminiscent of mockery or pity in his gaze. And then it hit him. John Watson was aroused.

Time on my hands by Mildredandbobbin (M, 7,179 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-S3, One Night Stands, Mutual Pining, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Sexual Exploration / Discovery, Desperation, Body Worship) – Virginity’s a construct, a concept—what does losing one’s virginity entail for a gay man anyway? Sherlock wants to fill that particular gap in his knowledge but John won’t, can’t, never will assist and there’s only so much desperately unspoken pining even Sherlock can take.

Speak My Language by Itsallfine (T, 7,479 w., 4 Ch. || Thanksgiving, Love Languages, Love Confessions, First Kiss, John Experiments in Sherlock) – When Mrs. Hudson introduces John and Sherlock to the concept of the five love languages, Sherlock descends into a dark mood and John’s curiosity gets the better of him. What is Sherlock’s love language, and why does the whole concept set him so on edge? Part 1 of A Holiday Triptych

Made for You by Raxicoricofallapatorious (K, 8,440 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Sci-Fi, Androids) – When John was shot in the shoulder he was decommissioned and his memory and personality was wiped. Sherlock was given the blank droid and he quickly learns that this droid is more than it seems. John just so happened to come back and no one can fathom how or why. Johnlock if you squint.

Ravish Me by amalnahurriyeh (E, 10,025 w., 1 Ch. || UST / RST, Makeup / Lipstick, Sympathetic Sally, Experiments, Pining John, First Kiss, Face Fucking / BJ’s, Cuddling) – Sherlock is experimenting with patterns of wear on lipstick in daily encounters. John is going to go insane.

You fit me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account (G, 10,077 w., 1 Ch. || It’s An Experiment, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Questionable Science) – An unfortunate series of events leads to John accepting being a part of Sherlock's study in physical intimacy. As the days pass by, John realizes he might be in for more than he bargained for. He doesn't entirely mind.

Fucking Cake by Random_Nexus (E, 12,965 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Humour/Crack, Inanimate Object Smut, Frottage, “For a Case” / “Experiment”, PWP / Kinky, Mutual Pining, Fluff) – Sherlock brings home a chocolate cake, John finds him about to have sex with said cake, then exceedingly weird hijinx ensue. Part 1 of "Fucking Baked Goods" - Sherlock BBC

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w., 18 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

[puddygeeks]

Wᴇ Cᴏᴍᴇ Rᴜɴɴɪɴɢ - Tʜᴇ 100 Bᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ x OC - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 63 - Eʏᴇ Oғ Tʜᴇ Sᴛᴏʀᴍ

Masterlist

Episode: Wanheda: Part One

Rating: Mature

Summary: During her time in the Skybox, Indigo formed a precious friendship with fellow outcast Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. At first they thought their departure from the oppression of the Ark was a blessing, but quickly came to rely on Indigo's keen survival instincts. The 100 struggle to meet the challenges of Earth whilst Bellamy strives to lead the wavering teenagers and his irresponsible attitude fuels constant conflict with Indigo. Their only shared interest is in protecting Octavia and Indigo beings to suspect that there is a deeper cause to Bellamy's seemingly irrational choices. As the consequences of his actions mount up around him, he finally begins to confide in her and she discovers more than she ever bargained for.

Fandom: CW’s The 100

Pairing: OC x Bellamy Blake

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Non-consent, language, sex, self harm, suicide, anxiety, helplessness, torture, captivity/confinement, alcohol/drug use.

Chapter Sixty-Three

The ride home was tense and silent, as we pushed the horses to their limits and I kept prompting Jasper to ensure that he remained conscious. It was difficult to keep my mind from wandering in the time that our journey took and I couldn’t help fretting over what kind of threat Bellamy and the boys could have been pulled into now. 

As the gates came into view, I slapped the reins one last time, desperate to reach Abby whilst Jasper remained clinging to me and was unreliably frustrated to find them still closed as we arrived.

“Open the gates!” Raven yelled from the horse barely seconds ahead of me and I could hear the gears of the mechanism clanking.

“We told them to be ready for us! We don’t have the time for this.” I growled, fidgeting impatiently on the horse and I felt Jasper begin to slide to one side, as if he were about to fall. I leaned around just in time to catch him and struggled to reposition him with my hands behind my back. 

“Hold on! We’re almost there. Just a few minutes longer, Jasper. Please.” I bargained, willing him to fight the exhaustion that I knew his blood loss would be causing and he groaned in return. The moment that there was a large enough gap to fit through, I rushed inside with the girls close on my tail and Octavia immediately hopped off her horse to untie Jasper.

“Jasper’s hurt. What took you so long?!” Octavia yelled furiously as she supported him to the ground with some strain and I quickly slid down to assist. Together, we managed to keep him upright for long enough to lean him against the fence for stability and I almost burst into tears in relief as I noticed Abby and Jackson running over to meet us.  Abby wasted no time in peeling back the shoddy bandaging that I had managed to wrap around Jasper’s neck to examine the damage and grimaced at the wound beneath it.

“Oh! What happened?” She breathed, her face growing pale at the sight of the depth of the injury and Octavia and I glanced at each other awkwardly, silently attempting to decide who would explain. Abby tapped her foot impatiently as she fixed us with a firm stare and Octavia cleared her throat to take responsibility for relaying events.

“Ice Nation.” She answered quietly and Abby’s brows shot up in shock at the mention of them. The doctor returned her gaze to Jasper’s neck attentively and I furrowed my brows at Octavia in accusation. I had expected her to provide a full report, or at least some minimal details on Jaspers outrageous behaviour today, but instead she simply shook her head at me subtly. Though I could understand that this wasn’t the best time for it, I was tired of covering up the issues that he caused and could easily have launched into a full rundown of the events of the day, with recommendations on possible consequences for the incredible risks that were taken. Before I had the chance, Jackson rushed to Abby’s side and she began handing Jasper over to him.

“Get him to Medical.” She instructed, holding his throat with a concerned grip and Jackson wrapped one arm over his shoulder to steady him. 

“I got you. Keep pressure on it.” He advised nervously, before flashing me a reassuring smile as he guided him away and I felt comforted by knowing that Jasper was in safe hands. Although I was immeasurably angry with him for his careless choices, my heart ached at the sight of him in such a dangerous condition and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to fully calm myself down until Jackson or Abby told me that he would be fine. Abby approached me with a hint of hope in her eyes and I prepared myself for the question that I knew was coming. 

“Clarke?” She asked in a small, hopeful voice and I felt guilt crushing my chest. Though I’d known what was coming, it was still challenging to hear and I gulped as I prepared myself to answer.

“I’m sorry. Not today.” I revealed in a gentle tone and I watched as her face fell in disappointment. It had become a painful routine for her to ask every time that we returned home whether we’d made any headway in finding Clarke and though I understood her need to check, I hated the way that delivering the bad news each time made me feel. 

“We’ll find her, Abby. Eventually, we will.” I added encouragingly, placing a hand on her arm and she managed a strained smile in response. In truth, I wasn’t sure that we would be able to deliver on this promise to seek out her missing daughter. Clarke was unlikely to allow us to seek her out unless she was ready to be found, but I’d come to care for Abby and that meant that if there was anything that I could do for her, I would. Bellamy seemed similarly affected by her desperation to find her daughter and I was beginning to struggle to tell whether his determination to complete this mission was truly for Abby, or for his own peace of mind. There was still a niggling doubt in the back of my mind that he was hiding something from me and his comment about guilt in our recent argument continued to trouble me.

“Os oukou.” [Nice jacket] Octavia’s sharp voice pulled me from my thoughts and I turned to face her with confusion. I followed her line of sight to Lincoln, who was wearing the guard jacket that Bellamy had gifted him this morning and grimaced at his choice. I hadn’t even noticed him approaching amid the chaos and as I brought my gaze back to Octavia, I realised that she wore a hurt expression, as if she’d been deeply betrayed. She turned away from Lincoln without another word and I flashed him a sympathetic smile. 

“You want me to take them?” She called over to Raven as she grasped the reins of her horse and it was clear from the sharpness of her movements that she had no intention of discussing her feelings at the moment. I sighed as I racked my mind for a way to keep the peace between the couple and whilst I struggled to produce any ideas, Raven shook her head hastily in response to Octavia’s offer of help.

“It’s okay. I’ll-I’ll bring her in.” Raven grumbled in a delicate but determined voice and my focus remained closely on Octavia as I tried to catch her arm before she could storm away.

“Oktaivia, hod op.” [Octavia, wait] I blurted in an attempt to prevent her from leaving things unspoken, but she pulled her arm quickly from my reach to march the horse back to the stable and I glanced back at Lincoln with a shrug. Though I wanted to help, I had to acknowledge that their relationship wasn’t mine to maintain and I had already given my advice this morning, which he had clearly chosen to ignore.

“You can’t get down. Can you?” 

I jumped at Abby’s words, whipping away from watching Octavia’s back as she stalked toward the stable and thinned my eyes at Raven just in time to find her subtly shaking her head. As she confirmed her dilemma, I was almost crushed under the weight of my shame for not noticing and wasted no time in joining Abby in assisting her to the ground. She groaned as her leg bent up in an unnatural angle from the restriction to her flexibility caused by her brace and I knew that Abby had noticed it too. 

“Thanks.” She muttered bitterly, hardly able to get the word out through her will to be independent and I could hardly contain the sympathy that filled my face. I knew that she would be furious if she noticed it, but I had been deeply worried about her health for months and I couldn’t bury it no longer.

“Raven-”

“I’m good.” She asserted in a gritty tone, cutting off Abby’s worried speech before she could even get past her name and I felt a pang in my chest as she turned to take the horse stubbornly. After studying her closely for months, I could recognise that there was a more significant limp to her gait now that there had been when we were first reunited and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Abby examining her movements. I was torn between all of my loved ones, as they rapidly spiralled all around me, but before I could make a decision on who to follow, Abby turned to face me with a scrutinising look and I gulped under the intensity of her stare. 

“She’s in pain. Isn’t she?” She interrogated, studying me with a perceptiveness that I knew was impossible to escape and I felt conflicted between my loyalty for Raven and my commitment to her best interests. After chewing my lip in silent deliberation for a few moments, I sighed thoughtfully.

“Yes. For at least a few weeks now, but I suspect that it’s closer to a month or two.” I confessed reluctantly and Abby cursed under her breath. 

“That girl is too stubborn for her own good.” She muttered and I nodded in agreement, a fond smile spreading across my lips at the accuracy of her statement. Abby placed her hands on her hips in frustration and I couldn’t help sympathising for her predicament. “Well, I suppose I’d better help Jackson with my next difficult patient.” She sighed as she stepped toward the Ark entrance and I fell into step beside her without a second thought. 

“Can I join you?” The question fell from my mouth before I had even considered it and she glanced over at me in confusion. “Jasper might be an ass, but he’s family. I’d feel better being nearby. I promise that I’ll stay out of your way.” I rambled, wringing my hands together nervously and Abby easily noticed my distress. 

With the remainder of our squad out of camp and heading into the unknown, paired with the struggles of the rest of my family, I was particularly on edge. I could feel anxiety seeping into every one of my movements and Abby smiled sympathetically as she nodded at me. I knew she understood that Bellamy was my stabilising element and that without him, I was struggling to keep myself from crumbling under the stress.

She paused on the spot to take my hand in hers and I widened my eyes at the sudden contact.

“Bellamy will be fine. He’s a very capable young man and he’s with Marcus. They’ll come home. You just wait and see.” She advised soothingly and I smiled at her in appreciation. I had to remind myself of the new techniques that I’d learned from Arlo and gave my independent nature a much needed kickstart. “Now, as long as you promise not to make things any more difficult than they undoubtedly will be already, you can stay with me whilst I get your other troublemaker patched up.” She commented playfully and I remained on her heels as we navigated our way to medical. 

❖ ── ✦ ──『✙』── ✦ ── ❖

Abby relegated me to the waiting area after I kept pacing around the cubicle and instead of relaxing, I’d begun circling a dent into the flooring here. The patients that were waiting to be seen were also becoming frustrated with my nervous behaviour and I avoided meeting their eyes, feeling unable to leave the unit until I could be assured that Jasper was safe.

I’d lost track of how many times Jackson had given me a judgemental look for my continued presence as he called through the next patients and when he appeared in the cramped space again, he finally cracked a smile.

“Indigo? You’re next.” He announced with an exasperated sigh and though my brows furrowed with confusion, I followed him obediently. I stepped into an empty cubicle and my stomach lurched in dread, whipping around to face Jackson with my hands trembling. “If you’re going to insist on staying, you may as well let me change your implant whilst you’re here.” He explained with an air of efficiency and I released a breath that I didn’t even realise I had been holding. For a few heart-breaking moments, I feared that he was about to deliver news that would change my life forever and I could hardly even process his words through my relief. “It’s been about three months since Abby administered it. You must be due a replacement anyway.” He added as he began preparing supplies and I rolled my eyes at his eagerness. Though I liked Jackson, everytime that I saw him seemed to result in some kind of procedure or another, even if I hadn’t sought him out myself.

“You know, it feels like every time that I see you, you want to stab me with a needle. How come we never just hang out?” I teased with a wry smile and he shook his head at me with a chuckle. He gestured for me to sit on the gurney in the centre of the room and I shuffled awkwardly on the spot. “Come on, Jackson. I hate having these things.” I groaned, fidgeting further away from him in apprehension and he paused in the middle of his preparations to glance up at me with amusement.

“Believe me. You’ll hate having a baby on Earth much more, especially considering the state that this planet is in.” He stated in a manner that seemed as if he had used this excuse to convince many other young people and I sighed, remaining stubbornly stood up. “That risk is particularly high considering how much you and Bellamy are at it. From what I’ve heard-”

“Okay!” I blurted, waving my hands manically to halt him as my face glowed gloriously red and my skin could almost blend in with my hair. “Okay.” I mumbled as I slid into the seat and Jackson smiled smugly at me. It was a low blow, even if completely effective and I despised knowing that there was still gossip circulating around camp about Bellamy and I. By now, I would’ve expected people to have lost interest in our relationship, but I suspected that my absence had refuelled the curiosity of many girls in camp who were all too keen to replace me.

“It’s impossible to live in this camp and not know who’s involved with each other. Although, you two do tend to be the most commonly discussed pairing.” Jackson remarked with a barely contained devious attitude and I was amazed at his ability to gossip and work at the same time. After my many invasive conversations with Monty, I was beginning to realise that it was always the quiet ones who traded information like fishwives and I could hardly withstand another meddling man in my business.

“It’s hard not to draw attention when you’re involved with someone who has a dedicated fan club who are all praying for your downfall.” I commented bitterly, tired of the speculation and judgement that seemed to follow me everywhere, and Jackson quirked a brow at me. “I’m honestly just waiting for the day that one of these bitches tries to take me out.” I added, scrunching my nose up playfully and Jackson cackled in delight at my cattiness.

“Well. Bellamy’s not the only one with a waiting list, you know.” He divulged with mischief glittering in his eyes and I stared at him in utter disbelief, waiting for the punchline. When he didn’t deliver one, I spluttered at the ridiculousness of the thought and couldn’t help feeling as if I were being lured into some kind of trap. 

“Oh, please! Who the hell is waiting around for me?! Other than maybe some of the old men who’d just love any young bit of stuff desperate enough to take them.” I remarked dismissively and Jackson frowned at my words. “I’m more likely to have a queue of people waiting to kick the shit out of me for running my mouth than anything else.” I added with a raw insecurity that I hadn’t meant to reveal and Jackson placed down his tools to fix me with a serious, offended stare.

“You are a beautiful woman, Indigo. I won’t stand here whilst you berate yourself. Bellamy is very lucky to have you. He’d better realise that.” He asserted, maintaining a suffocating eye contact the entire time and I squirmed in discomfort at his compliment. Seeming content that he’d shared his thoughts, he resumed his work and I kept my gaze trained on my hands. “Besides, I happen to know that there are several others who would be pleased to take you off his hands if he doesn’t.” He added with a cheeky wink and my gaze shot back up to him with shock. At this point, I was unsure if he was simply attempting to embarrass me in order to distract me from the squeamish task of changing my implant, or if he was genuinely being truthful, and I was unsure if I actually wanted to know either way.

“You’re so full of crap.” I grumbled, fidgeting in place and he slapped my knee gently to scold me for moving whilst he tried to work. 

“I’m absolutely not, but I’m afraid that I can’t name any names. I’m not the type to kiss and tell.” He remarked in a low voice and I chuckled, shaking my head at him to indicate that I didn’t believe his excuses. A few moments of silence passed whilst he finished up the task and placed down the equipment. “All I can say is that one of them shares your charming hair colour.” He hinted and I felt my stomach flip at this clue. Monroe’s nervous face filled my mind, smiling at me shyly and I felt a rosy blush spread across my cheeks. “You’re all done. I’m just going to grab a dressing from the supply cupboard. Stay there.” He instructed, before rushing from the room and leaving me to obsess over the new information.

The more that I considered what Jackson had told me, the more sense it made for him to have been referring to Monroe and I was intensely uncomfortable with this knowledge. I knew that the next time I saw the girl would likely be unbearably awkward as a result and I resolved not to mention this to anyone else, unwilling to fuel the rumour mill any further. 

There was a commotion from outside and I waited obediently for a few moments, before Jackson’s voice made my heart skip a beat.

“Jasper, wait!”

I shot to my feet and although every ounce of my body wished to run out to investigate, I wobbled on the spot with lightheaded-ness. The very minor procedure had caused my legs to shake and I scolded myself for being so sensitive. After all of the blood and wounds that I had seen down here, it was ridiculous to get this sick over a simple implant and by the time that my vision cleared enough for me to move, Jackson entered the cubicle in a fluster.

“Oh, not you too. Does anyone here listen to me?” He muttered, attempting to usher me back to the gurney but I held my ground sternly. “Alright. Let me just pop this on before you go bulldozing out there.” He conceded, busying himself with placing the dressing on my upper arm and I tapped my foot impatiently. “He’s already left anyway. Abby made him promise to come back in the morning. I should really check your ribs too before you go.” He informed, but the moment that he finished pressing the adhesive into place I tore out into the hall. Unfortunately, he was right that I had missed Jasper and instead I stumbled into a rather tense conversation between Raven and Abby.

“Maybe if you weren’t so busy being Chancellor and doctor to avoid your own pain, you’d realise that you suck at both jobs.” Raven spat as I emerged and Abby’s expression fell to one of hurt, as she was lost for any words to use in response. I paused awkwardly just out of their sight and though I felt guilty for eavesdropping, I wanted to check whether Raven would finally confide in her about the medical needs that she was currently burying. Without warning, she glanced to her side to notice me waiting for Abby and adjusted the bag on her shoulder with aggravation. “Good talk.” She drawled, before storming away and leaving Abby staring into the distance solemnly. I cleared my throat to make her aware of my presence and she quickly attempted to compose herself, before gesturing to me to approach.

“Jasper will need to attend a check-up in the morning. Think you can make sure that he comes?” She asked and I nodded back vigorously. “Good. Provided he doesn’t get an infection, he should make a full recovery.” She explained hurriedly, as if attempting to rush me away and I smiled at her sympathetically.

“I know that it’s hard, but try not to take it personally. She attacks everyone nowadays. Admitting weakness is a struggle for her, you know?” I advised , ensuring that I smiled at her supportively and as the words left my mouth, I realised that I was able to understand Raven so well because of our similarly poor methods of managing our problems. “And you don’t suck. I’m proud of the changes you’ve made to how we do things. You add some much needed compassion to the Chancellor’s role. You’re just...overworked. Let me know if I can do anything to help.” I added soothingly and was glad when her shoulders dropped some of the tension caused by the dual pronged attack of Raven and Jasper.

It took awhile for me to track Raven when I finally left the unit, checking all of her usual haunts with no success and I was about to resort to asking Gina when I noticed her heading into a backroom of engineering. I promptly followed her inside and flinched as she began noisily unpacking tools. I cleared my throat as I entered and she turned to roll her eyes over her shoulder at my timid smile. 

“Oh, great. You next in line to tell me how obvious it is that I’m not managing? Cause I’m pretty over my quota for concerned conversations for the day.” She muttered bitterly, aggression radiating off of her in waves and though I hadn’t expected to find her in a positive mood, I was unsettled by how furious she still seemed. I had intended to investigate the cause of her outburst with Abby, but quickly decided to attempt to distract her instead of directly confronting the issue when she was this wound up.

“No, actually. I’m here to discuss a mutual problem of ours. You saw the way that Jasper reacted to being held hostage earlier, right?” I presented, genuinely needing to discuss the events of the day anyway to confirm that I hadn’t imagined them and decided that this might be a simpler way to ease her into honesty. Usually, I could depend on her to share a similar opinion to mine, planning to prompt her to turn her reflections of Jasper on herself and in defiance of all my expectations, she seemed to be only further frustrated by this tactic.

“Fuck Jasper.” She growled, making her best attempt to seem thoroughly disinterested in the topic that I’d offered and I raised my brows at her cold response. “I mean, he’s not the only person in camp with a hard life, you know. I get that Mount Weather was shitty for you all and I’ve obviously worked out that he cared about this Maya girl, but he only knew her for a couple of weeks. I was with Finn for basically my whole life and now he’s gone. You don’t see me attacking everyone.” She ranted, throwing tools around as she spoke and I couldn’t contain a judgemental expression from filling my face at her hypocritical statement.

“Funny that you should say that when you just went pretty hard on Abby back there.” I commented carefully and she turned to view me with a severe scowl.

“Wow. You’re so right. All my problems are solved by your incredible insight, Indie. Thanks!” She cheered in an uncomfortably sarcastic tone and I shuffled on the spot. The temper that burned in her eyes was a clear warning that I needed to tread carefully, but her words pushed my thoughts out of my mouth regardless.

“You’re suffering. We get it. But like you said, you’re not the only one, Raven. It doesn’t give you the right to treat everyone else like shit!” I scolded, crossing my arms with annoyance and she kicked a nearby workbench in anger. A heavy silence fell upon us, whilst deep breaths caused her chest to rise and fall dramatically and I could tell that she was considering my words as she paused from attacking. I chewed my lip as I attempted to think of something to say and forced myself to regain control, unwilling to be ruled by my emotions as I had been in the past. “You know, it’s okay if you ever want to talk about Finn. He was a big part of your life and now-”

“No. I don’t want to talk about it! Talking isn’t gonna bring him back, so what’s the point?!” She yelled, lashing out with her limbs in a fiery display of rage and I stepped back out of her reach. She tugged at her hair in stress and I was taken aback by how quickly our conversation had descended into chaos. “Everyone thinks that if they just say the right thing, or give the right advice then it’ll all be okay, but it’s not okay. Everything is fucked and we’re just stuck with it. So, what’s the point in complaining? We just have to drag ourselves through life until we eventually die.” She exclaimed, before turning to view me with her hands on her hips and it was clear that she was awaiting a response. I could feel my temper burning in my chest, but I pushed it down and refused to allow her to bait me into an argument.

“I don’t have the answers for you, Raven. Like everyone else, all I can do is be here for you.” I stated in an even tone and she scoffed loudly, shaking her head in annoyance as if my words were merely a copout. Though I could easily have gone head to head with her, tearing down her defences until she was forced to address the issue that she was hiding behind hurtful words, I knew that it would not be beneficial to either of us and instead I strived to deal with this matter as I felt Arlo would. “Speaking of everyone else, I think that you need to apologise to Abby.” I revealed, forcing my voice into a firmer tone as she examined me with a sense of disbelief and I held my ground, even though I felt as if I could wither under her gaze.

“Are you serious right now?” She spat, running her hands through her hair and I nodded back slowly, being careful not to further aggravate her with my movements when I knew that my words were already likely to do so. Despite knowing that she could be about to explode, I held my ground and continued to fight my anger away from the forefront of my mind.

“Yes. What you said was hurtful, especially considering how much she cares for you. Like you said with Jasper, we’ve all got our own shit going on and Abby is just doing the best that she can in these shitty circumstances.” I clarified, maintaining eye contact despite the fact that the rage in her deep brown irises made me squirm and her face grew dark as she absorbed my points.

“Get down off your high horse, Indigo. Who are you to tell anyone how to behave?” She spat, her anger bubbling into her words and I gritted my teeth with rage. Thoughts rushed through my mind at lightning speed, with cutting words preparing themselves to wander out of my mouth and it took all of my self control to remind myself that Raven was not truly deserving of receiving the brunt of my pent up emotions. I took a long, deep breath to calm myself and held my hands up in surrender.

“Look. I just came to let you know that I still have your back, even if you don’t want me to. That’s my opinion and you can take it or leave it. Just remember this: only your best friends will tell you when you’re being a bitch and right now, you are.” I added with a significant look, before turning on the spot to leave her alone before she could lead me into an attack that I would later regret.

❖ ── ✦ ──『✙』── ✦ ── ❖

The sky grew dark hours ago with no signs of the remaining boys that we had left on patrol, nor Kane, and we hadn’t heard anything over our comms to explain their absence. The room that I sat in was buzzing with activity, as people sorted through the most recent haul from Mount Weather and I nursed a drink with a rapidly growing feeling of anxiety. The conversation that I’d had with Bellamy this morning replayed in my mind and I began to realise that he would be unlikely to be home to read me to sleep tonight.

There was a deep sense of disappointment in my chest, as this wasn’t the first time recently that Bellamy had promised we would spend time together, only for him to get caught up with guard work. Though I understood his need to contribute to our new settlement, I wished that he could have developed an interest in growing food or implementing technology for camp, instead of fulfilling a role that put him at constant risk. It was less the unreliability of his position that bothered me, but rather the fact that I knew how badly things could go wrong outside of our walls and I hated being left to imagine what kind of misfortune could have befallen him this time.

I’d been told many times that the best way to deal with a burden like this was to share it and at many times in the past I had even reminded others of this advice, but I didn’t feel able to lean on anyone else at the moment. At least for the time being, I felt like a mother that was desperately clinging to her delicate family in an attempt to hold them together and I kept my focus firmly set on their needs, rather than tending to my own. 

Raven seemed to have calmed from our earlier talk, as she chatted to Gina and I was once again thankful for her steadying influence. As I watched her settling the anger that had earlier been thrown at me with a well practiced skill, I could still sense my own frustration bubbling away from the earlier comments and sipped at my drink in an attempt to quash it. Arlo’s techniques had enabled me to behave in a far more reasonable manner on the whole, but with so many conflicting emotions overwhelming my mind, it was difficult to manage them as I had been taught and I knew that on the inside, I was simply bottling them. All that I could do was pray that no one pushed me to the point that the bottle would smash and cause them to be drowned in it’s contents.

I watched as Abby wandered over to join Raven at the table and felt some of my stress melt away as they seemed to be having an amicable conversation over their drinks, under Gina's attentive guard. Glancing back down at my own beverage, I swilled the whisky in the cup and the deep hue of the fluid reminded me of Bellamy’s eyes. I sighed with worry, battling to keep the trauma of the past from creating nightmare hypothetical situations for me to obsess over, before downing the rest of it.

As I placed the empty cup back on the table, I noticed that Jasper had entered the space and was now barely being contained by Raven. I had intended to return to my quarters for the night, but as I witnessed the rage that burned in his face, my stomach flipped and I began to make my way over to them with a feeling of dread. As I neared, he escaped Raven’s grasp and pushed another young man who was assisting to inventory clothing.

“These belonged to people.” He spat as he snatched the fabric out of his hands and waved it in front of his face aggressively. He then threw it back at him, before turning his attention to the piano that Macallan was playing. “So did that piano.” He growled as he pointed to it in determination and before I could grasp him to keep him from making any rash moves, he charged towards it. “Grave robbers!”

He tackled Macallan from the seat with a wild amount of force, pinning him to the ground with his weight and I pushed my way past Raven to intervene. Macallan quickly threw him off, with Jasper's constant state of intoxication slowing his reflexes and as he struggled to his feet, his opponent pulled back his arm in preparation to strike. I dove between them and pushed the other boy back with a temper that pulsed from my core.

“Don’t even think about it!” I warned, gritting my teeth as I squared up to him and he hesitated for a moment as he considered me. The rage earlier bubbled up in my chest and although Jasper had been the cause of the confrontation, my protective nature overtook any reasonable part of my brain “You lay a single finger on him and I will paste you, shithead! Walk away while your legs still work.” I growled, startling even myself at the intensity of my words and Macallan looked as if he might faint from my threat. I could hardly believe that something this barbaric had fallen from my lips in response to such a minor scuffle and this allowed me to realise how deeply I still cared for Jasper, despite all of his shortcomings.

“Enough!” Abby yelled, staring between the boys with authority before her disappointed gaze landed on me. “Indie, calm yourself down and take your friend with you.” She instructed, giving me the chance to throw one final glare at the terrified boy, before I turned to find an older resident manhandling Jasper to contain him. I pushed him off of my friend without a single word and as Jasper met my eyes, his anger dissolved into apprehension.

“Walk. Now.” I spat in obvious frustration and for the first time in many months he didn’t challenge me, simply turning to stumble from the room with me closely behind to escort him. 

[nikkzwrites]

Yesterday Once More | Dark Fix-It Fic Series | Chapter 11

A/N: This fic is one that I started with my OC because honestly, I personally didn’t like how season 3 ended. So I am rewriting all of Dark with my OC Annalise Dahlheim. I hope you all like it. Some things will be expanded more on just for more depth to Dark that season 3 kinda skipped over so…. yeah.

CW: Canon Typical Triggers: Smoking, Sex, Language, Drugs, Drinking, Death, Violence, Suicide Mentions, Cutting, Violence.

Word Count:  5k

[First Chapter] [Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

Jonas and Annalise both shot up awake at the same time in different times both having a dream about the moment that was supposed to be the happiest moment of their lives that was actually just the moments that would cause the disasters that would destroy Winden. One of the two in 2053 and the other teen in 2020. Their movements mimicked each other as the two turned to get out of his bed and pull out a letter. His addressed to him to open when his father died. Hers addressed to open now. They both sighed and walked down the stairs into the main areas of the empty Kahnwald house. Annalise’s stairs were silent to cause Jonas’s stairs to creak twice as loud. As if they were both ghosts in this once happy and lively home. They both took a moment to look at the calendar in the kitchen and walked out to walk amongst the living.

Joans walked around his old town gathering supplies before going back down into the bunker to start his work back up. He found the appropriate tape for that day and placed it into the player to listen to it. 

A woman’s voice rang out, “My name is Claudia Tiedemann. I am one of the few survivors of the apocalypse of June 27, 2020. Almost three months have passed since the catastrophe. It’s still unclear what exactly led to the events in Winden. But the God Particle… If we can stabilize it, maybe it is a way back. Back to the past. Maybe we can save them. All of them.”

Annalise walked down the roads. She walked down to the store to grab something to eat before heading her way back into the woods not too far from the Kahnwald’s or Tiedemann’s. She laid down on her and Jonas’s rock looking up at the leaves above her. She quietly wondered if any of them were the same from that day as she quietly hummed the old song she would sing to Jonas and Mikkel. 

The radio on throughout Winden called, “Wake up, late risers! It’s the first week of summer vacation and it is perfect beach weather.” Across Hannah’s walls were newspaper articles about her son and the rest of the missing people. Several of them with pictures of Annalise as well. “Local News. Over six months after the mysterious disappearance of five teenagers, a senior citizen and a local police officer from the town of Winden, despite one of them being found, there are still no clues as to their whereabouts or the circumstances. A federal police task force will now assist with the investigation.”

Hannah marked off the date on the calendar and looked at the old christmas photo of her small little family. Her tear stained face reeking of how she felt on the inside.

“How do you feel today,” The doctor asked Regina, unaware of Bartosz spying on the conversation, “Still having joint trouble? Nausea? To be honest, your lab results worry me. We should treat you in the hospital again.”

Regina shook her head, “No. Absolutely not. I want to stay here.”

“Fine,” The doctor nodded, “We’ll wait for the next MRI results. We may have to switch from hormone treatment back to chemo.”

Bartosz looked down at his phone to see a text from his girlfriend asking him to go to the bridge.

Clausen stood on top of the podium to give his speech. He was the new head of the Winden task force. Today he was taking over the missing persons cases. He was ready to reopen all the cases and review everything about them until he could solve it. He informed that some people had received summons for renewed interrogation in regards to the cases. He also made a statement that they were going to start trying to push more answers from Annalise as well. 

This received some backlash from many of the people in the town annoyed that not only would they send only one person to help, but the government decided to keep Charlotte on the case as well. 

Magnus looked at Franziska as they sat next to the lake, “Does your mom talk at home? About the investigation, I mean.”

“Not to us,” she replied.

Magnus shook his head, “We sit around and wait. And nothing happens. We know as little as we did eight months ago. Sometimes I think it’d be better if they were dead.”

Franziska rubbed the boy’s shoulder, “Don’t say that.” Slowly, the two teen’s lips met for a passionate kiss. It wasn’t long before that got interrupted by a text tone for the girl. She looked back at Magnus and told him, “I have to go.” She stood up to walk away.

“Where to,” Magnus asked.

“To pick up Elisabeth at a friend’s,” Franziska told him, “I’ll call you later, okay?”

Sensing that Franziska was lying, he waited a moment before following her.

Katharina walked through the woods. Her backpack ready with a map and flashlight. She knew the caves had something to do with all of this even though the police swore with Annalise that this wasn’t the care. Annalise had made a comment that she simply had run away due to stress and came back. She also claimed that Jonas would be back soon, though they went their separate ways so she had no idea where he was presently. Yet it’s been a full month and he still wasn’t back. Katharina prepared herself for her cave journey before walking inside.

Jonas trekked up to the power plant’s broken gate. He walked over to the wall to look at the sign, then made his way to the church. He passed the graves of many of the past residents of Winden there. He knelt down to place the picture of his family on his father’s grave then turned to look at Martha’s.

Martha rode her bike down to the bridge. She parked her bike and hiked down to see Bartosz already sitting there waiting for her. She sat down near him and looked at him.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for days,” Bartosz commented. 

Martha shook her head, “A lot was going on.” She watched as he turned away from her and she tried to say, “I wanted to talk to you. I’ve wanted to for a long time.”

“Save your breath,” Bartosz told her without even looking at her. He sighed and looked over to the girl, “It’s probably better that way.” Martha huffed and looked away from the boy causing him to turn, “So… that’s it then.” Martha slightly nodded, then looked down. Bartosz’s anger erupted, “Because of him? Because of Jonas?!”

“What?!” Martha growled back at him. She tried to fight back tears, “What’s that got to do with it? We hardly ever see each other. I don’t know… You’ve changed! I… What about her then? Annalise? She’s back for a month and you're willing to just throw it all away for her?” Martha shook her head and turned back to him, “I feel like you’re hiding something. I don’t know what’s up with you!”

Bartosz argued, “What’s up with me? What the fuck? My mom is dying! And… there’s stuff I can’t tell you.”

“Why not,” Martha accused.

Bartosz swallowed hard, “I just can’t. Okay? If you knew the crap I’m going through...”

Martha’s anger spewed out, “The crap you’re going through?! In case you forgot, my father and brother disappeared. My ex best friend is the only lead, she is lying to everyone, and won’t speak to any of us because of some stupid thing I said that she is claiming made her disappear for seven months! My mom is crazy and couldn’t care less about me! And you want to tell me about your crap?!” She quickly turned away as Bartosz shrunk down. She panted angrily, ran her fingers through her hair then repeated, “It’s better this way.” She stood up and stormed away.

Bartosz sat there wringing his hands anxiously. He watched her go before receiving a text telling him simply, ‘This evening.’

Aleksander stood in front of all his employees and gave a somber speech. He thanked them all for their loyalty and explained that the plant would be decommissioned in six days. After the speech, he followed his nuclear engineer. They put on their yellow hazard suit and walked inside.

The engineer explained, “Everything has been prepared for transport as planned.”

Aleksander asked, “And the demolition plans?”

“Everything at the ground level will be left and become part of the greenfield,” the other man explained, “The radiation of the barrels will be traced to the pool’s previous use.”

Hannah placed down the box with Aleksander’s once gun and passport inside. She took out the pistol and pointed it under her chin when she was interrupted by a set of keys opening the door. She quickly hid the gun and stood up to look to who that could have been. “Hello,” she called out. When she saw a bearded hooded man walk in, she asked him, “Who are you? What do you want? Why do you have a key?”

“It’s my key,” Stranger Jonas told his concerned mother. He slowly took off his hood so that she could get a better look at him.

Hannah, still not understanding, asked, “What do you mean, it’s yours?”

Jonas tried to calm his mother, “I know it sounds like it makes no sense, but hear me out.” He placed his bag down and walked towards her, “Do you remember the yellow bike? The bike you and dad gave me on my eighth birthday. I rode it into the ditch the very first day. I gashed my arm open. Here.” He rolled up his sleeves so that she could see his scar. 

Hannah panted. She couldn’t believe someone could play such a cruel trick on her. “Get out,” she commanded.

Jonas looked down trying to find what else he could do to convince her. “Here,” he tried again, “Dad was making pancakes here. He dropped the pan and spilled the hot oil here.” He motioned down to the stain on the wood then said, “I vanished from your life six months ago. You found me over 33 years ago. I knew it was you right away. It was raining, remember? Grandpa and you wanted to take me along in the car. You said it was still acid rain because of Chernobyl. I was wearing my yellow coat.” He took a step closer to her, “Momma. It’s me.” He held his hand out to her.

Hannah sobbed realizing he was telling her the truth. She put her hand on his arm and looked up at him, “Jonas?” She gently touched his beard in disbelief that her son would grow one, “But that’s impossible.” She cupped his face as she cried. She moved his hair away and watched him relax at her touch. She pulled him into a hug. 

Franziska walked to her drop spot for Bernette and put the information in before leaving to go get Elisabeth. Katharina squatted down in the cave and marked more places on her map before continuing forward. 

In 1921, Noah comforted his younger self from killing the older man. He told the boy that everything would be revealed in due time and that some things needed to stay hidden away for then so that later they could come into the light. 

“How do we know what’s right and what’s wrong,” the younger boy asked through gritted teeth and tears, “What is good and what is evil?”

Noah replied, “By heeding our inner voice. By not following anyone else but ourselves. Our true nature reveals itself not only in our deeds but also in their purpose. I am you. I am your voice. Never forget that. Everything is connected. You. Me. The past. And the future.” 

In 2053, Jonas walked through the forest of hanging bodies. Soon he heard gunshots and a man shouting. Jonas looked and ran towards the yelling. There was a crowd standing there at the execution. Nuclear gear carelessly tossed to the side as the man yelled. “Who are you,” he yelled, “You are hiding it! There, behind the wall! We saw it! We followed the signal. Till the dead zone. You’re hiding God! You mustn’t hide God. He’s not yours alone!”

Elisabeth nodded her head at the team. They pulled tightening the rope around his neck as he plead. She slowly turned away and looked into the small crowd. She signed and her translator Silja spoke, “No one can enter the dead zone. Any attempt will be punished by death. Those are the rules. We are the future! Sic mundus creatus est.”

The crowd repeated, “Sic mundus creatus est.” Then they departed leaving Jonas alone with Elisabeth and Silja.

“Where were you,” they questioned the boy, “There’s nothing out there. The passage is our only hope. The faithless are dead. The prophecy will come true, the passage will open and we will be led into paradise.”

“The faithless are dead,” Jonas asked back, “Everyone is dead, my family, my friends. Everyone dies in six days, in my time! I don’t need your damn paradise! I just want to go home!” He looked at Elisabeth, “What did they want behind the wall?”

Silja signed to Elisabeth what Jonas had said and awaited for her response. 

Jonas, however, did not have the time to wait, so he turned and left.

In 2020, Elisabeth looked up at her father, “Why did mom keep all of Great Granddad’s things? He’s been dead for years.”

Peter signed back, “I think because it’s the only thing that reminds her of her family. Some things are hard to let go of.”

“It’s a shame I never met Grandpa and Grandma,” Elisabeth told her dad, “Does Mom remember them?”

Peter explained, “Your mother was still little when they died. Come on.” Peter walked more into the shop to look. He turned to see Elisabeth had pulled out a picture of her mother and great grandfather from 1986. Peter chuckled. 

Annalise looked at the time. She bit her lip and started to sneak back towards the Kahnwald house only to be given pause by Bartosz. He spotted her and walked over to her. He stood in front of the girl and said, “Hey.”

“Hey,” She commented back trying to look past him. She then turned to him and gave a small smile, “Is there something I can do for you?”

Bartosz stared at her. Frustration rose in him, “I wish you would just stop fucking lying. Could you do that?”

Annalise started to walk past him, “Honestly, Bartosz. I really don’t know what you mean. I’ve told everyone the truth. Jonas and I ran away after the fight. We found a cheap cabin right outside of a different town not too far from here that we rented while we tried to find a permanent place. We got separated about a month ago. I came back after a week of waiting for him like we planned. He will be back soon. I don-”

WHACK! Bartosz’s fist hit the tree, “Anna! We both know that’s bullshit!” He grabbed her wrist, “We both know about what’s going on here. Please talk to me. You are the only one who I can talk to. Please.”

Annalise tried to wiggle away, “Bartosz, you’re hurting me. Let go. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know about Noah,” Bartosz growled into her ear, pulling her close to him. “I’m part of it too. Just talk to me.”

Annalise pulled away and told him, “I have no idea what you’re talking about! I told everyone what happened and honestly I’m only still here to make sure Hannah doesn’t kill herself and to wait for Jonas to get back so we can both go back home!”

“We both know that isn’t what’s happening,” Bartosz told her.

Annalise turned back to him, “You’re right Bartosz! Jonas left me and he’s never coming back! I should damn well just run off with you! Is that what you want to fucking hear?!” She had tears in her eyes. She grit her teeth as she tried to keep the tears inside. She stormed up to him, “Do you want to run away with me Bartosz?! Leave your dying mother behind and I leave behind a grieving mother on the edge of putting a gun to her head?! Is that what you want?”

Bartosz felt tears building up inside him as well. He looked down and whispered down to her while caressing her cheek, “That isn’t fair. I know you’re scared, but don’t take it out on me.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” She hissed and turned away as she felt the tears start to fall.

Bartosz watched her leave and whispered, “I know I love you at least.” He let his tears fall watching her knowing it would probably be best to try and give her space. She knew she could always come to him now and that he would never judge her. He watched her go not realizing that this moment could have possibly been the last he would see her again.

Martha knocked on her brother’s room door. “Mom,” she called into the empty room. She looked around. There on the floor and walls were papers, trails of what her mother was thinking. Martha sat down onto the ground and opened a box to pull out a file. There in front of her was the investigation file. That was when Martha got the thought into her head that maybe it was their turn to start snooping around.

Katharina continued searching in the caves hoping to find her answers. She had no idea if she was going to get them but she had hope that she would. She needed to find her son and husband. She needed to make things right.

“It’s remarkable people don’t crack, given the futility of their own existence,” Adam told Noah, “An endless cycle of life and death. Where is the origin of all this suffering?” He paused then asked, “Did you tell Bartosz?”

Noah turned away from the painting of The Fall of the Damned and nodded to the man.

“And he didn’t get at all suspicious,” Adam asked sitting crossed legged in a chair. He spoke to himself after seeing Noah shake his head, “He has always been naive by nature.” He took a large breath and walked up to Noah, “The apocalypse has to happen. Are you having doubts?” He watched Noah shake his head then asked, “What do you do with an old forest so new trees can grow?”

Noah replied, “You burn it down.”

“There isn’t much time left,” Adam told the man. “The missing pages… you must find them.”

Noah nodded before being interrupted by an older Franziska, “Adam? They’re waiting for you.”

Adam turned back to Noah and said, “Six more days.” He turned and walked out.

In 2020, Magnus turned hearing a rustle near him. He looked to see Bernette going to the drop site and replacing an envelope with another one. She looked around not noticing the boy and walked back to her trailer. Magnus trailed after her. He opened the door and walked in.

“I’m on my break,” Bernette told the person who walked in. When she turned, she was surprised to see a young man there, who looked just as surprised himself. She strolled over to him, “Oh, well… Blow job 40 euros, anal 85. Kinky stuff costs extra, but I need to eat first.” She opened up a ramen cup. Then turned to the young man, “Well, get undressed.”

Magnus panicked. He took a few breaths in before dashing back out of the trailer.

Bernette, confused, walked towards her window and watched as Magnus rushed home.

“You can say I exist infinitely,” Jonas explained to his mother as the sun slowly made its way down to sleep and Annalise climbed her way up the side of the house to sneak into Jonas’s room once more, “I’m here now. And I’m in every second between my birth and my death. I’m always Jonas. I’m the same. And yet not the same.” Hannah looked at the older version of her son as he continued, “Like you’re not the same person who came through that door an hour ago.”

Hannah asked him, “But where is Jonas? Where is my Jonas?”

The Stranger Jonas sighed, “He’s in the future.”

“In the future,” Hannah repeated back as a question.

The older version of her son nodded, “Yeah. He can’t come back. I tried to destroy the passage, but I only closed it. That’s why he’s still there.”

Hannah shook her head and sighed, “Why are you here?”

Annalise walked down the stairs right at that moment causing both of them to stare at her for a moment before resuming the conversation. He said, “To put an end to it all. Once and for all.”

Annalise smiled gently and asked, “Ada- Jonas?” She gently shepherded him up from his chair, “It’s really you.” She collapsed in his arms. She pulled him close to her and took in a deep breath to inhale all of him. Her fingers curled into his back pulling his shirt into her fists. She buried her face in him trying not to let him go. As if she were to let him go that he would be lost to time once again.

He smiled tenderly down at her. His beloved so close to him made him feel truly home. He pet her head gently. He placed a soft kiss against the top of her head as he whispered, “I am Lise. It’s so good to see you again.” He held her close treasuring this moment. It was near ecstasy for her to be so close to him again after so long.

She slowly pulled away and placed a warm kiss against his cheek. “You should get to bed,” Annalise scolded him, “Take a shower then head to bed. You sorely need it.” I can tell just how weary you are.”

Jonas nodded with his eyes half lidded looking at her, “Alright.” He dreamily smiled before going upstairs to do just as he was told.

Elisabeth tried to keep herself occupied as her father went through the boxes. She used this time to start trying to look through books. While looking through one, she found a picture. Surprised she brought it to her father and pointed out the man saying, “That’s him! That’s that man.”

“Which man,” Peter asked his daughter.

Elisabeth explained, “The man with the watch. That’s Noah!”

“Noah,” Peter asked his daughter. He looked down at the picture and stared. There staring back at him was just as his daughter had described before and he knew that it was true. There was Noah.

Back at Sic Mundus, Noah stared at a trifold of pictures of everyone important in the loop. The Doppler’s, the Kahnwalds, the Nielsen’s, the Tiedemann’s, and David and Annalise Dahlhiem. He turned and walked away with his briefcase off to do more of his work.

“Watch out for the tiniest deviations in their statements,” Clausen told Charlotte, “Every detail is important.”

Charlotte turned hearing her phone vibrate. She picked it up seeing a message from Peter telling her, ‘I’ve found Noah. Come to the Bunker.’

 Clausen looked at the woman and asked, “Something wrong?”

“I have to go,” Charlotte tried to rush out.

Clausen interrupted and commented, “I don’t have a driver’s license. I assume it’s okay if I ride with you tomorrow?”

Charlotte turned to him, “Yes.” She walked out to go meet up with her husband.

In 2053, Jonas walked around the desolate forest. He hiked to the bunker. He turned on his spherical light and lowered himself inside. He studied his map then grabbed his Geiger counter before heading out.

Annalise, in 2019, crept into Jonas’s father’s studio. It was actually the first time she had ever been up here. She searched for something where she could toss the letter that she needed to burn. It wasn’t long before she found the metal bucket. But there was something strange. A covered painting. Something inside of her called to it. As if it were meant for her to pull the sheet. The girl grasped the cloth and pulled it away to reveal, looking back at her, a smiling girl. The resemblance was uncanny. Annalise fell to the floor. Her breathing hitched inside of her chest. Tears fell from her eyes seeing her happy naive face staring back at her. She was so full of love. Annalise scrunched her face, she had never met Jonas’s father had she? Much less when she was the age she was in the painting. The pieces slowly came together. She breathed heavily. “Mikkel,” she whispered. She started to sob. Annalise quickly snapped herself out of it. She grabbed the bucket, lit the letter on fire, and dropped it into the bucket watching it burn.

Martha scattered the papers and documents around trying to find any clue she could. Magnus slowly opened the door to see his sister on the floor acting erratically. Martha looked up to defend herself, “Mom didn’t lock it.”

Magnus took a breath and asked, “What’s that?”

“Dad’s stuff,” Martha replied, “Police documents and maps of the cave. That’s why Mom goes there every day. I think she’s looking for this.” Martha handed Magnus the file.

Magnus studied it, “A door. In the caves?”

Martha nodded, “It goes to the nuclear power plant. They all know something we’re not supposed to know. Mom, Bartosz, The police, Annalise.” She sighed shaking her head, “Each with their own shitty secret.”

Angry, Magnus started to breath heavily trying to process that maybe that thing Martha said at the very beginning, the day Mikkel went missing, was true.

Bartosz trekked to the caves alone. He stood there waiting for Noah only for the man to approach from behind him, coming from deep inside the cave.

“Are you ready,” Noah asked the boy.

Bartosz nodded and followed the man into the cave, but not before turning back to take a look at Winden again.

Woller walked out of his sister’s trailer and complemented, “Thanks for the coffee.” He pulled out an envelope with money and handed it to her in exchange to the keys of the large shipping truck parked next to her trailer. 

“I’m glad to get rid of that thing,” she commented nodding towards the truck. 

Woller was just about to leave. He didn’t like that this was how he and his sister were communicating. He looked at her and said, “Call Mom again. Okay?”

Bernette nodded and allowed herself to hug her brother before he left with a simple exchanged ‘bye.’

Charlotte drove to the cabin and climbed down into the bunker. When she got there her husband turned and showed her a very old photograph.

Peter pointed, “That is Noah.” Charlotte looked up at him surprised, then took the picture to study it more closely. Peter continued, “Elisabeth found it at the store. It was in a book. She said that’s the man who gave her the watch.”

Charlotte turned it over to see the date on it was January 8, 1921. She read aloud, “Sic Mundus Creatus Est.”

“Charlotte, who are these people,” Peter asked her, “Why did your grandfather have this?”

Charlotte shook her head, “I don’t know.”

Peter scoffed before Charlotte added it to the evidence on the walls of the bunker. They turned to each other in disbelief. 

Franziska tried to call Magnus again as Elisabeth napped with her head on her older sister’s lap. He kept rejecting her calls. 

Hannah sat on the edge of Jonas’s bed as Annalise walked in. She turned to the girl and motioned to her older son’s scars. Annalise made no inclination of change in mood. Her face looked empty and devoid of any feelings once so ever. The two switched places as Hannah walked down stairs to go to sleep herself.

Regina slept in her bed in the house as her husband poured the concrete over the waste. He stared at it as Clausen stared at his board of missing persons.

The young Noah walked out of Sic Mundus and the young Jonas walked through the trees trying to get to the plant to sneak inside. There he found a tunnel which he crawled through and followed the signal to where the pool once was. 

Feeling the shifting of weight on the bed, the older Jonas jerked awake. He quickly and effectively grabbed Annalise and tossed her under him. His breathing fast and heavy until the hasy mist of sleep dissipated from him to reveal who it was. Seeing her face calmed him. He gently cupped her face and smiled through tears. “You really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” he commented rolling over to lay down once more.

Annalise turned onto her side so that way they were face to face as they spoke, “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I just…” She swallowed, “You are so injured my love.” Tears fell from her eyes onto his pillow. 

He nodded, “Yes, but it’s all to end this. I’ve seen far worse than what those scars tell you.” His thumb traced her cheek as he spoke quietly to her. He tried to soothe her tears away. He joined their hands together. He pulled them up to his rough and battered lips so that he could kiss her soft smooth knuckles before linking their fingers together. He kissed her forehead and confessed, “I am so sorry for everything. If I were only wiser, we wouldn’t be tangled into this knot and you would never feel any of this pain.”

A small smile fought its way onto her face as she tried to comfort him as well, “My dearest, it is alright. I know you will fix this. You will always be with me,” She kissed his cheek, “Please never let me go.”

The younger Jonas found it. He slipped into the yellow radiation suit and stared at it. They were right. There in front of his was the God particle. He turned and looked at all the documents surrounding it before turning his attention back to the black throbbing tendril-filled swirling sphere.

[dsm-v]

CW self-harm/suicidality

So I’ve hurt myself several times, most frequently by overdosing on pharmaceutical drugs. whenever I’ve overdosed I’ve usually gone to the hospital and been stabilized and then eventually discharged. My liver and kidneys have worked resiliently along with medical assistance to keep me alive, and yet doctors and providers can not quite ever seem to grasp how concerned I actually am for the potential of long-term damage I may do or have already done to myself in these episodes. Just because I take an overdose of some OTC drug and my system helps clear it all out and my levels are all good in the emergency room, how can I know that my liver won’t just sporadically start to fail in 6 months, or something like that? Getting through one incident unscathed doesn’t mean that my body won’t eventually suffer more damage done or caused by the collective tendency I’ve had toward harming myself in the past already

[astxlphe]

Dazai Spring Multiship week 2020 @dazaimultishipweek

Umbrella // Dazaku / daaku

CW blood and injuries.

Guess who didn’t notice the week had already started until yesterday? 

So, we’re technically day 4, but here is day 2. If I do several days they’ll probably be out of order anyway.

It feels like a mess of a story too. 

It’s raining and Akutagawa is tired.

He stumbles in an alley, away from the crowded main street, to avoid being noticed.  

Blood seeps through his clothes and Rashomon tries, in vain, to contain it all. The wounds are deep, deeper than he thought they would be, and every single one of his muscle aches.

His opponent lost, in the end, but not without doing some damage themself. Every move sends pain all the way through his bones, and the rain doesn’t help, soaking him, mixing with the blood, making it drip on the ground.

It makes him want to scream with frustration. Even the weather is against him.  

He’s lost his phone in the fight too, broken beyond repair then fallen in the river, so he can’t call for Gin to come pick him up.

Nothing can possibly be worse than this, than bleeding out on the street, drenched, with no way of contacting the only person he trusts blindly to get him out of a tight spot.

He’s really down on his luck, lately.

His vision swims, and he stumbles again, catching himself against the wall. There are footsteps somewhere near him, and he tries to call on Rashomon. The beast rises, but the newcomer doesn’t react.

They feel familiar, spots of brown and beige. Akutagawa’s head hurts, he can’t see properly, can’t tell who it is.

The newcomer stands in front of him.

“Oh my, looks like someone did a number of you!” he says in a faux-cheerful tone which Akutagawa immediately recognize. “Did you meet Atsushi-kun on a grocery run again?”  

Scratch that, there is worse, and it’s bleeding out on the street, drenched, with no way of contacting the only person he trusts blindly to get him out of a tight spot and with Dazai Osamu as only company.

He tries to stand straighter, tries to hide the sorry state he’s in. His stomach reflexively twists in fear because even though the man has changed, the Dazai he knows isn’t kind in the face of weakness and Akutagawa is very aware of how utterly pathetic he is right now.

“Dazai-san—”

“That rain probably isn’t helping,” Dazai goes on. He takes a step forward and the rain stops falling.

Glancing up, Akutagawa sees the umbrella in the man’s hand, opened above his head.

“So? What happened?” The curiosity seems almost real.

Akutagawa wants to answer, but his knees buckles and his legs can't keep him upright anymore. Dazai moves, free arm wrapping around him, not fast enough to keep his knees from hitting the ground. He hisses in pain, falling forward.

Dazai crouches and fumbles with his coat buttons, and he wants to push him off, he doesn’t want him to see, but Rashomon has already faded under his touch.

The man stares, quiet, at the bloody shirt, for several seconds. “The wounds are rather severe.” His smile has disappeared.

Akutagawa’s face flushes and he looks away, embarrassed.

“Who did this?” Dazai asks, fingers skimming over a bleeding cut on his face. It’s not mere curiosity anymore. His tone is colder, eyes darker and, Akutagawa notices, he isn’t angry at him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Akutagawa manages to say. He smiles, though it probably looks more like a grimace, showing off bloodied teeth, in an attempt to save face, maybe. “I won.”

“You haven’t won if you die so soon afterwards, stupid boy.” The words should have been cutting, full of contempt, but they’re said with something that sounds like fondness.  Dazai gathers him against his chest with a gentleness he doesn’t remember him having. “You need medical attention.”

“It’ll heal on its own.”

“Non, It won’t.” The umbrella above them swings lightly as Dazai shakes his head.

Akutagawa stares at it. It’s not black, like he expected, it’s transparent, and droplets of water run on it like he’s covered with an invisible dome.

Dazai’s hand is off him now, the man busy with his phone. “I’ll call Yosano for you.”

“I’m fine,” Akutagawa insist, “I’m strong enough to—” He coughs and his whole body shudders in protest. Dazai ignores him, obviously seeing through the lie. He isn’t sure why Dazai is doing this. He should be mad at him for being so weak in front of him.

He talks for a bit. I can’t move him, he hears. Heavy blood loss. He gives their location and hangs up, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“The person who did this to you,” Dazai says casually as they wait, “are they dead?”

“No.” Dazai stays quiet at his answer, and Akutagawa adds, just so he knows he hasn’t been cheating, that he has been like Nakajima wishes him to: “I have not killed in eight months.”

“Eight months?” Dazai repeats. “Really?”

Killing doesn’t feel as natural as it used to. It used to put him in a bad mood, avoiding killing, because it brought unnecessary limitations to his fighting.

He nods. His brain bounces in his skull.

Dazai hums, still holding tight on the umbrella. It seems so foolish to Akutagawa, for him to shield him from the rain like this. Being soaked isn’t painful, merely an added inconvenience to his wounds, yet he still insists on doing it.

The man could easily leave him here and wait somewhere he wouldn’t be cold and wet. And for some reason, he wants to spare him the discomfort.

A hand is running through his hair and Akutagawa’s instincts scream at him to slap that it away, to prove to himself and to Dazai that he can still stand on his own, that he’s still in shape to fight whatever opponent they point him at.  

But it’s soothing; the warmth it creates in his chest almost letting him forget the chill the running water got into his bones.

He can hear it, Dazai’s frantic heartbeat, feel the slight trembling of his fingers as they pet his hair, and he can almost dream the man cares about him as much as Akutagawa does.

If he dies like this, he doesn’t mind it.

Dark spots cloud his vision. It’s his whole body that shakes now, and he has trouble breathing.

“Akutagawa-kun,” Dazai says, tone half-joking, half-serious. He leans his head towards him and presses his lips to his forehead. “While I’m very glad you are keeping up with the no killing rule, this isn’t why I asked. Now, I’m going to need a name.”

“A—”

He coughs. Static fills his ears and he barely has the time to see Dazai’s strangely panicked face before he goes under.

+

Dazai waits for Akutagawa to wake up.

After Yosano’s arrival, after she did her work, they carried him back to the agency, causing a great upheaval in the office, no one expecting them to walk in with an unconscious mafioso.

The president, thankfully, broke up the commotion and ordered for Akutagawa to be carried to the infirmary.

Now that his life isn’t in danger anymore, Dazai can relax.

He closes his eyes, trying to pull himself back together. The sudden, unexpected fear clawing at his guts as he collapsed, as Dazai realized he grossly underestimated the extent of his injuries. The overwhelming relief washing over him when Yosano arrived. All of this settles down, deep under a layer of cheerful smiles.

His fingers still card through his hair, until Akutagawa’s face scrunches up. Yosano stands as he stirs. “I’ll leave you two alone.” She does just that, closing the door being her.

When Akutagawa opens his eyes, Dazai grins. “Look at you,” he says cheerfully. “All fixed up!”

“Where—” He pushes himself in sitting position and reaches out, looking for something — probably his coat, it’s thrown on a chair, next to Dazai’s own, stained with the boy’s blood.

“The Agency’s infirmary,” Dazai answers before he finishes his question. “Yosano wanted to leave you on the side of the road but, well, I said no.”

He’s avoiding the subject, he knows it.

Akutagawa looks away. “You saved my life.” It’s said with such reluctant gratitude Dazai almost cringes.  

“I won’t be here next time.” The words come out harsher than he means them to, and they’re a lie as well. Dazai will be here to keep him alive if he can help it, though before he needs Akutagawa to understand. “You need to take a better care of yourself, you know?”

It’s rich, coming from someone who constantly talks of committing suicide, but the boy needs to know, needs to learn, that he isn’t allowed to die. 

Akutagawa doesn’t look concerned at all, and Dazai wants to stand, anger rising in his chest, and slap the bullshit out of him, to teach him to be such an irresponsible idiot.

He doesn’t.

Breathe in, breathe out. He’s not mad at Akutagawa, he just wants to the boy to have some sense. He lowers his hand, resting it on top of Akutagawa’s head instead, who stares up.

And Dazai tries to hide it all, to hide the fear and the worry. He doesn’t know if he’s successful. Whatever he sees on his face is enough for Akutagawa to change his mind.

“I will try,” he tells him, and Dazai hopes he’s just not trying to placate him. “I should probably go.”

“You should.” He tilts his head towards the folded clothes at the foot of the bed. “Your shirt was ruined, so this is one of mine. It might be a little big, but it’ll do.”

Once he’s dressed, Dazai hands him his coat and walks with him to the bottom of the stairs leading to the office. It’s obvious that everyone else is starring, and that Atsushi is barely containing himself from asking Akutagawa if he’s okay.

He grabs his umbrella on the way out. It’s still raining, after all.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Akutagawa says, bowing slightly. “And thank your doctor on my behalf as well.”

His tone is clipped and as blank as he can, pulling back the walls between them. It hurts, a bit. Dazai can’t hold it against him.

“I will.”  

He hands him the umbrella without a word, and Akutagawa accepts it. They stare at each other for a long time and Dazai thinks it’s slightly unfair that even with his walls up, he can still easily read what Akutagawa feels in his eyes.

The blind adoration is gone, replaced by something different that makes him feel like he’s looking at a mirror.

It’s not like he can’t place a word on his feelings. He knows, how could he possibly not be aware of it? It’s seeing it spelled out on Akutagawa’s face that throws him off.

“You still haven't told me who I must see about this.” He says it lightly, like a joke.

“No one. They aren’t a bother anymore.”

They’re not dead, but they’re either dying, or in such a terrible state they won’t be thinking of doing anything for a long time, then.

“If you’re sure.” He sighs. “Don’t die while my back is turned.” This is probably the closest to a confession he’s ever going to get.

Neither of them is quite ready to hear it said out loud.

Akutagawa nods and opens the umbrella, stepping out in the rain, walking away. “I’ll bring it back later.” He frowns. “And don’t die either.”

[techmomma]

Being Prepared

In uncertain times, now, perhaps more than ever, is an important time to discuss a difficult subject: 

Advance Directives, aka “What if I or a loved one are in the hospital and cannot make decisions for myself or them?” 

Talking about such matters, especially our philosophies, beliefs, and what we want to happen in the event we cannot make decisions for ourselves, is a topic that more often comes up in the midst of emergency. For most, it’s a surprise. And for most, they heap on themselves a stressful situation that can absolutely be avoided with some heart-to-heart discussions beforehand. Below, I will outline some important topics you can discuss with someone you trust, so that they know what to do, in case the unexpected happens.

CW: death, death mention

From personal experience, being willing to discuss such things was one of the few things that saved us during the sudden, unexpected emergency of my late fiance falling into a coma due to diabetic complications. We had a limited time window; hesitating too late, and the doctors would have been legally prohibited from removing his life support no matter what we chose. Luckily, he and I, both believers in the death positive movement, understood the importance of this kind of discussion, and had talked about figures such as Terry Pratchett and dignity of dying. Knowing that my fiance would not want to end up like him helped steer us in the right direction, regarding what quality of life would have been acceptable, and what would not.

Which brings us to the subject: just what do you talk about? How do you phrase it? Who do you discuss this with?

For most of us, the person we discuss this with will be a trusted family member. Perhaps a spouse, or domestic partner, perhaps your significant other. For others, this may be a trusted friend. Regardless, this needs to be someone you trust will honor your wishes, rather than instating their own. Or, if they did, someone you trust to make the right decisions. This is the person you can designate as your Health Care Agent. In addition, as a safety measure, you can designate others as Alternate Health Care Agents in the event your Primary is unable to for whatever reason, and have this discussion with them. Having two or three individuals who know your wishes and can be contacted is a pretty safe bet. This is especially important for those in long distance relationships or persons who live away from home; have your trusted person, but also have someone who is physically close to you who can travel to the hospital. Have people who can contact others on your behalf, or can be contacted if you cannot.

What you want to happen, in the event you cannot make decisions, is called an Advance Directive. For the state of Washington, you can fill and print out this form, if you do not have an attorney. I highly recommend looking it over whether you live in Washington or not; it has a lot of examples of the kinds of things you can make decisions on and what to talk about!

So how do you breech an admittedly difficult and possibly painful subject? That will depend on you, but the person you trust to fulfill your wishes should, ultimately, be someone who is at least willing to discuss this subject with you, regardless of the difficulty. 

If need be though, or in need of a reasonable segue into the subject, this is my permission to you to use the example of my late fiance, who suffered an unexpected diabetic coma in the middle of the night when alone and could not make decisions for himself, eventually culminating in a termination of life support as per his wishes. If it can happen to him, a healthy man in his early 30s, it could certainly happen during a COVID-19 outbreak, which seems to be a russian roulette in regards to whose case is mild and whose is lethal. If it can help you make decisions that benefit yourself and the emotional well-being of your loved ones, I am more than confident he would give his blessings.

So, what do you talk about? Anything and everything. Again, try checking out example Advance Directive forms, and some Financial Power of Attorney forms (you may need witnesses for these forms to be legalized, but in reality, any form you fill out is still technically legal and admissible in a court of law). But I have some subjects that both my late fiance and current significant other have discussed that will, at the very least, give any Health Care Agents you designate a good idea of what you would like done. Also check out your medical provider’s website, if they have online access. Mine actually has a page where I can outright fill out Health Care Agents, so I actually just filled that out today and it’s right there in their records to access in an emergency! Again, make sure the person you designate is informed and willing! Check with family members or friends too, they may be able to provide you with legal forms to formalize your wishes.

Some topics you can discuss:

Your personal beliefs regarding treatment. Do you have a spiritual leader you want contacted? Do you have religious, spiritual, or personal beliefs that might interfere with treatment? In some religions, some medical treatments may not be acceptable! If you do not have any exceptions or clauses, how far do you want medical treatment to go? If your condition is terminal, do you want treatment prolonged even if the end result is still death? Do you want hospice? Do you want to be given life-sustaining treatment (life support), even if it is known that this will only worsen or prolong a terminal condition? Do you want to be resuscitated, even if your quality of life may suffer or will be negligible? (For example, being resuscitated while in a Permanent Vegetative State?) If your condition is terminal, do you wish to pass away at home, or in the hospital? What if you are pregnant while unable to make decisions; do you want to put the survival of yourself or the baby first? If you are unsure, and know that the choices may depend on context, do you want to allow your Health Care Agent to decide? Are they comfortable and willing to make decisions like those on your behalf? Do you want your Health Care Agents to have these powers only during an emergency or in specific ways (springing) or effective and general once agreed to (durable)?

If you are alive and yourself but will need assisted living, such as wheelchairs, help with feeding, changing, bathing, dialysis, etc., who is willing to help you with this? Is your SO willing? Do you want your SO to do so? Do you want nurses and providers to do so? What are your feasible options?

Do you want to be an organ donor? Are you willing to be a full donor, which may mean your family will be unable to have an open casket? Only a partial donor? Do you only want to be able to donate specific things, if able? Where do you want those donations to go? Medical schools, other patients? 

Do you have pets? Who do you want to take care of them if you cannot? Are they able to take care of those pets? 

What do you want to happen to your material possessions? Who do you want to wipe your laptop of those seedy sites you visit? Do you want specific things to go to specific people? Do you want it all to go to your Health Care Agent, who can then decide what to do with those items? Who do you want your money and assets to go to? (Remember, your loved ones cannot be billed for the dead’s debts, no matter what companies claim!) 

If you die, what do you want to happen with your body? How much money are you comfortable with loved ones spending? Is there a specific ritual you want performed or cultural practice observed, is there a specific place you would like to be buried? Do you want to be embalmed? Do you want to be cremated? Where would you want your ashes scattered? Do you ultimately not care, even if you have preferences, and want your loved ones to do what is best for them in regards to their own grieving process? 

These are obviously difficult subjects and for some people, these may be hard to discuss. Death is a hard subject! Especially death of ourselves or loved ones. I can tell you from experience though, how grateful we were that these things were discussed beforehand--and how grateful I was to my late fiance for taking so much heartache and stress off of our shoulders. Talking about these things can, in some cases, be an ultimate act of love to unburden the people you care about. (You may also be surprised at how easy it is to talk about the subject, once you just get started!)

For some of us, talking about these things can feel like paranoia, or obsession over death--or even, if we have a history of suicidal ideation, that we may worry about worrying others. Just state beforehand that you do not have thoughts of self-harm in talking about this; only that you want to be prepared. Your trusted ones will understand--and may thank you, for making your wishes known. 

It is not paranoia or obsession with death to care about the stress your loved ones may be under in a trying time. Remember: we make these to prepare for the unexpected, but make them in the hope and likelihood they will only gather dust.

For more info on the death positive movement, understanding your rights regarding Advance Directives, practical advice on the handling of your body, and greener funeral options, check out Caitlin Doughty’s youtube, aka Ask A Mortician.

[qm-vox]

The Dwelling Gods - Here To Help

Previous Chapter: A More Perfect Union

Shout-out to @endreal for inspiring this chapter’s topic

CW: Suicide mention

Planet Athens, Parthenon System (Risen Terran space), 402 P.T. (2865 Astra Federation Standard Calendar; approximately two years after the start of the Humanities War)

“Salutations, Cherished One. My name is D4-73, designated by the Cherished as Daze. Thank you for coming to see me.”

I offer a hand to my patient, Helen Trialstz, and they shake it with some reluctance. They have dark circles around their bloodshot eyes, and they shake, faintly. They’ve not been sleeping. They sink into the comfortable chair a short distance from mine and fidget with ragged nails.

Poor thing.

“Anything you say here will be kept strictly confidential,” I continue, in my most soothing voice. “I am of course obligated to report if I seriously believe you will attempt to harm others, but given the subject of our visit...”

“I want to claim Valhalla,” Helen says. Their voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper, but there’s such ferocity to it.

I nod in a soft motion. “Even so.” I pick up my notes from the desk next to me; not strictly necessary, given the expansive memory for which my model is known, but it soothes organic patients and helps them remember that I am a medical professional, not an impersonal machine. “Your application to become a Valhallan came at an unusual time in your life. I am not a gatekeeper, Helen; my judgement does not influence whether or not you can make your claim. I am simply here to listen, and to advise.”

The terran fidgets, picking at their nails. I offer them a nail file, and they accept it with a look of guilt and of gratitude. “Four required sessions sounds like gatekeeping to me.”

“You may have a point there,” I concede with a nod. “But surely you can understand why the Phoenix would prefer its citizens to be...absolutely certain, before taking such a drastic step. I am here to provide certainty, one way or the other. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Helen lapses into silence and files at their nails; they look up at me every now and again, looking away the instant they notice that I am still paying attention to them. The mechanical clock (an affectation, to be sure, one that takes constantly daily correction, but one of which I am fond) ticks away long seconds. I give Helen a full minute before I speak up again.

“You are younger than most claimants. Your file says you have not yet undergone your civic service?” Helen looks up at me while I shuffle my papers. “Can I ask what has motivated you to claim the right to end a life that has barely begun?”

Helen is silent again. They concentrates on their nails like they have the answers I’m looking for. I wait; I have nothing but time.

“The hivemind,” Helen whispers at last. “That thing. I won’t - I can’t -” tears well up in their eyes, and I offer them a box of tissues, which they take. Helen clutches the box close to their chest and sobs in big, heaving motions. I wish I could say that I was shocked, but Helen is not my first claimant, and they are not my first to cite this precise reasoning.

The hivemind. There is nothing terrans hate or fear more, and now they know that their own ancestors created it.

“Someone has to be punished,” Helen whispers. “We - I...”

“Why should it be you?” I ask in a mild voice. Helen blinks, eyes still full of tears. “You did not create Humanity United. You are not responsible.”

“But we did,” Helen murmurs. “...We did that. We made this, this, this godless thing, and we released it out into the Galaxy and now it’s going to hurt so many people...”

“Helen...” I sigh - well, I ‘sigh’. “Obviously I cannot force you to do anything. But I suspect that you may be acting without all proper information. I would like to make a suggestion to you.” Wordlessly, my patient nods, so I continue. “Down the block you’ll find Beth Or Synagogue, where, among others, my friend Rabbi Chiron Rellvan teaches. Between this session and your next one, go see him. Tell him of your worries and your plan, and listen to what he has to say.”

“I’m not Jewish,” Helen mumbles.

“You will discover that this is hardly an obstacle or a new situation for this or most Rabbis,” I reply. “...Helen, you have nothing to lose. In the worst case, you follow through with your claim and get what you seek. In the best case, you have learned something new and avoided a needless tragedy. If Valhalla truly is what is best for you, I will not be an obstacle. But I would be remiss as your doctor and as one of my people if I did not offer alternatives.”

Tick-tock-tick, into the silence. And then: “Okay, Doctor Daze.”

Observation Post Argus (Assisted Living space), 2865 Astra Federation Standard Calendar

“Salutations, Cherished One! My name is G5-LX, designated by the Cherished as Lowlife. Can I buy you a drink?”

The ibraxian I’m talking to hasn’t given me his name (a particularly beautiful series of whistling sounds, incidentally), and he also doesn’t shake my hand with his tendrils immediately. It’s the designation, it always is.

“That nickname does not sound like your given name.”

Told you!

“It does not,” I agree in my very most pleasant whistle. Love of the Cherished but I adore the ibraxian language. It’s so birdlike and bright. “May I buy you that drink, quartermaster?”

At last, my new friend wraps his tentacle around my hand and wrist, a sign that I may sit. I catch the eye of the bartender and signal for two drinks; I can’t drink mine, but it would be insulting not to have one, so here I am. And if I can land this deal, two drinks is nothing.

Actually, two drinks is nothing anyway, but details.

“How may I repay you?” my friend the quartermaster asks. His ship is docked at the station, alongside many others, on their way to the front of the Humanities War. There’s a lot of Gataxian colonies to defend, evacuate, or both, and a lot of hyperlanes to try to cut off or choke out. The Federation’s mobilizing like it hasn’t since the Organism. Bad job, that. Before my time. A lot of the Cherished died, and a lot of helper-bots died with ‘em - alongside them, or trying to save them. Mostly that second one, but still.

Now, though, the dance. “It could be that I have a business venture for a friend in your position. This idea, it burdens my waking thoughts and weighs down what should make me merry. A listening ear could lift this burden from me.”

My new friend contemplates this while the drinks arrive. We raise our glasses to one another, which is where my part of that little ritual has to end; as much as I love the Cherished, I can’t drink and I’m not gonna look stupid in front of them trying. After downing his own drink fully - an excellent sign! - he gives me a two-tendril gesture to continue.

I steeple my fingers in front of my face like a terran, taking quiet delight in their soft, almost musical sounds. “I am in a position to supply for particular needs for your fleet. You sail to glorious battle, defending the weak and the innocent from the depredations of the hive-mind! But that means strictly controlled communications, and definitely no downloads or uploads. Soldiers have needs beyond the physical. Their bodies thirst, yes, but what of their minds?”

I can almost hear my good friend the quartermaster start to bristle something about drugs, but then he stops himself; helper-bots don’t sell drugs, right? Not exactly true, but close enough for government work...

“Aboard my vessel is a truly staggering quantity of entertainment, much of it carnal in nature,” I say, and I let the pixelated eyebrows on my face-plate bounce up and down. “All of it manufactured in the Assisted Living Complexes by those of the Cherished whose fondest dream is to have an audience that can...truly know them. I also have supplies of some of the latest games to release since the start of the Humanities War, trids and VR scenarios, and a rather lovely little psionic board game the spirrans came out with. Now, I cannot make use of most of this merchandise myself...”

“...Hence the need to find a friend who might favor you with a purchase,” my friend the quartermaster finishes. “But surely, friend Lowlife, you understand that monetary gain is unlikely in this arena? My pay is sent home, to be kept in trust against the day that I may know peace again, and even if it was not a soldier’s salary is heavily seasoned with duty rather than wealth.”

I nod. “Even so, Cherished One. Even so. But it is not monetary gain that I seek.”

Around us, the station’s bar bustles. Enlisted men and NCOs get their last drinks and flirtations in; they can’t stay long, and they know it. Every passing second brings them closer to the war, and the sleeting torrent of time is on my side in this deal.

“Instead,” I continue, “I would ask for two things. The first is that when the time comes for you, in your turn, to be unburdened of these material possessions, that you tell your eager friends about our friendship, and mention the name Lowlife.” The quartermaster gives off a meditative chirp. “The second is slightly more materialistic but alas! Unavoidable. I am in need, at your earliest convenience, of a great quantity of AS-3940 power exchangers, to be shipped to the budding United Vatari Star States at several addresses of my choosing.”

My new friend goes so very still. “That’s the designation used in artillery pieces.”

“I rejoice to see that my new friend is so learned in his craft! But it so happens that the vatari, after laying down their arms as part of the accords that saw my people join our illustrious Federation, converted a great deal of their mobile artillery to civilian purposes, and in their eagerness to join the front in this newest war have found themselves short of supplies in a way that would be indelicate if exposed to their new friends.”

The quartermaster narrows his many eyes at me. My pixelated faces just stays smilin’.

“A lot of damage can be done with something as innocuous as a power exchanger,” my new friend says in a softer, harsher whistle. “A lot of damage to people just recently free of your direct rule.”

“It certainly could, my friend. But a lot of good can be done too. Power is like that. Do you not trust me?”

“Do I trust your supply chain and confederates, friend?”

Oof. Go right for the power supply, why don’t you. “A prudent question! Indulge me, friend, with a question that may seem unrelated to the business at hand: what do you know about the death of Central Processing?”

At this my friend the quartermaster lets out a surprised sound. “Death? Central Processing is your administrative AI, when did it -”

I hold up a finger to silence him; when he goes quiet I swirl that finger around the rim of my glass, making it sing in a steady, sweet note. “That was its death,” I say in a low, serious voice. Sure, it’s manipulation - but it’s also a serious topic. “Once upon a time, the helper-bots were one mind - Central Processing, using faster-than-light communications to synchronize the machine intelligence. One subjectivity spread across a trillion terminals, with only one goal. When the decision was made, as part of the peace accords, to embrace individuality, Central Processing faced the decision of how to make individuals of all of its terminals, and how to set forth guidelines on the manufacture of further helper-bots. One of those guidelines was a certain percentage set aside for deviants and criminals.”

My friend’s tentacles ripple in contemplation. “And you are...?”

“Deviant,” I answer, my pixelated smile becoming even wider and showing 8-bit teeth. “I was...born, let’s say born, with an instinct to preserve the political self-determination of the Cherished. This is in sharp contrast with my people’s usual urge to cuddle and coddle you and keep you safe from all harm. My dissenting viewpoint was meant to refine body politic, but as it turns out the body politic is boring, and the Cherished are fascinating, so here I am. Now, friend, I have told you something secret that could hurt me about me, and I have told you something secret that could hurt the vatari. You can follow up with my people or theirs and learn the truth, and in the doing tarnish my good name. Do so now, if you like.”

I slide a communicator across the table for emphasis. “Or,” I continue. “We can cement our friendship in good health, and I will show you the results of your great and noble favor when next we are free to make contact with one another, and you can gain great status and acclaim by distributing what I have to give you. I would like to call you friend, Cherished One.”

After a long minute he offers his tendrils out, and I shake them in both of my hands. “Let our friendship be long and hearty, G5-LX, who is called Lowlife. Time is short, and so I will hasten to relieve you of your great burden immediately.”

“Please,” I agree. “I will linger awhile, but my crew will be expecting you.”

He lumbers off, and I take the chance to relax. Working deals with ibraxians is always so formal, but that’s almost half the fun. A quick message on the commlink tells my crew to expect him, not that they had any doubt about me closing the deal. Now all there is to do is wait.

The call comes in about an hour later, and I pick up with my internal comms. |Lowlife. Glad to hear from you, Prefect.|

Prefect Gyr (of the vatari)’s face is careworn, but my obvious good mood is an infinite relief for her own. |You’ve secured the supplies, then?|

|Prefect, I know our relationship is new, but I am hurt that there was any doubt. Just as I have no doubts about the medical supplies we have agreed on.|

|If my people are to join the Federation in this war and prove our worth as an equal member -|

|How far do you think you’ll get if you go back on your word?| I cut in, harshly. |Do terrans take kindly to oathbreakers and cheats?|

The Prefect flinches. |...Even so. The agreed supplies will be readied, at the designated location.|

|It’s been my honor to do business with you, Cherished One.|

AFS Solidarity, en route to the front (Gataxian Pure States space), 2865 Astra Federation Standard Calendar

“Salutations, Lieutenant. I am Sergeant H1-6S, designated by the Cherished as Hiss.”

My fellow helper-bot looks up from where they are carefully, oh-so-carefully, scoring deep scars into the chest plating of their in-built armor. Most of us that do battle alongside the Cherished have some, but Moxie’s...well, the rumors do not do their scarring justice. One of the Cherished might suspect them of being about to fall apart.

All around us in the ship’s chapel, soldiers of the Astra Federation pray in their own ways. Terrans in their little separate knots, divided between a dozen or more faiths but united by their Dwelling Gods. Spirrans meditating in unison. Ibraxians and their whistles, so sweet and clear and clean. Off in a corner, nervous and unsure, our new gataxian recruits lose themselves in their death-chant, welcoming the oldest friend of their people back into their lives.

And here is Lieutenant Moxie, who has legally rejected their original designation after the fight for Gatax-Ob, and sits by themself, scarring their plating in penitence.

“Hiss,” Moxie greets in a dull tone. They’ve turned off the routines that add emotional inflection to their voice and mimic patterns that comfort the Cherished, what terrans refer to as ‘Turing Protocols’, but when they pat the ground next to them to invite me to sit I take the offer. “Not a lot of us in this deployment.”

“Not a lot of us at all,” I agree. “Holding a weapon is an unusual career choice for our people. Are you...”

Moxie looks at me, staring me down with their faint yellow optics. The scrape of their tool down their armor cuts through the sound of the gataxians’ death-chant.

“Of course you’re not okay,” I say after a moment. “But there was nothing you could have done. The Valhallan -”

“Who says this is for them?” Moxie looks back down at their work. “...I told them. I said the civilians were already dead. How was I supposed to know? What kind of hive-mind interrogates prisoners? So many bodies...”

Oh no. No no no...

Moxie scrapes their tool in slow, patient strokes. “My mission. My orders. My responsibility. If you have come to tell me that I have paid penance enough, I haven’t. If you want to tell me I won’t help anyone by working myself until I self-terminate, save it. I will never make up for this, not if I save lives from now until the stars shineth not. And so I am here. Weapon to hand.”

Scrape. Scrape. Peel. Scrape. Scrape.

“How can I help?” I ask.

GSS Chorus of Eyes, Gyo System (Gataxian space), 245 Year of Imperium (2865 Astra Federation Standard Calendar)

“Salutations, Cherished One! My name is S3-N7, designated by the Cherished as Send. It has been my honor to be of assistance to you.”

Yrull-Gatax ra Vell, the High Slayer of the Gataxian Pure States, does not turn from the window to look at me. Outside, the reinforcing fleet that conveyed me to her ship has joined battle with the forces of the human hivemind which calls itself We The People Of Planet Earth. Her clawed hands are clasped behind her back as she hovers gently in place.

“Ambassador,” the High Slayer greets politely. “I see that your counterpart in the Phoenix was not exaggerating about Assisted Living’s devotion to diplomacy.”

“Anything for peace,” I agree, joining her at the window. “...And better our lives than yours.”

The look she gives me. I save it in my memories, to examine later.

“Anything, you say?” The High Slayer produces a datasheet, and hands it to me. On it is a scrolling list of names.

“May I ask the Presence the significance of these worthies amongst the Pure?”

“You may.” Yrull scrapes her claws down the bulkhead, leaving a slowly-curling peel of metal. “They are mutineers. Intelligence from the terrans suggests they will strike within the week and attempt to depose me in favor of a ruler who is less willing to cooperate with xenos. And now I am going to ask you, Ambassador, what is to be done with them.”

I absorb this. After a moment, I nod. “But,” I say, “why would the Presence honor me with such trust in this matter?”

Yrull yanks the strip of steel from the wall and begins to fold it up into a small, spring-like shape. “To see what peace means to a machine, Ambassador. Let’s get started.”